serenity of the night air and cleanness of the foot-pavement, had caused Mrs. De Brooke to prefer walking, rather than returning home in a carriage.
The night was clear but frosty, yet the intense cold was unfelt by Melliphant. Elevated by the wine he had taken, the fever of delirium and of intemperate passion swelled in his veins. Rosilia, under the influence of the keen air, was desirous of quickening her pace, but Melliphant, on the contrary, to prolong the time, would stop at intervals to gather more closely around her, the folds of her mantle, and walked with slow and measured steps, notwithstanding she urged a quicker pace. He wished Sir Howard and her mother might advance far before; he wished also, to prolong each fleeting moment, which, as it passed, conveyed a charm so rapturous on its wings, and losing insensibly that habitual guard he held over himself, exclaimed in impassioned accents, "Oh! what happiness to be thus indulged! Could you walk thus with me all night!—every night?"
In such similar insignificant terms were his incoherent rhapsodies expressed, seeming to Rosilia so little analogous,—so little in unison with the general ideas inspired by Melliphant,—that all he uttered failed of its power.
He had wished to speak of Heloise, but checked himself; the topic might be unprofitable; besides, he had another point in view, upon the success of which
