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errors with compassion: in a few hours I shall be no more: yet a little, and I am free from this disgraceful passion."
"Wretched woman, what can I say to you? I cannot—I must not—But live, Matilda! oh, live!"
"You do not reflect on what you ask. What? live to plunge myself in infamy? to become the agent of hell? to work the destruction both of you and of myself? Feel this heart, father."
She took his hand. Confused, embarrassed, and fascinated, he withdrew it not, and felt her heart throb under it.
"Feel this heart, father! It is yet the seat of honour, truth, and chastity: if it beats to-morrow, it must fall a prey to the blackest crimes. Oh, let me then die to-day! Let me die while I yet deserve the tears of the virtuous. Thus will I expire!"—(She reclined her head upon his shoulder; her golden hair poured itself over his chest.)—"Folded in your arms, I shall sink to sleep; your hand shall close my eyes for ever, andyour
