Sir, we would have had the lady to accept of our own bed-chamber:  but she refused it.  We are poor people—­and we expect nobody will stay with us longer than they can help it.

You are people chosen purposely, I doubt not, by the d——­d woman who has employed you:  and if your usage of this lady has been but half as bad as your house, you had better never to have seen the light.

Up then raised the charming sufferer her lovely face; but with such a significance of woe overspreading it, that I could not, for the soul of me, help being visibly affected.

She waved her hand two or three times towards the door, as if commanding me to withdraw; and displeased at my intrusion; but did not speak.

Permit me, Madam—­I will not approach one step farther without your leave —­permit me, for one moment, the favour of your ear!

No—­no—­go, go, man! with an emphasis—­and would have said more; but, as if struggling in vain for words, she seemed to give up speech for lost, and dropped her head down once more, with a deep sigh, upon her left arm; her right, as if she had not the use of it (numbed, I suppose) self-moved, dropping on her side.

O that thou hadst been there! and in my place!—­But by what I then felt, in myself, I am convinced, that a capacity of being moved by the distresses of our fellow creatures, is far from being disgraceful to a manly heart.  With what pleasure, at that moment, could I have given up my own life, could I but first have avenged this charming creature, and cut the throat of her destroyer, as she emphatically calls thee, though the friend that I best love:  and yet, at the same time, my heart and my eyes gave way to a softness of which (though not so hardened a wretch as thou) they were never before so susceptible.

I dare not approach you, dearest lady, without your leave:  but on my knees I beseech you to permit me to release you from this d——­d house, and out of the power of the cursed woman, who was the occasion of your being here!

She lifted up her sweet face once more, and beheld me on my knees.  Never knew I before what it was to pray so heartily.

Are you not—­are you not Mr. Belford, Sir?  I think your name is Belford?

It is, Madam, and I ever was a worshipper of your virtues, and an advocate for you; and I come to release you from the hands you are in.

And in whose to place me?—­O leave me, leave me! let me never rise from this spot! let me never, never more believe in man!

This moment, dearest lady, this very moment, if you please, you may depart whithersoever you think fit.  You are absolutely free, and your own mistress.

I had now as lieve die here in this place, as any where.  I will owe no obligation to any friend of him in whose company you have seen me.  So, pray, Sir, withdraw.