F. WARLEY.

LETTER XXIV.

Miss WARLEY to the same.

From Mr. Jenkings’s.

Now, my dearest Lady, am I again perplex’d, doubting, and embarrass’d:—­yet Lord Darcey is gone,—­gone this very morning,—­about an hour since.

Well, I did not think it would evermore be in his power to distress me;—­but I have been distress’d,—­greatly distress’d!—­I begin to think Lord Darcey sincere,—­that he has always been sincere—­He talks of next Thursday, as a day to unravel great mysteries:—­but I shall be far enough by that time; sail’d, perhaps.—­Likely, he said, I might know before Thursday.—­I wish any body could, tell me:—­I fancy Sir James and Lady Powis are in the secret.

Mr. Jenkings is gone with his Lordship to Mr. Stapleton’s,—­about ten miles this side London, on business of importance:—­to-morrow he returns; then I shall acquaint him with my leaving this place.—­Your Ladyship knows the motive why I have hitherto kept the day of my setting out a secret from every person,—­even from Sir James and Lady Powis.

Yesterday, the day preceding the departure of Lord Darcey, I went up to the Abbey, determin’d to exert my spirits and appear chearful, cost what it would to a poor disappointed heavy heart.—­Yes, it was disappointed:—­but till then I never rightly understood its situation;—­or perhaps would not understand it;—­else I have not examin’d it so closely as I ought, of late;—­Not an unusual thing neither:  we often stop to enquire, what fine feat that?—­whose magnificent equipage this?—­long to see and converse with persons so surrounded with splendor;—­but if one happen to pass a poor dark cottage, and see the owner leaning on a crutch at the door, we are apt to go by, without making any enquiry, or betraying a wish to be acquainted with its misery.—­

This was my situation, when I directed my steps to the Abbey.—­I saw not Lord Darcey in an hour after I came into the house;—­when he join’d us, he was dress’d for the day, and in one hand his own hat, in the other mine, with my cloak, which he had pick’d up in the Vestibule:—­he was dreadfully pale;—­complain’d of a pain in his head, which he is very subject to;—­said he wanted a walk;—­and ask’d, if I would give him the honour of my company.—­I had not the heart to refuse, when I saw how ill he look’d;—­though for some days past, I have avoided being alone with him as much as possible.

We met Lady Powis returning from a visit to her poultry-yard.—­Where are my two runabouts going now? she said.—­Only for a little walk, madam, reply’d Lord Darcey.

You are a sauce-box, said she, shaking him by the hand;—­but don’t go, my Lord, too far with Miss Warley, nodding and smiling on him at the same time.—­She gave me a sweet affectionate kiss, as I pass’d her; and cried out, You are a couple of pretty strollers, are you not!—­But away together; only I charge you, my Lord, calling after him, remember you are not to go too far with my dear girl.