Mr and Mrs Wyers both came up to assist in supporting her, and Mr Wyers offered to carry her in his arms; but she would not consent; when she came to the bottom of the stairs, her head grew worse, she again lent it upon Mary, but Mr Wyers was obliged to hold them both. She still, however, was firm in her determination, and was making another effort to proceed, when Delvile rushed hastily into the shop. He had just encountered Albany; who, knowing his acquaintance, though ignorant of his marriage, with Cecilia, had informed him where to seek her. He was going to make enquiry if he was come to the right house, when he perceived her,--feeble, shaking, leaning upon one person, and half carried by another!--he started back, staggered, gasped for breath,--but finding they were proceeding, advanced with trepidation, furiously calling out, “Hold! stop!--what is it you are doing? Monsters of savage barbarity, are you murdering my wife?” The well-known voice no sooner struck the ears of Cecilia, than instantly recollecting it, she screamed, and, is suddenly endeavouring to spring forward, fell to the ground. Delvile had vehemently advanced to catch her in his arms and save her fall, which her unexpected quickness had prevented her attendants from doing; but the sight of her changed complection, and the wildness of her eyes and air, again made him start,--his blood froze through his veins, and he stood looking at her, cold and almost petrified. Her own recollection of him seemed lost already; and exhausted by the fatigue she had gone through in dressing and coming down stairs, she remained still and quiet, forgetting her design of proceeding, and forming no new one for returning. Mary, to whom, as to all her fellow servants, the marriage of Cecilia had been known, before she left the country, now desired from Delvile directions what was to be done. Delvile, starting suddenly at this call from the deepest horror into the most desperate rage, fiercely exclaimed, “Inhuman wretches! unfeeling, execrable wretches, what is it you have done to her? how came she hither?--who brought her?--who dragged her?--by what infamous usage has she been sunk into this state?” “Indeed, sir, I don't know!” cried Mary. “I assure you, sir,” said Mrs Wyers, “the lady--” “Peace!” cried he, furiously, “I will not hear your falsehoods!--peace, and begone!”-- Then, casting himself upon the ground by her side, “Oh my Cecilia,” he cried, “where hast thou been thus long? how have I lost thee? what dreadful calamity has befallen thee?--answer me, my love! raise your sweet head and answer me!--oh speak!--say to me any thing; the bitterest words will be mercy to this silence!”--- Cecilia then, suddenly looking up, called out with great quickness, “Who are you?” “Who am I!” cried he, amazed and affrighted. “I should be glad you would go away,” cried she, in a hurrying manner, “for you are quite unknown to me.”