Mary, to whom, as to all her fellow servants, the marriage of Cecilia had been known, before she left the country, now desired from Delvile directions what was to be done.
Delvile, starting suddenly at this call from the deepest horror into the most desperate rage, fiercely exclaimed, “Inhuman wretches! unfeeling, execrable wretches, what is it you have done to her? how came she hither?—who brought her?—who dragged her?—by what infamous usage has she been sunk into this state?”
“Indeed, sir, I don't know!” cried Mary.
“I assure you, sir,” said Mrs Wyers, “the lady—”
“Peace!” cried he, furiously, “I will not hear your falsehoods!—peace, and begone!”—
Then, casting himself upon the ground by her side, “Oh my Cecilia,” he cried, “where hast thou been thus long? how have I lost thee? what dreadful calamity has befallen thee?—answer me, my love! raise your sweet head and answer me!—oh speak!—say to me any thing; the bitterest words will be mercy to this silence!”—-
Cecilia then, suddenly looking up, called out with great quickness, “Who are you?”
“Who am I!” cried he, amazed and affrighted.
“I should be glad you would go away,” cried she, in a hurrying manner, “for you are quite unknown to me.”
Delvile, unconscious of her insanity, and attributing to resentment this aversion and repulse, hastily moved from her, mournfully answering, “Well indeed may you disclaim me, refuse all forgiveness, load me with hatred and reproach, and consign me to eternal anguish! I have merited severer punishment still; I have behaved like a monster, and I am abhorrent to myself!”