But where is the ungracious rascal?  Why does not he appear?” “Nothing, be assured,” said the baronet, “but reasons of the last importance, could have kept him back in so interesting a moment.”  “Alas, I fear,” cried Delia, “since you endeavour to conceal them from me, they are reasons of the most afflicting nature.”  “It is in vain,” replied Sir William, “to endeavour at concealment.”  “Your son,” turning to lord Thomas Villiers, “is confined to his bed.  The anxiety and fatigue that he suffered, in consequence of the extraordinary step of lord Martin, have thrown him into a fever.  But be not uneasy, my Delia,” taking her hand, “there is no danger.  One sigh, one look from you will restore him.”  “Ten thousand curses,” exclaimed the father, “upon the head of the contemptible, misbegotten ravisher!  But let us make haste.  I am glad however that my rogue of a son is a little punished for his impertinence.  Let us make haste.”

Saying this, he ordered the horses to his chariot, and the whole company prepared to set out for Southampton immediately.  The only business which remained, was the dispatching a message, which was done by one of sir William’s servants, from Mr. Godfrey to lord Martin, announcing his name, and informing his lordship, that he was to be met with any time in the ensuing week at Mr. Moreland’s.

Lord Martin was a good deal bruised and enfeebled with the adventure of the preceding evening.  He had been obliged to undergo a lustration of near an hour, before he could be put to bed.  He was just risen, when the message was delivered.  “Zounds!” cried the peer, “he is, is he?  And so this fellow, whom nobody knows, has the impudence to snub me!  By my title, and all the blood of my ancestors, he is not worthy of my sword.  I will have him assassinated.  I will hire some blackguards to seize him, and bind him in my presence, and I will bastinado him with my own hand.  Furies and curses!  I do not know what to do.  Oh, this confounded vanity!  Not contented with one disgrace, I have brought upon myself another, ten times more mortifying than the first.  By Tartarus, and all the infernal gods, I believe I had better let it rest where it is!  Wretch, wretch, that I am!” And he threw himself on the bed in an agony of despair.

Damon had slept little the preceding night, and his slumbers had been disturbed with a thousand horrible imaginations.  The first person who appeared in his chamber the next morning he addressed with “Where, where is she?  Where is my Delia?  My life, my soul, the mistress of my fate?  Ah, why do you look so haggard, so unconsoling.  You have heard nothing of her?  Give me my clothes.  I will pursue her to the world’s end.  I will find her, though she be hid deep as the centre.”  “Sir, be pacified,” said the servant, “she is safe.”  “Safe,” cried our lover, “why then does she not appear to comfort me?  But haste, I will fly to her.  I will clasp, I will lock her, in my arms.  No, nothing, not all the powers on earth, shall ever part us more.”  “Sir, she is not in the house.”  “Not in the house,” cried Damon starting, “Ha! say.  I will not be cheated.  On thy life do not trifle with my impatience.”