No! if I never see you more, Miss Warley,—this is my wish that you think the worst of me that appearances admit;—think I have basely wish'd to distress you.
Distress me, my Lord?
Think so, I beseech you, if I never return.—What would the misfortune be of falling low, even to the most abject in your opinion, compared with endangering the happiness of her whole peace is my ardent pursuit?—If I fail, I only can tell the cause:—you shall never be acquainted with it;—for should you regard me even with pity,—cool pity,—it would be taking the dagger from my own breast, and planting it in yours.
Ah! my Lady, could I help understanding him?—could I help being moved?—I was moved;—my eyes I believe betrayed it.
If I return, continued he, it is you only can pronounce me happy.—If you see me not again, think I am tossed on the waves of adverse fortune:—but oh think I again intreat you,—think me guilty. Perhaps I may outlive—no, that will never do;—you will be happy long before that hour;—it would be selfish to hope the contrary. I wish Mr. Powis was come home;—I wish—All my wishes tend to one great end.—Good God, what a situation am I in!—That the Dead could hear my petitions!—that he could absolve me!—What signifies, whether one sue to remains crumbled in the dust, or to the ear which can refuse to hear the voice of reason?
I thought I should have sunk to see the agony he was work'd up to.—I believe I look'd very pale;—I felt the blood thrill through my veins, and of a sudden stagnate:—a dreadful sickness follow'd;—I desir'd to sit;—he look'd on every side, quite terrified;—cry'd, Where will you sit, my dearest life?—what shall I do?—For heaven's sake speak,—speak but one word;—speak to tell me, I have not been your murderer.
I attempted to open my mouth, but in vain; I pointed to the ground, making an effort to sit down:—he caught me in his arms, and bore me to a bench not far off;—there left me, to fetch some water at a brook near, but came back before he had gone ten steps.—I held out my hand to his hat, which lay on the ground, then look'd to the water.—Thank God!—thank God! he said, and went full speed, to dip up some;—he knelt down, trembling, before me;—his teeth chatter'd in his head whilst he offer'd the water.
I found myself beginning to recover the moment it came to my lips.—He fix'd his eyes on me, as if he never meant to take them off, holding both my hands between his, the tears running down his face, without the contraction of one feature.—If sorrow could be express'd in stone, he then appear'd the very statue which was to represent it.
I attempted to speak.
Don't speak yet, he cried;—don't make yourself ill again: thank heaven, you are better!—This is some sudden chill; why have you ventur'd out without clogs?