Cecilia, touched by praise so full of censure, and earnest to vindicate her delicacy, after an internal struggle, which Mr Monckton was too subtle to interrupt, protested she would go instantly to Mr Briggs, and see if it were possible to be settled in his house, before she made any attempt to fix herself elsewhere. “And when?” said Mr Monckton. “I don't know,” answered she, with some hesitation, “perhaps this afternoon.” “Why not this morning?” “I can go out no where this morning; I must stay with Mrs Harrel.” “You thought otherwise when I came, you were then content to leave her.” Cecilia's alacrity, however, for changing her abode, was now at an end, and she would fain have been left quietly to re-consider her plans; but Mr Monckton urged so strongly the danger of her lengthened stay in the house of so designing a man as Mr Harrel, that he prevailed with her to quit it without delay, and had himself the satisfaction of handing her to her chair. CHAPTER viii. -- A MISER'S MANSION. Mr Briggs was at home, and Cecilia instantly and briefly informed him that it was inconvenient for her to live any longer at Mr Harrel's, and that if she could be accommodated at his house, she should be glad to reside with him during the rest of her minority. “Shall, shall,” cried he, extremely pleased, “take you with all my heart. Warrant Master Harrel's made a good penny of you. Not a bit the better for dressing so fine; many a rogue in a gold lace hat.” Cecilia begged to know what apartments he could spare for her. “Take you up stairs,” cried he, “shew you a place for a queen.” He then led her up stairs, and took her to a room entirely dark, and so close for want of air that she could hardly breathe in it. She retreated to the landing-place till he had opened the shutters, and then saw an apartment the most forlorn she had ever beheld, containing no other furniture than a ragged stuff bed, two worn-out rush-bottomed chairs, an old wooden box, and a bit of broken glass which was fastened to the wall by two bent nails. “See here, my little chick,” cried he, “everything ready! and a box for your gimcracks into the bargain.” “You don't mean this place for me, Sir!” cried Cecilia, staring. “Do, do;” cried he, “a deal nicer by and by. Only wants a little furbishing; soon put to rights. Never sweep a room out of use; only wears out brooms for nothing.” “But, Sir, can I not have an apartment on the first floor?” “No, no, something else to do with it; belongs to the club; secrets in all things! Make this do well enough. Come again next week; wear quite a new face. Nothing wanting but a table; pick you up one at a broker's.” “But I am obliged, Sir, to leave Mr Harrel's house directly.”