The drowsy clocks now announced the hour
of three in the morning. The dances broke up, and the company separated.
Delia leaped into the chariot that was waiting, and quickly arrived at the
parental mansion. Fatigued with the various objects that had passed before
her, she immediately retired to rest. For some time however a busy train
of thoughts detained her from the empire of sleep. "How lovely a stranger!
How elegant his manners, and how brilliant his wit! How soft and engaging
the whole of his behaviour! But ah! was this the fruit of reverence and
admiration? Might it not be no more than general gallantry? Oh that I were
mistress of his heart! That he would lay his person at my feet! What a
contrast between him and my former admirers! How doubly hateful does lord
Martin, the lover favoured by my father now appear! But ah! who is this
Damon? What is his fortune, and what his pretensions? His dress surely
bespoke him a man of rank. His elegant manners could have been learned in
no vulgar circle. How sweet, methinks is suspence! How delightful the
uncertainty that hangs about him! And yet, how glad should I be to have my
doubts resolved."
Soothed with these and similar reflections, the lovely maid fell asleep.
But even in sleep she did not forget the impressions she had received. She
imagined that Damon now approached her pillow. But how unlike the Damon
she had seen! His eyes had something in them superior to a mortal.
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