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saucy eyes swelled with weeping: she refused either to eat or drink; sighed as if her heart would break.—False, devilish grief! not the humble, silent grief, that only deserves pity!-Contriving to ruin me, to despoil me of all that I held valuable, in the very midst of it.

Nevertheless, being resolved not to see me for a week at least, she ordered her to bring her up three or four French rolls, with a little butter, and a decanter of water; telling her she would dispense with her attendance; and that should be all she would live upon in the interim. So, artful creature! pretending to lay up for a week's siege. For, as to substantial food, she, no more than other angels-Angels, said I!-The devil take me if she shall be any more an angel!-For she is odious in my eyes; and I hate her mortally!—

Dorcas consulted the old wretch about obeying her. O yes, by all means; for Mr. Lovelace knew how to come at her at any time; and directed a bottle of sherry to be added.

This cheerful compliance so obliged her that she was prevailed upon to go up, and look at the damage done by the fire; and seemed not only shocked at it, but, as they thought, satisfied it was no trick; as she owned she had at first apprehended it to be. All this made them secure ; and they laughed in their sleeves, to think what a childish way of showing her resentment she had found out; Sally throwing out her witticisms, that Mrs. Lovelace was right, however, not to quarrel with her bread and butter.

She sent Will with a letter to Wilson's, directed to Miss Howe, ordering him to inquire if there were not one for her there.

He only pretended to go, and brought word there was none; and put her letter in his pocket for me.

She then ordered him to carry another (which she gave him) to the Horn Tavern to me.-All this done without any seeming hurry; yet she appeared to be very

solemn; and put her handkerchief frequently to her

eyes.

Will went out, pretending to bring the letter to me; but quickly returned; his heart still misgiving him, on recollecting my frequent cautions, that he was not to judge for himself, when he had positive orders; but if any doubt occurred, from circumstances I could not foresee, literally to follow them, as the only way to avoid blame.

But it must have been in this little interval, that she escaped; for soon after his return, they made fast the street-door and hatch, the mother and the two nymphs taking a little turn into the garden; Dorcas going upstairs, and Will (to avoid being seen by his lady, or his voice heard) down into the kitchen.

About half an hour after, Dorcas, who had planted herself where she could see her lady's door open, had the curiosity to go to look through the keyhole, having a misgiving, as she said, that her lady might offer some violence to herself, in the mood she had been in all day; and finding the key in the door, which was not very usual, she tapped at it three or four times, and having no answer, opened it, with Madam, Madam, did you call?—supposing her in her closet.

Having no answer, she stepped forward, and was astonished to find she was not there. She hastily ran into the dining-room, then into my apartments; searched every closet; dreading all the time to behold some sad catastrophe.

Not finding her anywhere, she ran down to the old creature and her nymphs, with a Have you seen my lady? -Then she's gone !-She's nowhere above!

The whole house was in an uproar in an instant; some running up-stairs, some down, from the upper rooms to the lower; and all screaming, How should they look me in the face!

Will cried out, he was a dead man; he blamed them;

they him; and every one was an accuser, and an excuser at the same time.

When they had searched the whole house, and every closet in it, ten times over, to no purpose, they took it into their heads to send to all the porters, chairmen, and hackney-coachmen, that had been near the house for two hours past, to inquire if any of them saw such a young lady; describing her.

This brought them some light: the only dawning for hope that I can have, and which keeps me from absolute despair. One of the chairmen gave them this account: That he saw such a one come out of the house a little before four (in a great hurry, and as if frighted) with a little parcel tied up in a handkerchief, in her hand: that he took notice to his fellow, who plied her without her answering, that she was a fine young lady: that he'd warrant, she had either a bad husband, or very cross parents; for that her eyes seemed swelled with crying.

From these appearances, the fellow who gave this information, had the curiosity to follow her, unperceived. She often looked back. Everybody who passed her, turned to look after her; passing their verdict upon her tears, her hurry, and her charming person; till coming to a stand of coaches, a coachman plied her; was accepted; alighted; opened the coach-door in a hurry, seeing her hurry; and in she stumbled for haste; and, as the fellow believed, hurt her shins with the stumble.

The fellow heard her say, Drive fast! very fast! Where, Madam? To Holborn Bars, answered she; repeating, Drive very fast!—And up she pulled both the windows: and he lost sight of the coach in a minute.

Will as soon as he had this intelligence, speeded away in hopes to trace her out; declaring, that he would never think of seeing me, till he had heard some tidings of his lady.

And now, Belford, all my hope is, that this fellow (who

attended us in our airing to Hampstead, to Highgate, to Muswell Hill, to Kentish Town) will hear of her at some one or other of those places. And on this I the rather build, as I remember she was once, after our return, very inquisitive about the stages, and their prices; praising the conveniency to passengers in their going off every hour; and this in Will's hearing, who was then in attendance. Woe be to the villain, if he recollect not this!

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.

LETTER is put into my hands by Wilson himself
-Such a letter !

A letter from Miss Howe to her cruel friend !—

I made no scruple to open it.

It is a miracle that I fell not into fits at the reading of it; and at the thought of what might have been the consequences, had it come to the hands of this Clarissa Harlowe. Let my justly-excited rage excuse my irre

verence.

TO MISS LETITIA BEAUMONT.

Wednesday, June 7. MY DEAREST FRIEND.-You are certainly in a devilish house !-Be assured, that the woman is one of the vilest of women-nor does she go to you by her right nameHer name is not Sinclair-nor is the street she lives in, Dover Street. Did you never go out by yourself, and discharge the coach or chair, and return by another coach or chair? If you did (yet I don't remember that you ever wrote to me, that you did) you would never have found your way to the vile house, either by the woman's name, Sinclair, or by the street's name, mentioned by that Doleman in his letter about the lodgings.

But I will tell you how I came by my intelligence.

Miss Lardner (whom you have seen at her cousin Biddulph's) saw you at St. James's Church on Sunday was fortnight. She kept you in her eye during the whole

time; but could not once obtain the notice of yours though she curtsied to you twice. But she ordered her servant to follow you till you were housed. This servant saw you step into a chair, which waited for you; and you ordered the men to carry you to the place where they took you up.

The next day, Miss Lardner sent the same servant, out of mere curiosity, to make private inquiry whether Mr. Lovelace were, or were not, with you there. And this inquiry brought out, from different people, that the house was suspected to be one of those genteel wicked houses, which receive and accommodate fashionable people of both

sexes.

Miss Lardner kept this to herself some days, not knowing what to do; for she loves you, and admires you of all women. At last she revealed it, but in confidence, to Miss Biddulph, by letter. Miss Biddulph, in like confidence, being afraid it would distract me were I to know it, communicated it to Miss Lloyd; and so, like a whispered scandal, it passed through several canals; and then it came to me. Which was not till last Monday.

I thought I should have fainted upon the surprising communication. But rage taking place, it blew away the sudden illness. I besought Miss Lloyd to re-enjoin secrecy to every one. I told her that I would not for the world that my mother, or any of your family, should know it. And I instantly caused a trusty friend to make what inquiries he could about Tomlinson.

Now, my dear, it is certain, that there is not such a man within ten miles of your uncle.

But this is what I am ready to conjecture, that Tomlinson, specious as he is, is a machine of Lovelace; and that he is employed for some end, which has not yet been answered. This is certain, that not only Tomlinson, but Mennell, who, I think, attended you more than once at this vile house, must know it to be a vile house.

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