The hour of darkness, of silence, and solitude, which by the happy is consecrated to repose, Matilda devoted to serious enquiry into the nature of her own feelings. Though others may consider her as a beauty, a heroine, and till late, the object of envy as well as admiration, she was still old fashioned enough to know herself to be a poor, weak, erring creature. She did not forget that the heart is deceitful above all things, and she determined its dangerous dictates should not be substituted / for the less pleasing, but safer decrees, of reason and religion. The result of this self-examination was, a resolution at once to conquer any repugnance that might be inconsistent with duty; and by a graceful compliance, to shew her gratitude to her truest friend, and to ensure the happiness of a mother, who had ever made hers the first object of her life.

The attachment Sowerby had shewn for Mrs. Melbourne, had touched her affectionate heart beyond any thing in his former conduct; his present disinterested offer added to the esteem with which he had ever inspired her. ‘I feel friendship, confidence, gratitude, towards him,’ she continued, ‘and after all, what is this love, without which I fondly imagine I cannot make him happy?’

At this instant, a long-forbidden image rushed before her fancy's eye, – bright, distinct, and visible, as reality could have made it. It was the beautiful form of the beloved Strathallan, which burst upon her soul, beaming in all those mild glories which had led it captive in happier hours.