reply, then in a tone the most melancholy, said, "If it is yet possible
you can be sufficiently interested in my fate to care what becomes of
me, aid me now with your counsel, or rather with your instructions; I
am scarce able to think for myself, and to be thought for by you, would
yet be a consolation that would give me spirit for any thing."

Cecilia, starting from her reverie, repeated, "To care what becomes of
you-? Oh Delvile!--make not my heart bleed by words of such
unkindness!"

"Forgive me," cried he, "I meant not a reproach; I meant but to state
my own consciousness how little I deserve from you. You talked to me of
going to my father? do you still wish it?"

"I think so!" cried she; too much disturbed to know what she said, yet
fearing again to hurt him by making him wait her answer.

"I will go then," said he, "without doubt: too happy to be guided by
you, which-ever way I steer. I have now, indeed much to tell him; but
whatever may be his wrath, there is little fear, at this time, that my
own temper cannot bear it! what next shall I do?"

"What next?" repeated she; "indeed I know not!"

"Shall I go immediately to Margate? or shall I first ride hither?"

"If you please," said she, much perturbed, and deeply sighing.

"I please nothing but by your direction, to follow that is my only
chance of pleasure. Which, then, shall I do?-you will not, now, refuse