"She brought her son with her. At first this annoyed me; but at a second thought it seemed to render my whole design more conclusive. She had spoken of this child with such rapture that it would have been a barbarity beyond my acting to separate her from him. By making him her companion, she completed my purpose; I would take them away together. I met her, I thought, with self-possession, but she read the conflict of passion in my face, and, half fearful, asked what disturbed me. I attributed my agitation to our approaching parting; and drawing her hand through my arm, walked forward along the lane. At the moment of executing my project, its wickedness and cruelty became so apparent, that a thousand times I was about to confess all, solicit her forgiveness, and leave her for ever: but that hardness, which in the ancient religions is deemed the immediate work of God, crept over my heart, turning its human misgiving to stony resolution. I endeavoured to close every aperture of my soul against the relenting moods that assailed me; yet they came with greater power each time, and at length wholly mastering me, I consented to be subdued. I determined to relinquish my schemes, to bid her an eternal adieu; and, moved by self-pity at the desolate lot I was about to encounter, I spoke of separation and absence, and the death of hope with such heartfelt pathos as moved her to tears. "Surely there is no greater enemy to virtue and good intentions than that want of self-command, the exterior of which, though I had acquired, no portion existed in the inner substance of my mind. Calm, proud, and stern as I seemed to others, capable of governing the vehemence of my temper, within I was the same slave of passion I had ever been. I never could force myself to do the thing I hated; I never could persuade myself to relinquish the thing I desired. There is the secret of my crimes; there the vice of my disposition, which produced for her I loved a miserable death, and for myself endless, unutterable wo. For a moment I had become virtuous and heroic. We reached the end of the lane--my emissary appeared with the carriage. I had worked myself up by this time to determine to restore her to her home; to part with her for ever. She believed this. The despair written on my brow--my sombre, mute, yet heart-broken mien--my thoughts which had totally relinquished their favourite project, and consented to be widowed of her for ever, expressed in brief, passionate sentences, proved to her, who had never suspected that I meant otherwise, that I took my last look and spoke my last words. We reached the end of the lane; Osborne drove up. 'Be not surprised,' I said. 'Yes, it is there, Alithea; the carriage that is to convey me far, far away. Gracious God, do I live to see this hour!'