Part 16 (2/2)

What a weight will human nature support before it sinks!--The distress'd inhabitants of this house are still alive; it is proclaim'd from every room by dreadful groans.--You sent me on a raven's message:--like that ill-boding bird I flew from house to house, afraid to croak my direful tidings.

By your directions I went to the steward's;--at the gate stood my dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. Powis, arm in arm.--I thought I should have sunk;--I thought I should have died instantly.--I was turning my horse to go back, and leave my black errand to be executed by another.

They were instantly at my side;--a hand was seiz'd by each,--and the words Risby!--captain Risby!--ecchoed in my ears.--What with their joyous welcomes,--and transported countenances, I felt as if a flash of lightning had just darted on my head.--Mrs. Powis first perceiv'd the alteration and ask'd if I was well;--if any thing had happen'd to give me concern?

Certainly there has, said Mr. Powis, or _you_ are not the same man you _was_, Risby.--It is true, Sir, return'd I;--it is true, I am not _so_ happy as when I last saw _you_;--my mind is disagreeably situated;--could I receive joy, it would be in knowing this amiable woman to be Mrs. Powis.

You both surprise and affect us, replied he.

Indeed you do, join'd in his Lady; but we will try to remove your uneasiness:--pray let us conduct you to the Abbey; you are come to the best house in the world to heal grievances.--Ah, Risby! said my friend, all there is happiness.--d.i.c.k, I have the sweetest daughter: but Lord Darcey, I suppose, has told you every thing; we desir'd he would; and that we might see you immediately.--Can _you_ tell us if his Lords.h.i.+p is gone on to Dover?

He is, returned I.--I did not wait his coming down, wanting to discover to you the reason of my perplexities.

What excuse after saying this, could I make, for going into the steward's?--For my soul, I could not think of any.--Fortunately it enter'd my head to say, that I had been wrong directed;--that a foolish boy had told me this was the strait road to the Abbey.

Mr. and Mrs. Powis importun'd me to let the servant lead my horse, that I might walk home with them.--_This_ would never do.--I could not longer trust myself in _their_ company, 'till I had reconnoitred the family;--'till I had examin'd who _there_ was best fitted to bear the first onset of sorrow.--I brought myself off by saying, one of my legs was hurt with a tight boot.

Well then, go on, Risby, said Mr. Powis: you see the Abbey just before you; my wife and I will walk fast;--we shall be but a few minutes behind.

My faculties were quite unhing'd, the sight of the n.o.ble structure.--I stopp'd, paus'd, then rode on; stopp'd again, irresolute whether to proceed.--Recollecting your strict injunctions, I reach'd the gate which leads to the back entrance; there I saw a well-looking gentleman and the game-keeper just got off their horses:--the former, after paying me the compliment of his hat, took a brace of hares from the keeper, and went into the house.--I ask'd of a servant who stood by, if that was Sir James Powis?

No, Sir, he replied; but Sir James is within.

Who is that gentleman? return'd I.

His name is Morgan, Sir,

Very intimate here, I suppose--is he not?

Yes, very intimate, Sir.

Then _he_ is the person I have business with; pray tell him _so_.

The servant obey'd.--Mr. Morgan came to me, before I had dismounted; and accosting me very genteely, ask'd what my commands were with him?

Be so obliging, Sir, I replied; to go a small distance from the house; and I will unfold an affair which I am sorry to be the messenger of.

Nothing is amiss, Sir, I hope: you look strangely terrified; but I'll go with you this instant.--On that he led me by a little path to a walk planted thick with elms; at one end of which was a bench, where we seated ourselves.--_Now_, Sir, said Mr. Morgan, you may _here_ deliver what you have to say with secrecy.--I don't recollect to have had the honour of seeing _you_ before;--but I wait with impatience to be inform'd the occasion of this visit.

You are a friend, I presume, of Sir James Powis?

Yes, Sir, I am: he has _few_ of longer standing, and, as times go, _more_ sincere, I believe.--But what of that?--do you know any harm, Sir, of me, or of my friend?

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