So entirely was I occupied in anticipating my new pleasure, that I should have had neither thought nor observation to bestow upon any other subject, had not conscience sometimes turned my attention to Miss Mortimer. I thought she looked ill and melancholy. Her complexion, always delicate, had faded to a sickly hue. Her eyes were sunk and hollow; and the jealous watchfulness of one who has given cause of complaint, made me remark that they were often fixed sadly upon me. I half suspected that she had discovered my intended breach of faith; and wondered whether it were possible that my misconduct could make such an impression upon her mind. I was relieved from this suspicion by the frankness with which she one day lamented to me that my father, for some reason which she could not divine, refused to permit a party to be formed for the 5th of May. 'I could have wished,' said she, 'to make that evening pass more gaily than I fear it will. Dear Ellen, how like you are to your mother when you blush!' 'Then I am sure,' said I, 'I wish I could blush always, for there is nobody I should like so much to resemble.' 'Well,' said Miss Mortimer, 'were it not for the fear of making you vain, I could tell you, that there is a more substantial resemblance; for she, like you, knew how to resign her strongest inclinations in compliance with the wishes of her friends.' This was too much. Conscience-struck, and quite thrown off my guard, I exclaimed, 'Like me! Oh! she was no more like me, than an angel of light is to a dark designing----' Recollecting that I was betraying myself, I stopped. Miss Mortimer turned upon me a smile so kind, so confiding, that as oft as it rises to my memory I abhor myself. 'Nay, Ellen,' said she, 'if I am to be your confessor lay open the sins which do really beset you; unless, as Mr Maitland would say, you are afraid that I should have a sinecure.' 'I have a great mind,' cried I, 'to make a resolution, that I will never do a wrong thing again without confessing it to somebody!' 'The resolution would be a good one,' said Miss Mortimer, 'provided you could rely upon the judgment and integrity of your confessor; and provided you are sure that the pain of exposing your faults to another will not lead you to conceal them more industriously from yourself.' 'Oh! I am sure I could never do wrong without being sensible of it. But the misfortune is, that people have not the right method of talking of my faults. They always contrive to say something provoking. You need not smile. It is not that I am so uncandid that I cannot endure to be blamed; for there's Juliet often finds fault with me, and I never grow angry.'