Go, gentle muse, and bid farewell for me.
I write from an inn within a mile of Lady Gwyn's. Another hour and my fate is decided.
Adieu.
LETTER XXVI
At length, with a throbbing heart, I now, for the first time, beheld the mansion of my revered ancestors—the present abode of Lady Gwyn. That unfortunate usurper of my rights was not denied to me; so I alighted; and though Stuart wished much to be present at the interview, I would not permit him; but was ushered by the footman into the sitting-room.
I entered with erect, yet gentle majesty; while my Tuscan habit, which was soiled and shrivelled by the brook, gave me an air of complicated distress.
I found her ladyship at a table, classifying fossils. She was tall and thin, and bore the remains of beauty; but I could not discover the family face.
She looked at me with some surprise; smiled, and begged to know my business.
'It is a business,' said I, 'of the most vital importance to your ladyship's honour and repose; and I lament that an imperious necessity compels me to the invidious task of acquainting you with it. Could anything add to the painful nature of my feelings, it would be to find that I had wounded yours.'
'Your preamble alarms me,' said she. 'Do, pray be explicit.'