ride and affection
than ever Arthur had been--the comfort of a generous heart, that takes
pleasure in the very sacrifice it makes--the acquittal of her conscience
as to the motives of her conduct--began, however, to produce their
effect. Nor, as she had lately seen more of Philip, could she be
insensible of his attachment--of his many noble qualities--of the pride
which most women might have felt in his addresses, when his rank was
once made clear; and as she had ever been of a character more regulated
by duty than passion, so one who could have seen what was passing in
her mind would have had little fear for Philip's future happiness in her
keeping--little fear but that, when once married to him, her affections
would have gone along with her duties; and that if the first love
were yet recalled, it would be with a sigh due rather to some romantic
recollection than some continued regret. Few of either sex are ever
united to their first love; yet married people jog on, and call each
other "my dear" and "my darling" all the same. It might be, it is true,
that Philip would be scarcely loved with the intenseness with which he
loved; but if Camilla's feelings were capable of corresponding to the
ardent and impassioned ones of that strong and vehement nature--such
feelings were not yet developed in her. The heart of the woman might
still be half concealed in the vale of the virgin innocence. Philip
himself was satisfied--he believed that he was beloved: for it is the
property of love, in a large and noble heart, to reflect itself, and to
see its own image in the eyes on which it looks. As the Poet gives ideal
beauty and excellence to some ordinary child of Eve, worshipping less
the being that is than the being he imagines and conceives--so Love,
which makes us all poets for a while, throws its own divine light over
a heart perhaps really cold; and becomes dazzled into the joy of a false
belief by the very lustre with which it surrounds its object.

The more, however, Camilla saw of Philip, the more (gradually
overcoming her former mysterious and superstitious awe of him) she grew
familiarised to his peculiar cast of character and thought, so the more
she began to distrust her father's assertion, that he had insisted on
her hand as a price--a bargain--an equivalent for the sacrifice of a
dire revenge. And with this thought came another. Was she worthy of this
man?--was she not deceiving him? Ought she not to say, at least, that