As he was just without the door, I drew him back,—and turn'd the key.—
Come hither, Sir;—Come hither, Mr. Morgan:—I have something of importance to communicate.
D——n ye, Captain, what's the matter now? (staring.)—I'll hear no more bad news:—upon my soul, I'll run out of it (attempting to open the door).
Hold, Sir; why this impatience?—Miss Powis lives!—Will you run from me now?—Miss Powis lives!—With that he sent forth a horrid noise;—something betwixt howling and screaming.—It reach'd the dressing-room, as well it might:—had the wind sat that way, I question if the village would not have been alarm'd.—Down ran Sir James and Mr. Powis into the library;—out jump'd Mr. Morgan.—I held up my hand for him to retreat:—he disregarding the caution, I follow'd.—Sir James was inquiring of a servant whence the noise had proceeded.
It was I, said Mr. Morgan, rubbing his sides, and expressing the agitation of joy by dumb shew;—it was I, beating one of my damn'd dogs for running up stairs.
If that is all, said Mr. Powis,—let us return to my mother and wife, who are much hurried.—Away we went together, and the affair of the dog pass'd very well on the Ladies.
I sat musing for some moments how to introduce the event my heart labour'd to give up.—Every sigh that escap'd,—every sorrowful look that was interchang'd, I now plac'd to my own account, because in my power to reverse the scene.
Addressing myself to Mr. Powis, I ask'd if he knew Lord Darcey's servant was below.—He shook his head;—No, he answer'd.—Then it is all over, Risby, I suppose in a low voice?—I hardly wish for his own sake he may recover:—for ours, it would be selfish.
He was not worse, I reply'd:—there was hope,—great hope he would do well.
Blessings attend him! cried Mrs. Powis.—tears starting afresh to her swoln eyes;—then you really think, Mr. Risby, he may recover?