LETTER XLII.
William to his Mother.
Oh! my dear mother, we are all here full of anxiety; Charles, who went very early this morning on horseback, with one of the servants, to pay Mr. Friendly a visit, and promised to return early, is not yet come home; and it is past nine o’clock. He was always punctual—some misfortune must have befallen him.—I do not know what to think, or fear. The night is very dark, and the weather stormy. Sir Charles has just sent off a servant to obtain some information:—how we all long for his return!
Eleven o’clock. The servant is come back; but no intelligence of Charles. He left Mr. Friendly’s soon after dinner, about four o’clock. Dear mother, where can he be? Drowned, I fear:—perhaps—perhaps what? I am afraid even to write the strange thoughts and conjectures which come into my head—I never seemed so much alive before, my soul feels as if it would fly out of my body to search for Charles—dear Charles! Lady Grandison sits silent; Emilia does nothing but cry; and Edward runs through the house quite frantic: Sir Charles endeavours to comfort his Lady, and has need of comfort himself. He has sent several servants different ways, and waits impatiently for day-break, when he intends going himself.—O that he would take me with him!
One o’clock, and no news of Charles. We are none of us in bed—and indeed who could sleep! My eyes feel as if they would never close again—I cannot cry.
Half after four. Thank Heaven—Charles is safe. The servant, who attended him, is just arrived. It was not his fault, that we had so much uneasiness; no pleasure—no company detained him.—But Sir Charles insists on it, that we go to bed for a few hours. I cannot sleep, though I must go to bed.—I do not want sleep, Charles is safe. Why does my joy make me cry? I did not weep when I thought I should never, O never see him more.—Well, I must go to this same bed.—Good morning to you, Madam. I declare the birds are beginning to sing—how can I sleep?