“Shew but to them,” cried he, “the smallest sensibility, shew but for me the most distant concern, and I will try to bear my disappointment without murmuring, and submit to your decrees as to those from which there is no appeal: but to wound without deigning even to look at what you destroy,--to shoot at random those arrows that are pointed with poison,--to see them fasten on the heart, and corrode its vital functions, yet look on without compunction, or turn away with cold disdain,--Oh where is the candour I thought lodged in Cecilia! where the justice, the equity, I believed a part of herself!” “After all that has past,” said Cecilia, sensibly touched by his distress, “I expected not these complaints, nor that, from me, any assurances would be wanted; yet, if it will quiet your mind, if it will better reconcile you to our separation---” “Oh fatal prelude!” interrupted he, “what on earth can quiet my mind that leads to our separation?--Give to me no condescension with any such view,--preserve your indifference, persevere in your coldness, triumph still in your power of inspiring those feelings you can never return,--all, every thing is more supportable than to talk of our separation!” “Yet how,” cried she, “parted, torn asunder as we have been, how is it now to be avoided?” “Trust in my honour! Shew me but the confidence which I will venture to say I deserve, and then will that union no longer be impeded, which in future, I am certain, will never be repented!” “Good heaven, what a request! faith so implicit would be frenzy.” “You doubt, then, my integrity? You suspect---” “Indeed I do not; yet in a case of such importance, what ought to guide me but my own reason, my own conscience, my own sense of right? Pain me not, therefore, with reproaches, distress me no more with entreaties, when I solemnly declare that no earthly consideration shall ever again make me promise you my hand, while the terror of Mrs Delvile's displeasure has possession of my heart. And now adieu.” “You give me, then, up?” “Be patient, I beseech you; and attempt not to follow me; 'tis a step I cannot permit.” “Not follow you? And who has power to prevent me?” “_I_ have, Sir, if to incur my endless resentment is of any consequence to you.” She then, with an air of determined steadiness, moved on; Mrs Charlton, assisted by the servants, being already upon the stairs. “O tyranny!” cried he, “what submission is it you exact!--May I not even enquire into the dreadful mystery of this morning?” “Yes, certainly.” “And may I not acquaint you with it, should it be discovered?” “I shall not be sorry to hear it. Adieu.”