write to your father from Ostend. But continue, I conjure you, on the
continent, till we see if this unhappy man lives, and enquire, of those
who can judge, what must follow if he should not!"

"A trial," said he, "must follow, and it will go, I fear, but hardly
with me! the challenge was mine; his servants can all witness I went to
him, not he to me,--Oh my Cecilia! the rashness of which I have been
guilty, is so opposite to my principles, and, all generous as is your
silence, I know it so opposite to yours, that never, should his blood
be on my hands, wretch as he was, never will my heart be quiet more."

"He will live, he will live!" cried Cecilia, repressing her horror,
"fear nothing, for he will live;--and as to his wound and his
sufferings, his perfidy has deserved them. Go, then, to Margate; think
only of Mrs Delvile, and save her, if possible, from hearing what has
happened."

"I will go,--stay,--do which and whatever you bid me: but, should what
I fear come to pass, should my mother continue ill, my father
inflexible, should this wretched man die, and should England no longer
be a country I shall love to dwell in,--could you, then, bear to own,
--would you, then, consent to follow me?"

"Could I?--am I not yours? may you not command me? tell me, then, you
have only to say,--shall I accompany you at once?"

Delvile, affected by her generosity, could scarce utter his thanks; yet
he did not hesitate in denying to avail himself of it; "No, my
Cecilia," he cried, "I am not so selfish. If we have not happier days,
we will at least wait for more desperate necessity. With the