er, who complains of nothing but her absence. Tell her
that I have sent you on before with it, and that I only await her
answer, to come myself and fold her again in my arms.

WAITWELL.

I think you do well to prepare them for your arrival in this way.

SIR WILLIAM SAMPSON.

I make sure of her intentions by this means, and give her the
opportunity of freeing herself from any shame or sorrow which
repentance might cause her, before she speaks verbally with me. In a
letter it will cost her less embarrassment, and me, perhaps, fewer
tears.

WAITWELL.

But may I ask, Sir, what you have resolved upon with regard to
Mellefont?

SIR WILLIAM SAMPSON.

Ah, Waitwell, if I could separate him from my daughter's lover, I
should make some very harsh resolve. But as this cannot be, you see, he
is saved from my anger. I myself am most to blame in this misfortune.
But for me Sara would never have made the acquaintance of this
dangerous man. I admitted him freely into my house on account of an
obligation under which I believed myself to be to him. It was natural
that the attention which in gratitude I paid him, should win for him
the esteem of my daughter. And it was just as natural, that a man of
his disposition should suffer himself to be tempted by this esteem to
something more. He had been clever enough to transform it into love
before I noticed anything at all, and before I had time to inquire into
his former life. The evil was done, and I should have done well, if I
had forgiven them everything immediately. I wished to be inexorable
towards him, and did not consider that I could not be so towards him
alone. If I had spared my severity, which came too late, I would at
least have prevented their flight. But here I am now, Waitwell! I must
fetch them back myself and consider myself happy if only I can make a
son of a seducer. For who knows whether he will give up his Marwoods
and his other creatures for the sake of a girl who has left nothing for
his desires to wish for and who understands so little the bewitching
arts of a coquette?

WAITWELL.

Well, Sir, it cannot be possible, that a man could be so wicked----

SIR WILLIAM SAMPSON.

This doubt, good Waitwell, does honour to your virtue. But why, at the
same time, is it true that the limits of human w