attentions, I feared, she cared not for. You came: your beauty
struck me; your fascinating manners made an impression I could not
resist; your seeming pleasure in my attentions misled me, and my
heart was enslaved ere my judgment could act. But no more! you have
yourself, undrawn the veil, and humbly do I thank the merciful
Providence that has thus over-ruled things, and interfered to save
me from--, I hardly know what. You can scarcely wonder that I
avoided you, after what I heard; and it was not till to-day I could
sufficiently command my feelings, to stay at Mrs. Fortescue's, and
see you; it is not that I still love you, for I cannot love the
woman I no longer respect. I do not hate you; but I do sincerely
pity you, and humbly, and fervently do I pray that you may, ere too
late, see the errors of your conduct. You, by your own confession,
deem coquetry a venial error; can that be such, from which come
such cruel and mischievous results. But no more. I forgive you most
freely, and shall ever fervently pray that you may see and feel how
inimical to peace _here_, as well as _hereafter_, is such conduct
as you have shown.

"Ever your sincere friend, F.B."

No words can do justice to the agony of Beatrice's feelings, as she
read the foregoing letter. She was thunderstruck; here was a blow to
her happiness, how completely was she caught in her own toils; she
could but feel the retribution just. Of all men, she knew, George
Graham to be one of the most fastidious, and that of all things he
held the most despicable, she well knew, was a coquette. She loved him
with passionate devotion, but knew, if the effort cost him his life,
he would cast her from his affections. She was almost maddened with
the thought. She did indeed feel that Mr. Barclay was amply revenged,