A brief and feverish respite had been afforded me, but now was I transported to the verge of the same abyss.
"Amos Watson was the brother of the angel whom I had degraded and destroyed.

What but fiery indignation and unappeasable vengeance could lead him into my presence?
With what heart could I listen to his invectives?
How could I endure to look upon the face of one whom I had loaded with such atrocious and intolerable injuries?
"I was acquainted with his loftiness of mind; his detestation of injustice, and the whirlwind passions that ingratitude and villany like mine were qualified to awaken in his bosom.

I dreaded not his violence.
The death that he might be prompted to inflict was no object of aversion.

It was poverty and disgrace, the detection of my crimes, the looks and voice of malediction and upbraiding, from which my cowardice shrunk.
"Why should I live?
I must vanish from that stage which I had lately trodden.

My flight must be instant and precipitate.