she recover, and if I
can but re-obtain her favour, then, indeed, will life be life to me. The
world never saw such an husband as I will make. I will have no will but
her's. She shall conduct me in all my steps. She shall open and direct
my prospects, and turn every motion of my heart as she pleases.

You tell me, in your letter, that at eleven o'clock she had sweet rest;
and my servant acquaints me, from Mrs. Smith, that she has had a good
night. What hopes does this fill me with! I have given the fellow five
guineas for his good news, to be divided between him and his
fellow-servant.

Dear, dear Jack! confirm this to me in thy next--for Heaven's sake, do!--
Tell the doctor I'll make a present of a thousand guineas if he recover
her. Ask if a consultation then be necessary.

Adieu, dear Belford! Confirm, I beseech thee, the hopes that now, with
sovereign gladness, have taken possession of a heart, that, next to
her's, is

Thine.

LETTER LXVIII

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
WEDN. MORN. EIGHT O'CLOCK, (6 SEPT.)

Your servant arrived here before I was stirring. I sent him to Smith's
to inquire how the lady was; and ordered him to call upon me when he came
back. I was pleased to hear she had tolerable rest. As soon as I had
dispatched him with the letter I had written over night, I went to attend
her.

I found hr up, and dressed; in a white sattin night-gown. Ever elegant;
but now more so than I had seen her for a week past: her aspect serenely
cheerful.

She mentioned the increased dimness of her eyes, and the tremor which had
invaded her limbs. If this be dying, said she, there is nothing at all
shocking in it. My body hardly sensible of pain, my mind at ease, my
intellects clear and perfect as ever. What a good and gracious God have
I!--For this is what I always prayed for.

I told her it was not so serene with you.

There is not the same reason for it, replied she. 'Tis a choice comfort,
Mr. Belford, at the winding up of our short story, to be able to say, I
have rather suffered injuries myself, than offered them to others. I
bless God, though I have bee unhappy, as the world deems it, and once I
thought more so than at present I think I ought to have done, since my
calamities were to work out for me my everlasting happiness; yet have I
not wilfully made any one creature so. I have no reason to grieve for
any thing but for the sorrow I have given my friends.

But pray,