Dr Lyster, however, by his friendly authority, obliged her for some time to be content with this relation; but when she grew better, her impatience became stronger, and he feared opposition would be as hurtful as compliance. Delvile, therefore, was now admitted; yet slowly and with trepidation he advanced, terrified for her, and fearful of himself, filled with remorse for the injuries she had sustained, and impressed with grief and horror to behold her so ill and altered. Supported by pillows, she sat almost upright. The moment she saw him, she attempted to bend forward and welcome him, calling out in a tone of pleasure, though faintly, “Ah! dearest Delvile! is it you?” but too weak for the effort she had made, she sunk back upon her pillow, pale, trembling, and disordered. Dr Lyster would then have interfered to postpone their further conversation; but Delvile was no longer master of himself or his passions: he darted forward, and kneeling at the bed side, “Sweet injured excellence!” he cried, “wife of my heart! sole object of my chosen affection! dost thou yet live? do I hear thy loved voice?--do I see thee again?--art thou my Cecilia? and have I indeed not lost thee?” then regarding her more fixedly, “Alas,” he cried, “art thou indeed my Cecilia! so pale, so emaciated!--Oh suffering angel! and couldst thou then call upon Delvile, the guilty, but heart-broken Delvile, thy destroyer, thy murderer, and yet not call to execrate him?” Cecilia, extremely affected, could not utter a word; she held out to him her hand, she looked at him with gentleness and kindness, but tears started into her eyes, and trickled in large drops down her colourless cheeks. “Angelic creature!” cried Delvile, his own tears overflowing, while he pressed to his lips the kind token of her pardon, “can you give to me again a hand so ill deserved? can you look with such compassion on the author of your woes? on the wretch, who for an instant could doubt the purity of a mind so seraphic!” “Ah, Delvile!” cried she, a little reviving, “think no more of what is past!--to see you,--to be yours,--drives all evil from my remembrance!” “I am not worthy this joy!” cried he, rising, kneeling, and rising again; “I know not how to sustain it! a forgiveness such as this,--when I believed You must hate me for ever! when repulse and aversion were all I dared expect,--when my own inhumanity had bereft thee of thy reason,--when the grave, the pitiless grave, was already open to receive thee.”-- “Too kind, too feeling Delvile!” cried the penetrated Cecilia, “relieve your loaded heart from these bitter recollections; mine is lightened already,--lightened, I think, of every thing but its affection for _you_!” “Oh words of transport and extacy!” cried the enraptured Delvile, “oh partner of my life! friend, solace, darling of my bosom! that so lately I thought expiring! that I folded to my bleeding heart in the agony of eternal separation!”--