“No place taken!” repeated he, in a voice faultering between passion and grief; “you purposed, then, to stay here?--I have perhaps driven you away?” “Here!” cried Cecilia, mingling, in her turn, indignation with surprise, “gracious heaven! what is it you mean to doubt?” “Nothing!” cried he, with emphasis, “I never have had, I never _will_ have a doubt! I will know, I will have _conviction_ for every thing! Postilion, drive to St James's-square!--to Mr Delvile's. There, madam, I will wait upon you.” “No! stay, postilion!” called out Cecilia, seized with terror inexpressible; “let me get out, let me speak with you at once!” “It cannot be; I will follow you in a few minutes--drive on, postilion!” “No, no!--I will not go--I dare not leave you--unkind Delvile!--what is it you suspect.” “Cecilia,” cried he, putting his hand upon the chaise-door, “I have ever believed you spotless as an angel! and, by heaven! I believe you so still, in spite of appearances--in defiance of every thing!--Now then be satisfied;--I will be with you very soon. Meanwhile, take this letter, I was just going to send to you.--Postilion, drive on, or be at your peril!” The man waited no further orders, nor regarded the prohibition of Cecilia, who called out to him without ceasing; but he would not listen to her till he got to the end of the street; he then stopt, and she broke the seal of her letter, and read, by the light of the lamps, enough to let her know that Delvile had written it upon the road from Dover to London, to acquaint her his mother was now better, and had taken pity of his suspense and impatience, and insisted upon his coming privately to England, to satisfy himself fully about Mr Monckton, communicate his marriage to his father, and give those orders towards preparing for its being made public, which his unhappy precipitation in leaving the kingdom had prevented. This letter, which, though written but a few hours before she received it, was full of tenderness, gratitude and anxiety for her happiness, instantly convinced her that his strange behaviour had been wholly the effect of a sudden impulse of jealousy; excited by so unexpectedly finding her in town, at the very house where his father had assured him she had an improper connexion, and alone, so suspiciously, with the young man affirmed to be her favourite. He knew nothing of the ejectment, nothing of any reason for her leaving Suffolk, every thing had the semblance of no motive but to indulge a private and criminal inclination. These thoughts, which confusedly, yet forcibly, rushed upon her mind, brought with them at once an excuse for his conduct, and an alarm for his danger; “He must think,” she cried, “I came to town only to meet Mr Belfield!” then, opening the chaise-door herself, she jumpt out, and ran back into Portland-street, too impatient to argue with the postilion to return with her, and stopt not till she came to Mrs Belfield's house.