"Would to Heaven," said Shakespeare, "some help might be found; for the strait this generous man is like to be driven to sorely oppresses him!"
"Let it no longer do so," said the lady. "Continue to inform me of the progress of events; I will be warranty for his safe extrication from all his difficulties."
Shakespeare looked surprised; but he forbode remark; and soon after this conversation retired to his own lodging.
After the interview, the poet reflected deeply upon the conversation which had taken place, and as he did so, many things which had not previously struck him forced themselves upon his mind regarding his mysterious friend, and which now enabled him in some sort to pluck out the heart of her mystery.
During the time he had watched over her during her illness, and the delirium consequent upon it, she had uttered names which recalled former passages of his life. She had called upon Charlotte Clopton, and bade her leave the horrid charnel-house in which she had been entombed alive, and even named localities familiar to him in his native county.
These things, whilst they contributed to elucidate her story, more deeply interested him. He saw she could appreciate a true heart and bold spirit in man, and could love with all the truth and innocence of a Juliet. There was in her no false pride or prudery, but unconscious of her own excellence, she was indeed one of those bright creatures so often bestowed where they are unvalued. Had such a one fallen to his own share, he thought, how would he have worshipped! But such was not to be. He who was the gentlest, the noblest of mankind, was not to be so companioned. His course was steered, at this period, alone. For him, high birth and bright excellence should have been reserved, because he so well could have appreciated them.
There was, however, to be observed in this singular female a sort of character which even more interested him than her radiant beauty. With all her amiability, she possessed a determination of purpose, which made it impossible to control her designs. From what he could fathom of her intentions and her story, she seemed only anxious to confer or secure some important benefit to the individual she loved, and then to retire from the world, to enter some convent abroad, "and be for aye in shady cloister mew'd." And so, as the poet sat and thought over these matters, he again seized his pen, and wrote.