“And shall we not forgive her?” said Mr. Temple.
“Forgive her!” exclaimed the mother. “Oh! yes; whatever be her errors, is she not our child? And though bowed to the earth even with shame and remorse, is it not our duty to raise the poor penitent and whisper peace and comfort to her desponding soul? would she but return, with rapture would I fold her to my heart and bury every remembrance of her faults in the dear embrace.”
But still, day after day passed on and Charlotte did not appear, nor were any tidings to be heard of her: yet each rising morning was welcomed by some new hope—the evening brought with it disappointment. At length hope was no more; despair usurped her place, and the mansion which was once the mansion of peace became the habitation of pale, dejected melancholy.
The cheerful smile that was wont to adorn the face of Mrs. Temple was fled, and had it not been for the support of unaffected piety, and a consciousness of having ever set before her child the fairest example, she must have sunk under this heavy affliction.
“Since,” said she, “the severest scrutiny can not charge me with any breach of duty, to have deserved this severe chastisement, I will bow before the Power who inflicts it with humble resignation to His will; nor shall the duty of a wife be totally absorbed in the feelings of the mother; I will endeavor to appear more cheerful, and by appearing in some measure to have conquered my own sorrow, alleviate the sufferings of my husband, and rouse him from that torpor into which this misfortune has plunged him. My father, too, demands my care and attention: I must not, by a selfish indulgence of my own grief, forget the interest those two dear objects take in my happiness or misery: I will wear a smile on my face, though the thorn rankles in my heart; and if by so doing, I in the smallest degree contribute to restore their peace of mind, I shall be amply rewarded for the pain the concealment of my own feelings may occasion.”
Thus argued this excellent woman: and in the execution of so laudable a resolution, we shall leave her to follow the fortunes of the hapless victim of imprudence and evil counselors.
XVI
Necessary Digression
On board of the ship on which Charlotte and mademoiselle were embarked, was an officer of large, unencumbered fortune and elevated rank, and whom I shall call Crayton.
He was one of those men who, having traveled in their youth, pretend to have contracted a peculiar fondness for everything foreign, and to hold in contempt the productions of their own country; and this affected partiality extended even to the women.
With him, therefore, the blushing modesty and unaffected simplicity of Charlotte passed unnoticed; but the forward pertness of La Rue, the freedom of her conversation, the elegance of her person, mixed with a certain engaging je ne sais quoi, perfectly enchanted him.
The reader, no doubt, has already developed the character of La Rue: designing, artful and selfish, she had accepted the devoirs of Belcour because she was heartily weary of the retired life she led at the school, wished to be released from what she deemed a slavery, and to return to that vortex of folly and dissipation, which had once plunged her into the deepest misery; but her plan, she flattered herself, was now better formed: she resolved to put herself under the protection of no man, till she had first secured a settlement; but the clandestine manner in which she left Madame Du Pont’s prevented her putting this plan in execution, though Belcour solemnly protested he would make her a handsome settlement the moment they arrived at Portsmouth. This he afterward contrived to evade by a pretended hurry of business: La Rue, readily conceiving he never meant to fulfil his promise, determined to change her battery, and attack the heart of Colonel Crayton. She soon discovered the partiality he entertained for her nation; and having imposed on him a feigned tale of distress, representing Belcour as a villain who had seduced her from her friends under promise of marriage, and afterward betrayed her, pretending great remorse for the errors she had committed, and declaring whatever her affection might have been, it was now entirely extinguished, and she wished for nothing more than an opportunity to leave a course of life which her soul abhorred; but she had no friends to apply to, they had all renounced her, and guilt and misery would undoubtedly be her future portion through life.
Crayton was possessed of many amiable qualities, though the peculiar trait in his character, which we have already mentioned, in a great measure threw a shade over them. He was beloved for his humanity and benevolence by all who knew him, but he was easy and unsuspicious himself, and became a dupe to the artifice of others.
He was, when very young, united to an amiable Parisian lady, and perhaps it was his affection for her that laid the foundation for the partiality he ever retained for the whole nation. He had by her one daughter, who entered into the world but a few hours before her mother left it. This lady was universally beloved and admired, being endowed with all the virtues of her mother, without the weakness of the father: she was married to Major Beauchamp, and was at this time in the same fleet with her father, attending her husband to New York.
Crayton was melted by the affected contrition and distress of La Rue; he would converse with her for hours, read to her, play cards with her, listen to all her complaints,
