My mother tried to reconcile me to life by every art--even by intimations which I can now interpret as calculated to produce a doubt of the horrible tale she herself had fabricated.

But I construed all she said as the fictions of maternal affection.

I will forbear all reproach.

She is no more--and, as her wretched associate said, she knew not how the dart was poisoned, or how deep it must sink, when she threw it from her hand.

But, Mr.
Oldbuck, if ever, during these twenty years, there crawled upon earth a living being deserving of your pity, I have been that man.