I shall gallop post over the particulars,
which I shudder yet to think of, and cannot to this instant
reconcile myself how, or by what means, I could out-live it.
Two life-long days had I linger'd through without
hearing from him, I who breath'd, who existed but in him,
and had never yet seen twenty-four hours pass without seeing
or hearing from him. The third day my impatience was so
strong, my alarms had been so severe, that I perfectly
sicken'd with them; and being unable to support the shock
longer, I sunk upon the bed and ringing for Mrs. Jones, who
had far from comforted me under my anxieties, she came up.
I had scarce breath and spirit enough to find words to beg
of her, if she would save my life, to fall upon some means
of finding out, instantly, what was become of its only prop
and comfort. She pity'd me in a way that rather sharpen'd
my affliction than suspended it, and went out upon this
commission.
Far she had not to go: Charles's father lived but at
an easy distance, in one of the streets that run into Covent
Garden. There she went into a publick house, and from
thence sent for a maid-servant, whose name I had given her,
as the properest to inform her.
The maid readily came, and as readily, when Mrs. Jones
enquir'd of her what was become of Mr. Charles, or whether
he was gone out of town, acquainted her with the disposal of
her master's son, which, the very day after, was no secret
to the servants.
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