"You know your own conscience best, and how much it will bear; I did not use to think you so scrupulous; what I offer is as much for your advantage as my own; nay, faith, for your advantage solely, as I may have a very good chance of succeeding with her bye and bye, when you can reap no benefit from it. All I ask of you is, your permission to give you an opportunity of suing for a divorce. Lay your damages as high as you please, I will agree to any thing; and, as an earnest, will raise this sum which distresses you so much; I am not tied down as you are; I can mortgage any part of my estate. What do you say? Will you sign a paper, making over all right and title to your wife in my favour? There is no time to be lost, I can assure you. Your uncle Stanley's lawyer has been with Brudenel; you know what hopes you have from that quarter; for the sooner you are out of the way, the better for the next heir." You never saw a poor devil so distressed and agitated as Stanley was; he shook like one under a fit of the tertian-ague. I used every argument I could muster up, and conjured all the horrible ideas which were likely to terrify a man of his cast; threatened, soothed, sneered: in short, I at last gained my point, and he signed a commission for his own cuckoldom; which that I may be able to achieve soon, dear Venus grant! I took him with me to consult with our broker about raising the money. In the evening I intend my visit to the lovely Julia. Oh! that I may be endued with sufficient eloquence to soften her gentle heart, heart, and tune it to the sweetest notes of love! But she is virtuous, as Stanley says; that she is most truly: yet who knows how far resentment against her brutal husband may induce her to go? If ever woman had provocation, she certainly has. O that she may be inclined to revenge herself on him for his baseness to her! and that I may be the happy instrument of effecting it! "Gods! what a thought is there!" Adieu! BIDDULPH. LETTER XLVI. To Miss GRENVILLE. Oh! my Louisa, what will now become of your wretched sister? Surely the wide world contains not so forlorn a wretch, who has not been guilty of any crime! But let me not keep you in suspence. In the afternoon of the day I wrote last (I told you Miss Finch was ill)--Oh! good God! I know not what I write. I thought I would go and see her for an hour or two. I ordered the coach, and was just stepping into it, when an ill-looking man (Lord bless me! I have seen none else lately) laid hold of my arm, saying, "Madam, you must not go into that carriage." "What do you mean?" I asked with a voice of terror, thinking he was a madman. "Nothing, my lady," he answered, "but an execution on Sir William." "An execution! Oh, heavens! what execution?" I was breathless, and just fainting.