This was a pretty home-thrust; it put him more on his guard for the present; but had he behav'd like an angel, I must have hated him. He was very respectful, very ceremonious, and very thoughtful, 'till we arrived at the inn where we were to stop the night; and had so much art not to seem displeas'd, that I refus'd giving him my company at supper, under pretence of indisposition.—Indeed, I was far from well: a child which I had seen a few hours before fresh in the small-pox, a good deal disconcerted me.—After fixing on my room, not to appear suspicious, I went down at his request, to eat a bit of cake and drink a glass of wine, before I retired for the night.—I had scarce swallow'd it when he left me, as he said, to speak to the drivers. I wished him a good night as he went out, and took an opportunity a few moments after to go to my chamber.—When there I lock'd the door, and sat myself down to undress; but I began to be greatly alarm'd by something that mov'd under the bed.—Judge my surprize,—judge my horror,—on taking the candle and examining, to see there a man!—But how was that surprize,—that horror increased, on discovering, him to be the vile Smith!—I gave a loud scream, and ran towards the door; but had not power to turn the key, before he caught me in his arms.—
Be calm, Miss Warley, cried the monster;—hear what I have to say.—Suffer me to tell you, that I love you to distraction;—that I adore you.
Adore me, vile man! said I, breaking from him:—leave me this instant—begone:—leave me, I say, instantly.—Again I scream'd.
No, by heaven! he reply'd, I will not go 'till you have heard and pardon'd me.—Here I stand determin'd to be heard:—hear me, or this moment is my last.—With that he drew out a pistol, and held it to his breast.
And dare you, said I, collecting all my resolution,—dare you rush into eternity, without one virtue to offer up with your polluted soul?—I pronounc'd these words with steadiness.—He trembled, he look'd like a criminal at the hour of execution.—Letting the pistol drop from his hand, the base dissembler fell on his knees before me.—Nobody hearing my cries,—nobody coming to my assistance, I was oblig'd to hear, and pretend to credit his penitential protestations. God knows how my ears might have been farther shock'd with his odious passion;—what indignities I might have suffer'd,—had I not heard some person passing by the door of my apartment:—on which I ventur'd to give another scream.—The door was instantly burst open; and whilst an elderly Gentleman advanc'd towards me, full of surprize, the detested brute slipp'd away.—This Gentleman, my good deliverer, was no other than your Ladyship's banker, who when he was acquainted with my name, insisted on taking me to Town in his own coach, where he was returning from a visit he had made at Salisbury—I did not ask, neither do I know what became of Smith; but I suppose he will set out with his wife immediately for Dover.—Thank God! I am not of the party—How I pity poor Miss Frances Walsh, a young Lady who, he told me, was waiting at his house in Town to go over with them.—I am but just arriv'd at Mr. Delves's house.—Mr. and Mrs. Delves think with me, that the character of the unworthy Smith should not be expos'd for the sake of his worthy wife.—The family here are all amiable.—I could say a great deal more; but my head aches dreadfully.—This I must add, I have consented, at the tender intreaties of Mr. and Mrs. Delves, to remain with them 'till a proper opportunity offers to throw myself at your Ladyship's feet.—My head grows worse;—I must lay down my pen.—This bad man has certainly frighten'd me into a fever.
[The following lines were added after Miss Powis's recovery]
I hope, my dear Lady, before this you have Mr. Delves's letter;—if so, you know I have had the small-pox.—You know too I am out of danger.—How can I be thankful enough for so many escapes!—This is the first day I have been able to hold a pen.—I am permitted to write no more than the name of your honour'd and affectionate
F. WARLEY.