When she came to Belfield's, not daring to enter the house, she sent in Mr Simkins, to desire that Mrs Belfield would be so good as to step to the coach door. “Is your son, madam,” she cried, eagerly, “come home? and is any body with him?” “No, ma'am; he has never once been across the threshold since that gentleman took him out; and I am half out of my wits to think”-- “Has that gentleman,” interrupted Cecilia, “been here anymore?” “Yes, ma'am, that's what I was going to tell you; he came again just now, and said”-- “Just now?--good heaven!--and which way is he gone?” “Why he is after no good, I am afraid, for he was in a great passion, and would hardly hear any thing I said.” “Pray, pray answer me quick!--where, which way did he go?” “Why, he asked me if I knew whither my son was come from the * * coffee-house; why, says I, I'm sure I can't tell, for if it had not been for Mr Simkins, I should not so much as have known he ever went to the * * coffee-house; however, I hope he a'n't come away, because if he is, poor Miss Beverley will have had all that trouble for nothing; for she's gone after him in a prodigious hurry; and upon my only saying that, he seemed quite beside himself, and said, if I don't meet with your son at the * * coffee-house myself, pray, when he comes in, tell him I shall be highly obliged to him to call there; and then he went away, in as great a pet as ever you saw.” Cecilia listened to this account with the utmost terror and misery; the suspicions of Delvile would now be aggravated, and the message he had left for Belfield, would by him be regarded as a defiance. Again, however, to the * * coffee-house she instantly ordered the coach, an immediate explanation from herself seeming the only possible chance for preventing the most horrible conclusion to this unfortunate and eventful evening. She was still accompanied by Mr Simkins, and, but that she attended to nothing he said, would not inconsiderably have been tormented by his conversation. She sent him immediately into the coffee-room, to enquire if either of the gentlemen were then in the house. He returned to her with a waiter, who said, “One of them, madam, called again just now, but he only stopt to write a note, which he left to be given to the gentleman who came with him at first. He is but this moment gone, and I don't think he can be at the bottom of the street.” “Oh drive then, gallop after him!”--cried Cecilia; “coachman! go this moment!” “My horses are tired,” said the man, “they have been out all day, and they will gallop no further, if I don't stop and give them a drink.” Cecilia, too full of hope and impatience for this delay, forced open the door herself, and without saying another word, jumped out of the carriage, with intention to run down the street; but the coachman immediately seizing her, protested she should not stir till he was paid.