We need not attempt to describe the feelings of our heroine when the old woman had gone: the disgusting observations of the old woman, and the fearful prospects which was before her, filled her bosom with the utmost consternation, and although she tried very hard to rally her spirits, and prepare to meet Blodget with fortitude, it was some considerable time before she had it in her power to succeed. To know that Blodget was an inmate of the same house with her, was sufficient of itself to excite the greatest agony in her bosom; and when she reflected that it was not probable that he would longer be able to restrain his wild, unbridled passions, and that any resistance on her part, would be completely futile, she became almost distracted.—Alas! she thought, how much more preferable would death have been to the state of agony in which she was thus constantly kept. It was only for the sake of Monteagle and her father, whom she could not entirely despair of beholding again, that she clung to life, and had she not had them to occupy her thoughts, and her heart’s warmest affections, she would have met death with fortitude, nay, even pleasure. What had been the last few days of her life, but of misery? All mankind had seemed arrayed in enmity against her, and few indeed were the real friends she had found. Her tears flowed fast at these thoughts, and they gave relief to her overcharged bosom.
At length she struggled with her emotions, and so far regained her composure, that she was enabled to partake of the repast which the old woman brought her, and to prepare to meet Blodget, whom she had no doubt, and indeed the old woman had said he would, visit her in a short time.
She had but just risen from her knees having implored the protection of the Holy Virgin, when she heard footsteps ascending the stairs, and directly afterwards, her room door was unlocked, and the object of her fears and detestation entered.
He stood in the doorway for a minute or two, and it was hard to perceive whether he was awed and abashed by the calm dignity and firmness of her demeanor, or lost in admiration of her superlative beauty—still most exquisite, although her once blooming cheeks were pale and wan with heavy care.
Inez had mustered up uncommon fortitude, and, as Blodget entered, she fixed upon him a look which was sufficient to penetrate the most insensible breast. It was one of the most cutting reproach, while resentment, and a firm reliance upon the strength of her own virtue, and the protection of heaven, shown predominant in the general expression of her resistance, and approaching her with a look of admiration which could create no other sentiment than one of hatred in her breast, he attempted to take her hand and press her lips, but she hastily withdrew it and, spurning him scornfully away from her, exclaimed—
‘Begone, sir, your presence is disgusting to me. Dare not thus to insult the victim of your guilt.’
‘Who’s the master, now, fair Inez?’ demanded the villain, and a look of exultation overspread his features; ‘who triumphs now?’
‘Oh, villain—heartless villain!’ cried Inez, her bosom swelling with agony, ‘can you stand there and talk to me thus? Are you not afraid that the vengeance of the Almighty will immediately descend upon your head, and render you powerless to do further harm?’
‘I scorn it.’
Inez shuddered with horror at the words of the wretch; who, however, presently altered his tone, and once more endeavoring to take her hand, which she successfully resisted, he assumed an insinuating smile, and in a voice of gentle persuasion, said—