go,” said he; “I am most confoundedly bit.  I cannot look you in the face!  By my soul, I cannot!  For ’tis impossible you should forgive me.”—­“Indeed it is not, Sir; you have done nothing but what I can forgive you for, if your dear nephew can; for to him was the wrong, if any, and I am sure he can overlook it.  And for his sake, to the uncle of so honoured a gentleman, to the brother of my late good lady, I can, with a bent knee, thus, ask your blessing, and your excuse for joining to keep you in this suspense.”—­“Bless you!” said he, and stamped—­“Who can choose but bless you?"-and he kneeled down, and wrapped his arms about me.—­“But, curse me,” that was his strange word, “if ever I was so touched before!” My dear Mr. B., for fear my spirits should be too much affected (for the rough baronet, in his transport, had bent me down lower than I kneeled), came and held my arm; but permitted Sir Jacob to raise me; only saying, “How does my angel?  Now she has made this conquest, she has completed all her triumphs.”—­“Angel, did you call her?—­I’m confounded with her goodness, and her sweet carriage!—­Rise, and let me see if I can stand myself!  And, believe me, I am sorry I have acted thus so much like a bear; and the more I think of it, the more I shall be ashamed of myself.”  And the tears, as he spoke, ran down his rough cheeks; which moved me much; for to see a man with so hard a countenance weep, was a touching sight.

Mr. H. putting his handkerchief to his eyes, his aunt said, “What’s the matter, Jackey?”—­“I don’t know how ’tis,” answered he; “but here’s strange doings, as ever I knew—­For, day after day, one’s ready to cry, without knowing whether it be for joy or sorrow!—­What a plague’s the matter with me, I wonder!” And out he went, the two ladies, whose charming eyes, too, glistened with pleasure, smiling at the effect the scene had upon Mr. H. and at what he said.—­“Well, Madam,” said Sir Jacob, approaching me; for I had sat down, but then stood up—­“You will forgive me; and from my heart I wish you joy.  By my soul I do,”—­and saluted me.—­“I could not have believed there had been such a person breathing.  I don’t wonder at my nephew’s loving you!—­And you call her sister, Lady Davers, don’t you?—­If you do, I’ll own her for my niece.”

“Don’t I!—­Yes, I do,” said she, coming to me, “and am proud so to call her.  And this I tell you, for your comfort, though to my own shame, that I used her worse than you have done, before I knew her excellence; and have repented of it ever since.”

I bowed to her ladyship, and kissed her hand—­“My dearest lady,” said I, “you have made me such rich amends since, that I am sure I may say, ‘It was good for me that I was afflicted!’”—­“Why, nephew, she has the fear of God, I perceive, before her eyes too!  I’m sure I’ve heard those words.  They are somewhere in the Scripture, I believe!—­Why, who knows but she may be a means to save your soul!—­Hey, you know!”—­“Ay, Sir Jacob, she’ll be a means to save a hundred souls, and might go a great way to save yours if you were to live with her but one month.”