the fear of discovery rendered me intrepid.  I felt no dread but that of being detected, of being publicly, and to my face, declared a thief, liar, and calumniator; an unconquerable fear of this overcame every other sensation.  Had I been left to myself, I should infallibly have declared the truth.  Or if M. de la Rogue had taken me aside, and said—­“Do not injure this poor girl; if you are guilty own it,”—­I am convinced I should instantly have thrown myself at his feet; but they intimidated, instead of encouraging me.  I was hardly out of my childhood, or rather, was yet in it.  It is also just to make some allowance for my age.  In youth, dark, premeditated villainy is more criminal than in a riper age, but weaknesses are much less so; my fault was truly nothing more; and I am less afflicted at the deed itself than for its consequences.  It had one good effect, however, in preserving me through the rest of my life from any criminal action, from the terrible impression that has remained from the only one I ever committed; and I think my aversion for lying proceeds in a great measure from regret at having been guilty of so black a one.  If it is a crime that can be expiated, as I dare believe, forty years of uprightness and honor on various difficult occasions, with the many misfortunes that have overwhelmed my latter years, may have completed it.  Poor Marion has found so many avengers in this world, that however great my offence towards her, I do not fear to bear the guilt with me.  Thus have I disclosed what I had to say on this painful subject; may I be permitted never to mention it again.