I must not ...
But live, Matilda! Oh! live!' 'You do not reflect on what you ask.

What?
Live to plunge myself in infamy?
To become the Agent of Hell?
To work the destruction both of you and of Myself?
Feel this heart, Father!' She took his hand: Confused, embarrassed, and fascinated, He withdrew it not, and felt her heart throb under it.
'Feel this heart, Father! It is yet the seat of honour, truth, and chastity: If it beats tomorrow, it must fall a prey to the blackest crimes.

Oh! let me then die today! Let me die, while I yet deserve the tears of the virtuous! Thus will expire!'-- (She reclined her head upon his shoulder; Her golden Hair poured itself over his Chest.)-- 'Folded in your arms, I shall sink to sleep; Your hand shall close my eyes for ever, and your lips receive my dying breath.

And will you not sometimes think of me?
Will you not sometimes shed a tear upon my Tomb?
Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes! That kiss is my assurance!' The hour was night.

All was silence around.