My good Dr. Bartlett, will you allow me to accuse you of a virtue too rigorous?  That is sometimes the fault of very good people.  You own that Sir Charles has not, even to you, revealed a secret so disgraceful to her.  You own, that he has only blamed her for having too little regard for her reputation, and for the violence of her temper:  yet how patiently, for one of such a temper, has she taken his departure, almost on the day of her arrival!  He could not have given her an opportunity to indicate to him a concession so criminal:  she could not, if he had, have made the overture.  Wicked, wicked world!  I will not believe you!  And the less credit shall you have with me, Italian world, as I have seen the lady.  The innocent heart will be a charitable one.  Lady Olivia is only too intrepid.  Prosperity, as Sir Charles observed, has been a snare to her, and set her above a proper regard to her reputation.—­Merciless world!  I do not love you.  Dear Dr. Bartlett, you are not yet absolutely perfect!  These hints of yours against Olivia, gathered from the malevolence of the envious, are proofs (the first indeed that I have met with) of your imperfection!

Excuse me, Lucy:  how have I run on!  Disappointment has mortified me, and made me good-natured.—­I will welcome adversity, if it enlarge my charity.

The doctor tells me, that Emily, with her half-broken heart, will be here presently.  If I can be of comfort to her—­But I want it myself, from the same cause.  We shall only weep over each other.

As I told you, the doctor, and the doctor only, knew of his setting out so early.  He took leave of him.  Happy Dr. Bartlett!—­Yet I see by his eyes, that this parting cost him some paternal tears.

Never father better loved a son than this good man loves Sir Charles Grandison.

Sir Charles, it seems, had settled all his affairs three days before.  His servants were appointed.

The doctor tells me, that he had last week presented the elder Mr. Oldham with a pair of colours, which he had purchased for him.  Nobody had heard of this.

Lord W——­, he says, is preparing for Windsor; Mr. Beauchamp for Hampshire, for a few days; and then he returns to attend the commands of the noble Italians.

Lady Olivia will soon have her equipage ready.

She will make a great appearance.—­But Sir Charles Grandison will not be with her.  What is grandeur to a disturbed heart?

The Earl of G——­ and Lady Gertrude are setting out for Hertfordshire.  Lord and Lady L——­ talk of retiring, for a few weeks, to Colnebrook:  the Doctor is preparing for Grandison-hall; your poor Harriet for Northamptonshire—­Bless me, my dear, what a dispersion!—­But Lord W——­’s nuptials will collect some of them together at Windsor.

***

Emily, the dear weeping girl! is just come.  She is with my cousins.  She expects my permission for coming up to me.  Imagine us weeping over each other; praying for, blessing the guardian of us both.  Your imagination cannot form a scene too tender.