“Lady Glenthorn, I blame myself more than you for all that has happened.” “For what?” said she, making a feeble attempt at evasion, yet at the same time casting a guilty look towards the drawer of letters. “You have nothing to conceal from me,” said I. “Nothing!” said she, in a feeble voice. “Nothing,” said I; “for I know every thing”--she started--“and am willing to pardon every thing.” She looked up in my face astonished. “I am conscious,” continued I, “that you have not been well treated by me. You have had much reason to complain of my neglect. To this I attribute your error. Forget the past--I will set you the example. Promise me never to see the man more, and what has happened shall never be known to the world.” She made me no answer, but burst into a flood of tears. She seemed incapable of decision, or even of thought. I felt suddenly inspired with energy. “Write this moment,” continued I, placing a pen and ink before her, “write to forbid him ever to return to this house, or ever more to appear in your presence. If he should appear in mine, I know how to chastise him, and to vindicate my own honour. To preserve your reputation, I refrain, upon these conditions, from making my contempt of him public.” I put a pen into Lady Glenthorn’s hand; but she trembled so that she could not write. She made several ineffectual attempts, then tore the paper; and again giving way to tears, exclaimed, “I cannot write--I cannot think--I do not know what to say. Write what you will, and I will sign it.” “I write to Captain Crawley! Write what _I_ will! Lady Glenthorn, it must be your will to write, not mine. If it be not your will, say so.” “Oh! I do not say so--I do not say _that_. Give me a moment’s time. I do not know what I say. I have been very foolish--very wicked. You are very good--but it is too late: it will all be known. Crawley will betray me; he will tell it to Mrs. Mattocks: so whichever way I turn, I am undone. Oh! what _will_ become of me?” She wrung her hands and wept, and was for an hour in this state, in all the indecision and imbecility of a child. At last, she wrote a few scarcely legible lines to Crawley, forbidding him to see or think of her more. I despatched the note, and she was full of penitence, and gratitude, and tears. The next morning, when I wakened, I in my turn received a note from her ladyship. “Since I saw you, Captain Crawley has convinced me that I am his wife, _in the eye of Heaven_, and I therefore desire a divorce, as much as your _whole conduct_, since my marriage, convinces me _you_ must in your _heart_, whatever may be your motives to _pretend_ otherwise. Before you receive this I shall be _out of your way_ and _beyond your reach_; so do not think of pursuing one who is no longer, “Yours, “A. CRAWLEY.”