Let me see: I shall be in London Saturday evening;—Sunday, no post;—Monday, then I determine to write to Sir James;—Wednesday, I may have an answer;—Thursday,—who knows but Thursday!—nothing is impossible; who knows but Thursday I may return to all my hopes?—How much I resemble a shuttlecock! how am I thrown from side to side by hope and fear; now up, now down; no sooner mounted by one hand than lower’d by another!
This moment a gleam of comfort steals sweetly through my heart;—but it is gone even before I could bid it welcome.—Why so fast!—to what spot is it fled?—Can there be a wretch more in need, who calls louder for its charitable ray than
Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON
From Mr. Jenkings’s
Now, my dear Lady, the time is absolutely fix’d for our embarkation; the 22d, without fail.—Mr. Smith intends coming himself, to accompany me to London.—How very good and obliging this!—I shall say nothing of it to Lady Powis, till Lord Darcey is gone, which will be Saturday:—he may go to France, if he pleases, but not with me.—
When I received Mrs. Smith’s letter, he was mighty curious to know who it was from:—I found him examining the seal, as it lay on the table in Mr. Jenkings’s parlour.—Here is a letter for you, Miss Warley, a good deal confus’d.—So I see, my Lord: I suppose from Lady Mary Sutton.
I fancy not;—it does not appear to be directed in the same hand with that my servant brought you last from the post-office.—I broke the seal; it was easy to perceive the contents gave me pleasure.
There is something, Miss Warley, which gives you particular satisfaction.
You are right, my Lord, I never was better pleas’d.
Then it is from Lady Mary?
No, not from Lady Mary.
From Mrs. Smith, then?—Do I guess now?—You say nothing; oh, there it is.—I could not forbear smiling.
Pray tell me, only tell me, and he caught one of my hands, if this letter does not fix the very day of your setting out for France?
I thought him possest with the spirit of divination.—What could I do, in this case?—Falshoods I despise;—evasions are low, very low, indeed:—yet I knew he ought not to be trusted with the contents, even at the expence of my veracity—I recollected myself, and looked grave.
My Lord, you must excuse me; this affair concerns only myself; even Lady Powis will not be acquainted with it yet.
I have done, if Lady Powis is not to be acquainted with it.—I have no right—I say right.—Don’t look so, Miss Warley—believe I did flare a little—Time will unfold,—will cast a different light on things from that in which you now see them.
I was confus’d;—I put up my letter, went to the window, took a book from thence, and open’d it, without knowing what I did.