Heavens! the misfortunes of Sir Philip Blandford weigh
so heavily on my spirits, that--but confusion to melancholy! I am come
here to meet an angel, who will, in a moment, drive away the blue devils
like mist before the sun. Let me again read the dear words; [_Reading a
letter._] "I confess, I love you still;" [_Kisses the letter._] but I
dare not believe their truth till her sweet lips confirm it. Ah! she's
there--Susan, my angel! a thousand thanks. A life of love can alone
repay the joy your letter gave me.

_Susan._ Do you not despise me?

_Handy, jun._ No; love you more than ever.

_Susan._ Oh! Robert, this is the very crisis of my fate.----From this
moment we meet with honour, or we meet no more. If we must part,
perhaps, when you lead your happy bride to church, you may stumble over
your Susan's grave. Well, be it so.

_Handy, jun._ Away with such sombre thoughts!

_Susan._ Tell me my doom--yet hold--you are wild, impetuous--you do not
give your heart fair play--therefore promise me (perhaps 'tis the last
favour I shall ask), that before you determine whether our love shall
die or live with honour, you will remain here alone a few moments, and
that you will give those moments to reflection.

_Handy, jun._ I do--I will.

_Susan._ With a throbbing heart I will wait at a little distance. May
virtuous love and sacred honour direct his thoughts! [_Aside.--Exit._

_Handy, jun._ Yes, I will reflect, that I am the most fortunate fellow
in England. She loves me still--what is the consequence?--that love will
triumph--that she will be mine--mine without the degradation of
marriage--love, pride, all gratified--how I shall be envied when I
triumphantly pass the circles of fashion! One will cry, "Who is that
angel?"--another, "Happy fellow!" then Susan will smile around--will she
smile? oh yes--she will be all gaiety--mingle with the votaries of
pleasure, and--what! Susan Ashfield the companion of licentious
women!--Damnation!--no! I wrong her--she would not--she would rather
shun society--she would be melancholy--melancholy! [_Sighs, and looks at
his watch._]--would the time were over!--Pshaw! I think of it too
seriously--'Tis false--I do not.--Should her virtue yield to love, would
not remorse affect her health? should I not behold that lovely form
sicken and decay--perhaps die?--die! then what am I?--a villain, loaded
with her parents' curses and my own.--Let me fly from the dreadful
thought.--But how fly from