ut in her chariot, when he got on
horseback.

If he met her not with the refusal, he was to say here till she came. I
am, Sir,

Your faithful, humble servant,
WILLIAM MORDEN.

LETTER XXVIII

COLONEL MORDEN
[IN CONTINUATION.]
MONDAY AFTERNOON, SEPT. 11.

SIR,

We are such bad company here to one another, that it is some relief to
retire and write.

I was summoned to breakfast about half an hour after nine. Slowly did
the mournful congress meet. Each, lifelessly and spiritless, took our
places, with swoln eyes, inquiring, without expecting any tolerable
account, how each had rested.

The sorrowing mother gave for answer, that she should never more know
what rest was.

By the time we were well seated, the bell ringing, the outward gate
opening, a chariot rattling over the pavement of the court-yard, put them
into emotion.

I left them; and was just time enough to give Miss Howe my hand as she
alighted: her maid in tears remaining in the chariot.

I think you told me, Sir, you never saw Miss Howe. She is a fine,
graceful young lady. A fixed melancholy on her whole aspect, overclouded
a vivacity and fire, which, nevertheless, darted now-and-then through the
awful gloom. I shall ever respect her for her love to my dear cousin.

Never did I think, said she, as she gave me her hand, to enter more these
doors: but, living or dead, Clarissa brings me after her any where!

She entered with me the little parlour; and seeing the coffin, withdrew
her hand from mine, and with impatience pushed aside the lid. As
impatiently she removed the face-cloth. In a wild air, she clasped her
uplifted hands together; and now looked upon the corpse, now up to
Heaven, as if appealing to that. Her bosom heaved and fluttered
discernible through her handkerchief, and at last she broke silence:--O
Sir!--See you not here!--the glory of her sex?--Thus by the most
villanous of yours--thus--laid low!

O my blessed Friend!--said she--My sweet Companion!--My lovely Monitress!
--kissing her lips at every tender appellation. And is this all!--Is it
all of my CLARISSA'S story!

Then, after a short pause, and a profound sigh, she turned to me, and
then to her breathless friend. But is she, can she be, really dead!--O
no!--She only sleeps.--Awake, my beloved Friend! My sweet clay-cold
Friend, awake: let thy Anna Howe revive thee; by her warm breath revive
thee, my dear creature! And, kissing her again, Let my warm lips an