"Yet thus again I cast happiness from me. What then would I do? Unweave the web--implore Mr. Villiers to endure my presence--reveal my state of beggary--ask thanks for my generosity, and humbly wait for a kind glance from Saville, to raise me to wealth as well as to happiness.--Cornelia, awake!--be not subdued at the last--act not against your disposition, the pride of your soul--the determinations you have formed--do not learn to be humble in adversity--you, who were disdainful in happier days--no! if they need me--if they love me--if Saville still remembers the worship--the heart's entire sacrifice which once he made to me--will a few miles--the obscurity of my abode--or the silence and mystery that surrounds me, check his endeavours that we should once again meet? "No!" she said, rising, "my destiny is in other and higher hands than my own. It were vain to endeavour to controul it. Whatever I do, works against me; now let the thread be spun to the end, while I do nothing; I can but endure the worst patiently; and how much better to bear in silence, than to struggle vainly with the irrevocable decree! I submit. Let Providence work out its own ends, and God dispose of the being he has made--whether I reap the harvest in this world or in the next, my part is played, I will strive no more!" She believed in her own singleness of purpose as she said this, and yet she was never more deceived. While she boasted of her resignation, she was yielding not to a high moral power, but to the pride of her soul. Her resolutions were in accordance with the haughtiness of her disposition, and she felt satisfied, not because she was making a noble sacrifice, but because she thus adorned more magnificently the idol she set up for worship, and believed herself to be more worthy of applause and love. Yet who could condemn even errors that led to such unbending and heroic forgetfulness of all the baser propensities of our nature. Nor was this feeling of triumph long-lived; the wounding and humiliating realities of life, soon degraded her from her pedestal, and made her feel, as it were, the disgrace and indignities of abdication. Her travelling chariot drove up to the door, and, after a few moments' preparation, she was summoned. Again she looked round the room; her heart swelled high with impatience and repining, but again she conquered herself. She took up her miniature--_that_ now she might possess--for she could remember without sin--she took up the newspaper, which did or did not contain the fiat of her fate; but this action appeared to militate against the state of resignation she had resolved to attain, so she threw it down: she walked down the stairs, and passed out from her house for the last time--she got into the carriage--the door was closed--the horses were in motion--all was over.