"Consider," continued Mrs Delvile, "the purpose of any further meeting; your union is impossible, you have nobly consented to relinquish all thoughts of it why then tear your own heart, and torture his, by an intercourse which seems nothing but an ill-judged invitation to fruitless and unavailing sorrow?"

Cecilia was still silent; the truth of the expostulation her reason acknowledged, but to assent to its consequence her whole heart refused.

"The ungenerous triumph of little female vanity," said Mrs Delvile, "is far, I am sure, from your mind, of which the enlargement and liberality will rather find consolation from lessening than from embittering his sufferings. Speak to me, then, and tell me honestly, judiciously, candidly tell me, will it not be wiser and more right, to avoid rather than seek an object which can only give birth to regret? an interview which can excite no sensations but of misery and sadness?" Cecilia then turned pale, she endeavoured to speak, but could not; she wished to comply,--yet to think she had seen him for the last time, to remember how abruptly she had parted from him, and to fear she had treated him unkindly;--these were obstacles which opposed her concurrence, though both judgment and propriety demanded it.

"Can you, then," said Mrs Delvile, after a pause, "can you wish to see Mortimer merely to behold his grief? Can you desire he should see you, only to sharpen his affliction at your loss?"

"O no!" cried Cecilia, to whom this reproof restored speech and resolution, "I am not so despicable, I am not, I hope, so unworthy!--I will--be ruled by you wholly; I will commit to you every thing;--yet once, perhaps,--no more!"-"Ah, my dear Miss Beverley! to meet confessedly for once,--what were that but planting a dagger in the heart of Mortimer? What were it but infusing poison into your own?

"If you think so, madam," said she, "I had better--I will certainly--" she sighed, stammered, and stopt.

"Hear me," cried Mrs Delvile, "and rather let me try to convince than persuade you. Were there any possibility, by argument, by reflection, or even by accident, to remove the obstacles to our connection, then would it be well to meet, for then might discussion turn to account, and an interchange of sentiments be productive of some happy expedients: but here--"

She hesitated, and Cecilia, shocked and ashamed, turned away her face, and cried "I know, madam, what you would say,--here all is over! and therefore--" "Yet suffer me," interrupted she, "to be explicit, since we speak upon, this matter now for the last time. Here, then, I say, where not ONE doubt remains, where ALL is finally, though not happily decided, what can an interview produce? Mischief of every sort, pain, horror, and repining! To Mortimer you may think it would be kind, and grant it to his prayers, as an alleviation of his misery; mistaken notion! nothing could so greatly augment it. All his passions would be raised, all his prudence would be extinguished, his soul would be torn with resentment and regret, and force, only, would part him from you, when previously he knew that parting was to be eternal. To yourself--"




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