'She has a witchcraft in her that no language can express--no heart withstand--,' said De Courcy, suddenly breaking a long silence, as he and his mother were sitting tête à tête after dinner. 'Marriage is an excellent talisman against witchcraft,' said De Courcy, gravely; 'but Miss Montreville has charms that will delight the more the better they are known. There is such noble simplicity, such considerate benevolence, such total absence of vanity and selfishness in her character, that no woman was ever better fitted to embellish and endear domestic life.' 'Perhaps in time,' pursued De Courcy, 'I might have become not unworthy of such a companion--But now it matters not,'--and, suppressing a very bitter sigh, he took up a book which he had of late been reading to his mother. 'You know, Montague,' said Mrs De Courcy, 'I think differently from you upon this subject. I am widely mistaken in Miss Montreville, if she could bestow her preference on a libertine, knowing him to be such.' Montague took involuntary pleasure in hearing this opinion repeated; yet he had less faith in it than he usually had in the opinions of his mother. 'After the emotion which his presence excited,' returned he,--'an emotion which even these low people--I cannot think of it with patience,' cried he, tossing away the book, and walking hastily up and down the room. 'To betray her weakness, her _only_ weakness, to such observers--to the wretch himself.' 'My dear De Courcy, do you make no allowance for the exaggeration, the rage for the romantic, so common to uneducated minds?' 'Wilkins could have no motive for inventing such a tale,' replied De Courcy; 'and if it had _any_ foundation, there is no room for doubt.' 'Admitting the truth of all you have heard,' resumed Mrs De Courcy, 'I see no reason for despairing of success. If I know any thing of character, Miss Montreville's attachments will ever follow excellence, real or imaginary. Your worth is real, Montague; and, as such, it will in time approve itself to her.' 'Ah, Madam, had her affection been founded even on imaginary excellence, must it not now have been completely withdrawn--now, when she cannot be unacquainted with his depravity. Yet she loves him still.--I am sure she loves him. Why else this guarded silence in regard to him?--Why not mention that she permitted his daily visits--saw him even on the night when her father died?' 'Supposing,' returned Mrs De Courcy, 'that her affection had been founded on imaginary excellence, might not traces of the ruins remain perceptible, even after the foundation had been taken away? Come, come, Montague, you are only four-and-twenty, you can afford a few years patience. If you act prudently, I am convinced that your perseverance will succeed; but if it should not, I know how you can bear disappointment. I am certain that your happiness depends not on the smile of any face, however fair.' 'I am ashamed,' said De Courcy, 'to confess how much my peace depends upon Laura.