I fear, Sir, return’d she, it will not end here.—­I grieve to tell you, the Miss Warley you speak of is not with me;—­I know nothing of that Lady:—­my Miss Warley has no parents.

I still persisted it was the same; and, to the no small gratification of both mother and daughter, promis’d to explain the mystery.—­But before I began, Miss Delves was sent to desire Miss Warley would continue in bed an hour longer, on account of some visitors that had dropp’d in accidentally.

Soon as Miss Delves return’d, I related every particular.—­I cannot tell you half that pass’d;—­I cannot describe their astonishment:—­but let me tell you Miss Powis is just recover’d from the small-pox;—­that this was the second day of her sitting up:—­let me tell you too her face is as beautiful as ever.—­On mature deliberation, it was determin’d, for the sake of Miss Powis’s health, she must some time longer think her name Warley.

I din’d with my new acquaintance, on their promising to procure an interview for me with Miss Powis in the afternoon.

It was about five when I was admitted to her presence.—­I found her in an elegant dressing-room, sitting on a sopha:  her head a little reclin’d.—­I stepp’d slow and softly:  she arose as I enter’d.—­I wonder not that Darcey adores her, never was a form so perfect!

My trembling knees beat one against another.—­My heart,—­my impatient heart flew up to my face to tell its joyful sensations.—­I ventur’d to press her hand to my lips, but was incapable of pronouncing a syllable.—­She was confus’d:—­she certainly thought of Darcey, when she saw his friend.—­I took a chair next her.—­I shall not repeat our conversation ’till it became interesting, which began by her asking, if I had heard lately any accounts from Barford Abbey?—­Lord Darcey, Madam, I reply’d, has receiv’d a letter from Sir James.

Lord Darcey! she repeated with great emotion.—­Is Sir James and Lady Powis well.  Sir?

His Lordship, reply’d I, awkwardly, did not mention particulars.—­I believe,—­I suppose.—­your friends are well.

I fear, said she sighing, they will think me an ungrateful creature.—­No person, Mr. Molesworth, had ever such obligations to their friends as I have—­This family, looking at the two Ladies, must be rank’d with my best.—­Their replies were polite and affectionate—­Can you tell me, Sir, continued she, if Lord—­here her face was all over crimson—­heavens!  I mean, if Mr. Powis and his Lady are at the Abbey?—­Why did she not say Lord Darcey?  I swear the name quiver’d on her lips.

I answer’d in the affirmative;—­and sitting silent a moment,—­she ask’d how I discover’d her to be still in England.—­I said by means of a servant:—­true enough, Dick:—­but then I was oblig’d to add, this servant belonged to Mr. Delves, and that he accidentally happen’d a few hours since to mention her name whilst I was doing business in the shop.—­She was fond of dwelling on the family at the Abbey;—­on Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings;—­and once when I mention’d my friend, when I said how happy I should make him at my return;—­pleasure, the most difficult to be conceal’d of any sensation, sprang to her expressive eyes.