adverted to her
narrative, and spoke with warmth of the oppression she had endured.--His
eyes, glowing with a lambent flame, told her how much he wished to
restore her to liberty and love; but he kissed her hand, as if it had
been that of a saint; and spoke of the loss of her child, as if it had
been his own.--What could have been more flattering to Maria?--Every
instance of self-denial was registered in her heart, and she loved him,
for loving her too well to give way to the transports of passion.

They met again and again; and Darnford declared, while passion suffused
his cheeks, that he never before knew what it was to love.--

One morning Jemima informed Maria, that her master intended to wait on
her, and speak to her without witnesses. He came, and brought a letter
with him, pretending that he was ignorant of its contents, though he
insisted on having it returned to him. It was from the attorney already
mentioned, who informed her of the death of her child, and hinted, "that
she could not now have a legitimate heir, and that, would she make over
the half of her fortune during life, she should be conveyed to Dover,
and permitted to pursue her plan of travelling."

Maria answered with warmth, "That she had no terms to make with the
murderer of her babe, nor would she purchase liberty at the price of her
own respect."

She began to expostulate with her jailor; but he sternly bade her "Be
silent--he had not gone so far, not to go further."

Darnford came in the evening. Jemima was obliged to be absent, and
she, as usual, locked the door on them, to prevent interruption or
discovery.--The lovers were, at first, embarrassed; but fell insensibly
into confidential discourse. Darnford represented, "that they might
soon be parted," and wished her "to put it out of the power of fate to
separate them."

As her husband she now received him, and he solemnly pledged himself as
her protector--and eternal friend.--

There was one peculiarity in Maria's mind: she was more anxious not to
deceive, than to guard against deception; and had rather trust without
sufficient reason, than be for ever the prey of doubt. Besides, what
are we, when the mind has, from reflection, a certain kind of elevation,
which exalts the contemplation above the little concerns of prudence! We
see what we wish, and make a world of our own--and, though reality may
sometimes open a door to misery, yet the moments of happiness procured
by the imaginatio