a belief
of this connexion, though wavering and obscure, lurked in my mind;
something more than a coincidence merely casual, appeared to have
subsisted between my situation, at my father's bed side, and the flash
that darted through the window, and diverted me from my design. It
palsied my courage, and strengthened my conviction, that my scheme was
criminal.

After some time had elapsed, and tranquility was, in some degree,
restored in the family, my father reverted to the circumstances in which
I had been discovered on the first alarm of this event. The truth was
impossible to be told. I felt the utmost reluctance to be guilty of a
falsehood, but by falsehood only could I elude detection. That my guilt
was the offspring of a fatal necessity, that the injustice of others
gave it birth and made it unavoidable, afforded me slight consolation.
Nothing can be more injurious than a lie, but its evil tendency chiefly
respects our future conduct. Its direct consequences may be transient
and few, but it facilitates a repetition, strengthens temptation, and
grows into habit. I pretended some necessity had drawn me from my bed,
and that discovering the condition of the barn, I hastened to inform my
father.

Some time after this, my father summoned me to his presence. I had been
previously guilty of disobedience to his commands, in a matter about
which he was usually very scrupulous. My brother had been privy to
my offence, and had threatened to be my accuser. On this occasion I
expected nothing but arraignment and punishment. Weary of oppression,
and hopeless of any change in my father's temper and views, I had formed
the resolution of eloping from his house, and of trusting, young as
I was, to the caprice of fortune. I was hesitating whether to abscond
without the knowledge of the family, or to make my resolutions known
to them, and while I avowed my resolution, to adhere to it in spite of
opposition and remonstrances, when I received this summons.

I was employed at this time in the field; night was approaching, and I
had made no preparation for departure; all the preparation in my power
to make, was indeed small; a few clothes, made into a bundle, was the
sum of my possessions. Time would have little influence in improving my
prospects, and I resolved to execute my scheme immediately.

I left my work intending to seek my chamber, and taking what was my own,
to disappear forever. I turned a stile that led out of the field i