"Close not the grave of the injured Charlotte Temple till I have taken vengeance on her murderer." "Rash young man," said Mr.Temple, "who art thou that thus disturbest the last mournful rites of the dead, and rudely breakest in upon the grief of an afflicted father." "If thou art the father of Charlotte Temple," said he, gazing at him with mingled horror and amazement--"if thou art her father--I am Montraville." Then falling on his knees, he continued--"Here is my bosom.

I bare it to receive the stroke I merit.

Strike--strike now, and save me from the misery of reflexion." "Alas!" said Mr.Temple, "if thou wert the seducer of my child, thy own reflexions be thy punishment.

I wrest not the power from the hand of omnipotence.

Look on that little heap of earth, there hast thou buried the only joy of a fond father.