Then he would look at Berenice and at Mr. Montenero, and they would look as if they particularly approved of his conduct. Berenice softened towards him, and I trembled. As she softened towards him, I fancied she became graver and more reserved towards me. I was more provoked by the new tone of sentimental regret from Mowbray than I had been by any of his other devices, because I thought I saw that it imposed more than any thing else had done on Berenice and Mr. Montenero, and because I knew it to be so utterly false. Once, as we were going down stairs together, after I had disdainfully expressed my contempt of hypocrisy, and my firm belief that my plain truth would in the end prevail with Berenice against all his address, he turned upon me in sudden anger, beyond his power to control, and exclaimed, “Never!--She never shall be yours!” It appeared as if he had some trick yet in store--some card concealed in his hand, with which he was secure, at last, of winning the game. I pondered, and calculated, but I could not make out what it could be. One advantage, as he thought it, I was aware he had over me--he had no religious scruples; he could therefore manage so as to appear to make a great sacrifice to love, when, in fact, it would cost his conscience nothing. One evening he began to talk of Sir Charles Grandison and Clementina--he blamed Sir Charles Grandison; he declared, that for his part _there was nothing he would not sacrifice to a woman he loved_. I looked at Miss Montenero at that instant--our eyes met--she blushed deeply--withdrew her eyes from me--and sighed. During the remainder of the evening, she scarcely spoke to me, or looked toward me. She appeared embarrassed; and, as I thought, displeased. Lord Mowbray was in high spirits--he seemed resolved to advance--I retired earlier than usual. Lord Mowbray stayed, and seized the moment to press his own suit. He made his proposal--he offered to sacrifice religion--every thing to love. He was refused irrevocably. I know nothing of the particulars, nor should I have known the fact but for his own intemperance of resentment. It was not only his vanity--his mortified, exasperated vanity--that suffered by this refusal; it was not only on account of his rivalship with me that he was vexed to the quick; his interest, as much as his vanity, had suffered. I did not know till this night how completely he was ruined. He had depended upon the fortune of the Jewess. What resource for him now?--None. In this condition, like one of the Indian gamblers, when they have lost all, and are ready _to run amuck_ on all who may fall in their way, he this night, late, made his appearance at a club where he expected to find me. Fortunately, I was not there; but a gentleman who was, gave me an account of the scene. Disappointed at not finding me, with whom he had determined to quarrel, he supped in absolute silence--drank hasty and deep draughts of wine--then burst out into abuse of Mr.