Would he scruple to betray and ruin them, if he were
not afraid of the law?--Yet there are women, who can forgive such
wretches, and herd with them.
My aunt Eleanor is arrived: a good, plump, bonny-faced old virgin. She
has chosen her apartment. At present we are most prodigiously civil to
each other: but already I suspect she likes Lord G---- better than I
would have her. She will perhaps, if a party should be formed against
your poor Charlotte, make one of it.
Will you think it time thrown away, to read a further account of what is
come to hand about the wretches who lately, in the double sense of the
word, were overtaken between St. Denis and Paris?
Sir Hargrave Pollexfen, it seems, still keeps his chamber: he is thought
not to be out of danger from some inward hurt, which often makes him
bring up blood in quantities. He is miserably oppressed by lowness of
spirits; and when he is a little better in that respect, his impatience
makes his friends apprehensive for his head. But has he intellects
strong enough to give apprehensions of that nature? Fool and madman we
often join as terms of reproach; but I believe, fools seldom run really
mad.
Merceda is in a still more dangerous way. Besides his bruises, and a
fractured skull, he has, it seems, a wound in his thigh, which, in the
delirium he was thrown into by the fracture, was not duly attended to;
and which, but for his valiant struggles against the knife which gave the
wound, was designed for a still greater mischief.
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