O my blessed Friend!—­said she—­My sweet Companion!—­My lovely Monitress! —­kissing her lips at every tender appellation.  And is this all!—­Is it all of my Clarissa’s story!

Then, after a short pause, and a profound sigh, she turned to me, and then to her breathless friend.  But is she, can she be, really dead!—­O no!—­She only sleeps.—­Awake, my beloved Friend!  My sweet clay-cold Friend, awake:  let thy Anna Howe revive thee; by her warm breath revive thee, my dear creature!  And, kissing her again, Let my warm lips animate thy cold ones!

Then, sighing again, as from the bottom of her heart, and with an air, as if disappointed that she answered not, And can such perfection end thus!  —­And art thou really and indeed flown from thine Anna Howe!—­O my unkind Clarissa!

She was silent a few moments, and then, seeming to recover herself, she turned to me—­Forgive, forgive, Mr. Morden, this wild phrensy!—­I am myself!—­I never shall be!—­You knew not the excellence, no, not half the excellence, that is thus laid low!—­Repeating, This cannot, surely, be all of my Clarissa’s story!

Again pausing, One tear, my beloved friend, didst thou allow me!—­But this dumb sorrow!—­O for a tear to ease my full-swoln heart that is just bursting!—­

But why, Sir, why, Mr. Morden, was she sent hither?  Why not to me?—­She has no father, no mother, no relation; no, not one!—­They had all renounced her.  I was her sympathizing friend—­And had not I the best right to my dear creature’s remains?—­And must names, without nature, be preferred to such a love as mine?

Again she kissed her lips, each cheek, her forehead;—­and sighed as if her heart would break—­

But why, why, said she, was I withheld from seeing my dearest, dear friend, and too easily persuaded to delay, the friendly visit that my heart panted after; what pain will this reflection give me!—­O my blessed Friend!  Who knows, who knows, had I come in time, what my cordial comfortings might have done for thee!—­But—­looking round her, as if she apprehended seeing some of the family—­One more kiss, my Angel, my Friend, my ever-to-be-regretted, lost Companion!  And let me fly this hated house, which I never loved but for thy sake!—­Adieu then, my dearest Clarissa!—­Thou art happy, I doubt not, as thou assuredst me in thy last letter!—­O may we meet, and rejoice together, where no villanous Lovelaces, no hard-hearted relations, will ever shock our innocence, or ruffle our felicity!

Again she was silent, unable to go, though seeming to intend it:  struggling, as it were, with her grief, and heaving with anguish.  At last, happily, a flood of tears gushed from her eyes—­Now!—­Now!—­said she, shall I—­shall I—­be easier.  But for this kindly relief, my heart would have burst asunder—­more, many more tears than these are due to my Clarissa, whose counsel has done for me what mine could not do for her!—­ But why, looking earnestly upon her, her hands clasped and lifted up—­But why do I thus lament the happy?  And that thou art so, is my comfort.  It is, it is, my dear creature! kissing her again.