and the interest of affection. But I—I tremble at my happiness! my life is a struggle with my feelings and my circumstances! Sometimes I wish that I had never seen him, and then I have not courage to deny myself what has been such an unutterable source of enjoyment.
It is strange, but I love him best in his absence! then my imagination creates all that it wishes; all that I admire in him grows the richer for memory's setting: then I can imagine an existence that enables me to show my utter devotion without a fault. I start back with sudden horror, when I remember what even he may think of me. The love which should be my pride, the dearest hope which earth can raise to heaven, to me is degradation and misery. The deceit that I practise towards Lord Marchmont sinks me to his own level. I despise him: alas! I should rather despise myself.
She flung the pen down, and began to pace the room with those hurried steps which
