And then, sobbing on, she lifted her apron to her face again. She showed me how.
Poor Dorcas!—Again wiping her own charming eyes.
All love, all compassion, is this dear creature to every one in affliction but me.
And would not an aunt protect her kinswoman?—Abominable wretch!
I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—say, my aunt was privy to it. She gave me good advice. She knew not for a great while that I was—that I was—that I was—ugh!—ugh!—ugh!—
No more, no more, good Dorcas—What a world do we live in!—What a house am I in!—But come, don’t weep, (though she herself could not forbear:) my being betrayed into it, though to my own ruin, may be a happy event for thee: and, if I live, it shall.
I thank you, my good lady, blubbering. I am sorry, very sorry, you have had so hard a lot. But it may be the saving of my soul, if I can get to your ladyship’s house. Had I but known that your ladyship was not married, I would have eat my own flesh, before——before——before——
Dorcas sobbed and wept. The lady sighed and wept also.
But now, Jack, for a serious reflection upon the premises.
How will the good folks account for it, that Satan has such faithful instruments, and that the bond of wickedness is a stronger bond than the ties of virtue; as if it were the nature of the human mind to be villanous? For here, had Dorcas been good, and been tempted as she was tempted to any thing evil, I make no doubt but she would have yielded to the temptation.