As we were driving on, the image of the gentle Olivia rose to my
recollection. Instantly the thought struck me, 'If it should be!
Why not? Who else could it be? Oh, it must! Yes, yes!' I was soon
convinced it could be no other than Olivia! the dear the divine
Olivia!

In less than forty minutes we were at Abingdon, and the postillion by
Hector's direction drove us on the back of the town till we came to a
neat newly painted house, at which he was ordered to stop. My heart
began to beat. Hector jumped out and thundered at the door. A female
threw up the sash, looked through the window, and instantly drew it
down again. Alas! it was not Olivia.

There was some delay: the impatient Hector cursed and knocked again,
and in a little while the door was opened.

Hector entered swearing, hurried up stairs, bad me follow him, dashed
open the door, and a young lady, _in a sky-blue riding-habit_, _with
embroidered button-holes, a nosegay in her bosom, and a purple cestus
round her waist--leaped into his arms_!--I stood in a trance! It was
she herself! That sweet lovely creature, who had lost her purse, given
a draft on her banker, and gone to relieve a poor sick relation at
Cirencester! It was the true and identical Harriet Palmer! She that
had been so attentive to me; had sugared my tea, suffered me to sup
in her company, and been so fearful lest I should be sick by riding
backward! The innocent soul, that had felt her delicacy so much
disturbed by the horse-godmother rudeness of the men-fellows!--'Bless
me!' said I.