I fear, said she sighing, they will think me an ungrateful creature.--No person, Mr. Molesworth, had ever _such_ obligations to their friends as _I have_--This family, looking at the two Ladies, must be rank'd with my best.--Their replies were polite and affectionate--Can you tell me, Sir, continued she, if Lord--here her face was all over crimson--heavens! I mean, if Mr. Powis and his Lady are at the Abbey?--Why did she not say Lord Darcey? I swear the name quiver'd on her lips. I answer'd in the affirmative;--and sitting silent a moment,--she ask'd how I discover'd her to be still in England.--I said by means of a servant:--true enough, Dick:--but then I was oblig'd to add, this servant belonged to Mr. Delves, and that he accidentally happen'd a few hours since to mention her name whilst I was doing business in the shop.--She was fond of dwelling on the family at the Abbey;--on Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings;--and once when I mention'd my friend, when I said how happy I should make him at my return;--pleasure, the most difficult to be conceal'd of any sensation, sprang to her expressive eyes. I suppose she will expect a visit from his Lordship.--If she is angry at being disappointed, no matter: the mistake will be soon clear'd up. The moment I left her, I stepp'd into a chaise that waited for me at the door, and drove like lightning from stage to stage, 'till I reach'd this place;--my drivers being turn'd into Mercuries by a touch more efficacious than all the oaths that can be swore by a first-rate blood. I did not venture into Darcey's apartment 'till he was inform'd of my return.--I heard him impatiently ask to see me, as I stood without the door. This call'd me to him;--when pulling aside the curtain he ask'd, Who is that?--Is it Molesworth?--Are you come, my friend? But what have you seen?--what have you heard?--looking earnestly in face.--_I_ am past joy,--past feeling pleasure even for you, George;--yet tell me why you look not so sorrowful as yesterday.-- I ask'd what alteration it was he saw:--what it was he suspected.--When I have griev'd, my Lord, it has been for you.--If I am now less afflicted, you must be less miserable.--He started up in the bed, and grasping both my hands in his, cry'd. Tell me, Molesworth, is there a possibility,--a bare possibility?--I ask no more;--only tell me there is a possibility. My Lord,--my friend,--my Darcey, nothing is impossible. By heaven! he exclaim'd, you would not flatter me;--by heaven she lives! Ask me not farther, my Lord.--What is the blessing you most wish for?--Suppose that blessing granted.--And you, Risby, suppose the extasy,--the thankfulness that ensued.--He that is grateful to man, can he be ungrateful to his Maker? Yours, MOLESWORTH. LETTER XXXVII. Miss Powis to Lady Powis. _London_.