A rap at the street-door gave now a new relief to Cecilia, who began to grow very apprehensive lest the delight of spending money, thus warmly contested with that of hoarding it, should give rise to a quarrel, which, between two such sturdy champions for their own opinions, might lead to a conclusion rather more rough and violent than she desired to witness: but when the parlour-door opened, instead of Mr Delvile, whom she now fully expected, Mr Albany made his entrance. This was rather distressing, as her real business with her guardians made it proper her conference with them should be undisturbed: and Albany was not a man with whom a hint that she was engaged could be risked: but she had made no preparation to guard against interruption, as her little acquaintance in London had prevented her expecting any visitors. He advanced with a solemn air to Cecilia, and, looking as if hardly determined whether to speak with severity or gentleness, said, “once more I come to prove thy sincerity; now wilt thou go with me where sorrow calls thee? sorrow thy charity can mitigate?” “I am very much concerned,” she answered, “but indeed at present it is utterly impossible.” “Again,” cried he, with a look at once stern and disappointed, “again thou failest me? what wanton trifling! why shouldst thou thus elate a worn-out mind, only to make it feel its lingering credulity? or why, teaching me to think I had found an angel, so unkindly undeceive me?” “Indeed,” said Cecilia, much affected by this reproof, “if you knew how heavy a loss I had personally suffered--” “I do know it,” cried he, “and I grieved for thee when I heard it. Thou hast lost a faithful old friend, a loss which with every setting sun thou mayst mourn, for the rising sun will never repair it! but was that a reason for shunning the duties of humanity? was the sight of death a motive for neglecting the claims of benevolence? ought it not rather to have hastened your fulfilling them? and should not your own suffering experience of the brevity of life, have taught you the vanity of all things but preparing for its end?” “Perhaps so, but my grief at that time made me think only of myself.” “And of what else dost thou think now?” “Most probably of the same person still!” said she, half smiling, “but yet believe me, I have real business to transact.” “Frivolous, unmeaning, ever-ready excuses! what business is so important as the relief of a fellow-creature?” “I shall not, I hope, there,” answered she, with alacrity, “be backward; but at least for this morning I must beg to make you my Almoner.” She then took out her purse.