Lord G. Of what?
Sir C. Of conviction! if this is not plain! only hear. [Reads.] Since my confused lines of a few minutes past, my perplexities redouble upon my spirits—I am in momentary apprehension of farther insult from the Alscrip family; I am still more anxious to avoid Lord Gayville, [Pauses and looks at Lord Gayville.] do not suspect my sincerity—I have not a thought of him that ought to disturb you.—Here she is, Gayville, look at her, through the true medium of mutual affection—I have not a thought of him that might to disturb you—Fly to me, secure me, my dearest Henry.
Lord G. Dearest Henry!
Sir C. [Reads on.] Dearest Henry—In this call, the danger of your Harriet unites with the impatience of her affection.
Lord G. Hell, and fury! this must be some trick, some forgery. [Snatches the Letter.]—No, by all that's perfidious, it is that exquisite hand, that baffles imitation.
Sir C. All, regular, strict, undeviating modern morals—common property is the first principle of friendship; your horse, your house, your purse, your mistress—nay, your wife, would be a better example still of the doctrine of this generous age. Bless fortune, Gayville, that has brought the fidelity of your friend and your girl to the test at the same time.
Lord G. Sir, I am not in a humour for any spleen but my own. What can this mean? It must have been a secret attachment for years—but then the avowal of a correspondence, and the confusion at receiving it—his coldness in traducing her; the passionate interest he expressed in her fate; the conviction of his second letter—It is all delirium. I'll search the matter to the bottom, though I go to Clifford's heart for it.
[Exit in great anger.
Sir C. I'll after the precious fellow too—He is a rogue above my hopes, and the intricacy of his snares excite my curiosity.
[Exit.