The arts of Roderic came not near my
soul, but your baseness has fixed an indelible wound. But think
not--cherish not the fond mistake--that I will ever forget your
ungenerousness in the hour of my distress and forlornness, or receive
that serpent to my heart again."
As she pronounced these words, she hastened to fly from her imaginary
enemy. Edwin detained her by a gentle violence. With much intreaty and a
thousand soft blandishments, he wrung from her the story of her
indignation. He related to her the tale of Madoc, and told her of the
magic arts of his rival. He fully explained the scene of the pretended
repentance of Roderic, and the seduction he had attempted to practise
under the form of Edwin. As she listened to the wondrous story, Imogen
trembled at the unknown dangers with which she had been environed, and
admired more than ever the omnipotence of that virtue which had been
able to lead her safely through them all. The conviction she received of
the rectitude and fidelity of Edwin was to her, like the calm breath of
zephyr, which succeeds the tremendous storm upon the surface of the
ocean; and like that sovereign balm, which the sage Druids pour into the
wounds of the shepherd, and restore him at once to salubrity and vigour.
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