APPENDIX.
[ADVERTISEMENT.
The performance, with a fragment of which the reader has now been preſented, was deſigned to conſiſt of three parts. The preceding ſheets were conſidered as conſtituting one of thoſe parts. Thoſe perſons who in the peruſal of the chapters, already written and in ſome degree finiſhed by the author, have felt their hearts awakened, and their curioſity excited as to the ſequel of the ſtory, will, of courſe, gladly accept even of the broken paragraphs and half-finiſhed ſentences, which have been found committed to paper, as materials for the remainder. The faſtidious and cold-hearted critic may perhaps feel himſelf repelled by the incoherent form in which they are preſented. But an inquiſitive temper willingly accepts the moſt imperfect and mutilated information, where better is not to be had: and readers, who in any degree reſemble the author in her quick apprehenſion of ſentiment, and of the pleaſures and pains of imagination, will, I believe, find gratification, in contemplating ſketches, which were deſigned in a ſhort time to have received the finiſhing touches of her genius; but which muſt now for ever remain a mark to record the triumphs of mortality, over ſchemes of uſefulneſs, and projects of public intereſt.]
CHAP. XV.
Darnford returned the memoirs to Maria, with a moſt affectionate letter, in which he reaſoned on "the abſurdity of the laws reſpecting matrimony, which, till divorces could be more eaſily obtained, was," he declared, "the moſt inſufferable bondage. Ties of this nature could not bind minds governed by ſuperior principles; and ſuch beings were privileged to act above the dictates of laws they had no voice in framing, if they had ſufficient ſtrength of mind to endure the natural conſequence. In her caſe, to talk of duty, was a farce, excepting what was due to herſelf. Delicacy, as well as reaſon, forbade her ever to think of returning to her huſband: was ſhe then to reſtrain her charming ſenſibility through mere prejudice? Theſe arguments were not abſolutely impartial, for he diſdained to conceal, that, when he appealed to her reaſon, he felt that he had ſome intereſt in her heart.—The conviction was not more tranſporting, than ſacred—a thouſand times a day, he aſked himſelf how he had merited ſuch happineſs?—and as often he determined to purify the heart ſhe deigned to inhabit—He intreated to be again admitted to her preſence."
He was; and the tear which gliſtened in his eye, when he reſpectfully preſſed her to his boſom, rendered him peculiarly dear to the unfortunate mother. Grief had ſtilled the tranſports of love, only to render their mutual tenderneſs more touching. In former interviews, Darnford had contrived, by a hundred little pretexts, to ſit near her, to take her hand, or to meet her eyes—now it was all ſoothing affection, and eſteem ſeemed to have rivalled love. He 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.—
