repeatedly; she was even caught once or twice by her riding habit; but
she forced herself along by her own vehement rapidity, not hearing what
was said, nor heeding what was thought. Delvile, bleeding by the arm of
Belfield, was the image before her eyes, and took such full possession
of her senses, that still, as she ran on, she fancied it in view. She
scarce touched the ground; she scarce felt her own motion; she seemed
as if endued with supernatural speed, gliding from place to place, from
street to street; with no consciousness of any plan, and following no
other direction than that of darting forward where-ever there was most
room, and turning back when she met with any obstruction; till quite
spent and exhausted, she abruptly ran into a yet open shop, where,
breathless and panting, she sunk upon the floor, and, with a look
disconsolate and helpless, sat for some time without speaking.

The people of the house, concluding at first she was a woman of the
town, were going roughly to turn her out; but soon seeing their
mistake, by the evident distraction of her air and manner, they
enquired of some idle people who, late as it was, had followed her, if
any of them knew who she was, or whence she came?

They could give no account of her, but supposed she was broke loose
from Bedlam.

Cecilia then, wildly starting up, exclaimed, "No, no,--I am not mad,--
I am going to Nice--to my husband."

"She's quite crazy," said the man of the house, who was a Pawn-Broker;
"we had better get rid of her before she grows mischievous--"

"She's somebody broke out from a private mad house, I dare say," said a