I cannot but attribute this to the right turn of her mind.  It seems she has been inured to afflictions; and has lived in a constant hope of a better life; and, having no acts of unkindness to the dear deceased to reproach herself with, is most considerately resolved to exert her utmost fortitude in order to comfort the sorrowing mother.

O Mr. Belford, how does the character of my dear departed cousin rise upon me from every mouth!—­Had she been my own child, or my sister!—­But do you think that the man who occasioned this great, this extended ruin—­ But I forbear.

The will is not to be looked into, till the funeral rites are performed.  Preparations are making for the solemnity; and the servants, as well as principals of all the branches of the family, are put into close mourning.

I have seen Mr. Melvill.  He is a serious and sensible man.  I have given him particulars to go upon in the discourse he is to pronounce at the funeral; but had the less need to do this, as I find he is extremely well acquainted with the whole unhappy story; and was a personal admirer of my dear cousin, and a sincere lamenter of her misfortunes and death.  The reverend Dr. Lewen, who is but very lately dead, was his particular friend, and had once intended to recommend him to her favour and notice.

***

I am just returned from attending the afflicted parents, in an effort they made to see the corpse of their beloved child.  They had requested my company, and that of the good Mrs. Norton.  A last leave, the mother said, she must take.

An effort, however, it was, and no more.  The moment they came in sight of the coffin, before the lid could be put aside, O my dear, said the father, retreating, I cannot, I find I cannot bear it!—­Had I—­had I—­had I never been hard-hearted!—­Then, turning round to his lady, he had but just time to catch her in his arms, and prevent her sinking on the floor.  —­O, my dearest Life, said he, this is too much!—­too much, indeed!—­Let us—­let us retire.  Mrs. Norton, who (attracted by the awful receptacle) had but just left the good lady, hastened to her—­Dear, dear woman, cried the unhappy parent, flinging her arms about her neck, bear me, bear me hence!—­O my child! my child! my own Clarissa Harlowe! thou pride of my life so lately!—­never, never more must I behold thee!

I supported the unhappy father, Mrs. Norton the sinking mother, into the next parlour.  She threw herself on a settee there; he into an elbow-chair by her—­the good woman at her feet, her arms clasped round her waist.  The two mothers, I as may call them, of my beloved cousin, thus tenderly engaged!  What a variety of distress in these woeful scenes!

The unhappy father, in endeavouring to comfort his lady, loaded himself.  Would to God, my dear, said he, would to God I had no more to charge myself with than you have!—­You relented!—­you would have prevailed upon me to relent!