me just setting out for London: the chaise at the
door. Already I have taken leave of the good widow, who has obliged
me with the company of her eldest daughter, at Mr. Lovelace's request,
while he rides by us. The young gentlewoman is to return in two or three
days with the chaise, in its way to my Lord M.'s Hertfordshire seat.

I received my sister's dreadful letter on Sunday, when Mr. Lovelace was
out. He saw, on his return, my extreme anguish and dejection; and he was
told how much worse I had been: for I had fainted away more than once.

I think the contents of it have touched my head as well as my heart.

He would fain have seen it. But I would not permit that, because of the
threatenings he would have found in it against himself. As it was, the
effect it had upon me made him break out into execrations and menaces. I
was so ill that he himself advised me to delay going to town on Monday,
as I proposed to do.

He is extremely regardful and tender of me. All that you supposed would
follow the violent letter, from him, has followed it. He has offered
himself to my acceptance in so unreserved a manner, that I am concerned
I have written so freely and diffidently of him. Pray, my dearest
friend, keep to yourself every thing that may appear disreputable of him
from me.

I must acquaint you that his kind behaviour, and my low-spiritedness,
co-operating with your former advice, and my unhappy situation, made me
that very Sunday evening receive unreservedly his declarations: and now
indeed I am more in his power than ever.

He presses me every hour (indeed as needlessly, as unkindly) for fresh
tokens of my esteem for him, and confidence in him. And as I have been
brought to some verbal concessions, if he should prove unworthy, I am
sure I shall have great reason to blame this violent letter: for I have
no resolution at all. Abandoned thus of all my natural friends, of whose
returning favour I have now no hopes, and only you to pity me, and you
restrained, as I may say, I have been forced to turn my desolate heart
to such protection as I could find.

All my comfort is, that your advice repeatedly given me to the same
purpose, in your kind letter before me, warrants me. I now set out the
more cheerfully to London on that account: for, before, a heavy weight
hung upon my heart; and although I thought it best and safest to go,
yet my spirits sunk, I know not why, at every motion I made towards a
preparation for it.

I