Barford Abbey, a Novel: In a Series of LettersGunning, Mrs. (Susannah)
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Barford Abbey, a Novel: In a Series of Letters
Gunning, Mrs. (Susannah)
Epistolary fiction, English -- 18th century; Gothic fiction
Miss Powis lives!--Restore peace within the walls.--As I hope to be
pardon'd for my sins, I have seen, I have spoke to her.--She
lives!--Heavenly sound! it should be convey'd to them from above.--She
lives! let me again repeat it.--Proclaim the joyful tidings:--but for
particulars have patience 'till I return to the man, to the friend my
life is bound up in.--I have seen him in every stage. Brightest has he
shone, as the taper came nearer to an end.--The rich cordial must be
administered one drop at a time.--Observe the caution.
Molesworth.
LETTER XXXV.
Captain Risby to the Honourable George Molesworth.
_Barford Abby_.
Well, Molesworth,--well--I can go no farther;--yet I _must;--John_, poor
faithful _John_, says I _must_;--says he shall be sent back again.--But
I have lost the use of my fingers:--my head bobs from side to side like
a pendulum. Don't stamp, don't swear: they have a few drops of your
cordial more than I intended.--It operates well.--I long to administer a
larger potion.--Could you see how I am shifted--now here--now there--by
the torrent of joy, that like a deluge almost drives reason before
it;--I say, could you see me, you would not wonder at the few
unconnected lines of
Yours,
Risby.
LETTER XXXVI.
The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to RICHARD RISBY, Esq;
_Dover_.
Darcey bears the joyful surprise beyond imagination:--it has brought him
from death to life.--
Hear in what manner I proceeded;--You may suppose the hurry in which I
left Dover:--I took no leave of my friend;--his humane apothecary
promis'd not to quit him in my absence:--I gave orders when his Lordship
enquir'd for me, that he should be told particular business of my _own_
had call'd me to town express.--It happen'd very convenient that I left
him in a profound sleep.
Away I flew,--agitated betwixt _hope_ and _fear_:--harrass'd by
fatigue;--not in a bed for three nights before;--nature was almost wore
out, when I alighted at the banker's.
I accosted one of the clerks, desiring to speak with Mr. or Mrs. Delves
[Footnote: The name of the banker.]:--the former not at home, I was
immediately conducted to the latter, a genteel woman, about forty.--She
receiv'd me politely; but before I could acquaint her with the occasion
of my visit, the door open'd, and in stepp'd a pretty sprightly girl,
who on seeing me was going to retire.--Do you want any thing, my love?
said Mrs. Delves. Only, Madam, she replied, if you think it proper for
Miss Warley to get up.
Miss Warley! exclaim'd I.--Great God! Miss Warley!--Tell me, Ladies, is
Miss Warley _really_ under your roof?--Both at once, for _both_ seem'd
equally dispos'd to diffuse happiness, answer'd to my wishes.
I threw myself back in my chair:--the surprise was more than I could
support.--Shall I tell you all my weakness?--I even shed tears;--yes,
Dick, I shed tears:--but they were drops of heart-felt gladness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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