“If you have any remaining regard for a pupil who has so disgraced you, do me one favour--Go to Miss Sidney, and give her what comfort you can. Say nothing _for me_, or _of me_, but that I wish her to forget me as soon as possible. She discarded me from her heart when she first discovered this intrigue--before this last fatal step. Still I had hopes of recovering her esteem and affection; for I had resolved--But no matter what I resolved--all my resolutions failed; and now I am utterly unworthy of her love. This, and all that is good and happy in life, all the fair hopes and virtuous promises of my youth, I must give up. Early as it is in my day, my sun has set. I truly desire that she should forget me; for you know I am bound in honour--Honour! How dare I use the word? I am bound, after the divorce, to marry the woman I have seduced. Oh, Russell! what a wife for your friend!--What a daughter-in-law for my poor mother, after all her care of my education--all her affection--all her pride in me!--It will break her heart! Mine will not break. I shall drag on, perhaps, to a miserable old age. I am of too feeble a nature to feel these things as strong minds would--as you will for me; but do not blame yourself for my faults. All that man could do for me, you did. This must be some consolation to you, my dear and excellent friend! May I still call you friend?--or have I no friend left upon earth? “C. VIVIAN.” From this letter some idea may be formed of what this unhappy man suffered at this period of his life, from “the reflections of a mind not used to its own reproaches.” The view of the future was as dreadful as the retrospect of the past. His thoughts continually dwelt upon the public trial which was preparing--before him he saw all its disgraceful circumstances. Then the horror of marrying, of passing his whole future existence with a woman whom he could not esteem or trust! These last were secret subjects of anxiety and anguish, the more intensely felt, because he could not speak of them to any human being. Such as Mrs. Wharton was, she was to be his wife; and he was called upon to defend her against reproach and insult,--if possible, from contempt. During the course of six weeks, which they spent together in exile at Brussels, Vivian became so altered in his appearance, that his most intimate friends could scarcely have known him; his worst enemies, if he had had any, could not have desired the prolongation of his sufferings.