Be pleased, my dear Signor Jeronymo, to make my devotion known to the marchioness.  Would to Heaven—­But adieu! and once more adieu, my Jeronymo.  I shall hear from you when I get to Naples, if not before.—­ God restore your sister, and heal you!

I bowed to the marquis, to the ladies, to the general, to the bishop, particularly; to the rest in general; and was obliged, in order to conceal my emotion, to hurry out at the door.  The servants had planted themselves in a row; not for selfish motives, as in England:  they bowed to the ground, and blessed me, as I went through them.  I had ready a purse of ducats.  One hand and another declined it:  I dropt it in their sight.  God be with you, my honest friends! said I; and departed—­O, Dr. Bartlett, with a heart how much distressed!

And now, my good Miss Byron, Have I not reason, from the deep concern which you take in the woes of Lady Clementina, to regret the task you have put me upon?  And do you, my good Lord and Lady L——­, and Miss Grandison, now wonder that your brother has not been forward to give you the particulars of this melancholy tale?  Yet you all say, I must proceed.

See, Lucy, the greatness of this man’s behaviour!  What a presumption was it in your Harriet, ever to aspire to call such a one hers!

LETTER II

MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY

This Lady Olivia, Lucy, what can she pretend to—­But I will not puzzle myself about her—­Yet she pretend to give disturbance to such a man!  You will find her mentioned in Dr. Bartlett’s next letter; or she would not have been named by me.

***

DR. BARTLETT’S ELEVENTH LETTER

Mr. Grandison, on his return to his lodgings, found there, in disguise, Lady Olivia.  He wanted not any new disturbance.  But I will not mix the stories.

The next morning he received a letter from Signor Jeronymo.  The following is a translation of it: 

***

My dearest Grandison!

How do you?—­Ever amiable friend!  What triumphs did your behaviour of last night obtain for you!  Not a soul here but admires you!

Even Laurana declared, that, were you a Catholic, it would be a merit to love you.  Yet she reluctantly praised you, and once said, What, but splendid sins, are the virtues of a heretic?

Our two cousins, with the good-nature of youth, lamented that you could not be ours in the way you wish.  My father wept like a child, when you were gone; and seemed to enjoy the praises given you by every one.  The count said, he never saw a nobler behaviour in man.  Your free, your manly, your polite air and address, and your calmness and intrepidity, were applauded by every one.

What joy did this give to your Jeronymo!  I thought I wanted neither crutches, helps, nor wheeled chair; and several times forgot that I ailed any thing.