I shall not be able to stay long with her.  The discomposure of so excellent a young creature affects me deeply.  Could I do her either good or pleasure, I should be willing to deny myself the society of my dear friends at Florence:  but I am persuaded, and have hinted as much, that one interview with you would do more to settle her mind, than all the methods they have taken.

I hope, sir, to see you before you leave Italy.  It must be at Florence, not at Bologna, I believe.  It is generous of you to propose the latter.

I have now been here a week, without hope.  The doctors they have consulted are all for severe methods, and low diet.  The first, I think, is in compliment to some of the family.  She is so loath to take nourishment, and when she does, is so very abstemious, that the regimen is hardly necessary.  She never, or but very seldom, used to drink any thing but water.

She took it into her poor head several times this day, and perhaps it will hold, to sit in particular places, to put on attentive looks, as if she were listening to somebody.  She sometimes smiled, and seemed pleased; looked up, as if to somebody, and spoke English.  I have no doubt, though I was not present when she assumed these airs, and talked English, but her disordered imagination brought before her her tutor instructing her in that tongue.

You desired me, sir, to be very particular.  I have been so; but at the expense of my eyes:  and I shall not wonder if your humane heart should be affected by my sad tale.

God preserve you, and prosper you in whatsoever you undertake!

HORTENSIA BEAUMONT

Mrs. Beaumont staid at Bologna twelve days, and then left the unhappy young lady.

At taking leave, she asked her, what commands she had for her?—­Love me, said she, and pity me; that is one.  Another is, (whispering her,) you will see the chevalier, perhaps, though I must not.—­Tell him, that his poor friend Clementina is sometimes very unhappy!—­Tell him, that she shall rejoice to sit next him in heaven!—­Tell him, that I say he cannot go thither, good man as he is, while he shuts his eyes to the truth.—­ Tell him, that I shall take it very kindly of him, if he will not think of marrying till he acquaints me with it; and can give me assurance, that the lady will love him as well as somebody else would have done.—­O Mrs. Beaumont! should the Chevalier Grandison marry a woman unworthy of him, what a disgrace would that be to me!

Mr. Grandison by this time had prepared everything for his journey to Paris.  The friend he honoured with his love, was arrived from the Levant, and the Archipelago.  Thither, at his patron’s request, he had accompanied Mr. Beauchamp, the amiable friend of both; and at parting, engaged to continue by letter what had been the subject of their daily conversations, and transmit to him as many particulars as he could obtain of Mr. Grandison’s sentiments and behaviour, on every occasion; Mr. Beauchamp proposing him as a pattern to himself, that he might be worthy of the credential letters he had furnished him with to every one whom he had thought deserving of his own acquaintance, when he was in the parts which Mr. Beauchamp intended to visit.