The novels of Charles Brockden Brown, consisting of Wieland;or, The transformation. Arthur Mervyn; or, Memoirs of the year 1793. Edgar Huntly; or, Memoirs of a sleep-walker. Jane Talbot. Ormond; or, The secret witness. Clara Howard; or, The enthusiasm of love. With a memoir of the author.

JANE TALBOT. 65
ness the depravity of one whom my whole life had been
employed in training to virtue.
Having opened your letter, and somewhat debated
with myself, I consented to read. I will do more than
read; I will answer it minutely. I will unfold that
secret by which, you truly think, my aversion to your
present scheme has been chiefly caused.
I have hitherto been silent through compassion to you;
through the hope that all might yet be well; that you
might be influenced by my persuasions to forbear an
action that will insure forever your ruin. I now perceive
the folly of this compassion and these hopes. I need
not be assiduous to spare you.the shame and mortification of hearing the truth. Shame is as much a stranger
to your heart as remorse. Say what I will, disclose
what I will, your conduct will be just the same. A show
of much reluctance and humility will, no doubt, be made,
and the tongue will be busy in imploring favour which
the heart disdains.
In the foresight of this, I was going to forbid your
writing; but you care not for my forbidding. As long
as you think it possible to reconcile nie to your views
and make me a partaker in your infamy, you will harass
me with importunity, with feigned penitence and preposterous arguments. But one thing at least is in my power.
I can shun you, and I can throw your unopened letters
into the fire; and that, believe me, Jane, I shall do.
But I am wasting time. My indignation carries me
away from my purpose. Let me return to it, and, having told you all my mind, let me dismiss the hateful
subject forever.
I knew the motives that induced you to marry Lewis
Talbot. They were good ones. Your compliance with
mine and your father's wishes in that respect showed
that force of understanding which I always ascribed to
you. Your previous reluctance, your scruples, were
indeed unworthy of you, but you conquered them, and
that was better; perhaps it evinced more magnanimity
than never to have had them.
You were happy, I long thought, in your union with
a man of probity and good sense. You may be sure I
g *,