ABSTRACT
When no longer called upon to interest herself in the concerns and distresses of others, Matilda looked around, and could not conceal from herself, that the prospect offered nothing but misery to her heart. In her former vexations she had accustomed herself to look to Strathallan as her consoler. How doubly painful, then, was an affliction, of which Strathallan was the source and cause. As for him, he was not so completely unhappy, as his conduct might have led her to believe. However hurt, at the first moment, at the only instance of want of confidence she had / ever shewn him, it was difficult for the penetration of a lover long to confound resentment with contempt; it was impossible for him not soon to perceive, Matilda could not have thus treated one who was indifferent to her, and the altered conduct which had begun in pique, was continued from a persuasion of its being the only course he ought to pursue – A lover! must he own himself one? a feeling of self-reproach, unusual as severe, mingled with the unwelcome conviction. Valuing himself upon that high-souled delicacy of honor, that forbade alike in every relation of life, whatever bore the least appearance of duplicity, he found he had been led by a concurrence of unforeseen circumstances into a situation, in which it might, perhaps, with apparent justice be imputed to him. Yet was it so singular, that two hearts, which, from opposite causes, the world could not make happy; his, because he had proved its deceitful flatteries too early and too long; her’s, because secluded from its influence in opening youth, she shrunk dispirited and dismayed from the rigid caution, and heartless observances it required, should, as by a natural sympathy, find their repose and level in each other?
