ABSTRACT
As Delmont proceeded along the road he had before passed, meditating on the most probable way of obtaining some farther intelligence of Medora, all the inconveniencies, distresses, and terrors that she must have undergone occurred to him. Exposed, in the disguise she had assumed, to the familiarity of the inferior ranks of people, whose grossness must shock her, whose licentious freedoms terrify her, he thought with apprehension of all she might have endured, and with still greater of the uncertainty whether he should discover and protect her; her mother too, in anguish and despair, was perpetually before him, and his mind turned with disgust from the reflections he was compelled to make on his brother’s conduct, so ungenerous, so little like what he felt he should have done if they could have changed places; for it was evident that the last disappearance of Medora was entirely owing to the alarm she had felt from the behaviour of one, towards whom, from his relationship to her betrothed lover, she had probably looked in the hope of protection.
