And then, to her no small amazement, instead of the expected will, she found a roll of enormous bills, and a collection of letters from various creditors, threatening the utmost severity of the law if their demands were longer unanswered. Upon a slip of paper which held these together, was written, in Mr Harrel's hand, To be all paid to-night with a BULLET. Next appeared two letters of another sort; the first of which was from Sir Robert Floyer, and in these words; Sir,--As all prospects are now over of the alliance, I hope you will excuse my reminding you of the affair at Brookes's of last Christmas. I have the honour to be, Sir, yours R. FLOYER. The other was from Mr Marriot. Sir,--Though I should think £2000 nothing for the smallest hope, I must take the liberty to say I think it a great deal for only ten minutes; you can't have forgot, Sir, the terms of our agreement, but as I find you cannot keep to them, I must beg to be off also on my side, and I am persuaded you are too much a man of honour to take advantage of my over-eagerness in parting with my money without better security. I am, Sir, your most humble servant, A. Marriot. What a scene of fraud, double-dealing, and iniquity was here laid open! Cecilia, who at first meant to read every thing aloud, found the attempt utterly vain, for so much was she shocked, that she could hardly read on to herself. Last of all appeared a paper in Mr Harrel's own hand-writing, containing these words. For Mrs Harrel, Miss Beverley, and Mr Arnott. I can struggle no longer, the last blow must now be struck! another day robs me of my house and my liberty, and blasts me by the fatal discovery of my double attempts. This is what I have wished; wholly to be freed, or ruined past all resource, and driven to the long-projected remedy. A burthen has my existence been these two years, gay as I have appeared; not a night have I gone to bed, but heated and inflamed from a gaming table; not a morning have I awaked, but to be soured with a dun! I would not lead such a life again, if the slave who works hardest at the oar would change with me. Had I a son, I would bequeath him a plough; I should then leave him happier than my parents left me. Idleness has been my destruction; the want of something to do led me into all evil. A good wife perhaps might have saved me,--mine, I thank her! tried not. Disengaged from me and my affairs, her own pleasures and amusements have occupied her solely. Dreadful will be the catastrophe she will see to-night; let her bring it home, and live better! If any pity is felt for me, it will be where I have least deserved it! Mr Arnott--Miss Beverley! it will come from you!