--_I_ will die without you.--Tell them I send
the thanks, the duty, of a dying man;--that they must consider me as
their own. A few, a _very_ few hours! and I shall be their own;--I shall
be united to their angel daughter.--Dear soul, he cried, is it for
this,--for this, I tore myself from you!--But stop, I will not repine;
the reward of my sufferings is at hand.
_Now_, you may lift me on the bed;--_now_, my friend, pointing to the
door,--_now_, my dear Molesworth, if you wish I should die in--_there
fainted_.--He lay without signs of life so long, that I thought, all was
over.--
I cannot comply with his last request;--it is his last I am
convinc'd;--he will never speak more, Risby!--he will never _more_
pronounce the name of Molesworth.
Be yours the task he assign'd me.--Go instantly to the friends you
revere;--go to Mr. and Mrs. Powis, the poor unfortunate
parents.--Abroad they were to you as tender relations;--in England,
your first returns of gratitude will be mournful.--You have seen Miss
Powis:--it could be no other than that lovely creature whom you met so
accidentally at ----: the likeness she bore to her father startled you.
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