He was still under the influence of this storm of passions when
He heard a gentle knock at the door of his Cell. Conscious that
his voice must have been heard, He dared not refuse admittance to
the Importuner: He strove to compose himself, and to hide his
agitation. Having in some degree succeeded, He drew back the
bolt: The door opened, and Matilda appeared.
At this precise moment there was no one with whose presence He
could better have dispensed. He had not sufficient command over
himself to conceal his vexation. He started back, and frowned.
'I am busy,' said He in a stern and hasty tone; 'Leave me!'
Matilda heeded him not: She again fastened the door, and then
advanced towards him with an air gentle and supplicating.
'Forgive me, Ambrosio,' said She; 'For your own sake I must not
obey you. Fear no complaints from me; I come not to reproach you
with your ingratitude. I pardon you from my heart, and since
your love can no longer be mine, I request the next best gift,
your confidence and friendship. We cannot force our
inclinations; The little beauty which you once saw in me has
perished with its novelty, and if it can no longer excite desire,
mine is the fault, not yours. But why persist in shunning me?
Why such anxiety to fly my presence? You have sorrows, but will
not permit me to share them; You have disappointments, but will
not accept my comfort; You have wishes, but forbid my aiding your
pursuits.
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