Weimar distracted her mind; she felt the strongest repugnance to become his wife—she was sure she could not be happy with him; if she had wronged him, he never could, she thought, cordially forgive, nor should she ever look up to him with confidence.
She passed a restless night, and arose ill and unrefreshed. She entreated her friends to be present, they at first objected, but she was so extremely unhappy at their refusal, that they at length consented to come in after his appearance, if she sent for them.
His name was at length announced, and he absolutely started at the alteration in her countenance. "The solemnity of your air, my charming Matilda, gives me great uneasiness; how great will be my transport to remove every cause of sorrow from your heart, and see cheerfulness restored to your features. Have you acquainted your friends here with my communications?" "I have, Sir, (replied she, endeavouring to collect some firmness) but they decline giving any opinion; have you any objection to their being present now?" He hesitated; "I see no necessity for it—but as you please." She then rung the bell, and requested the Marquis and his lady would do them the favor of their company. They entered, and after mutual compliments and they were seated, Matilda addressed herself to Mr. Weimar. "At the time, Sir, when you permitted me to believe I had the honour of being your niece, although sensible of your kindness, and conscious of my obligations to you for the care of my infancy, I have often taken my heart to task, and upbraided its want of gratitude; what must I accuse myself of now, when I am informed that to your charity alone I am indebted for the advantages I possess. O, Sir, never, never, can I return what I owe you—least of all, by becoming your wife; 'tis an honour I do not deserve—" "Pardon me for interrupting you, my dear Matilda: I disclaim the name of obligation; you owe me no gratitude but for my affection; consider how many years
