'Ay, and Bob Saunders,' cried the daughter.
'Sweet innocent!' cried the mother. 'And the three Hawkins's,' cried the daughter.
'Tender lamb!' cried the mother, 'and a girl too that never looked at mortal man but the 'squire.'
'And John Mullins, and Jacob Jones, and Patrick O'Brien,' cried the daughter.
'Think of that!' cried the mother.
'Yes, think of that!' cried the daughter. 'Patrick O'Brien! the broad-shouldered abominable man! Oh! I will cut my throat—I will—so I will!'
'Alas!' said I, 'behold the fatal effects of licentious love. Here is a girl, whom your money, perhaps, allured from the paths of virtue.'
'Oh! no,' cried Susan, 'it was his honour's handsome face, and his fine words, so bleeding and so sore, and he called me an angel above the heavens!'
'Yes,' said I, 'it is the tenderness of youth, the smile of joy, the blush of innocence, which kindle the flame of the seducer; and yet these are what he would destroy. It is the heart of sensibility which he would engage, and yet in that heart he would plant every rankling pang, every bitter misery. Detestable passion! which accomplishes the worst of purposes, through the medium of the best and sweetest affections. She whose innocent mind ascribes to others the motives that actuate itself, she who confides, because she would not deceive, she who has a tear for real grief, and who melts at the simulated miseries of her lover, she soonest falls a sacrifice to his arts; while the cold vestal, who goes forth into the world callous to feeling, and armed with austerity, repulses his approaches with indignation, and calls her prudence virtue.'
The young man gazed on me with surprise, and the mother had come closer; but Susan was peeping at her face in the glass.