mned, in the remorse that wrings his
heart, on looking back on his past actions by this lady. Gives him what
he calls a faint picture of his horrible uneasiness, riding up and down,
expecting the return of his servant as soon as he had dispatched him.
Woe be to the man who brings him the fatal news!

LETTER LXI. Belford to Lovelace.--
Farther particulars of the lady's pious and exemplary behaviour. She
rejoices in the gradual death afforded her. Her thankful acknowledgments
to Mr. Belford, Mrs. Smith, and Mrs. Lovick, for their kindness to her.
Her edifying address to Mr. Belford.

LETTER LXII. Clarissa to Mrs. Norton. In answer to her's, No. LVI.--
Afflicted only for her friends. Desires not now to see her cousin
Morden, nor even herself, or Miss Howe. God will have no rivals, she
says, in the hearts of those whom HE sanctifies. Advice to Miss Howe.
To Mr. Hickman. Blesses all her relations and friends.

LETTER LXIII. Lovelace to Belford.--
A letter of deep distress, remorse, and impatience. Yet would he fain
lighten his own guilt by reflections on the cruelty of her relations.

LETTER LXIV. Belford to Lovelace
The lady is disappointed at the Doctor's telling her that she may yet
live two or three days. Death from grief the slowest of deaths. Her
solemn forgiveness of Lovelace, and prayer for him. Owns that once she
could have loved him. Her generous concern for his future happiness.
Belford's good resolutions.

LETTER LXV. Mr. Brand to Mr. John Walton.

LETTER LXVI. Mr. Brand to John Harlowe, Esq.;
in excuse of his credulity, and of the misreports founded upon it.

LETTER LXVII. Lovelace to Belford.--
Blesses him for sending him word the lady is better. Her charity towards
him cuts him to the heart. He cannot bear it. His vehement self
reproaches. Curses his contriving genius, and his disbelief that there
could be such virtue in woman. The world never saw such an husband as he
will make, if she recover, and will be his.

LETTER LXVIII. Belford to Lovelace.--
The lady's pious frame. The approaches of death how supportable to her;
and why. She has no reason, she says, to grieve for any thing but the
sorrow she has given to her friends.

LETTER LXIX. Lovelace to Belford.--
Never prayed in his life, put all the years of it together, as he has
done for this fortnight. Has repented of all his baseness: And will
nothing do? Conjures him to send him good news in his next, as he would