‘He told us he was to be back here again in a week; but something unlooked for has kept him, for we haven’t seen a sight of him since.’ ‘I don’t think he’ll be able to come at present,’ said Billy, ‘for when I was in Dublin his wife was very ill.’ ‘His wife!’ exclaimed Eliza, who had been an attentive listener to the conversation. ‘Ay, his wife,’ said Billy; ‘he was married about two years ago to a lady belonging to B——.’ Eliza heard no more; she had summoned up all her energy to meet the confirmation of the dreadful news; but the struggle was too much—nature gave way, and she sunk lifeless from her chair. They ran to her assistance, and having raised her, succeeded by slow degrees in bringing her back to life. On recovering, she felt that she was ruined for ever; but the necessity of keeping her own secret, acted as a counterpoise to despair, and induced her to smother her feelings. Her parents were not surprised at her fainting, for they were aware of his attentions, and they could feel for her situation; but they had no knowledge of the extent of her misery. She was partially recovering from the effects of her grief, when she found herself in a way which she could not long hope to conceal. Her agony of mind now became excessive; she could not endure that her disgrace should be known in the neighbourhood, and she determined on leaving her home, and travelling to some distant part of the country. Packing up her clothes, and taking some money with her, she travelled to the nearest port, where she embarked for Dublin, and having found Mrs L——, to whom she was related, she confided to her the story which I now give to the reader. But not being able to procure any means of subsistence, and hearing that employment was more likely to be had in Glasgow than any other place, she resolved on going there, where, far from any one who knew her, she might drag out a miserable existence: and for this purpose she had taken her passage in the vessel I intended to go with. I was introduced to her by Mrs L——; but she shrunk from observation, and seemed to feel uneasy at being observed. Seeing this, I did not obtrude myself on her notice; but I could not see her ‘pale wasted cheek, and brimfu’ e’e, or hear her heart-bursting sighs,’ without lamenting over this wreck of human happiness. The wind remaining contrary for two or three days, I felt so uneasy that I determined on proceeding by coach; but previous to doing so, I recommended Eliza to the care of my friend B——, who was waiting his passage by the same vessel, his term of service having expired. The sequel, which I may as well relate here, was communicated to me in a letter from him a few days after my arrival at home:—