in this sorry habitation; more than essential to my wants is the use of these two rooms, but not for your more urgent ones, deserving of every comfort."
"And are not your sorrows mine?" interrupted she.
"Yes, in heart and sympathy; but that does not imply that you are to be a personal sharer in them: the scenes of a prison are not for you. Go, my dearest; accompanied by your offspring, their innocent caresses will console you in my absence."
He paused, in expectation of her reply; she spoke not; the suspense pained him: her countenance was sad, yet thoughtful; it appeared, in its heavenly illumination, as if some exalted sentiment had taken possession of her spirit, too great for utterance. Fain at that moment would De Brooke have acceded to all she wished; yet the more powerful idea of being the unhappy cause of involving her in those privations, occasioned by the ruin he had himself brought upon her, checked his speech; and after a distressing lapse of silence on either side, he added, in a sort of hurried agitation, denoting the inward conflict he sustained: "Go, my Angelina, for our dear children's sakes, for those dear pledges of our mutual affection; go quickly, linger not, and let us save each other the misery of renewing these scenes."
