At this moment Mr. Godfrey entered the room. “Who is there?” cried Damon, starting at every whisper. “It is your friend,” said Godfrey. “A friend that owes you much, and would willingly pay you something back again.” “I do not understand you,” replied our hero. “I can talk of nothing but my Delia. Oh Delia! Delia! I will teach thy name to all the echoes. I will send it with every wind to heaven. Ever, ever, shall it dwell upon my lips.” “Delia,” replied the other, “is in safety. I have been so happy as to rescue her.” “Ha! sayest thou? let me look upon thee well. I am somewhat disordered, but I think thy name is Godfrey. Thou shouldst not deceive me. Thou art not old in falsehood.” “I do not deceive thee. On my life I do not!” exclaimed Godfrey, with emotion. “Compose thyself for a few hours. Or ever thou shalt see the setting sun, I will put thy Delia into thy arms again.”
Damon was somewhat composed by these assurances. No voice like that of Godfrey had power to sooth his mind to serenity. But though he sought to restrain himself, he listened to every noise. He started at the sound of every foot, and the rattle of a carriage in the street agitated his soul almost to frenzy.
“Why does not she come? What can delay her? I have counted every moment. I have waited whole ages. I see, I see, that every thing conspires to cheat, and to distract me. Damon has not one friend left to whisper in his ear—to whisper what? That Delia is no more? That all her beauties are defaced, by some sacrilegious hand? That all her heaven of charms have been rifled? Oh, no. I must not think of that. But hark! I thought I heard a sound, but it is delirium all. Sure, sure it comes this way. I will listen but this once.”
The door of the chamber now flew open. But oh, what object caught the raptured eye of Damon! He was just risen. “It is, it is my Delia!” and they flew into each others arms. But having embraced for a moment, Damon took hold of her hand, and held her from him. “Let me look at thee. And is it Delia? And art thou safe, unhurt? I would not be mistaken.” “Yes, I am she, and ten times more my Damon’s than ever.” “It is enough. I am contented. But hark! who comes there? Sure it is not the brutal ravisher? No,” cried he, in a voice of surprise, “it is my father.”
Lord Thomas Villiers, who had been a witness of this scene, could restrain himself no longer. “Come to my arms, thy father’s arms,” cried he, “and let me bless thee.” “Stay, stay,” cried Damon. “Yes I know thee well. But I will never be separated from her any more. I will laugh at the authority of a parent. Tyranny and tortures shall not rend me from her.” “The authority of a parent,” replied lord Thomas, “shall never more be employed to counteract thy wishes. I myself will join your hands.”
The constitution of Damon was so full of sensibility, that it was some days before he was completely recovered. In the mean time, the amours of Sir William Twyford, and Mr. Hartley, continually ripened, and it was proposed, that the three parties should be united in the same day.