hill.—­I knew on what occasion, yet could not forbear asking the post-boy.—­He answered, To carry some company from yonder house.—­My situation was really deplorable,—­when I beheld my dear lovely girl walking in a pensive mood, attir’d in that very dress which I espied through the window.—­Heavy was the load I dragged from head to heel; yet, like a Mercury, I flew to meet her.—­She saw me,—­started,—­and cry’d, Bless me! my Lord! what brings you hither at this early hour?—­The real truth was springing to my lips, when, recollecting her happiness might be the sacrifice, I said, examining the lock of my gun,—­I am waiting, Miss Warley, for that lazy fellow Edmund:—­he promised to shew me an eye of pheasants.—­If you are not a very keen sportsman, returned she, what says your Lordship to a cup of chocolate?—­It will not detain you long;—­Mrs. Jenkings has some ready prepared for the travellers.

She pronounced travellers with uncommon glee;—­at least I thought so,—­and, nettled at her indifference, could not help replying, You are very happy, madam;—­you part with your friends very unreluctantly, I perceive.

If any thing ever appeared in my favour, it was now.—­Her confusion was visible;—­even Edmund observed it, who just then strolled towards us, and said, looking at both attentively, What is the matter with Miss Warley?

With me, Edmund? she retorted,—­nothing ails me.—­I suppose you think I am enough of the fine lady to complain the whole day, because I have got up an hour before my usual time.

His tongue was now silent;—­his eyes full of enquiries.—­He fixed them on us alternately,—­wanting to discover the situation of our hearts.—­Why so curious, Edmund?—­Things cannot go on long at this rate.—­Your heart must undergo a strict scrutiny before I shall know what terms we are upon.

No words can paint my gratitude for worthy Jenkings.—­He went to the Abbey, on foot, before breakfast was ended, to give me an opportunity of supplying his place in the chaise.—­At parting he actually took one of my hands, joined it with Miss Warley’s, and I could perceive petitions ascending from the seat of purity.—­I know to what they tended.—­I felt, I saw them.—­The chaise drove off.  I could have blessed him.—­May my blessings overtake him!—­May they light where virtue sits enshrin’d by locks of silver.

Yes, if his son was to wound me in the tenderest part, for the sake of such a father, I think,—­I know not what to think.—­Living in such suspence is next to madness.

She treats him with the freedom of a sister.—­She calls him Edmund,—­leans on his arm, and suffers him to take her hand.—­The least favour conferred on me is with an air so reserved, so distant, as if she would say, I have not for you the least sentiment of tenderness.

Lady Powis sends to desire I will walk with her.—­A sweet companion am I for a person in low spirits!—­That her’s are not high is evident.—­She has shed many tears this morning at parting with Miss Warley.