“I know you have no friends, and I also know that you deserve them. You must purchase books, you must study, or you never will be a great man.” She then sat down, entered into conversation, and I was struck with the fire and vigour of the remarks, which were uttered in such a melodious tone.

Her visits, during a month, were frequent, and every time did she press upon me a fee. Although not in love with her person, I certainly felt very grateful, and moreover was charmed with the superiority of her mind. We were now on the most friendly and confiding terms. One evening she said to me, “Japhet, we have now been friends some time. Can I trust you?”

“With your life, if it were necessary,” replied I.

“I believe it,” said she. “Then can you leave the shop and come to me to-morrow evening?”

“Yes, if you will send your maid for me, saying that you are not well.”

“I will, at eight o’clock. Farewell, then, till to-morrow.”

Part 1—Chapter V.

My Vanity receives a desperate Wound, but my Heart remains unscathed—An Anomaly in Woman, one who despises Beauty.

The next evening I left Timothy in charge, and repaired to her house; it was very respectable in outward appearance, as well as its furniture. I was not, however, shown up into the first floor, but into the room below.

“Miss Judd will come directly, sir,” said a tall, meagre, puritanical looking maid, shutting the door upon me. In a few minutes, during which my pulse beat quick, (for I could not but expect some disclosure; whether it was to be one of love or murder, I hardly knew which,) Miss Aramathea Judd, for such was her Christian name, made her appearance, and sitting down on the sofa, requested me to take a seat by her.

“Mr Newland,” said she, “I wish to—and I think I can entrust you with a secret most important to me. Why I am obliged to do it, you will perfectly comprehend when you have heard my story. Tell me, are you attached to me?”

This was a home question to a forward lad of sixteen. I took her by the hand, and when I looked down on it, I felt as if I was. I looked up into her face, and felt that I was not. And, as I now was close to her, I perceived that she must have some aromatic drug in her mouth, as it smelt strongly—this gave me the supposition that the breath which drew such melodious tones was not equally sweet, and I felt a certain increased degree of disgust.

“I am very grateful, Miss Judd,” replied I; “I hope I shall prove that I am attached when you confide in me.”

“Swear then, by all that’s sacred, you will not reveal what I do confide.”

“By all that’s sacred I will not,” replied I, kissing her hand with more fervour than I expected from myself.

“Do me then the favour to excuse me one minute.” She left the room, and in a very short time, there returned, in the same dress, and in every other point the same person, but with a young and lively face of not more, apparently, than twenty-two or twenty-three years old. I started as if I had seen an apparition. “Yes,” said she, smiling, “you now see Aramathea Judd without disguise; and you are the first who has seen that face for more than two years. Before I proceed further, again I say, may I trust you—swear!”

“I do swear,” replied I, and took her hand for the book, which this time I kissed with pleasure, over and over again. Like a young jackass as I was, I still retained her hand, throwing as much persuasion as I possibly could in my eyes. In fact, I did enough to have softened the hearts of three bonnet-makers. I began to feel most dreadfully in love, and thought of marriage, and making my fortune, and I don’t know what; but all this was put an end to by one simple short sentence, delivered in a very decided but soft voice, “Japhet, don’t be silly.”

I was crushed, and all my hopes crushed with me. I dropped her hand, and sat like a fool.

“And now hear me. I am, as you must have already found out, an impostor; that is, I am what is called a religious adventuress—a new term, I grant, and perhaps only applicable to a very few. My aunt was considered, by a certain sect, to be a great prophetess, which I hardly need tell you was all nonsense; nevertheless, there are hundreds who believed in her, and do so now. Brought up with my aunt, I soon found out what fools and dupes may be made of mankind by taking advantage of their credulity. She had her religious inspirations, her trances, and her convulsions, and I was always behind the scenes; she confided in me, and I may say that I was her only confidant. You cannot, therefore, wonder at my practising that deceit to which I have been brought up from almost my infancy. In person I am the exact counterpart of what my aunt was at my age, equally so in figure, although my figure is now disguised to resemble that of a woman of her age. I often had dressed myself in my aunt’s clothes, put on her cap and front, and then the resemblance was very striking. My aunt fell sick and died, but she promised the disciples that she would re-appear to them, and they believed her.