As soon as the original bent of Douglas's great mind developed itself, it seemed to him as if no self-denial or subjugation of his inclinations was beyond his ability to perform.
Feeling himself entirely defeated, his Lordship remained silent; nevertheless, he could not forbear regretting that Douglas was on the point of making so great a sacrifice of himself;—one who, he conceived, might justly have aspired to an alliance even amongst the daughters of peers;—himself a son of one of those Scottish noblemen tracing their genealogies even to the famed chieftains of former times;—and one, also, whose destiny it might become to hold the title, from the improbability of issue descending to supersede him, from his elder brother. To continue his interference, however, his Lordship deemed unnecessary; he therefore desisted from further observation than that of sincerely wishing him that happiness of which his merits rendered him so highly deserving.
With the warmest expressions Douglas renewed his thanks, adding, with a smile on which sat the consciousness of having acted according to duty: "A man, my dear Lord, never takes advice in such affairs, nor ever thinks of asking it, until he has made up his mind to follow nothing but the bent of his own will. For my own part, I have proved one
