dispositions, still she was assured existed, must exist for ever; mutual sympathy alone, in despite of the contrariety of their adverse destiny, had been the cement which had knit their hearts together. So incorporated with her existence had seemed the love of Oriana for Philimore, that she had imagined it to be the same in him; and, as her natural disposition inclined her to dispel the murky clouds of sorrow, she endeavoured to imbibe consolation from the idea, that even love, arising from a pure sense of mind, might not be exempt from occasional vicissitude.
Though her supposition was by no means incorrect, yet she was far from thinking that, whilst she was blaming Philimore for his inconstancy, he, on his part, blamed her for an over-condescension,—for a deficiency in that dignity naturally to be looked for in a woman of virtue and character,—and to which, in his self-reproaches, he attributed the lengths he had been carried; and, when under ideas such as these, her influence weakened, and sometimes altogether ceased. It little entered into her reflections, that the flame of Philimore had been susceptible of decay,—because the torch of love had burnt too rapidly,—ere friendship, respect, and esteem had been rendered more secure, permanent, and complete.
If soothed for a time, as the suggestions of hope vanished, Oriana sunk into a state of still greater despondency. So much did she regret the past, that
