and put an end at once to my life and the miseries inseparably linked
with it, was the only proceeding which fate had left to my choice. My
muscles were already exerted for this end, when the helpless condition
of Clemenza was remembered. What provision could I make against the
evils that threatened her? Should I leave her utterly forlorn and
friendless? Mrs. Wentworth's temper was forgiving and compassionate.
Adversity had taught her to participate and her wealth enabled her to
relieve distress. Who was there by whom such powerful claims to succour
and protection could be urged as by this desolate girl? Might I not
state her situation in a letter to this lady, and urge irresistible
pleas for the extension of her kindness to this object?

"These thoughts made me suspend my steps. I determined to seek my
habitation once more, and, having written and deposited this letter, to
return to the execution of my fatal purpose. I had scarcely reached my
own door, when some one approached along the pavement. The form, at
first, was undistinguishable, but, by coming, at length, within the
illumination of a lamp, it was perfectly recognised.

"To avoid this detested interview was now impossible. Watson approached
and accosted me. In this conflict of tumultuous feelings I was still
able to maintain an air of intrepidity. His demeanour was that of a man
who struggles with his rage. His accents were hurried, and scarcely
articulate. 'I have ten words to say to you,' said he; 'lead into the
house, and to some private room. My business with you will be despatched
in a breath.'

"I made him no answer, but led the way into my house, and to my study.
On entering this room, I put the light upon the table, and, turning to
my visitant, prepared silently to hear what he had to unfold. He struck