Damon and Delia | Page 8

tore himself away,
and rushed along the path with incredible velocity.
Delia was now alone. But instead, as she had flattered herself of having
her doubts resolved, she was more uncertain, more perplexed than ever.
"What" cried she, "can all this mean? How strange, and how
inexplicable! Is it a real person that I have seen, or is it a vision that
mocks my fancy? Am I loved, or am I hated? Oh, foolish question! Oh,
fond illusion! Are we not parted for ever! Is he not gone to seek the
mistress of his soul! Alas, he views me not, but with that general
complacency, which youth, and the small pretensions I have to beauty
are calculated to excite! He had nothing to relate that concerned myself,
he merely intended to make me the confidante of his passion for
another. Too surely he is unhappy. His heart seemed ready to burst with
sorrow. Probably in this situation there is no greater or more immediate
relief, than to disclose the subject of our distress, and to receive into
our bosom the sympathetic tear of a simple and a generous heart. His
behaviour today corresponds but too well with the suspicions that
yesterday excited. Oh, Delia! then," added she, "be firm. Thou shalt see
the conqueror no more. Think of him no more."
In spite however of all the resolution she could muster, Delia repaired
day after day, sometimes alone, and sometimes in company with her
friend, to that spot which, by the umbrage of melancholy it wore, was
become more interesting than ever. Miss Fletcher, could scarcely at
first be persuaded to direct her course that way, lest she should again

see the ghost. But she need not have terrified herself. No ghost
appeared.
Disappointed and baffled on this side, Delia by the strictest enquiries
endeavoured to find out who the unknown person was, in whose fate
she had become so greatly interested. The result of these enquiries,
however diligent, was not entirely satisfactory. She learned that he had
been for a few days upon a visit to a Mr. Moreland, a gentleman who
lived about three miles from Southampton.
Mr. Moreland was a person of a very singular character. He had the
reputation in the neighbourhood of being a cynic, a misanthrope, and a
madman. He kept very little company, and was even seldom seen but
by night. He had a garden sufficiently spacious, which was carefully
rendered impervious to every human eye. And to this and his house he
entirely confined himself in the day-time. The persons he saw were not
the gentlemen of the neighbourhood. He had no toleration for
characters that did not interest him. When he first came down to his
present residence, he was visited by Mr. Hartley, Mr. Prattle, squire
Savage, lord Martin, and all the most admired personages in the
country. But their visits had never been returned. Mr. Prattle
pronounced him a scoundrel; squire Savage said he was a nincompoop;
and lord Martin was near sending him a challenge. But the censures of
the former, and the threats of the latter, had never reached his ears. His
domestics were numerous, but they were hired from a distance, and
were permitted as little communication as possible with the powdered
lacquies of Southampton. Of consequence, however much the
unaccommodating conduct of Mr. Moreland disposed his neighbours to
calumniate him, scandal was deprived of that daily food which is
requisite for her subsistence, and the name of that gentleman was
scarcely ever heard.
CHAPTER V.
A Man of Humour.
We will now return to lord Martin. All his messengers, from what cruel

fate we cannot exactly ascertain, miscarried; and it was not till Damon
had left the country, that he learned that he had been a visitor at the
house of Mr. Moreland. Finding that he had missed his expected
vengeance, he discharged his anger in unavailing curses, and for three
days he breathed nothing but daggers, death, and damnation. Having
thus vapoured away the paroxysm of his fury, he became tolerably
composed.
But adverse fate had decreed a short duration to the tranquility of his
lordship. Scarcely had the field been cleared from the enemy he so
greatly dreaded, ere a new rival came upon the stage, to whose arms,
though without any great foundation, the whole town of Southampton
had consigned the charming Delia.
The name of this gentleman was Prettyman. He was just returned from
his travels, and was reckoned perfectly accomplished. He was six foot
high, his shoulders were broad, his legs brawny, and his whole person
athletic. The habits however he had formed to himself in foreign
countries, will not perhaps be allowed exactly to correspond with the
figure which nature had bestowed upon him. He generally spent two
hours every morning