“Mademoiselle will soon honor our family,” said Crayton, “by supplying the place that valuable woman filled: and as you are married, my dear, I think you will not blame—”
“Hush, my dear sir,” replied Mrs. Beauchamp: “I know my duty too well to scrutinize your conduct. Be assured, my dear father, your happiness is mine. I shall rejoice in it, and sincerely love the person who contributes to it. But tell me,” continued she, turning to Charlotte, “who is this lovely girl? Is she your sister, mademoiselle?”
A blush, deep as the glow of the carnation, suffused the cheeks of Charlotte.
“It is a young lady,” replied the colonel, “who came in the same vessel with us from England.” He then drew his daughter aside and told her in a whisper, that Charlotte was the mistress of Montraville.
“What a pity!” said Mrs. Beauchamp, softly, (casting a most compassionate glance at her). “But surely her mind is not depraved. The goodness of her heart is depicted in her ingenuous countenance.”
Charlotte caught the word pity. “And am I already fallen so low?” said she. A sigh escaped her, and a tear was ready to start, but Montraville appeared, and she checked the rising emotion. Mademoiselle went with the colonel and his daughter to another apartment. Charlotte remained with Montraville and Belcour. The next morning the colonel performed his promise, and La Rue became in due form Mrs. Crayton, exulted in her good fortune, and dared to look with an eye of contempt on the unfortunate but far less guilty Charlotte.
Volume II
XVIII
Reflections
“And am I indeed fallen so low,” said Charlotte, “as to be only pitied? Will the voice of approbation no more meet my ear? And shall I never again possess a friend whose face will wear a smile of joy whenever I approach? Alas! how thoughtless, how dreadfully imprudent have I been! I know not which is most painful to endure—the sneer of contempt, or the glance of compassion which is depicted in the various countenances of my own sex: they are both equally humiliating. Ah! my dear parents, could you now see the child of your affections, the daughter whom you so dearly loved, a poor, solitary being, without society, here wearing out her heavy hours in deep regret and anguish of heart, no kind friend of her own sex to whom she can unbosom her griefs, no beloved mother, no woman of character to appear in my company; and low as your Charlotte is fallen, she can not associate with infamy.”
These were the painful reflections which occupied the mind of Charlotte. Montraville had placed her in a small house a few miles from New York: he gave her one female attendant, and supplied her with what money she wanted; but business and pleasure so entirely occupied his time, that he had little to devote to the woman whom he had brought from all her connections, and robbed of innocence. Sometimes, indeed, he would steal out at the close of evening, and pass a few hours with her. And then, so much was she attached to him, that all her sorrows were forgotten while blessed with his society: she would enjoy a walk by moonlight, or sit by him in a little arbor at the bottom of the garden, and play on the harp, accompanying it with her plaintive, harmonious voice. But often, very often, did he promise to renew his visits, and forgetful of his promise, leave her to mourn her disappointment. What painful hours of expectation would she pass! she would sit at a window which looked toward a field he used to cross, counting the minutes and straining her eyes to catch the first glimpse of his person, till, blinded with tears of disappointment, she would lean her head on her hands, and give free vent to her sorrows: then catching at some new hope, she would again renew her watchful position till the shades of evening enveloped every object in a dusky cloud: she would then renew her complaints, and, with a heart bursting with disappointed love and wounded sensibility, retire to a bed which remorse had strewed with thorns, and court in vain that comforter of weary nature (who seldom visits the unhappy) to come and steep her senses in oblivion.
Who can form an adequate idea of the sorrow that preyed upon the mind of Charlotte? The wife, whose breast glows with affection to her husband, and who in return meets only indifference, can but faintly conceive her anguish. Dreadfully painful is the situation of such a woman, but she has many comforts of which our poor Charlotte was deprived. The duteous, faithful wife, though treated with indifference, has one solid pleasure within her own bosom; she can reflect that she has not deserved neglect—that she has ever fulfilled the duties of her station with the strictest exactness; she may hope by constant assiduity and unremitted attention to recall her wanderer, and be doubly happy in his returning affection; she knows he can not leave her to unite himself to another: he can not cast her out to poverty and contempt.
She looks around her and sees the smile of friendly welcome or the tear of affectionate consolation on the face of every person whom she favors with her esteem; and from all these circumstances she gathers comfort: but the poor girl by thoughtless passion led astray, who, in parting with her honor, has forfeited the esteem of the very man to whom she has sacrificed everything dear and valuable in life, feels his indifference in the fruit of her own folly, and laments her want of power to recall his lost affection; she knows there is no tie but honor, and that, in a man who has been guilty of seduction, is but very feeble: he may leave
