to the Court of Conscience the next morning. A gentleman, who then came
out of the coffee-house, offered to assist the lady, but the coachman,
who still held her arm, swore he would have his right.

"Let me go! let me pass!" cried she, with encreasing eagerness and
emotion; "detain me at your peril!--release me this moment--only let me
run to the end of the street,--good God! good Heaven! detain me not for
mercy!"

Mr Simkins, humbly desiring her not to be in haste, began a formal
apology for his conduct; but the inebriety of the coachman became
evident; a mob was collecting; Cecilia, breathless with vehemence and
terror, was encircled, yet struggled in vain to break away; and the
stranger gentleman, protesting, with sundry compliments, he would
himself take care of her, very freely seized her hand.

This moment, for the unhappy Cecilia, teemed with calamity; she was
wholly overpowered; terror for Delvile, horror for herself, hurry,
confusion, heat and fatigue, all assailing her at once, while all means
of repelling them were denied her, the attack was too strong for her
fears, feelings, and faculties, and her reason suddenly, yet totally
failing her, she madly called out, "He will be gone! he will be gone!
and I must follow him to Nice!"

The gentleman now retreated; but Mr Simkins, who was talking to the
mob, did not hear her; and the coachman, too much intoxicated to
perceive her rising frenzy, persisted in detaining her.

"I am going to France!" cried she, still more wildly, "why do you stop
me? he will die if I do not see him, he will bleed to death!"