Francis Sinclair.
LETTER LXIX.
From Dr. Douglass to Mr. Hardcastle.
Farefield, Dec. 30.
I conjure you, my dear Sir, to rely on my assurances. Miss Cowley is entirely out of danger. We have a decided intermission, and are hourly gaining on the enemy. But I will not disguise my fears, for the consequences which will probably result from you and Miss Hardcastle’s visit here at this time. The truth is, that as terror and exertions beyond Miss Cowley’s strength, produced the fever, it is my opinion, that joy, and a new demand on her feelings, will produce a return of it. Calmness and repose are necessary to give efficacy to the medicines which have hitherto been useful, and I entreat of you, to postpone your journey, till my patient is more able to welcome you.
To say what this young creature’s fortitude has been, is beyond my abilities! I only know, that I shall in future blush, when I hear strength of mind called a masculine endowment.
You will easily imagine, how little prepared she was, after the attention and exertions she had shown to Lady Maclairn, to sustain the sudden terror, which Miss Flint’s death produced. Every precaution had been used to prevent the intelligence of Mr. Flamall’s death, from reaching the dying woman. She was so weak, as to bear with apathy her sister’s absence from the room; indeed, she noticed little those who were about her, being for the most part in a lethargic stupor, and gradually sinking. In the neighbourhood it was, however, no secret that Mr. Flamall had died suddenly. Warner, Miss Flint’s woman, had in the morning left her post to a chamber maid, in order to get some repose. This girl’s mother had been frequently employed in the sick room, and she, on calling to see her daughter, was directed where to find her. Miss Flint was heavily dozing, and the women, though with precaution, as they say, talked of poor Lady Maclairn’s illness, and the melancholy news from Jamaica. The visitor had heard the report, which has circulated here, and which a London newspaper has communicated to the public. Namely, that, “Mr. Flamall was assassinated by a negro, whom he had too severely treated.” I suspect the precaution of whispering this tale was forgotten, in the eagerness of curiosity and the love of the marvellous. Suddenly, they were alarmed by a faint scream from the sick woman, who, with convulsive groans and agitations, said, “dead! murdered! lost! for ever lost! Flamall!” Screams followed this apostrophe, and the terrified girl ran to Miss Cowley’s room. She was unfortunately sleeping on the sopha, after having passed the greater part of the night by Lady Maclairn´s bed side. She rose with firmness, to perform the duty to which she was summoned; not permitting Mrs. Allen to be informed of what was passing; because she was with Lady Maclairn. I found her calm and collected; sitting by the dying Miss Flint, whose senses were lost before she ceased to breathe. Let me finish this melancholy detail, by saying, that I did not quit Miss Cowley’s bed side for the space of six and thirty hours. Heaven was merciful! and she will be restored to health. But we must have no beloved friends to greet at present.
I quit you to obey the summons of my precious patient. She insists upon signing this bulletin. She will soon be well; for she is growing saucy, and this morning, at four o’clock, when I carried her the prescribed potion, she told me “that in my night cap and gown, I was the very image of Blue Beard; and still more savage than he; for, that his scymitar was nothing in comparison with my glass of poison.” Judge with what contentment of mind I now sign the name of your sincere
Archibald Douglass.
P.S. Indeed, my dear Lucy, I am getting well. They tell me, the wind is still against the Lisbon packet’s sailing. How fortunate I am! There! the whole junto are rising! and the inkstand has vanished. Your’s! your own R. Cowley is, indeed, only too weak to mutiny against this authority.