I _will_ know my fate.--Twill be with you in a few days,--if Sir James should consent.--_What if he should consent?_--She is steeled against my vows--my protestations;--my words affect her not;--the most tender assiduities are disregarded:--she seems to attend to what I say, yet regards it not. Where are those looks of preference fled,--those expressive looks?--I saw them not till now:--it is their loss,--it is their sad reverse that tells me what they were. She turns not her head to follow my foot-steps at parting;--or when I return, does not proclaim it by advancing pleasure tip-toe to the windows of her soul.--No anxiety for my health! No, she cares not what becomes of me.--I complain'd of my head, said I was in great pain;--heaven knows how true! My complaints were disregarded.--I attended her home. She sung all the way; or if she talked, it was of music:--not a word of _my poor head_;--no charges to draw the glasses up going back. There was a time, Molesworth--there was a time, if my finger had but ached, it was, My Lord, you look ill. Does not Lady Powis persuade you to have advice? You are really too careless of your health. Shall she be _another's?_--Yes; when I shrink at sight of what lies yonder,--my sword, George;--that shall prevent her ever being _another's_. Tell me you believe she will be _mine_:--it may help to calm my disturbed mind.--Be sure you do not hint she will be _another's_. Have I told you, Mr. Powis is coming home?--I cannot recollect whether I have or not;--neither can I pain myself to look back. All the world has something to comfort them, but your poor friend.--Every thing wears the face of joy, till I turn my eyes inwards:--_there it is_ I behold the opposite;--_there it is_ where Grief has fix'd her abode.--Does the fiend ever sleep? Will she be composed by ushering in the happy prospects of others?--Yes, I will feel, joy.--Joy did I say? Joy I cannot feel.--Satisfaction then?--Satisfaction likewise is forbid to enter.--What then will possess my mind; on recollecting peace is restor'd, where gratitude calls for such large returns?--I'll pray for them;--I'll pray for a continuance of their felicity.--I'll pray, if they have future ills in store, they may light on the head of Darcey.--Yes, he can bear more yet:--let the load be ever so heavy, he will stoop to take up the burthen of his friends;--such friends as Sir James and Lady Powis have been to DARCEY. LETTER XIX. The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to LORD DARCEY. London. Well, give me the first salute of your fair bride;--_and for your bride_ I'll ensure Miss Warley.--Why there is not a symptom but is in your favour.--She is nettled; can't you perceive it?--Once a studied disregard takes place, we are safe:--nothing will hurt you _now_, my Lord.--