Interlined in this place, Lady Delacour had written these words: “My daughter is nobly provided for; and lest any doubt or difficulty should arise from the omission, I think it necessary to mention that the said cabinet contains the valuable jewels left to me by my late uncle, and that it is my intention that the said jewels should be part of my bequest to the said Belinda Portman.--If she marry a man of good fortune, she will wear them for my sake: if she do not marry an opulent husband, I hope she will sell the jewels without scruple, as they are intended for her convenience, and not as an ostentatious bequest. It is fit that she should be as independent in her circumstances as she is in her mind.” Lord Delacour with much emotion looked over this paper, and assured her ladyship that she should be obeyed, if--he could say no more. “Farewell, then, my lord!” said she: “keep up your spirits, for I intend to live many years yet to try them.” CHAPTER XXII. A SPECTRE. The surgeon who was to attend Lady Delacour was prevented from going to her on the day appointed; he was one of the surgeons of the queen’s household, and his attendance was required at the palace. This delay was extremely irksome to Lady Delacour, who had worked up her courage to the highest point, but who had not prepared herself to endure suspense. She spent nearly a week at Twickenham in this anxious state, and Belinda observed that she every day became more and more thoughtful and reserved. She seemed as if she had some secret subject of meditation, from which she could not bear to be distracted. When Helena was present, she exerted herself to converse in her usual sprightly strain; but as soon as she could escape, as she thought, unobserved, she would shut herself up in her own apartment, and remain there for hours. “I wish to Heaven, Miss Portman,” said Marriott, coming one morning into her room with a portentous face, “I wish to Heaven, ma’am, that you could any way persuade my lady not to spend so many hours of the day and night as she does in reading those methodistical books that she keeps to herself!--I’m sure that they do her no good, but a great deal of harm, especially now when her spirits should be kept up as much as possible. I am sensible, ma’am, that ‘tis those books that have made my lady melancholy of a sudden. Ma’am, my lady has let drop very odd hints within these two or three days, and she speaks in a strange _disconnected_ sort of style, and at times I do not think she is quite right in her head.”