O my dear friends!  I have a strange, a shocking piece of intelligence to give you!  Emily has just been with me in tears:  she begged to speak with me in private.  When we were alone, she threw her arms about my neck:  Ah, madam! said she, I am come to tell you, that there is a person in the world that I hate, and must and will hate, as long as I live.  It is Lady Olivia.—­Take me down with you into Northamptonshire, and never let me see her more.

I was surprised.

O madam!  I have found out, that she would, on Thursday last, have killed my guardian.

I was astonished, Lucy.

They retired together, you know, madam:  my guardian came from her, his face in a glow; and he sent in his sister to her, and went not in himself till afterwards.  She would have had him put off his journey.  She was enraged because he would not; and they were high together; and, at last, she pulled out of her stays, in fury, a poniard, and vowed to plunge it into his heart.  He should never, she said, see his Clementina more.  He went to her.  Her heart failed her.  Well it might, you know, madam.  He seized her hand.  He took it from her.  She struggled, and in struggling her wrist was hurt; that’s the meaning of the broad black ribband!—­ Wicked creature! to have such a thought in her heart!—­He only said, when he had got it from her, Unhappy, violent woman!  I return not this instrument of mischief!  You will have no use for it in England—­And would not let her have it again.

I shuddered.  O my dear, said I, he has been a sufferer, we are told, by good women; but this is not a good woman.  But can it be true?  Who informed you of it?

Lady Maffei herself.  She thought that Sir Charles must have spoken of it:  and when she found he had not, she was sorry she had, and begged I would not tell any body:  but I could not keep it from you.  And she says, that Lady Olivia is grieved on the remembrance of it; and arraigns herself and her wicked passion; and the more, for his noble forgiveness of her on the spot, and recommending her afterwards to the civilities of his sisters, and their lords.  But I hate her, for all that.

Poor unhappy Olivia! said I. But what, my Emily, are we women, who should be the meekest and tenderest of the whole animal creation, when we give way to passion!  But if she is so penitent, let not the shocking attempt be known to his sisters, or their lords.  I may take the liberty of mentioning it, in strict confidence, [observe that, Lucy,] to those from whom I keep not any secret:  but let it not be divulged to any of the relations of Sir Charles.  Their detestation of her, which must follow, would not be concealed; and the unhappy creature, made desperate, might—­ Who knows what she might do?