God bless my child! Rise, my love! I do forgive you! But do you forgive me, tears trickling down her cheeks, tor ever suffering you to go out of my own sight? for delivering you into the management of less kind, and less indulgent relations?

And God forgive them too, rising. Some of them made me crazy, and then upbraided me with being so. God forgive them! I do.

She then came to me; and, to my great surprise, dropt down on one knee. I could not, for a few moments, tell what to do, or what to say to her. n

Her hands held up, herfineeyes supplicating Pray, Sir, forgive me!

Humour, humour the dear creature, chevalier, said her mother, sobbing.

Forgive you, madam! Forgive you, dear lady! for what? You have not offended! You could not offend.

I raised her; and, taking her hand, pressed it with my lips! Now, madam, forgive me For this free-dom forgive me!

Sir, I have given you, I have given every-body, trouble! I am an unhappy creature; and God and you are angry with me And you will not say you forgive me?

Humour her, chevalier.

I do, I do forgive you, most excellent of women.

She hesitated a little; then turned round to Ca-milla, who stood at distance, weeping; and running to her, cast herself into her arms, hiding her face in her bosom Hide me, hide me, Camilla! What have I done! I have kneeled to a man! She put her arm under Camilla’s, and hurried out of the room with her.

Her mother seeing me in some confusion; Rejoice with me, chevalier, said she, yet weeping, that we see, though her reason is imperfect, such happy symptoms. Our child will, I trust in God, be once more our own. And you will be the happy instrument of restoring her to us.

The marquis, and the bishop, were informed of what had passed. They also rejoiced, in these fur-ther day-breaks, as they called them, of their Cle — mentina’s reason.

You will observe, my dear Dr. Bartlett, that I only aim to give you an account of the greater and more visible changes that happen in the mind of this unhappy lady; omitting those conversations between her and her friends, in which her situation varied but little from those before described. By this means, you will be able to trace the steps to that recovery of her reason, which we presume to hope will be the return to our fervent prayers, and hum-ble endeavours.

Letter IV.

Sir Charles Grandison. In Continuation.

Bologna, June 13–24. The Conte della Poretta, and his two sons, came hither yesterday, to rejoice on the hopeful prospects before us.