Mrs. Jenkings here enter’d, follow’d by a servant with the breakfast, which was plac’d before me, every one else having breakfasted.—­She desir’d I would give myself the trouble of making tea, having some little matters to do without.—­This task would have been a harder penance than a fast of three days;—­but I must have submitted, had not my good genius Edmund appear’d at this moment; and placing himself by me, desir’d to have the honour of making my breakfast.

I carried the cup with difficulty to my mouth.  My embarrassment was perceiv’d by his Lordship; he rose from his seat, and walk’d up and down.—­How did his manly form struggle to conceal the disorder of his mind!—­Every movement, every look, every word, discover’d Honour in her most graceful, most ornamental garb:  when could it appear to such advantage, surrounded with a cloud of difficulties, yet shining out and towering above them all?

He laid his cold hand on mine;—­with precipitation left the room;—­and was in a moment again at my elbow.—­Leaning over the back of my chair, he whisper’d, For heaven’s sake, miss Warley, be the instrument of my fortitude; whilst I see you I cannot—­there stopt and turn’d from me.—­I saw he wish’d me to go first,—­as much in compassion to myself as him.  When his back was turn’d, I should have slid out of the room;—­but Mr. Jenkings starting up, and looking at his watch, exclaim’d, Odso, my Lord! it is past eleven; we shall be in the dark.  This call’d him from his reverie; and he sprang to the door, just as I had reached it.—­Sweet, generous creature! said he, stopping me; and you will go then?—­Farewell, my Lord, replied I.—­My dear, good friend, to Mr. Jenkings, take care of your health.—­God bless you both I—­My voice faulter’d.

Excellent Miss Warley! a thousand thanks for your kind condescension, said the good old man.—­Yet one moment, oh God! yet one moment, said his Lordship; and he caught both my hands.

Come, my Lord, return’d Mr. Jenkings; and never did I see him look so grave, something of disappointment in his countenance;—­come, my Lord, the day is wasting apace.  Excuse this liberty:—­your Lordship has been long determin’d,—­have long known of leaving this country.—­My dearest young Lady, you will be expected at the Abbey.—­I shall, indeed, replied I;—­so God bless you, Sir!—­God bless you, my Lord! and, withdrawing my hands, hasten’d immediately to my chamber.

I heard their voices in the court-yard:—­if I had look’d out at the window, it might not have been unnatural,—­I own my inclinations led to it.—­Inclination should never take place of prudence;—­by following one, we are often plung’d into difficulties;—­by the other we are sure to be conducted safely:—­instead, then, of indulging my curiosity to see how he look’d—­how he spoke at taking leave of this dwelling;—­whether his eyes were directed to the windows, or the road;—­if he rid slow or fast;—­how often he turn’d