the whirlpool of immoralities and profligacies on the brink of which the law placed me:--and if my vows of contrition--my asseverations of penitence proved so many delusions, you must blame the system to which I was subjected--and not myself.” “And do you mean, then, to inform me that you endeavoured to be moral, reserved, pious, and tranquil on board the convict-ship--but that it was impossible to avoid being dragged into the common abyss of depravity?” demanded Clarence, now speaking in a mild and even compassionate tone. “Most solemnly do I swear that such is the fact!” exclaimed his aunt, with an emphasis which spoke volumes in favour of her sincerity. “Then are you to be pitied, poor woman,” said Clarence; “and the Government of that day most bear all the blame of your relapse and subsequent depravity. But where is your daughter Perdita?” “She is in the neighbourhood--waiting for me,” was the answer. “I did not choose to bring her beneath your roof. Indeed, naught save necessity--necessity the most stern--should have led me hither.” “The accounts which I received from a correspondent at Sydney, spoke, alas! most unfavourably of your daughter,” observed Clarence. “My God! could you not at least have saved her from entering the paths that lead to perdition?” “Behold, now, how ready you are to blame me!” cried his aunt, in a voice expressive of vexation. “I was allotted as a servant to a free-settler in the penal colony; and the man made me his mistress. There was no compliance on my part in the first instance: ’twas absolute compulsion. Then I yielded to my fate, seeing that it was useless to contend against it. I had to work hard all day; and the moment Perdita was able to run alone, she played in the streets with the other poor children of Sydney. I could not prevent it--do all I would to endeavour to keep her in doors. Well, at last I obtained a ticket of leave, and tried to earn a livelihood by the toil of my own hands. But to do this, I was compelled to be out all day;--and then, where was Perdita? Where was she?” almost screamed the woman, becoming much excited: “why--_lost_--as her name implies;--not lost as you lose an object and can find it no more,--but lost _morally_--irretrievably lost! ’Tis true that I imparted to her as much knowledge as I myself possessed or had leisure to instil into her--and that to do this I deprived myself of my natural rest. But how could I teach her virtue?--how could I read the Bible with her? My story was known throughout the colony;--and Perdita learnt before even she had intelligence to understand the meaning of the facts, that she was a bastard--born in Newgate, the great criminal prison of London--and that her mother was every thing infamous and vile! My God! circumstances would not allow me to nurture her in moral ways, even if I had possessed the inclination: but by the time she was old enough to learn, I had myself become as deeply steeped in profligacy as any other woman in the colony.