“No, do not have done,” cried she, much softened; “your sincerity does me nothing but honour, and hitherto, I am sure, it has done me nothing but good. Perhaps I deserve your utmost censure; I feared it, indeed, before you came, and ought, therefore, to have better prepared myself for meeting with it.” This speech completed Mr Monckton's self-victory; it shewed him not only the impropriety of his turbulence, but gave him room to hope that a mildness more crafty would have better success. “You cannot but be certain,” he answered, “that my zeal proceeds wholly from a desire to be of use to you; my knowledge of the world might possibly, I thought, assist your inexperience, and the disinterestedness of my regard, might enable me to see and to point out the dangers to which you are exposed, from artifice and duplicity in those who have other purposes to answer than what simply belong to your welfare.” “Neither artifice nor duplicity,” cried Cecilia, jealous for the honour of Delvile, “have been practised against me. Argument, and not persuasion, determined me, and if I have done wrong--those who prompted me have erred as unwittingly as myself.” “You are too generous to perceive the difference, or you would find nothing less alike. If, however, my plainness will not offend you, before it is quite too late, I will point out to you a few of the evils,--for there are some I cannot even mention, which at this instant do not merely threaten, but await you.” Cecilia started at this terrifying offer, and afraid to accept, yet ashamed to refuse, hung back irresolute. “I see,” said Mr Monckton, after a pause of some continuance, “your determination admits no appeal. The consequence must, indeed, be all your own, but I am greatly grieved to find how little you are aware of its seriousness. Hereafter you will wish, perhaps, that the friend of your earliest youth had been permitted to advise you; at present you only think him officious and impertinent, and therefore he can do nothing you will be so likely to approve as quitting you. I wish you, then, greater happiness than seems prepared to follow you, and a counsellor more prosperous in offering his assistance.” He would then have taken his leave; but Cecilia called out, “Oh, Mr Monckton! do you then give me up?” “Not unless you wish it.” “Alas, I know not what to wish! except, indeed, the restoration of that security from self-blame, which till yesterday, even in the midst of disappointment, quieted and consoled me.” “Are you, then, sensible you have gone wrong, yet resolute not to turn back?” “Could I tell, could I see,” cried she, with energy, “which way I ought to turn, not a moment would I hesitate how to act! my heart should have no power, my happiness no choice,--I would recover my own esteem by any sacrifice that could be made!” “What, then, can possibly be your doubt? To be as you were yesterday what is wanting but your own inclination?”