him turn: he pressed his hands with fervent transport on his breast, raised them to heaven, and seemed to bid her farewell for ever!
And where at that moment was the heroism of Rosilia? The captivating, the gay, the eloquent Douglas had vanished from her sight—was gone for ever! She remained a moment motionless, absorbed in melancholy; then retired to the privacy of her chamber, where her tears gushed forth in secret, and afforded a temporary relief to her oppressed heart.
The unhappy Douglas arrived at his home, raving like a maniac. He never before had received repulse from woman; his inflated vanity could but ill brook this humiliation of it, inflicted by one so young and inexperienced. He had felt assured of winning upon the affections of a character so artless, and had been only led to hazard his proposals from the imaginary security he had felt in having awakened in Rosilia a return of sentiment. No wonder then that he burst into a paroxysm of rage, as fruitless as it was tumultuous, uttering ungovernable and wild exclamations; till, at last, exhausted by the violence of his grief, he sunk into a state of stupor, bearing for the moment a semblance of patience,
"Short intermission, fraught with double woe;"
