I have passed three days without writing to you, my dear, and I am afraid my silence has made you uneasy. I have had a sore throat, a fever, and my pulse very irregular: they bled me in spite of myself. Sir Harry would not lose this opportunity of showing his officious zeal: he has taken possession of my apartment; he does all the honours of it: this man is really good; he is unhappy: he sometimes makes me pity him; but oftener wearies me with his assiduity: I have a heart too full of sensibility not to compassionate his love, though too much prepossessed to return it.

John is come back: Lord Ossory is upon the recovery, and they hope his health will soon be quite re-established: I feel at present another kind of inquietude from the indiscretion of my messenger – But here is Abraham, my Lord's valet de chambre – My God, what can he want with me? How my heart flutters! – So alarmed at one of his servants! What should I then be, if my Lord himself – what contradictions reign in my weak heart! A few days since I wished ardently to see him, and now the name only of his servant disorders me – He brings me a letter – Poor Abraham! He is so overjoyed to see me again, he cannot speak to me – But let me read his letter – It is with difficulty he has wrote it – He has been very ill – See, my dear, what he says.

To Lady Catesby.

Have you then deigned, Madam, to interest yourself in my life? This goodness touches me to the soul. But do I owe it to your compassion alone, or to the feeble remains of that tender friendship – Alas! I scarce dare flatter myself you preserve the slightest remembrance of it.