Go, my good friend, pray go back to her; tell her it is Charlotte Temple who requests beneath her hospitable roof to find shelter from the inclemency of the season." "Prithee, don't plague me, man," cried Mrs.Crayton impatiently, as the servant advanced something in behalf of the unhappy girl.

"I tell you I don't know her." "Not know me," cried Charlotte, rushing into the room, (for she had followed the man up stairs) "not know me, not remember the ruined Charlotte Temple, who, but for you, perhaps might still have been innocent, still have been happy.

Oh! La Rue, this is beyond every thing I could have believed possible." "Upon my honour, Miss," replied the unfeeling woman with the utmost effrontery, "this is a most unaccountable address: it is beyond my comprehension.

John," continued she, turning to the servant, "the young woman is certainly out of her senses: do pray take her away, she terrifies me to death." "Oh God," cried Charlotte, clasping her hands in an agony, "this is too much; what will become of me?
but I will not leave you; they shall not tear me from you; here on my knees I conjure you to save me from perishing in the streets; if you really have forgot me, oh for charity's sweet sake this night let me be sheltered from the winter's piercing cold." The kneeling figure of Charlotte in her affecting situation might have moved the heart of a stoic to compassion; but Mrs.Crayton remained inflexible.

In vain did Charlotte recount the time they had known each other at Chichester, in vain mention their being in the same ship, in vain were the names of Montraville and Belcour mentioned.