sed to read to him, and he
mistook my tenderness for love. How could I undeceive him, when every
circumstance frowned on him! Too soon I found that I was his only
comfort; I, who rejected his hand when fortune smiled, could not now
second her blow; and, in a moment of enthusiastic gratitude and tender
compassion, I offered him my hand.--It was received with pleasure;
transport was not made for his soul; nor did he discover that nature had
separated us, by making me alive to such different sensations. My mother
was to live with us, and I dwelt on this circumstance to banish cruel
recollections, when the bent bow returned to its former state.

With a bursting heart and a firm voice, I named the day when I was to
seal my promise. It came, in spite of my regret; I had been previously
preparing myself for the awful ceremony, and answered the solemn question
with a resolute tone, that would silence the dictates of my heart; it was
a forced, unvaried one; had nature modulated it, my secret would have
escaped. My active spirit was painfully on the watch to repress every
tender emotion. The joy in my venerable parent's countenance, the
tenderness of my husband, as he conducted me home, for I really had a
sincere affection for him, the gratulations of my mind, when I thought
that this sacrifice was heroic, all tended to deceive me; but the joy of
victory over the resigned, pallid look of my lover, haunted my
imagination, and fixed itself in the centre of my brain.--Still I
imagined, that his spirit was near me, that he only felt sorrow for my
loss, and without complaint resigned me to my duty.

I was left alone a moment; my two elbows rested on a table to support my
chin. Ten thousand thoughts darted with astonishing velocity through my
mind. My eyes were dry; I was on the brink of madness. At this moment a
strange association was made by my imagination; I thought of Gallileo,
who when he left the inquisition, looked upwards, and cried out, "Yet it
moves." A shower of tears, like the refreshing drops of heaven, relieved
my parched sockets; they fell disregarded on the table; and, stamping
with my foot, in an agony I exclaimed, "Yet I love." My husband entered
before I had calmed these tumultuous emotions, and tenderly took my
hand. I snatched it from him; grief and surprise were marked on his
countenance; I hastily stretched it out again. My heart smote me, and I
removed the transient mist by an unfeigned endeavour to please him.