ABSTRACT
It was much earlier than the usual hour for morning visits, when Sir Richard Crofts was at the door of Mrs. Ashwood. Miss Mowbray had given no orders to be denied; and he was, on enquiring for her, shewn into the parlour. As soon as the servant informed her a gentleman was below whom she found was not Delamere, she concluded it was Lord Montreville; and with a fearful and beating heart, went down. She saw a middle-aged man, of no very pleasant countenance and person, to whom she was an entire stranger; she was about to retreat, when the gentleman advancing towards her, told her he waited on her, commissioned by Lord Montreville. The rude and peremptory manner of the speaker; the dreadful alternative of Rochely on one side, and indigence on the other, was altogether so overcoming that she could not for a moment collect her spirits enough to speak at all.
