I have just left Juliet. She is inconceivably better;
but this often happens in the consumption. Hectick and
delirium—delusion and brightness—are our ministering
spirits, then. And we, perhaps, are never nearer our
utter extinction, than when our eyes flame brightest, and
our garlands emit the most of perfume. What an inexplicable
creature is he!—and she too!—she is, alike, incapable
of being understood. Where is her dread, now,
of Molton? Why is he admitted? Does not her aunt
remember him?—detest him? Or, is it only a last indulgence
to the dying girl? Really, I wish that you were
here; and I have half a mind to countermand the courier,
notwithstanding your necessities, and the order of Juliet.—But
stay—I am summoned. He is coming up
the avenue; and I would be there to see the meeting.
