_My lord, the groom shall set forward with your coach horses tomorrow morning, according to your order_.
Having writ this, he read it over; not to see whether it were witty or eloquent, or writ up to the sense of so good a judge as _Philander_, but to see whether he had cast it for his purpose; for there his masterpiece was to be shewn; and having read it, he doubted whether the relation of _Sylvia_'s griefs were not too moving, and whether they might not serve to revive his fading love, which were intended only as a demonstration of his own pity and compassion, that from thence the deceived lover might with the more ease entertain a belief in what he hinted of her levity, when he was to make that out, as he now had but touched upon it, for he would not have it thought the business of malice to _Sylvia_, but duty and respect to _Philander_: that thought reconciled him to the first part without alteration; and he fancied he had said enough in the latter, to give any man of love and sense a jealousy which might inspire a young lover in pursuit of a new mistress, with a revenge that might wholly turn to his advantage; for now every ray gave him light enough to conduct him to hope, and he believed nothing too difficult for his love, nor what his invention could not conquer: he fancied himself a very _Machiavel_ already, and almost promised himself the charming _Sylvia_. With these thoughts he seals up his letters, and hastes to _Sylvia_'s chamber for her farther commands, having in his politic transports forgotten he had left _Octavio_ with her.