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Porter, Jane, 1776-1850

"Thaddeus of Warsaw"

I have seen thee,
matchless Constantine! Like a bright planet, thou has passed before
me!--like a being of a superior order! And I never, never can debase
my nature to change that love. Thy image shall follow me into
solitude--shall consecrate my soul to the practice of every virtue! I
will emulate thy excellence, when, perhaps, thou hast forgotten that
I exist."
The fit of despondence which threatened to succeed this last
melancholy reflection was interrupted by the sudden entrance of
Euphemia. Miss Beaufort hastily rose, and drew her ringlets over her
eyes.
"O, Mary!" cried the little beauty, holding up her pretty hands,
"what do you think has happened?"
"What?" demanded she in alarm, and hastening towards the door;
"anything to my aunt?"
"No, no," answered Euphemia, catching her by the arm; "but could my
injured heart derive satisfaction from revenge, I should now be
happy. Punishment has overtaken the faithless Constantine."
Miss Beaufort looked aghast, and grasping the back of the chair to
prevent her from falling, breathlessly inquired what she meant?
"Oh! he is sent to prison," cried Euphemia, not regarding the real
agitation of her auditor (so much was she occupied in appearing
overwhelmed herself), and wringing her hands, she continued, "That
frightful wretch Mr. Lascelles is just come in to dinner. You cannot
think with what fiendish glee he told me that several days ago, as he
was driving out of town, he saw Mr.


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