'O yes, yes,' said I, 'Come away.'
'Stay,' she replied.
She was dressed in an instant. She opened the door. She came out to us.—'Ah! what, what is the matter?' cried she, extending her arms as if to save me from falling.—Why were you not more explicit in your letter, Miss Ashburn?—I recoiled from her, from the remembrance of her Clement—and, as I leaned on Richardson's shoulder, I closed my dim eyes, and wished they might never more open upon recollection.
'Shame!' whispered Richardson, 'you are unmanned!'
And so I am, Miss Ashburn. I think too, I should love revenge. I feel a rankling glow of satisfaction, as she walks past my chair, that I have so placed it I cannot look up and behold her.
I recovered strength and courage while my horror remained unabated.—She saw I could hear, and she began to pour forth the effusions of her gratitude upon you and us.—She knew you had been in the castle. Her cruel uncle had informed her of it.—'And then,' said she, 'I fancied I must die without seeing any one that ever loved me.'—As she spoke, I turned my eyes from her now haggard and jaundiced face to my own, reflected in the mirror by which I was standing. 'Moving corpses!' said I to myself—'Why encumber ye the fair earth?'
'He showed me a letter too,' added she. 'He said Clement had renounced me.—Ah, Mr. Valmont! deceiving Mr. Valmont!'—and she waved her hand gracefully—'had you known Sibella's heart as she knows Clement's, you——.'
'Come away!' said I.
'Have you no other preparation to make, madam?' asked Richardson; 'the night is very cold.'
This reminded her of a cloak.—She enquired if she must swim across the moat; and said she was sure she could swim;—for she knew why she had failed before.—I bade Richardson lead her.