Think, my dearest Louisa, what a situation this was for me! I was constrained to rein-in my resentment, lest I should irritate this wretch to some act of violence--for I had but too much reason to believe I was wholly in his power. I had my senses sufficiently collected (for which I owe my thanks to heaven) to make a clear retrospect of my forlorn condition--eight or ten strange fellows in the house, who, from the nature of their profession, must be hardened against every distress, and, perhaps, ready to join with the hand of oppression in injuring the unfortunate--my servants (in none of whom I could confide) most of them employed in protecting, what they styled, their own property; and either totally regardless of me, or, what I more feared, might unite with this my chief enemy in my destruction. As to the forgery, though the bare surmise threw me into agonies, I rather thought it a proof how far the vile Biddulph would proceed to terrify me, than reality; but the fatal paper signed by Sir William--that was too evident to be disputed. This conflict of thought employed every faculty, and left me speechless--Biddulph was still on his knees, "For heaven's sake," cried he, "do not treat me with this scorn; make me not desperate! Ardent as my passion is, I would not lose sight of my respect for you." "That you have already done," I answered, "in thus openly avowing a passion, to me so highly disagreeable. Prove your respect, my lord, by quitting so unbecoming a posture, and leave the most unfortunate of women to her destiny." "Take care, take care, Madam," cried he, "how you drive me to despair; I have long, long adored you. My perseverance, notwithstanding your frowns, calls for some reward; and unless you assure me that in a future day you will not be thus unkind, I shall not easily forego the opportunity which now offers." "For mercy's sake!" exclaimed I, starting up, "what do you mean? Lord Biddulph! How dare--I insist, Sir--leave me." I burst into tears, and, throwing myself again in my chair, gave free vent to all the anguish of my soul. He seemed moved. Again he knelt, and implored my pardon--"Forgive me!--Oh! forgive me, thou sweet excellence! I will not hereafter offend, if it is in nature to suppress the extreme violence of my love. You know not how extensive your sway is over my soul! Indeed you do not!" "On the condition of your leaving me directly, I will endeavour to forgive and forget what has passed," I sobbed out, for my heart was too full of grief to articulate clearly.