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.