Melmoth the Wanderer by Charles Maturin

Oh what was love made for, if 'tis not the same / Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame! / I know not, I ask not, what guilt's in thine heart, / I but know I must love thee, whatever thou art. / - Moore

The next day, the young female who had excited so much interest the preceding evening, was to quit Madrid, to pass a few weeks at a villa belonging to her family, at a short distance from the city. That family, including all the company, consisted of her mother Doña Clara di Aliaga, the wife of a wealthy merchant, who was monthly expected to return from the Indies; her brother Don Fernan di Aliaga, and several servants; for these wealthy citizens, conscious of their opulence and formerly high descent, piqued themselves upon travelling with no less ceremony and pompous tardiness than accompanied the progress of a grandee. So the old square-built, lumbering carriage, moved on like a hearse; the coachman sat fast asleep on the box; and the six black horses crawled at a pace like the progress of time when he visits affliction. Beside the carriage rode Fernan di Aliaga and his servants, with umbrellas and huge spectacles; and within it were placed Doña Clara and her daughter. The interior of this arrangement was the counterpart of its external appearance -- all announced dullness, formality, and withering monotony.