"I hated him from the first; but you trusted him. You thought him all perfection: he flattered your vanity, and you weakly believed every thing that he asserted."
"Weakly!" cried Father Morris, his lips quivering with rage.
"Yes, weakly!" returned Rosabella; "for a child would have seen through his artifices; but you were deceived by them, and have been his dupe, his tool, his plaything."
"This to me!" cried Father Morris, gnashing his teeth together with passion.
"Yes, to you," returned Rosabella coolly; "for why should I longer conceal my sentiments? I will no longer be your slave. You have made me deserted by my husband—hated by my subjects—and detested by myself. I will, therefore, no longer follow your councils; from henceforward I will act for myself. Adieu, we meet no more as friends!"
And as she spoke, she walked out of the room, leaving the priest motionless with astonishment.—"This to me!" cried he to Marianne, as soon as he recovered himself sufficiently to speak—"to me, who have sacrificed every
