Barford Abbey by Susannah Minific Gunning
page 113 of 205 (55%)
page 113 of 205 (55%)
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_What_, had it been _real_ as it was _visionary_, would have drove me to madness.--I dreamt, Miss Warley,--I dreamt every thing I was possess'd of was torn from me;--but now--_and here stopt_. Well, my Lord, and did not the pleasure of being undeceiv'd overpay all the pain which you had been deceiv'd into? No, my angel!--_Why does he call me his angel?_ Why, no: I have such a sinking, such a load on my mind, to reflect it is possible,--only possible it might happen, that, upon my word, it has been almost too much for me. Ah! my Lord, you are certainly wrong to anticipate evils; they come fast enough, one need not run to meet them:--besides, if your Lordship had been in reality that very unfortunate creature, you dreamt you were, for no rank or degree is proof against the caprice of Fortune,--was nothing to be preserv'd entire?--Fortune can require only what she gave: fortitude, peace, and resignation, are not her gifts. Oh! Miss Warley, you mistake: it was not riches I fancied myself dispossess'd of;--it was, oh my God!--what my peace, my _very_ soul is center'd in!--and his eyes turn'd round with so wild a stare, that really I began to suspect his head. I trembled so I could scarce reach the dressing-room, though just at the door.--The moment I turn'd from him, he flew like lightning over the stairs; and soon after, I saw him walking with Sir James on the terrace. By their gestures I could discover their conversation was not a common |
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