And dare you, said I, collecting all my resolution,—­dare you rush into eternity, without one virtue to offer up with your polluted soul?—­I pronounc’d these words with steadiness.—­He trembled, he look’d like a criminal at the hour of execution.—­Letting the pistol drop from his hand, the base dissembler fell on his knees before me.—­Nobody hearing my cries,—­nobody coming to my assistance, I was oblig’d to hear, and pretend to credit his penitential protestations.  God knows how my ears might have been farther shock’d with his odious passion;—­what indignities I might have suffer’d,—­had I not heard some person passing by the door of my apartment:—­on which I ventur’d to give another scream.—­The door was instantly burst open; and whilst an elderly Gentleman advanc’d towards me, full of surprize, the detested brute slipp’d away.—­This Gentleman, my good deliverer, was no other than your Ladyship’s banker, who when he was acquainted with my name, insisted on taking me to Town in his own coach, where he was returning from a visit he had made at Salisbury—­I did not ask, neither do I know what became of Smith; but I suppose he will set out with his wife immediately for Dover.—­Thank God!  I am not of the party—­How I pity poor Miss Frances Walsh, a young Lady who, he told me, was waiting at his house in Town to go over with them.—­I am but just arriv’d at Mr. Delves’s house.—­Mr. and Mrs. Delves think with me, that the character of the unworthy Smith should not be expos’d for the sake of his worthy wife.—­The family here are all amiable.—­I could say a great deal more; but my head aches dreadfully.—­This I must add, I have consented, at the tender intreaties of Mr. and Mrs. Delves, to remain with them ’till a proper opportunity offers to throw myself at your Ladyship’s feet.—­My head grows worse;—­I must lay down my pen.—­This bad man has certainly frighten’d me into a fever.

[The following lines were added after Miss Powis’s recovery]

I hope, my dear Lady, before this you have Mr. Delves’s letter;—­if so, you know I have had the small-pox.—­You know too I am out of danger.—­How can I be thankful enough for so many escapes!—­This is the first day I have been able to hold a pen.—­I am permitted to write no more than the name of your honour’d and affectionate

F. WARLEY.

LETTER XXXIX

Captain RISBY to the Honourable GEORGE

Barford Abbey.

Will all the thanks,—­all the gratitude,—­the parents blessings,—­their infinity of joy, be contain’d in one poor sheet?—­No:—­Was I to repeat half,—­only half of what they send, you, I might write on for ever.—­One says you shall be their son;—­another, their brother;—­a third, that you are a man most favour’d of heaven—­but all agree, as a reward for your virtues you are impower’d to heal afflictions—­in short, they want to make me think you can make black white—­But enough for the vanity of one man.