On my table lay the Roman History; I could not help giving a peep where I had left off, being a very interesting part:—­from one thing I was led to another, ’till the clock struck three; which alarm made me quit my book.

Whilst undressing, I had leisure to recollect the incidents of the pass’d day; sometimes pleasure, sometimes pain, would arise, from this examination; yet the latter was most predominant.

When I consider’d Lord Darcey’s tender regard for my future, as well as present peace,—­how could I reflect on him without gratitude?—­When I consider’d his perplexities, I thought thus:—­they arise from some entanglement, in which his heart is not engag’d.—­Had he confided in me, I should not have weaken’d his resolutions;—­I would no more wish him to be guilty of a breach of honour, than surrender myself to infamy.—­I would have endeavour’d to persuade him she is amiable, virtuous, and engaging.—­If I had been successful, I would have frown’d when he smil’d;—­I would have been gay when he seem’d oppress’d—­I would have been reserv’d, peevish, supercilicus;—­in short, I would have counterfeited the very reverse of what was likely to draw him from a former attachment.

To live without him must be my fate; since that is almost inevitable, I would have strove to have secur’d his happiness, whilst mine had remain’d to chance.—­These reflections kept me awake ’till six; when I fell into a profound sleep, which lasted ’till ten; at which time I was awaken’d by Mrs. Jenkings to tell me Lord Darcey was below; with an apology, that she had made breakfast, as her husband was preparing, in great haste, to attend his Lordship.

This was a hint he was not to stay long; so I put on my cloaths with expedition; and going down, took with me my whole stock of resolution; but I carried it no farther than the bottom of the stairs;—­there it flew from me;—­never have I seen it since:—­that it rested not in the breast of Lord Darcey, was visible;—­rather it seem’d as if his and mine had taken a flight together.

I stood with the lock of the door in my hand more than a minute, in hopes my inward flutterings would abate.—­His Lordship heard my footstep, and flew to open it;—­I gave him my hand, without knowing what I did;—­joy sparkled in his eyes and he prest it to his breast with a fervour that cover’d me with confusion.

He saw what he had done,—­He dropp’d it respectfully, and inquiring tenderly for my health, ask’d if I would honour him with my commands before he sat out for Town?—­What a fool was I!—­Lord bless me!—­can I ever forget my folly?  What do you think, my Lady!  I did not speak;—­no!  I could not answer;—­I was silent;—­I was silent, when I would have given the world for one word.—­When I did speak, it was not to Lord Darcey, but, still all fool, turn’d and said to Mr. Jenkings, who was looking over a parchment, How do you find yourself, Sir?  Will not the journey you are going to take on horseback be too fatiguing?  No, no, my good Lady; it is an exercise I have all my life been us’d to:  to-morrow you will see me return the better for it.