Emmeline beheld and heard him with astonishment. But at length comprehending that he repented of his wild attempt, and would go back, she said hastily, as she arose from her chair--'Let us go, then, Delamere; let us instantly go. Thank God, your heart is changed! but every hour I continue with you, is an additional wound to my character and my peace.' She attempted to reach her cloak, but could not; her strength forsook her; her head became more giddy; she staggered, and would have fallen, had not Delamere caught her in his arms, and supported her to the chair she had left. 'Hurry not yourself thus, my Emmeline,' cried he; 'in mercy to me try to compose yourself, and spare me the sight of all this terror, for which believe me you have no reason.' He sat down by her; and drawing her gently towards him, her languid head reposed on his shoulder, and he contemplated, in silent anguish, the ravage which only a few hours severe anxiety had made on that beauteous and expressive countenance. He called to the maid, who waited in the next room, and desired her to send up Mr. Lawson; before whose entrance a shower of tears, the first she had shed for some hours, a little relieved the full heart of Emmeline. Mr. Lawson desired Delamere would not check her tears; and in a friendly and consolatory manner told her what Delamere proposed to do. Emmeline, after this explanation, was still more anxious to depart; but Mr. Lawson greatly doubted whether she was able. 'I can walk, indeed I can,' said she, 'if you will each lend me an arm.' Mr. Lawson then gave her a few drops in a glass of water, which seemed to revive her; and Delamere wrapping her carefully in her cloak, they led her between them to a neat brick house in the town, where Mrs. Lawson, a matron-like and well-behaved woman, and her daughter, a genteel girl of twenty, who had been apprized of Emmeline's situation, received her with great kindness and respect.