The coachman now rose from the ground, and began with a profound bow to his master.  “And please your honour,” said he, “we have made a sad day’s work of it.  Your worship makes but a pitiful figure.  Faugh!  I think as how, if I dared say so much, begging your honour’s pardon, that your lordship stinks.”  “Put him into the carriage,” cried Mr. Godfrey, “and drive him home.”  Lord Martin, now first recovered his tongue, and wiping away the mud from his eyes, “And so it was you, sir, I suppose,” cried he, “to whom I am obliged for this catastrophe.  But pox take me, if you shall not hear of it.  Ten thousand curses on my wayward fate!  The devil take it!  Death and damnation!” During this soliloquy, the servants were employed in placing their lord in the chariot.  The coachman mounted the box, and by this time they were out of hearing.

Mr. Godfrey and his brother now entered the house.  Delia was seated in a chair, her hair dishevelled, her features disordered, and her dress in the most bewitching confusion.  But how much were both the deliverer and the heroine surprised, when they mutually recognised each others features!  Mr. Godfrey made Delia a very polite compliment upon her escape, and congratulated himself, in the warmest language, for having been the fortunate instrument.

They now retired to rest.  The next morning, Delia was much better recovered from her terror and fatigue, than could have been expected.  Mr. Godfrey however had not thought it adviseable that she should be removed that day, and had therefore set off early in the morning for Southampton, that he might himself be the messenger of these happy tidings.

“I hope Miss,” said Mrs. Wilson, who attended our heroine, “that you will dress yourself as well as you can.”  “And why” cried Delia, “do you desire that?  I can see nobody, I can think of nothing, but my absent and anxious Damon.”  “Let us hope,” replied the other, “that he is very well.  But, Miss, we expect lord Thomas Villiers by dinner time.”  “Lord Thomas Villiers!” exclaimed Delia, in the extremest surprise.  “Yes,” cried Mrs. Wilson.  “He is our landlord, and he always comes over once about this time of the year.”  “Alas,” said Delia, “I can see nobody.  But I had rather meet any person at this time, than lord Thomas Villiers.”  “Bless me, Miss! why I am sure he is a very good sort of a gentleman.”  “I dare say he is,” cried Delia.  “But indeed, and indeed, Mrs. Wilson, I cannot see him.  Pray oblige me in this.”  “Law, well I cannot think what objection you can have!  There must be something very particular in it.”

Such were the hints that Mrs. Wilson threw out for the satisfying of her curiosity, but Delia was not disposed to be more communicative.  The good woman however, with the error of our heroine before her eyes, was determined not to commit a similar fault.  Lord Thomas was therefore scarcely arrived, before she set open the flood gates of her eloquence, in describing the rescue, and the unrivalled beauty of the lady under her roof.