Away I flew,—agitated betwixt hope and fear:—harrass'd by fatigue;—not in a bed for three nights before;—nature was almost wore out, when I alighted at the banker's.
I accosted one of the clerks, desiring to speak with Mr. or Mrs. Delves[[A]]:—the former not at home, I was immediately conducted to the latter, a genteel woman, about forty.—She receiv'd me politely; but before I could acquaint her with the occasion of my visit, the door open'd, and in stepp'd a pretty sprightly girl, who on seeing me was going to retire.—Do you want any thing, my love? said Mrs. Delves. Only, Madam, she replied, if you think it proper for Miss Warley to get up.
The name of the banker.
Miss Warley! exclaim'd I.—Great God! Miss Warley!—Tell me, Ladies, is Miss Warley really under your roof?—Both at once, for both seem'd equally dispos'd to diffuse happiness, answer'd to my wishes.
I threw myself back in my chair:—the surprise was more than I could support.—Shall I tell you all my weakness?—I even shed tears;—yes, Dick, I shed tears:—but they were drops of heart-felt gladness.
The Ladies look'd on each other,—Mrs. Delves said in a tone that shew'd she was not without the darling passion of her sex,
Pardon me, Sir; I think I have heard Miss Warley has no brother,—or I should think your emotion I saw him before me.—But whoever you are, this humanity is noble.—Indeed, the poor young Lady has been extremely ill.
I am not her brother, Madam, return'd I.—It is true, she has no brother;—but she has parents, she has friends, who lament her dead:—their sorrow has been mine.