After reading this, Oswald remained silent, and left Mr. Dickson time to continue his long discourse without interruption. He admired the judgment of his friend, who, nevertheless, he said, was far from anticipating the reprehensible life Miss Edgarmond had since led: a marriage between Oswald and herself now, he added, would be an eternal insult to Lord Nevil's memory; who, it appeared, during his son's fatal residence in France, had passed a whole summer at Lady Edgarmond's, solacing himself by superintending the education of his favorite Lucy. In fact without either artifice or forbearance, Mr. Dickson attacked the heart of Oswald through all the avenues of sensibility. Thus everything conspired against the absent Corinne, who had no means, save letters, for reviving from time to time, the tenderness of Oswald. She had to contend with his love of country, his filial remorse, the exhortation of his friends in favor of resolutions so easy to adopt, as they led him towards a budding, beauty, whose every charm seemed to harmonize with the calm, chaste hopes of a domestic lot. BOOK XVII. CORINNE IN SCOTLAND. CHAPTER I. Corinne, meanwhile, had settled in a villa on the Brenta: she could not quit the scenes in which she had last met Oswald--and also hoped that she should here receive her letters earlier than at Rome. Prince Castel Forte had written, begging leave to visit her; but she refused. The friendship existing between them commanded mutual confidence; and had he striven to detach her from her love--had he told her what she so often told herself--that absence must decrease Nevil's attachment, one inconsiderate word would have been a dagger to her heart. She wished to see no one; yet it is not easy to live alone, while the soul is ardent, and its situation unfortunate. The employments of solitude require peace of mind; if that be lost, forced gayety, however troublesome, is more serviceable than meditation. If we could trace madness to its source, we should surely find that it originated in the power of one single thought, which excluded all mental variety. Corinne's imagination consumed herself, unless diverted by external excitement. What a life now succeeded that which she had led for nearly a year, with the man of her heart's choice forever with her, as her most appreciating companion, her tenderest friend, and fondest lover! Now, all was barren around and gloomy within her. The only interesting event was the arrival of a letter from _him_; and the irregularity of the post, during winter, every day tormented her with expectations, often disappointed. Each morning she walked on the banks of the canal, now covered by large-leaved water-lilies, watching for the black gondola, which she had learned to distinguish afar off. How did her heart beat, as she perceived it! Sometimes the messenger would answer: "No letters for you, madame," and carelessly proceeded to other matters,