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176 cheerless, and solitary meditations were those epistolary replies to Oriana which had sa much tortured and aggrieved her.

"When, in imagining herself no longer beloved," thought he, "she will have exhausted the first tumult of grief, pride and indignation will proportionately arise and diminish the strength of her attachment; for few are the women who, like her, can in reality, when put to the trial, bend to the vicissitudes of life. She will doubtless experience some agonizing throbs, but she will regain her wonted spring; content, gaiety, and happiness will again be hers. Were I, as formerly, to express myself in the glowing language of love, and were I to paint my real state,—a prey to sorrow, a frame fast verging to the grave,—here, in this chamber, should I constantly behold her, friends, family, the opinions of the world, all, all contemned for my sake; no power could restrain her. I that know her heart, can judge of her actions, can behold her as she is, the creature of impulse! I should have the misery of seeing her falling hourly a victim to the passion which my selfishness sought to inspire her with. Oh! what a trial to darken still more heavily the latter moments of my life! If any solace can arise to me henceforward, it will be in the consciousness of having done my duty—done what I could, and all that remained for me to do, while an inhabitant of this earth, that of sparing Oriana the prolongation of a deeper grief, and that of restoring her to herself and to her family! Ere that moment