“From her affection?” repeated he, fiercely, “from her hatred you mean! do you not know that she, too, is ruined? Oh past redemption ruined!--and yet that I should hesitate, that I should a moment hesitate to conclude the whole business at once!” “How dreadful!” cried Cecilia, “what horrible thing has happened?” “I have undone Priscilla!” cried he, “I have blasted my credit! I have destroyed--no, not yet quite destroyed myself!” “O yet nor ever!” cried Cecilia, whose agitation now almost equalled his own, “be not so desperate, I conjure you! speak to me more intelligibly,--what does all this mean? How has it come to pass?” “My debts!--my creditors!--one way only,” striking his hand upon his forehead, “is left for me!” “Do not say so, Sir!” said Cecilia, “you shall find many ways; pray have courage! pray speak calmly; and if you will but be more prudent, will but, in future, better regulate your affairs, I will myself undertake--” She stopt; checked in the full career of her overflowing compassion, by a sense of the worthlessness of its object; and by the remembrance of the injunctions of Mr Monckton. “What will you undertake?” cried he, eagerly, “I know you are an angel!--tell me, what will you undertake?” “I will,--” said Cecilia, hesitating, “I will speak to Mr Monckton,--I will consult--” “You may as well consult with every cursed creditor in the house!” interrupted he; “but do so, if you please; my disgrace must perforce reach him soon, and a short anticipation is not worth begging off.” “Are your creditors then actually in the house?” “O yes, yes! and therefore it is high time I should be out of it!--Did you not see them?--Do they not line the hall?--They threaten me with three executions before night!--three executions unless I satisfy their immediate demands!--” “And to what do their demands amount?” “I know not!--I dare not ask!--to some thousand pounds, perhaps,--and I have not, at this minute, forty guineas in the house!” “Nay, then,” cried Cecilia, retreating, “I can indeed do nothing! if their demands are so high, I _ought_ to do nothing.” She would then have quitted him, not more shocked at his situation, than indignant at the wilful extravagance which had occasioned it. “Stay,” cried he, “and hear me!” then, lowering his voice, “seek out,” he continued, “your unfortunate friend,--go to the poor ruined Priscilla,--prepare her for tidings of horror! and do not, though you renounce Me, do not abandon Her!” Then, fiercely passing her, he was himself leaving the room; but Cecilia, alarmed by the fury of his manner, called out, “What is it you mean? what tidings of horror? whither are you going?” “To hell!” cried he, and rushed out of the apartment.