“What next?” repeated she; “indeed I know not!”
“Shall I go immediately to Margate? or shall I first ride hither?”
“If you please,” said she, much perturbed, and deeply sighing.
“I please nothing but by your direction, to follow that is my only chance of pleasure. Which, then, shall I do?-you will not, now, refuse to direct me?”
“No, certainly, not for the world!”
“Speak to me, then, my love, and tell me;—why are you thus silent?—is it painful to you to counsel me?”
“No, indeed!” said she, putting her hand to her head, “I will speak to you in a few minutes.”
“Oh my Cecilia!” cried he, looking at her with much alarm, “call back your recollection! you know not what you say, you take no interest in what you answer.”
“Indeed I do!” said she, sighing deeply, and oppressed beyond the power of thinking, beyond any power but an internal consciousness of wretchedness.
“Sigh not so bitterly,” cried he, “if you have any compassion! sigh not so bitterly,—I cannot bear to hear you!”