The devil, Sir!—tell me at once, what is this damn'd affair? Upon my soul, you must tell me immediately.
Behold!—read, Sir—what a task is mine! (putting your letter into his hands.)
Never was grief, surprize, and disappointment so strongly painted as in him.—At first, he stood quite silent; every feature distorted:—then starting back some paces, threw his hat over the hedge:—stamp'd on his wig;—and was stripping himself naked, to fling his clothes into a pond just by, when I prevented him.
Stop, Sir, I cried: do not alarm the family before they are prepar'd.—Think of the dreadful consequences;—think of the unhappy parents!—Let us consult how to break it to them, without severing their hearts at one blow.
Zounds, Sir, don't talk to me of breaking it; I shall go mad:—you did not know her.—Oh! she was the most lovely, gentle creature!—What an old blockhead have I been!—Why did I not give her my fortune?—then Darcey would have married her;—then she would not have gone abroad;—then we should have sav'd her. Oh, she was a sweet, dear soul!—What good will my curst estates do me now?—You shall have them, Sir;—any body shall have them—I don't care what becomes of me.—Do order my horse, Sir—I say again, do order my horse. I'll never see this place more.—Oh! my dear, sweet, smiling girl, why would you go to France?
Here I interrupted him.
Think not, talk not, Sir, of leaving the family in such a melancholy situation.—Pray recollect yourself.—You ought not to run from your friends;—you ought to redouble your affection at this hour of trial.—Who can be call'd friends, but those who press forward, when all the satisfactions of life draw back.—You are not;—your feeling heart tells me you are not one of the many that retire with such visionary enjoyments.—Come, Sir, for the present forget the part you bear in this disaster:—consider,—pray, consider her poor parents; consider what will be their sufferings:—let it be our task to prepare them.
What you say is very right, Sir, return'd he.—I believe you are a good christian;—God direct us,—God direct us.—I wish I had a dram:—faith, I shall be choak'd.—Sweet creature!—what will become of Lord Darcey!—I never wanted a dram so much before.—Your name, Sir, if you please.—I perceive we shall make matters worse by staying out so long.
I told him my name; and that I had the honour of being intimately acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Powis.
He continued,—You will go in with me, Sir.—How am I to act!—I'll follow your advice—We must expect it will be a dreadful piece of work.—