In the midst of the horror, into which the condition I found myself threw me, I heard that Mr Faulkland was on the point of being married. <p>The prospect I had before me drove me to despair. I knew I could not remain long in my uncle's house. I knew not whither to fly. In my distraction I wrote to Mr Faulkland: You, madam, saw the letter, that ill-fated letter, which deprived Mr Faulkland of his happiness. I soon received an answer, wherein Mr Faulkland related to me at large the unfortunate consequences that letter had produced. He lamented, in the tenderest manner, my unhappy situation; told me, he would provide me a proper place for my retreat; and, as I was an entire stranger in London, having never been there, would recommend me to the notice of one of the best of women, lady Bidulph, from whom, as my unhappy story was known to her, I might expect the utmost humanity. And here, madam, with blushes let me own it, he urged me not to conceal a single circumstance of the truth from that lady. 'You know, said he, my dear Miss Burchell, I am not a seducer; rescue me from that black suspicion; and, as far as the unhappy case will admit, clear my honour to lady Bidulph. See what a reliance I have on _your_ honour, when I trust the vindicating of my own to you, in such delicate circumstances. He concluded his letter with telling me frankly, that though he had been rejected by Miss Bidulph, he loved her with such an ardent passion, that it was impossible for him ever to think of any other woman; and till he had a heart to bestow, he should never entertain a thought of marriage.'