he fright of the horses........ My
anxiety, which would have been less if I had not been, in some degree,
myself the author of the evil, was nearly removed by Ludloe's proceeding
to assure me that all danger was at an end, and that he left the lady
in the road to perfect health. He had seized the earliest opportunity of
acquainting her with the purpose of his visit, and had brought back with
him her cheerful acceptance of my services. The next week was appointed
for my introduction.

With such an object in view, I had little leisure to attend to any
indifferent object. My thoughts were continually bent upon the expected
introduction, and my impatience and curiosity drew strength, not merely
from the character of Mrs. Benington, but from the nature of my new
employment. Ludloe had truly observed, that I was infected with somewhat
of this antiquarian mania myself, and I now remembered that Benington
had frequently alluded to this collection in possession of his wife. My
curiosity had then been more than once excited by his representations,
and I had formed a vague resolution of making myself acquainted with
this lady and her learned treasure, should I ever return to Ireland.....
Other incidents had driven this matter from my mind.

Meanwhile, affairs between Ludloe and myself remained stationary. Our
conferences, which were regular and daily, related to general topics,
and though his instructions were adapted to promote my improvement in
the most useful branches of knowledge, they never afforded a glimpse
towards that quarter where my curiosity was most active.

The next week now arrived, but Ludloe informed me that the state of Mrs.
Benington's health required a short excursion into the country, and that
he himself proposed to bear her company. The journey was to last about
a fortnight, after which I might prepare myself for an introduction to
her.

This was a very unexpected and disagreeable trial to my patience. The
interval of solitude that now succeeded would have passed rapidly and
pleasantly enough, if an event of so much moment were not in suspense.
Books, of which I was passionately fond, would have afforded me
delightful and incessant occupation, and Ludloe, by way of reconciling
me to unavoidable delays, had given me access to a little closet, in
which his rarer and more valuable books were kept.

All my amusements, both by inclination and necessity, were centered in
myself and at home. Ludloe appeared to