“I sat up with her that night; she got a little rest, she seemed better in the morning; she told me the particulars I have already related; she, however, endeavored to soften the cruel behaviour of the wretch, whose name I could not hear without horror.
“She had in the afternoon a little fever; I sent for a physician, he thought her in danger; what did not my heart feel from this information? she grew worse, I never left her one moment.
“The next morning she called me to her; she took my hand, and looking at me with a tenderness no language can describe,
“‘My dear, my only friend,’ said she, ‘I am dying; you are come to receive the last breath of your unhappy Sophia: I wish with ardor for my father’s blessing and forgiveness, but dare not ask them.
“‘The weakness of my heart has undone me; I am lost, abandoned by him on whom my soul doated; by him, for whom I would have sacrificed a thousand lives; he has left me with my babe to perish, yet I still love him with unabated fondness: the pang of losing him sinks me to the grave!’
“Her speech here failed her for a time; but recovering, she proceeded,
“‘Hard as this request may seem, and to whatever miseries it may expose my angel friend, I adjure you not to desert my child; save him from the wretchedness that threatens him; let him find in you a mother not less tender, but more virtuous, than his own.
“‘I know, my Fanny, I undo you by this cruel confidence; but who else will have mercy on this innocent?’
“Unable to answer, my heart torn with unutterable anguish, I snatched the lovely babe to my bosom, I kissed him, I bathed him with my tears.
“She understood me, a gleam of pleasure brightened her dying eyes, the child was still pressed to my heart, she gazed on us both with a look of wild affection; then, clasping her hands together, and breathing a fervent prayer to heaven, sunk down, and expired without a groan—