I scarcely recollect the verbal message I sent in answer to your letter of yesterday; for I was then under the dominion of feelings more powerful than reason--yet not more powerful; it was reason had yielded for a time her place. I will fortify myself for the relation of the events of yesterday, because I think it will do you a service. I am sure you are not incorrigible; and one example of the wretched consequences of error has often more power than a volume of precepts. It was half past eleven yesterday morning when an attendant silently beckoned me from Sibella's bed. In the antichamber, Sir Thomas Barlowe's gentleman waited to inform me that Mr. Murden was in my study. I could scarcely believe I was awake; it seemed so impossible that he should be there. 'Alas, Madam,' said the young man, 'every persuasion has been used to prevent his rash design. And since Sir Thomas Barlowe, by the advice of the physicians, positively refused his coming to visit Miss Valmont, he has neither taken rest nor sustenance. What could we do, Madam, but indulge him?' How indeed could they act otherwise! He was brought, my Lord, in a chair; and had fainted once by the way. Much affected by the nature of his enterprise, and by the resolution with which he persisted in accomplishing his design, I could not restrain my tears when I joined him in the study. He was gasping for breath; and seemed ready to drop from the arms of the servant who supported him. As I approached him, and took his hand, he turned his head away from me; an increase of anxiety and something of ill nature contracted his brow, for he expected a decided opposition on my part to the design which he had resolved never to relinquish. 'Murden, my dear Murden,' I said, 'I----' He interrupted me in a peevish tone. He came, he said, to see Sibella--He _must_ see her. And, if I refused to let him see her, he would crawl to her chamber door, and live there whilst he did live. I would have spoken again, but he waved his hand to express that he would not hear me; and rested his head on the servant's shoulder. The hand which I still held, though he had twice attempted to draw it from mine, began to endure a consuming heat. A deep hectic colouring overspread his cheek; and I imagined disappointment was committing more ravages on him, in one way, than indulgence could, in another. Strongly incited to lead Murden instantly to my friend's chamber, yet unwilling to hazard so much merely on my own judgment, I retired to consult with Mrs. Beville, who has kindly given me her society and assistance since my mother quitted the house. Mrs. Beville suggested to me an idea which determined me to permit the interview, unless Sibella herself should object to seeing Murden.