Stung to madness by the picture which her fancy had portrayed, Matilda paused.
Her bosom heaved with throbbing palpitations; and, whilst describing the success of her rival, her warring soul shone apparent from her scintillating eyes.
Zastrozzi, meanwhile, stood collected in himself; and, scarcely heeding the violence of Matilda, awaited the issue of her speech.
He besought her to calm herself, nor, by those violent emotions, unfit herself for prosecuting the attainment of her fondest hope.
“Are you firm?” inquired Zastrozzi.
“Yes!”
“Are you resolved? Does fear, amid the other passions, shake your soul?”
“No, no—this heart knows not to fear—this breast knows not to shrink,” exclaimed Matilda eagerly.
“Then be cool—be collected,” returned Zastrozzi, “and thy purpose is effected.”
Though little was in these words which might warrant hope, yet Matilda’s susceptible soul, as Zastrozzi spoke, thrilled with anticipated delight.