I suppose she will expect a visit from his Lordship.—­If she is angry at being disappointed, no matter:  the mistake will be soon clear’d up.

The moment I left her, I stepp’d into a chaise that waited for me at the door, and drove like lightning from stage to stage, ’till I reach’d this place;—­my drivers being turn’d into Mercuries by a touch more efficacious than all the oaths that can be swore by a first-rate blood.

I did not venture into Darcey’s apartment ’till he was inform’d of my return.—­I heard him impatiently ask to see me, as I stood without the door.  This call’d me to him;—­when pulling aside the curtain he ask’d, Who is that?—­Is it Molesworth?—­Are you come, my friend?  But what have you seen?—­what have you heard?—­looking earnestly in face.—­I am past joy,—­past feeling pleasure even for you, George;—­yet tell me why you look not so sorrowful as yesterday.—­

I ask’d what alteration it was he saw:—­what it was he suspected.—­When I have griev’d, my Lord, it has been for you.—­If I am now less afflicted, you must be less miserable.—­He started up in the bed, and grasping both my hands in his, cry’d.  Tell me, Molesworth, is there a possibility,—­a bare possibility?—­I ask no more;—­only tell me there is a possibility.

My Lord,—­my friend,—­my Darcey, nothing is impossible.

By heaven! he exclaim’d, you would not flatter me;—­by heaven she lives!

Ask me not farther, my Lord.—­What is the blessing you most wish for?—­Suppose that blessing granted.—­And you, Risby, suppose the extasy,—­the thankfulness that ensued.—­He that is grateful to man, can he be ungrateful to his Maker?

Yours,

MOLESWORTH.

LETTER XXXVII.

Miss Powis to Lady Powis.

London.

Think me not ungrateful, my ever-honour’d Lady, that I have been silent under the ten thousand obligations which I receiv’d at Barford Abbey.—­But indeed, my dear Lady, I have been very ill.—­I have had the small-pox:—­I was seiz’d delirious the evening after my arrival in Town.—­My God! what a wretch did I set out with!—­Vile man!—­Man did I say?—­No; he is a disgrace to manhood.—­How shall I tell your Ladyship all I have suffer’d?—­I am weak,—­very weak;—­I find myself unequal to the task.—­

This moment I have hit on an expedient that will unravel all;—­I’ll recall a letter [Footnote:  This was the same Lord Darcey’s servant saw on the counter.] which I have just sent down to be put into the post-office;—­a letter I wrote Lady Mary Sutton immediately on my arrival here;—­but was seiz’d so violently, that I could not add the superscription, for which reason it has lain by ever since.—­I am easy on Lady Mary’s account:—­Mr. Delves has acquainted her of my illness:—­like wise the prospect of my recovery.

Consider then, dear Lady Powis, the inclos’d as if it was address’d to yourself.