He promised Deyverdun in the next letter an ultimatum, stating whether he meant to _go_ or to _stay_, and a week after he wrote, "I go." He had prudently refrained from consulting Lord Sheffield during this critical period, knowing that his certain disapprobation of the scheme would only complicate matters and render decision more difficult.

Then he wrote, "I have given Deyverdun my word of honour to be at Lausanne at the beginning of October, and no power of persuasion can divert me from this _irrevocable_ resolution, which I am every day proceeding to execute." This was no exaggeration.

He cancelled the lease of his house in Bentinck Street, packed the more necessary portion of his books and shipped them for Rouen, and as his postchaise moved over Westminster Bridge, "bade a long farewell to the _fumum et opes strepitumque Romae_." The only real pang he felt in leaving arose from the "silent grief" of his Aunt Porten, whom he did not hope to see again.

Nor did he.

He started on September 15, 1783, slept at Dover, was flattered with the hope of making Calais harbour by the same tide in "three hours and a half, as the wind was brisk and fair," but was driven into Boulogne.