"Heavens!" I inwardly exclaimed, "what havoc--what torture have I not inflicted upon this innocent bosom! Why did I officiously intermeddle in things which did not concern me--things too, which I could only know by tearing open the yet unhealed wounds of an anguished heart." I was at the point of offering some atonement for the mischief I had done. I saw the whole picture of wretchedness as it was presented to Maria's mind. I even shared, or thought that I shared, in the sorrows which overwhelmed her. My imagination conjured up before me the churlish and miserable {38} wretch who was then wallowing in the stye of brutal sensuality--and in whose bosom all holy and natural affection had been drowned by the fatal Circean cup. I beheld his pale and neglected partner, writhing under that immedicable sickness of the heart--not of hope deferred, but of dark, absolute despair. I turned to the object before me. I saw how those affections which clung around her beloved protectress, as the tendrils of the vine cling around the aged tree, were in one evil hour withered forever. She, an unprotected destitute orphan--worse than an orphan--thrown upon the wide, cold and unfeeling world--perhaps seeking an asylum in the house of some half welcoming and distant relative. What a throng of perplexing--might I not say, distracting reflections, at that moment rushed upon me! I endeavored to change the subject, but at first without success. I experienced some relief, however, by being assured, that the relative to whose house she was now hastening, had offered his aid and protection, in the spirit of kindness and sincerity.