We directed our steps towards the walk that leads to the Hermitage, neither of us seeming in harmony of spirits.—­His Lordship still complaining of his head, I propos’d going back before we had gone ten paces from the house.

Would Miss Warley then prevent me, said he, from the last satisfaction! might ever enjoy?—­You don’t know, madam, how long—­it is impossible to say how long—­if ever I should be so happy again—­I look forward to Wednesday with impatience;—­if that should be propitious,—­Thursday will unravel mysteries; it will clear up doubts;—­it will perhaps bring on an event which you, my dearest life, may in time reflect on with pleasure;—­you, my dearest life!—­pardon the liberty,—­by heaven!  I am sincere!

I was going to withdraw my hand from his:  I can be less reserv’d when he is less free.

Don’t take your hand from me;—­I will call you miss Warley;—­I see my freedom is depleasing;—­but don’t take your hand away; for I was still endeavouring to get it away from him.

Yes, my angel, I will call you Miss Warley.

Talk not at this rate, my Lord:  it is a kind of conversation I do not, nor wish to understand.

I see, madam, I am to be unhappy;—­I know you have great reason to condemn me:—­my whole behaviour, since I first saw you, has been one riddle.

Pray, my Lord, forbear this subject.

No! if I never see you more, Miss Warley,—­this is my wish that you think the worst of me that appearances admit;—­think I have basely wish’d to distress you.

Distress me, my Lord?

Think so, I beseech you, if I never return.—­What would the misfortune be of falling low, even to the most abject in your opinion, compared with endangering the happiness of her whole peace is my ardent pursuit?—­If I fail, I only can tell the cause:—­you shall never be acquainted with it;—­for should you regard me even with pity,—­cool pity,—­it would be taking the dagger from my own breast, and planting it in yours.

Ah! my Lady, could I help understanding him?—­could I help being moved?—­I was moved;—­my eyes I believe betrayed it.

If I return, continued he, it is you only can pronounce me happy.—­If you see me not again, think I am tossed on the waves of adverse fortune:—­but oh think I again intreat you,—­think me guilty.  Perhaps I may outlive—­no, that will never do;—­you will be happy long before that hour;—­it would be selfish to hope the contrary.  I wish Mr. Powis was come home;—­I wish—­All my wishes tend to one great end.—­Good God, what a situation am I in!—­That the Dead could hear my petitions!—­that he could absolve me!—­What signifies, whether one sue to remains crumbled in the dust, or to the ear which can refuse to hear the voice of reason?

I thought I should have sunk to see the agony he was work’d up to.—­I believe I look’d very pale;—­I felt the blood thrill through my veins, and of a sudden stagnate:—­a dreadful sickness follow’d;—­I desir’d to sit;—­he look’d on every side, quite terrified;—­cry’d, Where will you sit, my dearest life?—­what shall I do?—­For heaven’s sake speak,—­speak but one word;—­speak to tell me, I have not been your murderer.