ot believe it possible," said Montraville, "that a mind once so
pure as Charlotte Temple's, should so suddenly become the mansion of
vice. Beware, Belcour," continued he, "beware if you have dared to
behave either unjust or dishonourably to that poor girl, your life shall
pay the forfeit:--I will revenge her cause."

He immediately went into the country, to the house where he had left
Charlotte. It was desolate. After much enquiry he at length found the
servant girl who had lived with her. From her he learnt the misery
Charlotte had endured from the complicated evils of illness, poverty,
and a broken heart, and that she had set out on foot for New-York, on a
cold winter's evening; but she could inform him no further.

Tortured almost to madness by this shocking account, he returned to the
city, but, before he reached it, the evening was drawing to a close.
In entering the town he was obliged to pass several little huts, the
residence of poor women who supported themselves by washing the cloaths
of the officers and soldiers. It was nearly dark: he heard from a
neighbouring steeple a solemn toll that seemed to say some poor mortal
was going to their last mansion: the sound struck on the heart of
Montraville, and he involuntarily stopped, when, from one of the houses,
he saw the appearance of a funeral. Almost unknowing what he did, he
followed at a small distance; and as they let the coffin into the grave,
he enquired of a soldier who stood by, and had just brushed off a tear
that did honour to his heart, who it was that was just buried. "An
please your honour," said the man, "'tis a poor girl that was brought
from her friends by a cruel man, who left her when she was big with
child, and married another." Montraville stood motionless, and the man
proceeded--"I met her myself not a fortnight since one night all wet and
cold in the streets; she went to Madam Crayton's, but she would not take
her in, and so the poor thing went raving mad." Montraville could bear
no more; he struck his hands against his forehead with violence; and
exclaiming "poor murdered Charlotte!" ran with precipitation towards the
place where they were heaping the earth on her remains. "Hold, hold, one
moment," said he. "Close not the grave of the injured Charlotte Temple
till I have taken vengeance on her murderer."

"Rash young man," said Mr. Temple, "who art thou that thus disturbest
the last mournful rites of the dead, and rudely breakest in upon th