tronger impression; so that he found
himself in the situation of an unfortunate bark stranded upon some hidden
rock, which, when the wind begins to blow, feels every succeeding wave
more boisterous than the former, until, with irresistible fury, they
surmount her deck, sweep everything before them, and dash her all to
pieces.

The refugee had observed his first emotion, which he attributed to an
unforeseen advantage he himself had gained over the Hungarian; but seeing
him, in the sequel, bite his lip, roll his eyes, groan, writhe his body,
ejaculate incoherent curses, and neglect his game, the Huguenot concluded
that he was mad, and being seized with terror and dismay, got up and
scampered off, without ceremony or hesitation.

Melvil, thus left to the horrors of his own thought, which tortured him
with the apprehension of losing Monimia for ever, could no longer combat
that suggestion, but ran homewards with all the speed he could exert, in
order to prevent her retreat. When he crossed the threshold, he was
struck with such a damp of presaging fear, that he durst not in person
approach her apartment, nor even, by questioning the servant, inform
himself of the particulars he wanted to know. Yet his suspense becoming
more insupportable than his fear, he rushed from room to room in quest of
that which was not to be found; and, seeing Monimia's chamber door open,
entered the deserted temple in a state of distraction, calling aloud upon
her name. All was silent, solitary, and woful. "She is gone," he cried,
shedding a flood of tears, "she is for ever lost; and all my hopes of
happiness are fled!"

So saying, he sunk upon that couch on which Monimia had oft reposed, and
abandoned himself to all the excess of grief and despondence. In this
deplorable condition he was found by our adventurer, who gently chid him
for his want of resolution, and again repelled his sorrow, by arousing
his resentment against the innocent cause of his disquiet, having
beforehand forged the particulars of provocation.

"Is it possible," said he, "that Renaldo can still retain the least
sentiment of regard for a fickle woman, by whom he has been so
ungratefully forsaken and so unjustly scorned? Is it possible he can be
so disturbed by the loss of a creature who is herself lost to all virtue
and decorum?--Time and reflection, my worthy friend, will cure you of
that inglorious malady. And the future misconduct of that imprudent
damsel will, d