Chapter V
Seems to be calculated rather for the instruction than entertainment of the reader
How great soever was the shock Miss Betsy had sustained in this interview with Mr. Trueworth, he did not think himself much indebted to fortune for having thrown her in his way; he had once loved her to a very high degree; and though the belief of her unworthiness, the fond endearments of one woman, and the real merits of another, had all contributed to drive that passion from his breast, yet as a wound but lately closed is apt to bleed afresh on every little accident, so there required no less than the whole stock of the beautiful and discreet Miss Harriot's perfections, to defend his heart from feeling anew some part of its former pain, on this sudden and unexpected attack.
Happy was it for him, that his judgment concurred with his present inclination, and that he had such unquestionable reasons for justifying the transition he had made of his affections from one object to another; else might he have relapsed into a flame which, if ever it had been attended with any true felicity, must have been purchased at the expence of an infinity of previous disquiets.
He was now become extremely conversant with the family of Sir Bazil, visited there almost every day, was well received by both the sisters, and had many opportunities of penetrating into the real sentiments and dispositions of Miss Harriot; which he found to be such as his most sanguine wishes could have formed for the woman to be blest with whom he would make choice of for a wife. When he compared the steady temper, the affability, the ease, unaffected chearfulness, mixed with a becoming reserve, which that young lady testified in all her words and actions, with the capricious turns, the pride, the giddy lightness, he had observed in the behaviour of Miss Betsy, his admiration of the one was increased by his disapprobation of the other.
How great a pity it is, therefore, that a young lady, like Miss Betsy, so formed by heaven and nature to have rendered any man compleatly happy in possessing her, inferior to her fair competitor neither in wit, beauty, nor any personal or acquired endowment, her inclinations no less pure, her sentiments as noble, her disposition equally generous and benign; should, through her own inadvertency, destroy all the merit of so many amiable qualities; and, for the sake of indulging the wanton vanity of attracting universal admiration, forfeit, in reality, those just pretensions to which otherwise she had been entitled to from the deserving and the discerning few!
Mr. Trueworth, as the reader may have observed, did not all at once withdraw his affections from the first object of them, nor transmit them to the second but on very justifiable motives. The levity of Miss Betsy, and other branches of ill conduct, had very much weaned her from his heart before the wicked artifices of Miss Flora had rendered her quite contemptible in his opinion, and had not wholly devoted himself to the beauties of Miss Harriot, till he was quite convinced the perfections of her mind were such as could not fail of securing the conquest which her eyes had gained.
He did not however presently declare himself; he saw the friendship between the two sisters would be somewhat of an obstacle to his hopes; he had heard that Miss Harriot had rejected several advantageous proposals of marriage, merely because she would not be separated from Mrs. Wellair; he also found, that Sir Bazil, though for what reason he could not guess, seemed not very desirous of having his sister disposed of: the only probable way, therefore, he thought, of obtaining his wishes, was to conceal them till he found the means of insinuating himself so far into the good graces both of the one and the other, as to prevent them from opposing whatever endeavours he should make to engage their sister to listen to his suit.
The strategem had all the effect for which it was put in practice: the intimacy he had long contracted with Sir Bazil now grew into so perfect a friendship, that he scarce suffered a day to pass without an invitation to his house. Mrs. Wellair expressed the highest esteem and liking of his conversation; and Miss Harriot herself, not imagining of what consequence every word that fell from her was to him, said a thousand obliging things on his account; particularly, one day, after they had been singing a two-part song together, 'How often,' cried she to her sister, 'shall we wish for this gentleman, when we get into the country, to act the principal part in our little operas!'
All this he returned in no other manner than any man would have done who had no farther aim than to shew his wit and gallantry: so much of his happiness, indeed, depended upon the event, that it behoved him to be very cautious how he proceeded; and it is likely he would not have ventured to throw off the mask of indifference so soon as he did, if he had not been emboldened to it by an unexpected accident.
Among the number of those who visited the sisters of Sir Bazil, there was a young lady called Mrs. Blanchfield; she was born in the same town with them, but had been some time in London, on account of the death of an uncle, who had left her a large fortune: she had a great deal of vivacity and good-humour, which rendered both her person and conversation very agreeable; she passed in the eyes of most people for a beauty; but her charms were little taken notice of by Mr. Trueworth, though she behaved towards him in a manner which would have been flattering enough to a man of more vanity, or who had been less engrossed by the perfections of another.
By what odd means does fortune sometimes bring about those things she is determined to accomplish! Who could have thought this lady, with whom Mr. Trueworth had no manner of concern, and but a slight acquaintance, should even, unknowing it herself, become the happy instrument of having that done for him which he knew not very well how to contrive for himself? yet so it proved, in effect, as the reader will presently perceive.
Happening to call one morning on Sir Bazil while he was dressing 'O Trueworth!' said he, 'I am glad you have prevented me; for I was just going to your lodgings: I have something to acquaint you with, which I fancy you will think deserves your attention.'--'I suppose,' replied Mr. Trueworth, 'you would not tell me any thing that was not really so: but, pray, what is it?'
'What! you have made a conquest here, it seems,' resumed Sir Bazil; 'and may say, with Caesar, "Veni, vidi, vici!" Did your guardian angel, or no kind tattling star, give you notice of your approaching happiness, that you might receive the blessing with moderation?--Mr. Trueworth, not able to conceive what it was he meant, but imagining there was some mystery contained in this raillery, desired him to explain; 'For,' said he, 'the happiness you promise cannot come too soon.'
'You will think so,' replied Sir Bazil, 'when I tell you a fine lady, a celebrated toast, and a fortune of twenty thousand pounds in her own hands, is fallen in love with you.'--'With me!' cried Mr. Trueworth; 'you are merry this morning, Sir Bazil?'--'No, faith, I am serious,' resumed the other; 'the lady I speak of is Mrs. Blanchfield. I have heard her say abundance of handsome things of you myself; such as, that you were a very fine gentleman, that you had a great deal of wit, and sung well; but my sisters tell me, that when she is alone with them, she asks a thousand questions about you; and, in fine, talks of nothing else: so that, according to this account, a very little courtship would serve to make you master both of her person and fortune. What say you?'
'That I am neither vain enough to believe,' answered Mr. Trueworth, 'nor ambitious enough to desire, such a thing should be real.'--'How!' cried Sir Bazil, in some surprize; 'why, she is reckoned one of the finest women in town; has wit, good-nature; is of a good family, and an unblemished reputation. Then, her fortune! Though I know your estate sets you above wanting a fortune with a wife, yet I must tell you a fortune is a very pretty thing: children may come; and a younger brood must be provided for.'
'You argue very reasonably indeed,' replied Mr. Trueworth: 'but, pray,' pursued he, 'as you are so sensible of this lady's perfections, how happened it that you never made your addresses to her yourself?'--'I was not sure she would like me so well as she does you,' said he; 'besides, to let you into the secret, my heart was engaged before I ever saw her face, and my person had been so too by this time, but for an unlucky rub in my way.'
'What! Sir Bazil, honourably in love!' cried Mr. Trueworth. 'Aye, Charles! There is no resisting destiny,' answered he; 'I that have ranged through half the sex in search of pleasure; doated on the beauty of one, the wit of another, admired by turn their different charms, have at last found one in whom all I could wish in woman is comprized, and to whom I an unalterably fixed, beyond, even, I think, a possibility of change.'
'May I be trusted with the name of this admirable person', said Mr. Trueworth, 'and what impedes your happiness?'--'You shall know all,' replied Sir Bazil: 'in the first place, she is called Miss Mable.'--'What! Miss Mable of Bury Street!' cried Mr. Trueworth hastily. 'The same,' replied Sir Bazil: 'you know her, then?'--'I have seen her,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'in company with a lady I visited some time ago; and believe she is, in reality, the original of that amiable picture you have been drawing.'
'It rejoices me, however, that you approve my choice,' said Sir Bazil: 'but her father is, without exception, the most sordid, avaricious wretch, breathing; he takes more pleasure in counting over his bags than in the happiness of an only child; he seems glad of an alliance with me--encourages my pretensions to his daughter--is ready to give her to me to-morrow, if I please: yet refuses to part with a single shilling of her portion till he can no longer keep it; that is, he will secure to me ten thousand pounds after his decease; and adds, by way of cajole, that, perhaps, he will then throw in a better penny; but is positively determined to make no diminution of his substance while he lives. These,' continued he, 'are the only terms on which he will give his consent; and this it is which has so long delayed my marriage.'
Mr. Trueworth could not here forbear making some reflections on the cruelty and injustice of those parents who, rather than divide any part of their treasures with their children, suffer them to let slip the only crisis that could make their happiness. After which, Sir Bazil went on in his discourse.
'It is not,' said he, 'that I would not gladly accept my charming girl on the conditions the old miser offers, or even without any farther hopes of what he promises to do for her; but I am so unhappily circumstanced as to be under a necessity of having ready-money with a wife: old Sir Bazil, my father, gave my elder sister six thousand pounds on her marriage with Mr. Wellair; and, I suppose, to shew his affection to both his daughters was equal, bequeathed at his death the same sum to Harriot, and this to be charged on the estate, notwithstanding it was then under some other incumbrances. She can make her demand, either on coming of age, or on the day of marriage, which ever happens first: the one, indeed, is three years distant, she being but eighteen; but who knows how soon the other may happen? It is true, she seems at present quite averse to changing her condition: but that is not to be depended upon; all young women are apt to talk in that strain; but when once the favourite man comes into view, away at once with resolution and virginity.'
Mr. Trueworth now ceased to wonder at the little satisfaction Sir Bazil had shewn on any discourse, that casually happened concerning love or marriage, to Miss Harriot; and nothing could be more lucky for him than this discovery of the cause: he found by it that one obstacle, at least, to his hopes, might easily be removed; and that it was in his own power to convert entirely to his interest that which had seemed to threaten the greatest opposition to it.
A moment's consideration sufficed to make him know what he ought to do, and that a more favourable conjuncture could not possibly arrive for his declaring the passion he had so long concealed. 'Methinks, Sir Bazil,' said he, after a very short pause, 'there is not the least grounds for any apprehension of the inconvenience you mention: whoever has in view the possession of Miss Harriot, must certainly be too much taken up with his approaching happiness to think of any thing besides.'
'Ah, friend!' cried Sir Bazil, 'you talk like one ignorant of the world.'--'I talk like one who truly loves,' replied Mr. Trueworth, 'and is not ignorant of the merit of her he loves; and now,' continued he, perceiving Sir Bazil looked a little surprized, 'I will exchange secrets with you; and, for the one you have reposed in me, will entrust you with another which has never yet escaped my lips: I love your charming sister; the first moment I beheld her made me her adorer; her affability--her modest sweetness--her unaffected wit--her prudence--the thousand virtues of her mind--have since confirmed the impressions that her beauty made, and I am now all hers.'
As Sir Bazil had never discovered any thing in Mr. Trueworth's behaviour that could give him the least cause to suspect what now he was so fully informed of by his own confession, he was very much astonished. 'Is it possible!' cried he; 'are you in earnest? and do you really love Harriot?'--'Yes, from my soul I do!' replied Mr. Trueworth; 'and I wish no other blessing on this side Heaven than to obtain her. As to the six thousand pounds you speak of, I neither should demand, nor would accept it, till well assured the payment of it was quite agreeable to the situation of your affairs.'
'Would you then marry Harriot with nothing?' said Sir Bazil, 'or, what is tantamount to nothing, a small fortune, and that to be paid discretionary, rather than Mrs. Blanchfield, with twenty thousand pounds in ready specie?'--'Not only rather than Mrs. Blanchfield,' replied Mr. Trueworth, 'but than any other woman in the world, with all those thousands multiplied into millions!'
'Amazing love and generosity!' cried Sir Bazil with some vehemence. 'Could she be capable of refusing, she were unworthy of you: but this you may be assured, that if all the influence I have over her can engage her to be yours, she shall be so.' Mr. Trueworth could testify the transport this promise gave him no otherwise than by a warm embrace; saying, at the same time, 'Dear Sir Bazil!'--'Yes,' rejoined that gentleman, 'to give my sister such a husband as Mr. Trueworth, I would put myself to a much greater inconvenience than the prompt payment of her fortune, and shall not abuse your generous offer by--' 'I will not hear a word on that head,' cried Mr. Trueworth, hastily interrupting him; 'and if you would add to the favours you have already conferred upon me, do not ever think of it: pursue your inclinations with the deserving object of them, and be as happy with her as I hope to be, through your friendly assistance, with the adorable Miss Harriot!'
Here ensued a little contest between them; Sir Bazil was ashamed to accept that proof of friendship Mr. Trueworth made use of, joined to the consideration of his own ease, at last prevailed: after which Sir Bazil told him the ladies were gone to the shops, in order to make some purchases they wanted; but that he would take the first opportunity, on their return, to acquaint his sister with the sentiments he had for her; and appointed to meet him at the chocolate-house in the evening, to let him know the success.
Chapter VI
Shews the different operations of the same passion, in persons of different principles and dispositions
Sir Bazil had very much at heart the accomplishment of the promise he had made to Mr. Trueworth; and, indeed, no one thing could have seemed more strange than that of his being otherwise, when so many reasons concurred to engage his integrity: he had a real friendship for the person who desired his assistance; there were none among all his acquaintance for whom he had a greater regard, or who shared more of his good wishes; the natural affection he had for his sister made him rejoice in the opportunity of seeing her so happily disposed of; and the particular interest of his own passion might well render him not only sincere, but also zealous, in promoting an affair which would so fully answer all these ends.
The first breaking the matter to Miss Harriot he looked upon as the greatest difficulty; for he doubted not but when once a belief of Mr. Trueworth's inclinations was properly inculcated in her, his amiable person, and fine qualities, would enable him to make his way, as a lover, into a heart, which had already a high esteem for him as an acquaintance.
He resolved, however, not to delay making the discovery; and his sisters coming home soon after, he ran out of his dressing-room, and met them as they were going up stairs into their own chamber, with a whole cargo of silks, and other things they had been buying. 'Hold, hold!' cried he, not suffering them to pass; 'pray, come in here, and let me see what bargains you have been making?'--'What understanding can you, that are a batchelor, have in these things?' said Mrs. Wellair, laughing. 'I have the more need then of being informed,' replied he, 'that I may be the better able to judge both of the fancy and frugality of my wife, whenever I am so happy to get one.'
'Well, well! I know all you men must be humoured,' said Mrs. Wellair, in the same gay strain.--'Come, sister, let us unpack our bundles.' With these words they both went in, and the servant, who followed them with the things, having laid them down on a table, withdrew.
The ladies then began to open their parcels; and Sir Bazil gave his opinion first of one thing, and then of another, as they were shewn to him; till Miss Harriot, displaying a roll of very rich white damask, 'To which of you does this belong?' said Sir Bazil. 'To me,' answered she. 'Hah! I am glad on it, upon my soul!' rejoined he: 'this is an omen of marriage, my dear sister. I will lay my life upon it, that you become a bride in this gown!'--'I must first find the man to make me so,' cried she briskly. 'He is not very far to seek, I dare answer,' said Sir Bazil. 'Why, then,' replied she, 'when he is found he must wait till my mind comes to me; and that, I believe, will not be in the wearing of this gown.'
'I am of a different way of thinking,' said he, somewhat more gravely than before: 'what would you say if I should tell you that one of the finest, most accomplished men in Europe, is fallen desperately in love with you, and has engaged me to be his intercessor?'--'I should say nothing,' answered she, 'but that you have a mind to divert yourself, and put me out of humour with my new gown, by your converting it into a hieroglyphick.' In speaking these words she catched up her silk, and ran hastily up stairs, leaving Mrs. Wellair and her brother together.
'Poor Harriot!' said Sir Bazil, after she was gone; 'I have put her to the blush with the very name of matrimony--but I assure you, sister,' continued he to Mrs. Wellair, 'the thing I have mentioned is serious.'--'Indeed!' cried that lady in some surprize. 'Yes, upon my honour,' resumed he; 'the gentleman I mean had not left me above a quarter of an hour before you came in, and I can tell you is one whom you know.'--'If I know him,' replied she, after a pause, 'I fancy I need not be at any loss to guess his name, by the description you have given me of him; for I have seen no man, since my coming to town, who so well deserves those encomiums as Mr. Trueworth.'--'I am glad you think so,' said Sir Bazil; 'for I am certain your judgment will go a great way with Harriot: he is, in fact, the person I have been speaking of; and is so every way deserving of my sister's affection, that she must not only be the most insensible creature in the world, but also the greatest enemy to her own interest and happiness to refuse him.'
He then repeated to her all the conversation he had had that morning with Mr. Trueworth--the answers that gentleman had given him on the proposition he had made on Mrs. Blanchfield's account--his declaration of his passion for Miss Harriot--and every other particular, excepting that of the non-payment of her fortune; and that he concealed only because he would not be suspected to have been bribed by it to say more of his friend than he really merited.
Mrs. Wellair was equally charmed and astonished at this report; and, on Sir Bazil's telling her that Mr. Trueworth was under some apprehensions that the pleasure she took in having her sister with her would be an impediment to his desires, she very gravely replied, that she was very sorry Mr. Trueworth should imagine she was so wanting in understanding, or true affection to her sister, as, for the self-satisfaction of her company, to offer any thing in opposition to her interest or happiness.
After this they had a good deal of discourse together, concerning Mr. Trueworth's family and fortune, the particulars of both which Sir Bazil was very well acquainted with; and Mrs. Wellair, being thoroughly convinced, by what he said of the many advantages of the alliance proposed, assured him, in the strongest terms she was able, that she would do every thing in her power to promote it.
'I will entertain her on this subject while we are dressing,' said she: 'your pleasantry on this white damask will furnish me with an excellent pretence; I shall begin in the same strain you did, and then proceed to a serious narrative of all you have been telling me relating to Mr. Trueworth; to which I shall add my own sentiments of the amiableness of his person, parts, and accomplishments, and set before her eyes, in the light it deserves, the generosity of his passion, in refusing so great a fortune as Mrs. Blanchfield for her sake, and the respectfulness of it, in not daring to declare himself till he had engaged the only two who may be supposed to have any influence over her, in favour of his suit.'
'I know,' said Sir Bazil, 'that you women are the fittest to deal with one another; therefore, as I see you are hearty in the cause, shall wholly depend on your management: but, hark-ye, sister!' continued he, perceiving she was going out of the room, 'I have one more thing to add; I am to meet Trueworth at the chocolate-house this evening; he will be impatient for the success of the promise I have made him; now you know we shall have a great deal of company at dinner to-day, and I may not have an opportunity of speaking to you in private before the time of my going to him; for that reason we must have some watch-word between us, that may give an intimation in general how Harriot receives what you have said to her.'
'Oh, that is easy,' cried Mrs. Wellair; 'as thus: you shall take an occasion, either at table, or any time when you find it most proper, to ask me how I do; and by my answer to that question, you will be able to judge what success I have had.'--'Very right,' replied Sir Bazil; 'and I will be sure to observe.' There passed no more between them; she went directly up stairs to do as she had said, and Sir Bazil to pay his mourning visit to Miss Mabel, as he usually did every day.
The humours of these two worthy persons were extremely well adapted to make each other happy: Sir Bazil was gay, but he was perfectly sincere; Miss Mabel had a great deal of softness in her nature, but it was entirely under the direction of her prudence; she returned the passion of her lover with equal tenderness, yet would not permit the gratification of it till every thing that threatened an interruption of their mutual ease should be removed. Sir Bazil made no secret of his affairs to her; she knew very well that he desired no more at present of her father than the six thousand pounds charged on his estate for Miss Harriot's fortune; and as the old gentleman testified the highest esteem for him, and satisfaction in the proposed match, she flattered herself that he would at last consent to so reasonable a request; but, till he did so, remained firm in her resolution of denying both her own and her lover's wishes.
The pleasure with which they always saw each other was now, however, greatly enhanced by his acquainting her with the almost assured hope he had, that the difficulty which had so long kept them asunder would be soon got over; and he should have the inexpressible satisfaction of complying with the conditions her father had proposed, without the least danger of incurring any inconvenience to himself.
The clock striking two, he was obliged to leave her, and go home to receive the company he expected. He behaved among his friends with his accustomed vivacity; but casting his eyes frequently towards Miss Harriot, he imagined he saw a certain gloom upon her countenance, which made him fearful for the effects of Mrs. Wellair's solicitations; till, recollecting the agreement between him and that lady, he cried out hastily to her, 'How do you do, sister?' To which she answered, with a smile, 'As well as can be expected, brother;' and then, to prevent Miss Harriot, or any one else, from wondering what she meant by so odd a reply, added, 'after the ugly jolt I have had this morning over London stones in a hackney-coach.'
Sir Bazil easily understood, that by the words 'As well as can be expected,' his sister meant as much as could be hoped for from the first attack on a maid so young and innocent as Miss Harriot; and doubted not but that so favourable a beginning would have as fortunate a conclusion.
Those guests who had dined with him staid supper also; but that did not hinder him from fulfilling his engagement with Mr. Trueworth. He begged they would excuse a short excursion which, he said, he was obliged to make on extraordinary business; and accordingly went at the time appointed for the meeting that gentleman.
Mr. Trueworth received the intelligence he brought with him with transports befitting the sincerity of his passion. He thought he had little to apprehend, since Mrs. Wellair vouchsafed to become his advocate. 'It is certainly,' said Sir Bazil, 'as greatly in her power to forward the completion of your wishes, as it was to have obstructed them. But, my dear friend,' continued he, 'there is no time to be lost: the business that brought my sisters to town will soon be over; and Mrs. Wellair will then be on the wing to get home to her husband and family. You must dine with me to-morrow; I shall be able by that time to learn the particulars of Harriot's behaviour, on her first hearing an account of the affection with which you honour her; and by that you may the better judge how to proceed.' This was the substance of all the discourse they had together at that time. Sir Bazil went home, and Mr. Trueworth adjourned to a coffee-house, where he met with something not very pleasing to him. It was a letter from Miss Flora, containing these lines.
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.
My dear Trueworth,
For such you still are, and ever must be, to my fond doating heart; though I have too much cause to fear you cease to wish it--else why this cruel absence? I have not seen you these three days!--an age to one that loves like me. I am racked to death with the apprehensions of the motives of so unexpected a neglect! If my person or passion were unworthy your regard, why did you accept them with such enchanting softness? And if ever I had any place in your affection, what have I done to forfeit it? But, sure, you cannot think of abandoning me!--of leaving me to all the horrors of despair and shame!--No! it is impossible! Ingratitude consists not with that strict honour you pretend to; and that, I still flatter myself, you are in reality possessed of. You may have had some business: but how poor a thing is business when compared with love! And I may reply, with our English Sappho, in one of her amorous epistles--
"Business you feign; but did you love like me, I should your most important business be."
But whither does my hurrying spirits transport me! If I am still so happy to retain any share of your heart, I have said too much; if I am not, all I can say will be ineffectual to move you. I shall, therefore, only tell you that I can live no longer without seeing you, and will call on you at the coffee-house this evening about eight; till when I am, though in the utmost distraction, my dear, dear Trueworth, your passionately tender, and devoted servant,
F. MELLASIN.
P.S. Having heard you say letters were left for you at this place, and that you stepped in once or twice every day, I thought it more proper to direct for you here than at your own lodgings. Once more adieu.--Do not fail to meet me at the hour.'
Scarce could the ghost of a forsaken mistress, drawing his curtains at the dead of night, have shocked Mr. Trueworth more than this epistle. He had, indeed, done no more than any man of his age and constitution would have done, if tempted in the manner he had been; yet he reproached himself severely for it. He knew how little this unhappy creature had her passions in subjection; and, though all the liking he ever had for her was now swallowed up in his honourable affections for Miss Harriot, yet he was too humane and too generous not to pity the extravagance of a flame he was no longer capable of returning. He wanted her to know there was a necessity for their parting; but knew not how to do it without driving her to extremes! He hated all kind of dissimulation; and, as neither his honour nor his inclinations would permit him to continue an amorous correspondence with her, he was very much at a loss how to put an end to it, without letting her into the real cause; which, as yet, he thought highly improper to do.
It cost him some time in debating within himself how he should behave in an affair which was, indeed, in the present situation of his heart, pretty perplexing: he considered Miss Flora as a woman of condition--as one who tenderly loved him--and as one who, on both these accounts, it would not become him to affront. He reflected also, that a woman, who had broke through all the rules of virtue, modesty, and even common decency, for the gratification of her wild desires, might, when denied that gratification, be capable of taking such steps as might not only expose her own character, but with it so much of his as might ruin him with Miss Harriot. He found it, therefore, highly necessary to disguise his sentiments, and act towards her in such a manner as should wean her affections from him by degrees, without his seeming to intend or wish for such an event.
He had but just come to this determination, when he was told from the bar that a lady in a hackney-coach desired to speak with him. He went directly to her; but, instead of ordering the man to drive to any particular house, bid him drive as slowly as he could round St. James's Square.
This very much startling her, she asked him what he meant. 'Are all the houses of entertainment in the town,' said she, 'shut up, that we must talk to each other in the street?'--'It is impossible for me, Madam,' answered he, 'to have the pleasure of your company this evening. I am engaged with some gentleman at the house where you found me, and have given my promise to return in ten minutes.' These words, and the reserved tone in which he spoke them, stabbed her to the heart. 'Ungenerous man!' cried she, 'is it thus you repay the most tender and ardent passion that ever was!'--'You ladies,' said he, 'when once you give way to the soft impulse, are apt to devote yourselves too much to it; but men have a thousand other amusements, which all claim a share in the variegated scenes of life. I am sorry, therefore, to find you disquieted in the manner your letter intimates. Love should be nursed by laughing, ease, and joy: sour discontent, reproaches, and complaints, deform it's native beauty, and render that a curse, which otherwise would be the greatest of our blessings. I beg you, therefore,' continued he, with somewhat more softness in his voice, 'for your own sake, to moderate this vehemence. Be assured I will see you as often as possible; and shall always think of you with the regard I ought to do.'
Perceiving she was in very great agonies, he threw his arms about her waist, and gave her a very affectionate salute; which, though no more than a brother might have offered to a sister, a little mitigated the force of her grief. 'I see I am undone!' cried she. 'I have lost your heart, and am the most wretched creature upon earth!'--'Do not say so,' replied he. 'I never can be ungrateful for the favours you have bestowed upon me; but discretion ought to be observed in an amour, such as ours. I have really some affairs upon my hands, which for a time will very much engross me. Make yourself easy, then; resume that gaiety which renders you so agreeable to the world; and, depend upon it, that to make me happy, you must be so yourself.'--'When, then, shall I see you?' cried she, still weeping, and hanging on his breast. 'As soon as convenience permits I will send to you,' said he; 'but there is a necessity for my leaving you at present.'
He then called to the coachman to drive back to the house where he had taken him up. It is not to be doubted but she made use of all the rhetorick of desperate dying love, and every other art she was mistress of, to engage him to prefix some time for their meeting; but he would not suffer himself to be prevailed upon so far: and he left her with no other consolation than a second embrace, little warmer than the former had been, and a repetition of the promise he had made of writing to her in a short time.
Chapter VII
May be called an appendix to the former, as it contains only some passages subsequent to the preceding occurrences.
What pain soever the good-nature and generosity of Mr. Trueworth had made him suffer, at the sight of the unfortunate Miss Flora's distress, it was dissipated by recalling to his mind the pleasing idea Sir Bazil had inspired in him, of succeeding in his wishes with the amiable Miss Harriot.
What sleep he had that night, doubtless, presented him with nothing but the delightful images of approaching joys; and, possibly, might give him some intimation of what was in those moments doing for him by those who were waking for his interest.
Mrs. Wellair, who was extremely cautious how she undertook any thing, without being fully convinced it was right, and no less industrious in accomplishing whatever she had once undertook, had employed all the time she had with her sister, before dinner, in representing to her, in the most pathetick terms, the passion Mr. Trueworth had for her, the extraordinary merits he was possessed of, and the many advantages of an alliance with him: but Miss Harriot was modest to that excess, that to be told, though from the mouth of a sister, she had inspired any inclinations of the sort she mentioned, gave her the utmost confusion. She had not considered the difference of sexes, and could not hear that any thing in her had reminded others of it, without blushing. The effects of her beauty gave her rather a painful than a pleasing sensation; and she was ready to die with shame at what the most part of women are studious to acquire, and look on as their greatest glory.
She offered nothing, however, in opposition to what Mrs. Wellair had said concerning the person or amiable qualities of Mr. Trueworth; neither, indeed, had she a will to do it. She had been always highly pleased with his conversation, and had treated him with the same innocent freedom she did her brother; and she was now afraid, that it was her behaving to him in this manner that had encouraged him to think of making his addresses to her as a lover. She looked back with regret on every little mark of favour she had shewn him, lest he should have construed them into a meaning which was far distant from her thoughts; and these reflections it was that occasioned that unusual pensiveness which Sir Bazil had observed in her at dinner, and which had given him some apprehensions proceeded from a cause less favourable to his friend.
Mrs. Wellair was not at all discouraged by the manner in which her sister had listened to this overture: she knew that several proposals of the same nature had been made to her in the country; all which she had rejected with disdain--a certain air of abhorrence widely different to what she testified on account of Mr. Trueworth; and this prudent lady rightly judged, that he had little else to combat with than the over-bashfulness of his mistress.
At night, on going to bed, she renewed the discourse; and pursued the theme she had begun with such success, that she brought Miss Harriot to confess she believed there was no man more deserving to be loved than Mr. Trueworth. 'But, my dear sister,' said she, 'I have no inclination to marry, nor to leave you: I am quite happy as I am, and desire to be no more so.' To which the other replied, that was childish talking; that she would, doubtless, marry some time or other; that she might, perhaps, never have so good an offer, and could not possibly have a better; therefore advised her not to slip the present opportunity; but, whenever Mr. Trueworth should make a declaration of his passion to herself, to receive it in such a manner as should not give him any room to imagine she was utterly averse to his pretensions.
Miss Harriot suffered her to ruge her on this point for a considerable time; but at last replied, in a low and hesitating voice, that she would be guided by her friends, who, she was perfectly convinced, had her interest at heart, and knew much better than herself what conduct she ought to observe. To which Mrs. Wellair replied, that she doubted not but the end would abundantly justify the advice that had been given her.
The first thing this lady did in the morning, was to go to her brother's chamber, and acquaint him with all that had passed between herself and Miss Harriot; after which they agreed together, that Mr. Trueworth should have an opportunity that very day of making his addresses to her.
Though Sir Bazil thought it needless to add any thing to what was already done, yet he could not forbear taking an occasion, when they were at breakfast, to mention Mr. Trueworth's name, and the many good qualities he was possessed of. Mrs. Wellair joined in the praises her brother gave him; but Miss Harriot spoke not a word: on which, 'Are you not of our opinion, sister?' cried he to her. 'Yes, brother,' answered she; 'Mr. Trueworth is certainly a very fine gentleman.'--'How cold is such an expression,' resumed Sir Bazil, 'and even that extorted!'--'You would not, sure, Sir,' said she, a little gaily, 'have me in raptures about him, and speak as if I were in love with him?'
'Indeed, but I would!' cried Sir Bazil; 'and, what is more, would also have you be so: he deserves it from you; and, as you must some time or other be sensible of the tender passion, you cannot do it at more suitable years.'--'I see no necessity,' replied she, 'for my being so at any years.'
'It is a sign, then,' said he, 'that you have not consulted nature. Have you never read what Lord Lansdown has wrote upon this subject? If you have not, I will repeat it to you--
"In vain from Fate we strive to fly; For, first or last, as all must die, So, 'tis decreed by those above, That, first or last, we all must love."'
'Poets are not always prophets,' answered she, laughing. 'It depends upon Mr. Trueworth himself,' said Sir Bazil, 'to prevent you from giving the lie to the prediction. If he fails, I shall believe no other man in the world will ever have the power to engage you to fulfil it; he dines here to-day. Sister Wellair and I are obliged to go abroad in the afternoon; so must desire you to make tea, and entertain him, as well as you can, till we come back.'
'I see you are both in the plot against me,' cried she; 'but I shall endeavour to behave so as not to affront your guest; yet, at the same time, be far from making good your oracle.'
A gentleman coming in to Sir Bazil, broke off their discourse, and relieved Miss Harriot from any farther persecution at this time. It was not that she disliked either the person or conversation of Mr. Trueworth, or that she was tired with the praises given him by her brother and sister; on the contrary, she found a thousand things which they had not mentioned, to admire in him: in fine, he was, in reality, less indifferent to her than she herself imagined; but there was a certain shyness in her disposition, which mingled some share of pain with the pleasure of hearing him spoke of as her lover.
She was sensible this propensity, which nature had implanted, was a weakness in her; but, though she used her utmost efforts for overcoming it, she found herself unequal to the task. In vain she considered, that the addresses of a man of such perfect honour and politeness as Mr. Trueworth, could not but be accompanied with the most profound respect: in vain she called to mind the example of other ladies, whom she had seen behave in the company of those who professed themselves their lovers, with the greatest ease and sprightliness; the very sight of Mr. Trueworth, as she saw him from her chamber-window, talking with her brother in the garden, threw her heart into palpitations, which all the reason she was mistress of could not enable her to quiet; but, when obliged to go down and sit with him at table, her confusion increased, by being more near the object which occasioned it. She endeavoured to treat him with the same freedom she had been accustomed; but it was not in her power: in fine, never woman suffered more in constraining herself to be silent and demure, than she did in constraining herself to be talkative and gay.
What, then, became of her, when Sir Bazil and Mrs. Wellair, after making a formal excuse for a short absence, went out, and left her exposed to the solicitations of a passion which her timid modesty had made her so much dread.
The moment Mr. Trueworth saw himself alone with her, he approached her with the most tender and respectful air. 'How often, Madam, have I languished for an opportunity, such as this, of telling you how much my soul adores you! My dear friend, Sir Bazil, has assured me he has prepared you to forgive the boldness of my flame, and that, for his sake, you will vouchsafe to listen to my vows; but it is from myself alone you can be convinced of the ardency of the love you have inspired.'
'My brother, Sir,' answered she, blushing, 'has, indeed, informed me that I have obligations to you of a nature which I was as far from expecting as I am far from deserving.' Here Mr. Trueworth began to run into some praises on the charms which had subdued his heart; which, though no more than dictated by his real sentiments, seemed to her too extravagant, and beyond what her modesty would suffer her to endure. 'Hold, Sir!' cried she, interrupting him; 'if you would have me believe your professions are sincere, forbear, I beseech you, to talk to me in this manner. It is an ill-judged policy, methinks, in you men, to idolize the women too much you wish would think well of you. If our sex are, in reality, so vain as you generally represent us, on whom but yourselves can the fault be laid? And if we prove so weak as to imagine ourselves such as either the flattery or the partial affection of the lover paints us, we shall be apt to take every thing as our due, and think little gratitude is owing for the offering he makes us of his heart.'
Mr. Trueworth was perfectly ravished at hearing her speak thus; but durst not express himself with too much warmth on the occasion. 'It must be confessed, Madam,' replied he, 'that the beauties of the person, when not accompanied by those of the mind, afford but a short-lived triumph to the fair possessor; they dazzle at first sight, and take the senses, as it were, by surprize; but the impression soon wears off, and the captivated heart gains it's former liberty: nay, perhaps, wonders at itself for having been enslaved; whereas those darts which fly from the perfections of the mind, penetrate into the soul, and fix a lasting empire there. But when both these charms shall happen to be united, as in the lovely Harriot,' continued he, taking one of her hands and kissing it; 'when in the most enchanting form that nature ever made, is found a soul enriched with every virtue, every grace--how indissoluble is the chain! how glorious the bondage!'
'Love is a theme I have never made my study,' answered she; 'but, according to my notions of the matter, those gentlemen who pretend to be affected by it, give themselves more trouble than they need. As that passion is generally allowed rather to be the child of fancy, than of real merit in the object beloved, I should think it would be sufficient for any man, in his addresses to a lady, to tell her that she happens to hit his taste--that she is what he likes; without dressing her up in qualities which, perhaps, have no existence but in his own imagination.'
'Where love is founded on beauty alone, as I have already said,' resumed Mr. Trueworth, 'the instructions you give, Madam, are certainly very just; for, indeed, no farther could be warranted by sincerity: but where reason directs the lover's choice, and points out those excellences which alone can make him happy in the possession of his wishes, ideas more sublime will naturally arise, and we can never too much admire, or praise, what is immediately from the divine source of perfection! It is not, O charming Harriot!' pursued he, looking on her with the utmost tenderness; 'it is not these radiant eyes, that lovely mouth, nor that sweet majesty that shines through all your air, but it is the heaven within that I adore: to that I pay my present worship, and on that build all my hopes of future bliss!'
Miss Harriot was about to make some reply; but his looks, the vehemence with which he uttered these last words, and the passionate gesture which accompanied them, made her relapse into her former bashfulness, from which she had a little recovered herself, and again deprived her of the power of speech.
'You give up the point, then, my angel!' cried he, perceiving she was silent; 'and I am glad you do; for had you continued to prohibit my expatiating on these matters, which made me your adorer, I must have maintained the argument even against your lovely self, to whom I shall for ever yield in all things else.'
After this he fell, insensibly as it were, into some discourse concerning the divine ordinance of marriage; and then proceeded to give her the most amiable picture that words could form of that state, when two persons of virtue, honour, and good sense, were by love and law united, and found themselves equally bound by duty and inclination to promote each other's happiness.
There are some ladies who listen very contentedly to the most warm and amorous addresses that can be made to them, yet will not suffer the least word of marriage till after a long and tedious preparation is made for a sound which they pretend to think so dreadful. These, no doubt, will say, that Mr. Trueworth went too far for a lover on the first declaration of his passion; but he was emboldened to act in the manner he did by the brother of his mistress, and had the satisfaction to perceive she was not offended at it: she had a great share of solid understanding, was an enemy to all sorts of affectation; and as she knew the end proposed by his courtship was marriage, saw no reason why he should be fearful of mentioning it to her; and though her modesty would not permit her to take much part in a conversation of this nature, yet she was too artless, and indeed, too sincere, to counterfeit a displeasure which she did not feel.
Chapter VIII
Is more full of business than entertainment
While Mr. Trueworth was thus prosecuting a suit, which every time he saw the lovely Harriot redoubled his impatience to accomplish, Mr. Francis Thoughtless had been twice at his lodgings without finding him at home: but on that gentleman's leaving his name the second time, and saying he would come again the next morning, the other thought himself under an indispensible necessity of staying to receive his visit.
The meeting of these two was extremely civil and polite, but far from that cordial familiarity which used to pass between them, especially on the side of Mr. Francis. After Mr. Trueworth had congratulated him on the recovery of his health, and coming to town, they fell into some discourse on ordinary affairs, without the least mentioning of Miss Betsy, by either party, for a considerable time; till her brother, growing a little impatient that the other should say nothing to him on an affair in which he had made him his confidant, and which he had taken so much pains to forward, said to him, with an air, partly gay, and partly serious, 'I was surprized on my arrival to be told, that a passion so violent as that you pretended for my sister, should all on a sudden vanish, and that a thing which I once thought so near being concluded, was entirely broken off.'
'Things of that nature,' replied Mr. Trueworth, coldly, 'are never concluded till accomplished: accidents sometimes intervene to separate persons who have seemed most likely to be united for ever; which, indeed, never was the case between me and that lady.'
'Yet, Sir,' rejoined the other, a little irritated at his manner of speaking, 'I think, that when a gentleman has made his addresses to a young lady of family and character for any length of time, and in the publick manner you did, some cause ought to be assigned for his deserting her.'
'I am under no obligation,' said Mr. Trueworth, very gloomily, 'to give an account of my behaviour to any one whatever; but, in consideration of our friendship, and the love I once had for your sister, I shall make no scruple to tell you, that a woman of her humour would suit but ill with a man of mine: as to any farther eclaircissement of this affair, it is from herself alone you must receive it.'--'She shewed me a letter from you, Sir,' cried Mr. Francis, hastily. 'That might then suffice to inform you,' answered Mr. Trueworth, 'that in what I have done, I but obeyed the dictates of my honour.'--'Honour!' cried the other, fiercely, and laying his hand on his sword, 'What is it you mean, Sir? Did honour oppose your marriage with my sister?'
'No menaces!' said Mr. Trueworth, with a gravity which was pretty near disdain: 'you know me incapable of fear; I have fought for your sister, but will never fight against her. I injure not her reputation; on the contrary, I would defend it, if unjustly attacked, even at the hazard of my life: but as to love or marriage, these are things now out of the question; we both, perhaps, have other views, and the less is said of what is past is the better.'
Mr. Francis naturally took fire on the least suspicion of an indignity offered to him; but when once convinced of his mistake, was no less ready to repent and acknowledge it; he had seen many instances of the honour, generosity, and sincerity of Mr. Trueworth: he had also been witness of some of the levity and inconsiderateness of his sister; and the reflection of a moment served to make him see this change had happened merely through her own ill conduct.
His rage abated even while the other was speaking; but a deep concern remained behind; and, throwing himself down in a chair, 'Into what vexations,' cried he, 'may not a whole family be plunged, through the indiscretion of one woman?'
'Judge not too rashly,' said Mr. Trueworth; 'Miss Betsy may one day see a man so happy as to inspire her with sentiments far different from those she hitherto has entertained; and she also may be more happy herself, with a man who loves her with less delicacy than I did.'
The brother of Miss Betsy seemed not to take any notice of these words; but, rising in some confusion, 'Well, Sir,' said he, 'I shall trouble you no more upon this subject; and am sorry I have done it now.' Mr. Trueworth then told him, that though the intended alliance between them was broke off, he saw no occasion that their friendship should be so too; that he should be glad of an opportunity to return the favours he had received from him, in relation to his sister, though his endeavours on that score had not met with the desired success; and that he hoped they should not live as strangers while they continued in the same town: to all this Mr. Franics made but very short replies, either taking what he said as words of course, or because the disorder of his own mind would not permit him to prolong the conversation.
It is likely Mr. Trueworth was not much troubled at the hasty leave this young gentleman took; for though he always had a very sincere regard for him, yet the point on which he now had come, was tender, and could not be touched upon without giving him some pain: he had no time, however, to make many reflections on the conversation that had passed between them. A letter was brought him by a porter who, waiting for an answer, he immediately opened it, and found the contents as follows.
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.
Sir,
Extraordinary merits seldom fail of having as extraordinary effects: you have made a conquest of a heart without knowing it, which not the utmost endeavours of any other could ever subdue. I am commissioned to acquaint you, that a lady of some consideration in the world, and a large fortune in her own hands, thinks you alone deserve to be the master both of that and of herself: but as she is apprehensive of your being already engaged, begs you will be so generous as to confess the truth; that, if so, she may put a timely stop to the progress of her growing passion; if not, you will, doubtless, hear more from her by the hand of, Sir, your unknown servant.
P.S. Please to send this back, with your answer wrote on the other side of the paper, which you may put up under a cover sealed up, but without any direction. Sincerity and secrecy are earnestly requested.'
Mr. Trueworth could not avoid looking on this adventure as a very odd one: yet, whether the proposal was real or feigned, the matter was wholly indifferent to him; and he hesitated not a moment in what part he should take in it; but sat down immediately, and wrote, as desired, the following answer.
'To the unknown.
Sir, or Madam,
Though I know the honour with which you flatter me is more the effect of fortune than desert, it would certainly make me vain and happy, were I not denied the power of accepting. The heart required of me by the lady is already disposed of--irrecoverably disposed of; and I can only repay her goodness by sincerely wishing a return of hers, and with it all those felicities she would so lavishly bestow on her most obliged, and most humble servant,
C. TRUEWORTH.
P.S. The lady may depend, that my secrecy shall be equal to the sincerity I have shewn in this.'
He had no sooner dispatched the messenger who brought this, than a second came, and presented him with another, and had orders also to wait for an answer: he presently knew it came from Miss Flora, and expected the contents to be such as he found them on perusing.
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.
Most cruel and ungenerous man!
Loth I am to give you epithets like these: my heart shudders, and my trembling hand is scarce able to guide my pen in those reproaches which my reason tells me you deserve: how unkind, how stabbing to the soul, was your behaviour at our last meeting! yet, even then, you promised me to write; I depended on that promise, and hope had not quite forsook me; every knocking at the door I expected was a messenger from you; in vain I expected, in vain I looked, in vain I listened for the welcome mandate; and every disappointment threw me into fresh agonies. I have sent twice to the coffee-house, been there once in person; but could hear nothing of you. O, what secret recess now hides you from me? What can have caused so terrible a reverse in my so lately happy fate? I fear to guess; for madness is in the thought! O do not drive me to extremes!! Many women, with not half my love, or my despair, have ran headlong into actions which, in my cooler moments, I dread to think on. Be assured, I cannot live, will not live, without you! Torture me not any longer with suspense! Pronounce my doom at once! But let it be from your own mouth that I receive it; that you, at least, may be witness of the death you inflict, and be compelled to pity, if you cannot love, the most unfortunate, and most faithful, of her sex,
F. MELLASIN.
P.S. I have charged the man who brings you this, to find you wherever you are, and not to leave you without an answer.'
Mr. Trueworth was in the utmost perplexity of mind on reading this distracted epistle. Of all the hours of his past life he could not recollect any one which gave him so much cause of repentance as that wherein he had commenced an amour with a woman of so violent a temper: he had never loved her; and all the liking he ever had for her being now utterly erased by a more laudable impression, the guilty pleasures he had enjoyed with her were now irksome to his remembrance; and the more she endeavoured to revive the tender folly in him, the more she grew distasteful to him.
It so little becomes a woman, whose characteristick should be modesty, to use any endeavours to force desire, that those who do it are sure to convert love into indifference, and indifference into loathing and contempt: even she who, with the greatest seeming delicacy, labours to rekindle a flame once extinguished, will find the truth of what Morat says in the play--
'To love once pass'd we cannot backward move; Call yesterday again, and we may love.'
Mr. Trueworth, however, had so much pity for that unfortunate creature, that he would have given, perhaps, good part of his estate that she no longer loved him: but how to turn the tide of so extravagant a passion, he could not yet resolve; and it being near the time in which he knew they would expect him at Sir Bazil's, where he now dined every day, and the messenger who brought him the letter also growing impatient to be dispatched, he wrote in haste these few lines.
'To Miss Flora Mellasin.
Madam,
Business of the greatest consequence now calls upon me, and I have no time to write as I would do; but depend upon it I will send to you to-morrow morning, and either appoint a meeting, or let you know my real sentiments in a letter; till when, I beg you will make yourself more easy, if you desire to oblige him who is, with the most unfeigned good wishes, Madam, your most humble, and most obedient servant,
C. TRUEWORTH.
P.S. I shall take it as a favour, Madam, that you will henceforward forbear to make any enquiry concerning me at the coffee-house, or elsewhere.'
Having given this to Miss Flora's porter, he hasted away to Sir Bazil's; there to compose his mind, after the embarrassments it had sustained that morning.
Chapter IX
Contains very little to the purpose
Mr. Francis Thoughtless had no sooner left the lodgings of Mr. Trueworth, than he went directly to those of his sister Betsy; where, in the humour he then was, the reader will easily suppose, he could not be very good company. After telling her he had seen Mr. Trueworth, and had had some conversation with him on her account, 'I am now convinced,' said he, 'of what before I doubted not, that by your own ill management, and want of a just sense of what is for your interest and happiness, you have lost an opportunity of establishing both, which can never be retrieved: nor is this all; your manner of behaviour not only ruins yourself, but involves all belonging to you in endless quarrels and perplexities.'
These were reproaches which Miss Betsy had too much spirit to have borne from any one but a brother; and even to him she was far from yielding that she had in any measure deserved them. 'I defy Trueworth himself,' cried she, with all the resentment of a disappointed lover in her heart, 'to accuse me of one action that the strictest virtue could condemn!'
'Ah, sister!' replied he, 'do not let your vanity deceive you on this score: I see very plainly that Mr. Trueworth regards you with too much indifference to retain resentment for any treatment you have given him; that he once loved you, I am well assured; that he no longer does so, is owing to yourself: but I shall mention him no more; the passion he had for you is extinguished, I believe, beyond all possibility of reviving, nor would I wish you to attempt it. I would only have you remember what Mr. Goodman uttered concerning you with almost his dying breath: for my own part, I have not been a witness of your conduct, since the unhappy brulée I fell into on your account at Oxford, which I then hoped would be a sufficient warning for your future behaviour.'
If Miss Betsy had been less innocent, it is probable she would have replied in a more satisfactory manner to her brother's reproaches; but the real disdain she always had for whatever had the least tendency to dishonour, made her zealous in defending herself only in things of which she was not accused, and silent in regard of those in which she was judged blame-worthy.
'What avails your being virtuous!' said Mr. Francis; 'I hope, and believe, you are so: but your reputation is of more consequence to your family; the loss of the one might be concealed, but a blemish on the other brings certain infamy and disgrace on yourself and all belonging to you.'
On this she assumed the courage to tell him his way of reasoning was neither just nor delicate. 'Would you,' said she, 'be guilty of a base action, rather than have it suspected that you were so?'--'No,' answered he; 'but virtue is a different thing in our sex to what it is in yours: the forfeiture of what is called virtue in a woman is more a folly than a baseness; but the virtue of a man is his courage, his constancy, his probity; which if he loses, he becomes contemptible to himself, as well as to the world.'
'And certainly,' rejoined Miss Betsy, with some warmth, 'the loss of innocence must render a woman contemptible to herself, though she should happen to hide her transgression from the world.'--'That may be,' said Mr. Francis; 'but then her kindred suffer not through her fault: the remorse, and the vexation for what she has done, is all her own. Indeed, sister,' continued he, 'a woman brings less dishonour upon a family by twenty private sins, than by one publick indiscretion.'
'Well,' answered she, 'I hope I shall always take care to avoid both the one and the other, for my own sake. As to indulging myself with the innocent pleasures of the town, I have the example of some ladies of the first quality, and best reputation, to justify me in it.'
Mr. Thoughtless was about to make some reply, which, perhaps, would have been pretty keen, but was prevented by the coming in of her maid, who delivering a letter to her, and saying, 'From Sir Frederick Fineer, Madam!' she hastily broke it open; and having read it, bid the maid let Sir Frederick's servant know she would be at home.
'There, brother,' said she, giving him the letter, 'read that, and be convinced I have not lost every good offer in losing Mr. Trueworth.'--'I wish you have not,' answered he sullenly. He took the paper, however, and read the contents of it, which were these.
'To the divine arbitress of my fate, the omnipotently lovely Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
O Goddess! more cruel than the avenging Nemisis, what have I done, that, like Ixion, I must still be tortured on the wheel of everlasting hopes and fears? I hoped yesterday to have approached the shrine of your resplendent charms; but you had quitted the sacred dome which you inhabit, and vouchsafed to bless some happier mansion with your presence--perhaps a rival: oh, forbid it Heaven! forbid it, all ye stars that, under the Supreme, rule all beneath the moon! The thought is terrible, and shocks the inmost cavities of my adoring jealous soul. I kneel while I am writing, and implore you to grant me permission to sip a cup of nectar and ambrosia at your tea-table this afternoon; and if you can, without injustice to superior merit, debar all other intruders thence, that I may have liberty to pour forth my ejaculations at your feet. I am, with the most ardent devotion, brightest refulgency of beauty, your most adoring, and everlasting slave,
F. FINEER.'
As little as Mr. Francis at this time was disposed to mirth, he could not, in spite of his ill-humour, refrain laughing on reading some expressions in this heroically-learned epistle: 'I need not ask,' said he, throwing the letter contemptuously on the table, 'who, or what, this new adorer of yours is; it is easy to see he is either mad or a fool, or thinks to make you so.'
'I have as bad an opinion of his intellects as you have,' replied she; 'but I assure you he is a baronet, and the presumptive heir of a much greater title; and has an estate large enough to keep me a coach and twelve, if the custom of the country permitted.'
Mr. Francis paused for a few moments; and, after looking over the letter again, 'I wish,' said he, 'instead of a fool of fashion, he is not a knave in the disguise of a coxcomb: his stupidity seems to me to be too egregious to be natural; all his expressions have more the appearance of a studied affectation, than of a real folly. Take care, sister; I have heard there are many impostors in this town, who are continually on the watch for young ladies who have lost their parents, and live in the unguarded manner you do.'
Miss Betsy seemed to treat her brother's suspicions on this head with a good deal of contempt: she told him, that the person at whose house she became acquainted with Sir Frederick, knew his circumstances perfectly well; that he had a prodigious estate, was of a very ancient and honourable family, and conversed with several people of the first quality in England: 'However,' added she, 'you may call here this afternoon, and see him yourself, if you please; for, according to my judgment, he has not wit enough to be an impostor.'
Mr. Francis replied, that he would be glad to see so extraordinary a person if he were not obliged to go upon some business relating to the commission he was soliciting, which he feared would detain him beyond the hour: 'But, with your leave,' said he, 'I will take this letter with me, and hear what my brother thinks of it.'
To this Miss Betsy readily agreed; and he went away in somewhat of a better humour than he had entered, or that he had put her into by the severe reprimands he had given her.
She had a very tender regard for her brothers, but did not think it their province to prescribe rules for her behaviour; she looked upon herself as a better judge in what manner it would become her to act, than they could possibly be, as having lived more years in London than either of them had done months; and, if she was willing to be advised, would not submit to be directed by them.
Thus did her pride a while support her spirits: but when she reflected on the affair of Mr. Trueworth, and the reasons she had given him for speaking and thinking of her in that cool manner she found he now did, she began to be somewhat less tenacious; and acknowledged within herself, that her brother Frank, exclusive of his friendship for that gentleman, had sufficient cause to blame her conduct in that point; and the heat of passion which had been raised by some expressions he had uttered being over, she ceased to take unkindly what she was now sensible had only been occasioned by his zeal for her welfare.
She now saw in their true light all the mistakes she had been guilty of; all her dangers, all her escapes; and blushed to remember, how she had been plunged into the one, merely by her own inadvertency; and been blessed with the other, only by the interposition of some accident, altogether unforeseen, and even unhoped for, by her.
She had also a more just and lively idea of the merits of Mr. Trueworth than ever she had been capable of entertaining while he professed himself her lover: the amiableness of his person--his fine understanding--his generosity--his bravery--his wit--and the delicacy and elegance of his conversation--seemed to her impossible to be equalled; she considered, too, that his estate was much beyond what her fortune could expect, and that even his family was superior to hers; and could not help being very sensibly affected that she had so rashly thrown away her pretensions to the heart of so valuable a man.
'It is true,' said she, 'that if I had an inclination to marry, I have other offers: Mr. Munden, by his way of living, must have a good estate, perhaps not inferior to that of Mr. Trueworth; the man has good sense, and wants neither personal nor acquired endowments; and I have tried both his love and his constancy; besides, he lives always in town, has a taste for the pleasures of it--a woman could not be very unhappy in being his wife. Then there is Sir Frederick Fineer--he is a fool, indeed; but he is a man of quality: and I know several ladies, who are the envy of their own sex, and the toast of the other, and yet have fools for their husbands.'
In this manner did she continue reasoning within herself, till her head began to ache, and she was luckily relieved from it by the last-mentioned subject of her meditations.
He approached her with his accustomed formalities; first saluting the hem of her garment, then her hand, and lastly her lips, which she receiving with an air more than ordinarily serious, and also making very short replies to the fine speeches he had prepared to entertain her with--'What invidious cloud,' said he, 'obscures the lightning of your eyes, and hides half the divinity from my ravished sight?'--'People cannot always be in the same humour, Sir Frederick,' answered she. 'Yours should be always gay,' rejoined he, 'if once you were mine, you should do nothing but love, and laugh, and dress, and eat, and drink, and be adored. Speak, then, my angel,' continued he; 'when shall be the happy day? Say, it shall be to-morrow?'
Here it was not in her power to retain any part of her former gravity. 'Bless me!' cried she, 'to-morrow!--What, marry to-morrow? Sure, Sir Frederick, you cannot think of such a thing! Why, I have not so much as dreamt of it!'--'No matter,' answered he; 'you will have golden dreams enough in my embraces; defer, then, the mutual bliss no longer--let it be to-morrow.'--'You are certainly mad, Sir Frederick!' said she; 'but if I were enough so too, as really to consent to such a hasty nuptial, where, pray, are the preparations for it?'
'Oh, Madam, as to that,' resumed he, 'people of quality always marry in a deshabille; a new coach--chariot--servants--liveries--and rich cloaths for ourselves--may all be got ready before we make our publick appearance at court, or at church.'--'But there are other things to be considered,' said Miss Betsy, laughing outright. 'None of any importance,' replied he: 'I will jointure you in my whole estate; the writings shall be drawn to-night, and presented to you with the wedding-ring.'
'This would be wonderful dispatch indeed!' said she; 'but, Sir, I have two brothers whom I must first consult on the affair.' Sir Frederick seemed extremely struck at these words; but recovering himself as soon as he was able, 'I thought, Madam,' cried he, 'you were entirely at your own disposal.'--'I am so, Sir,' answered she; 'but I love my brothers, and will do nothing without their approbation.'--'Ah, cruel fair!' cried he, 'little do you know the delicacy of my passion; I must owe you wholly to yourself: your brothers, no doubt, will favour my desires, but it is your own free-will alone can make me blessed. Tell me not, then, of brothers,' continued he, 'but generously say you will be mine.'
Miss Betsy was about to make some reply, when word was brought that a servant of the elder Mr. Thoughtless desired to speak with her: on which she arose hastily, and went to the top of the stair-case, to hear what message he had to deliver to her; and was pleasingly surprized when he told her that his master desired the favour of her company to supper immediately at his house. As she never had an invitation there before, she was at a loss to guess what could have caused so sudden an alteration: she asked the fellow what company was there; he told her, only Mr. Francis and another gentleman, whose name he knew not, but believed they wanted her on some affairs concerning the late Mr. Goodman, because, as he was waiting, he heard them often mention that gentleman and Lady Mellasin.
Though she could not conceive on what purpose she was to be consulted on any thing relating to Mr. Goodman, yet she was extremely glad that any occasion had happened to induce her brother to send for her to his house; and ordered the man to acquaint his master that she would not fail to wait upon him with as much expedition as a chair could bring her.
On her return to Sir Frederick, she told him she had received a summons from her elder brother, which she was under an indispensable necessity of complying with; so desired he would defer, till another opportunity, any farther discourse on the subject they had been talking of. Having said this, she called hastily for her fan and gloves, and at the same time gave orders for a chair. Sir Frederick seemed very much confounded; but, finding that any attempt to detain her would be impracticable, took his leave, saying, 'You are going to your brother's, Madam?' To which she answering, she was so, 'I beg then, Madam,' rejoined he, 'that you will not mention any thing concerning me, or the passion I have for you, till I have the honour of seeing you again. Be assured,' continued he, 'I have mighty reasons for this request; and such as, I flatter myself, you will allow to be just.' He said no more; but, perceiving she was ready, led her down stairs; and having put her into a chair, went into that which waited for himself, little satisfied with the success of his visit.
Though the motives on which Miss Betsy's company was desired in so much hurry, by a brother who had never before once invited her, may seem strange, yet as that incident was but the consequence of other matters which yet remain untold, regularity requires they should first be discussed.
Chapter X
Contains an account of some transactions which, though they may not be very pleasing in the repetition, nor are of any great consequence to Miss Betsy, would render this history extremely deficient if omitted
As Lady Mellasin has made so considerable a figure in the former parts of this history, the reader may, perhaps, now begin to think she has been too long neglected; it is, therefore, proper to proceed directly to some account how that guilty and unfortunate woman behaved, after being driven in the manner already related from the house of her much-injured husband. Mr. Goodman was advised by his lawyers to be extremely private in the prosecution he was going to commence against her, and by no means to let her know the secret of her criminal conversation with Marplus had been discovered to him: this seemed a caution necessary to be observed, in order to prevent her from taking any measures, either to invalidate the evidence of the witnesses, or prevail upon them to abscond when the proof of what they had sworn against her should be expected. The whole detection of her guilt was designed to come at once upon her like a thunderclap, and thereby all the little efforts of artifice and chicanery to which she, doubtless, would otherwise have had recourse, be rendered of no use, nor give the least impediment to justice.
Accordingly, this zealous assertor of his client's cause went to visit her, as of his own good-will; flattered her with the hope that her husband would soon be prevailed upon to take her home again, and lent her several small sums of money to supply her necessities; saying, at the same time, that when matters were made up between them, and all was over, he very well knew that Mr. Goodman would return it to him with thanks.
This strategem had the effect it was intended for; it not only kept her from attempting any thing of the nature above-mentioned, but also from running Mr. Goodman into debt; which certainly she might have done, on some pretence or other, in spite of all the care and means that could have been taken to destroy her credit.
It must be acknowledged, indeed, that acting in this manner was a prodigious piece of dissimulation; but, at the same time, it must be acknowledged also, that it was abundantly justified by the cause, and practised for the most laudable end, to serve an honest, worthy, gentleman, his friend and client, against a woman who had wronged him in the tenderest point, and who was capable of making use of the vilest methods to elude the punishment her crimes deserved; and, as a great author tells us--
'It is a kind of stupid honesty, Among known knaves, to play upon the square.'
Lady Mellasin, however, was lulled into so perfect a security by her dependance on the good-nature of her husband, and the tender affection he had always shewn to her, as well as by the high character she had always heard of the lawyer's veracity, that she was more easy than could have been expected in a woman of her situation, even though it had been as she was made to believe.
She received, and returned, with her usual politeness and gaiety, the visits that were made her by all those who thought proper to continue an acquaintance with her: she pretended that it was only a little family contest that had separated her from Mr. Goodman for a short time; and always mentioned him with so much kindness and respect, as made every one believe there was nothing between them but what would be easily made up.
This was, indeed, the most prudent method she could take; not only to preserve her own reputation to the world, but also to give Mr. Goodman a high idea of her conduct, if what she said should happen to be repeated to him.
She was every day in expectation that, through her own good management, and the intercession of the lawyer, whom she now took to be her staunch friend, all would be over, and she should be recalled home; when a citation to appear before the doctors of the civil law was delivered to her by an officer belonging to that court.
It is more easy to conceive than describe her distraction at so unlooked-for a turn; she now found that her intrigue with Marplus was discovered, and that all she had to dread was like to fall upon her by that event; her perplexity was also greatly increased by her not being able to find out by whom, or by what means, she had been betrayed: she sent immediately in search of Marplus, whom, since his arresting Mr. Goodman, she had never once seen nor heard any thing of; but all the information she could get of him was, that he had been thrown into prison by Mr. Goodman, and, after confinement of a few days, had been released, and was gone nobody knew where, but, as it was supposed, out of England; that his wife had likewise removed from her lodgings, but whether with an intention to follow him or not, no certain intelligence could be given.
As this unhappy woman, therefore, neither knew on what foundation the accusation against her was built, nor what evidences could be produced to prove it, she might very well be bewildered in her thoughts, and not know what course to take; yet, amidst all these matters of astonishment, oppressed with grief, and struck with horror at the near prospect of approaching infamy, she had courage, and presence enough of mind, to enable her to do every thing that was necessary for her defence in so bad a cause.
Mr. Goodman's indisposition putting a stop to the process, she had time to consult with those whom she found most qualified for the purpose. Her chief agent was a pettifogger, or understrapper in the law, one who knew all those quirks and evasions, which are called the knavish part of it; and as the extreme indigence of his circumstances made him ready to undertake any thing, though ever so desperate, provided it afforded a prospect of advantage, so he had impudence and cunning enough to go through with it, even to the hazard of his ears.
This man kept up her spirits, by assuring her, he would find ways and means so to puzzle the cause, that nothing should be clearly proved against her: but there was no opportunity for him to exercise his abilities in this way, for Mr. Goodman's death soon after furnished him with another. Lady Mellasin was no sooner informed, by spies she kept continually about Mr. Goodman's house, that his life was despaired of, than they set about making his will, the first article of which, after the prelude usual in such writings, was this.
'Imprimis, I give and bequeathe to my dear and well-beloved wife, Margaret, Lady Mellasin Goodman, the full sum of thirty thousand pounds of lawful money of Great Britain, over and above what otherwise she might lay claim to as my widow, in consideration of the great wrong I have done her, through the insinuations of malicious and evil-minded persons; which I now heartily repent me of, and hope that God and she will forgive me for it.'
Then followed some other legacies to several of his kindred, and those of his friends, whom he had been known to have been the most intimate with; but the sums to each were very trifling, and did not amount, in the whole, to above seven or eight hundred pounds. As everyone who had the least acquaintance with Mr. Goodman, was very well convinced that he had always intended his nephew for his heir, the pretended will went on in this manner.
'Item, I give and bequeathe to my dear nephew, Edward Goodman, the son of Nathanial Goodman, and of Catherine his wife, late of Bengal in the East Indies, the whole residue of my effects, whatsoever and wheresoever they shall be found at my demise; provided that he, the said Edward Goodman, shall take to be his lawful wife, Flora Mellasin, only daughter and remaining issue of Sir Thomas Mellasin, and of the above-mentioned Margaret his wife: but in case that either party shall refuse to enter into such marriage, then that he, the said Edward Goodman, shall be obliged to pay to the said Flora Mellasin the full sum of five thousand pounds of lawful money of Great Britain, in consideration of the misfortunes she has suffered by the injury I have done her mother.'
This impudent piece of forgery was signed Samuel Goodman, in a character so like that gentleman's, that, when compared with other papers of his own hand-writing, the difference could not be distinguished by those who were best acquainted with it: two persons also, of the lawyer's procuring, set their names as witnesses.
Notwithstanding the flagrancy of this attempt, Lady Mellasin flattered herself with the hopes of it's success; and, on Mr. Goodman's death, threw in a caveat against the real will, and set up this pretended one.
On the other hand, though one would imagine there needed but little skill for the detection of so gross an imposition, yet Mr. Goodman's lawyer thought proper to get all the help he could to corroborate the truth. This piece of forgery was dated about ten days before Mr. Goodman died; he knew that the elder Mr. Thoughtless came every day to visit him during the whole time of his sickness; and that Miss Betsy, at the time this will was supposed to be made, actually lived in the house, and that neither of these two could be totally ignorant of such a transaction, in case any such had been.
It was therefore at the lawyer's request, that Miss Betsy was sent for to her brother's house; she answered, with a great deal of readiness, to all the questions he put to her, according to the best of her knowledge; particularly as to that concerning the making the will: she said, that she had never heard the least mention of any lawyer but himself coming to Mr. Goodman's during the whole time of his sickness; and that she verily believed no will but that drawn up by him, and which all the family knew of, could possibly be made by Mr. Goodman's orders, or in his house; and as to the article in the pretended will, relating to Miss Flora, nothing could be a more palpable forgery, because Mr. Goodman had offered five hundred pounds with her in marriage to a linen-draper, not above six weeks before his parting with Lady Mellasin; 'Which,' added she, 'is a very plain proof that he never intended her for his nephew.'
All the time Miss Betsy staid, the whole discourse was on this affair; and she had no opportunity, as the lawyer was present, to acquaint her brothers with any thing concerning Sir Frederick Fineer, as otherwise it was her full intention to have done, after the surprizing injunction he had laid upon her of secrecy, in regard of his passion, and every thing relating to him.
Chapter XI
Is very well deserving the attention of all those who are about to marry
While Miss Flora was buoyed up with the expectation that her mother would soon be reconciled with Mr. Goodman, she abated not of her former gaiety, and thought of nothing but indulging her amorous inclinations with the man she liked: but when once those expectations ceased, her spirits began to fail; she now found it necessary, for her interest as well as pleasure, to preserve, if possible, the affection of her lover; she knew not what dreadful consequences the prosecution Mr. Goodman was about to exhibit against her mother, might be attended with, and trembled to think she must share with her the double load of infamy and penury; and rightly judged, that a man of Mr. Trueworth's fortune, honour, and good-nature, would not suffer a woman, with whom he continued a tender communication, to be oppressed with any ills his purse could relieve her from. The apprehensions, therefore, that she might one day be reduced to stand in need of his support, assisted the real passion she had for him, and made her feel, on the first appearance of his growing coldness towards her, all those horrors, those distractions, which her letters to him had so lively represented.
On his ceasing to make any fixed appointment with her, and from seeing her every day, to seeing her once in three or four days, gave her, with reason, the most terrible alarms; but when, after an absence of near a week, she had followed him to the coffee-house, the cool and indifferent reception she there met with, gave, indeed, a mortal stab to all her hopes; and she longer hesitated to pronounce her own doom, and cry out, she was undone.
The excuse he made of business was too weak--too trite--too common-place--to gain any credit with her, or alleviate her sorrows; she knew the world too well to imagine a gay young gentleman, like him, would forego whatever he thought a pleasure for any business he could possibly have: she doubted not but there was a woman in the case; and the thoughts that, while she was in vain expecting him, he was soliciting those favours from a rival she had so lavishly bestowed and languished to repeat, fired her jealous brain, even to a degree of frenzy.
Awhile she raved with all the wild despair of ill-requited burning love: but other emotions soon rose in her distracted bosom, not to control, but add fresh fuel to the flame already kindled there. 'My circumstances!' cried she, 'my wretched circumstances!--What will become of me? Involved in my mother's shame, he will, perhaps, make that a pretence for abandoning me to those misfortunes I thought I might have depended on him to relieve.'
However, as the little billet, in answer to her last letter to him, contained a promise that he would write to her the next day, she endeavoured, as much as she was able, to compose herself till that time, though she was far from hoping the explanation she expected to receive in it would afford any consolation to her tormented mind.
Mr. Trueworth also, in the mean time, was not without his own anxieties: a man of honour frequently finds more difficulty in getting rid of a woman he is weary of, and loves him, than obtaining a woman he loves and is in pursuit of; but this gentleman had a more than ordinary perplexity to struggle through. Few women would go the lengths Miss Flora had done for the accomplishment of her desires; and he easily saw, by the whole tenor of her behaviour, she would go as great, and even more, to continue the enjoyment of them.
Glad would he have been to have brought her by degrees to an indifference for him; to have prevailed on her to submit her passion to the government of her reason, and to be convinced that an amour, such as theirs had been, ought to be looked upon only as a transient pleasure; to be continued while mutual inclination and convenience permitted, and, when broke off, remembered but as a dream.
But this he found was not to be done with a woman of Miss Flora's temper; he therefore thought it best not to keep her any longer in suspense, but let her know at once the revolution in her fate, as to that point which regarded him, and the true motive which had occasioned it; which he accordingly did in these terms.
'To Miss Flora Mellasin.
Madam,
It is with very great difficulty I employ my pen to tell you it is wholly inconvenient for us ever to meet again in the manner we have lately done; but I flatter myself you have too much good-sense, and too much honour, not to forgive what all laws, both human and divine, oblige me to. I am entering into a state which utterly forbids the continuance of those gallantries which before pleaded their excuse: in fine, I am going to be married; and it would be the highest injustice in me to expect that fidelity which alone can make me happy in a wife, if my own conduct did not set her an example.
Though I must cease to languish for a repetition of those favours you blessed me with, yet be assured I shall always remember them with gratitude, and the best good wishes for the prosperity of the fair bestower.
I send you back all the testimonies I have received of your tenderness that are in my power to return: it belongs to yourself to make use of your utmost endeavours for the recovery of the heart which dictated them. This I earnestly intreat of you; and in the hope that you will soon accomplish a work so absolutely necessary for your peace and reputation, I remain, as far as honour will permit, Madam, your most obliged, and most humble servant,
C. TRUEWORTH.'
Mr. Trueworth flattered himself that so plain a declaration of his sentiments and intentions would put a total end to all future correspondence between them; and, having looked it over, after he had finished, and found it such as he thought proper for the purpose, put it under a cover, with all the letters he had received from Miss Flora, not excepting the first invitation she had made him, under the tide of the 'Incognita,' and sent away the packet by a porter; for he had never intrusted the servants with the conveyance of any epistle from him to that lady.
Miss Flora, from the moment her eyes were open in the morning, (if it can be supposed she had any sleep that night) had been watching, with the most racking impatience, for the arrival of Mr. Trueworth's messenger. She wished, but dreaded more, the eclaircissement which she expected would be contained in the mandate he had promised to send; yet was distracted for the certainty, how cruel soever it might prove.
At length it came, and with it a confirmation of even worse than the most terrible of her apprehensions had suggested. The sight of her own letters, on her opening it, almost threw her into a swoon; but, when her streaming eyes had greedily devoured the contents of the billet that accompanied them, excess of desperation struck her for some moments stupid, and rendered her mind inactive as her frame.
But, when awakened from this lethargy of silent grief, she felt all the horrors of a fate she had so much dreaded. Frustrated at once in every hope that love or interest had presented to her, words cannot paint the wildness of her fancy; she tore her hair and garments, and scarce spared that face she had taken so much pains to ornament, for wanting charms to secure the conquest it had gained.
But with the more violence these tourbillions of the mind rage for a while, the sooner they subside, and all is hushed again; as I remember to have somewhere read--
'After a tempest, when the winds are laid, The calm sea wonders at the wreck it made.'
So this unhappy and abandoned creature, too much deserving of the fate she met with, having exhausted her whole stock of tears, and wasted all the breath that life could spare in fruitless exclamations, the passions which had raised these commotions in her soul became more weak, and the beguiler Hope once more returned, to lull her wearied spirits into a short-lived ease.
She now saw the folly of venting her rage upon herself--that to give way to grief and despair would avail her nothing, but only serve to render her more miserable--that, instead of sitting tamely down, and meanly lamenting her misfortune in the loss of a lover, on whom she had built so much, she ought rather to exert all the courage, resolution, and artifice, she was mistress of, in contriving some way of preventing it, if possible.
'He is not yet married!' said she--'the irrevocable words are not yet past! I have already broke off his courtship to one woman--why may I not be as successful in doing so with another? He cannot love the present engrosser of his heart more than he did Miss Betsy Thoughtless! It is worth, at least, the pains of an attempt!'
The first step she had to take towards the execution of her design, was to find out the name, condition, and dwelling, of her happy rival; and this, she thought, there would be no great difficulty in doing, as she doubted not but Mr. Trueworth visited her every day, and it would be easy for her to employ a person to watch where he went, and afterwards to make the proper enquiries.
But, in the mean time, it required some consideration how to behave to that gentleman, so as to preserve in him some sort of esteem for her, without which, she rightly judged, it would be impossible for her ever to recover his love, in case she should be so fortunate as to separate him from the present object of his flame.
She knew very well, that all testimonies of despair in a woman no longer loved, only create uneasiness in the man who occasioned it, and but serve to make him more heartily wish to get rid of her; she, therefore, found it best, as it certainly was, to pretend to fall in with Mr. Trueworth's way of thinking--seem to be convinced by his reasons, and ready to submit to whatever suited with his interest or convenience. It was some time before she could bring herself into a fit temper for this sort of dissimulation; but she at last arrived at it, and gave a proof how great a proficient she was in it by the following lines.
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.
Dear Sir,
I am apt to believe you as little expected as desired an answer to the eclaircissement of yesterday; nor would I have given you the trouble of this, but to assure you it shall be the last of any kind you ever shall receive from me. Yes, I have now done with reproaches and complaints. I have nothing to alledge against you--nothing to accuse you of. Could the fond folly of my tender passion have given me leisure for a moment's reflection, I had forseen that the misfortune which is now fallen upon me was inevitable. I am now convinced that I ought not to have hoped that the unbounded happiness I so lately enjoyed, could be of any long duration--that a man of your fortune and figure in the world must one day marry--names and families must be supported; and yours is too considerable for you to suffer it to be extinct. I must not, I will not, therefore, repine at a thing which, in my cooler moments, I cannot but look upon as essential to your honour and convenience. Had you quitted me on any other score, I cannot answer but I might have been hurried into extravagancies displeasing to you, and unbecoming of myself: but here I must resign; and am determined to do so with the same patience, in shew at least, as if I had never loved. I will not tell you the agonies I have sustained in the cruel conflict between my reason and my passion, in making this resolution: it is sufficient for you to know that the former has the victory. More might too much affect your generous nature; besides, when woes are remediless, they are best borne in silence.
Farewel!-Oh, farewel for ever! May you find every thing in the happy she you make your choice of to give you lasting bliss! and, to compleat all, may she love you with the same ardency, tenderness, and disinterestedness, as her who must now only subscribe herself, at an eternal distance, dear, dear Sir, your most faithful friend, and humble servant,
F. MELLASIN.'
This letter, which, it must be confessed, was wrote artfully enough, had all the effect it was intended for on the mind of Mr. Trueworth. It not only afforded him an infinity of contentment, as he hoped she would soon be enabled to banish all those disturbed emotions which naturally attend the breaking off an acquaintance such as theirs had been, but it also established in him a very high idea of her good understanding, disinterested affection, honour, and sincerity: but how long he continued in this favourable opinion as to the three last-mentioned qualifications, will hereafter be shewn.
In the mean time, something happened which, as he was a man just even to the extremest nicety, gave him, according to his way of thinking, a great deal of reason to reproach himself.
Chapter XII
Miss Betsy's innocence, as to the Denham affair, fully cleared up to Mr. Trueworth by a very extraordinary accident
Mr. Trueworth had made so great a progress in his courtship, that the sincerity of Miss Harriot got the better of her bashfulness, even so far as to confess to him, it was with pleasure she yielded to the persuasions of her friends in favour of his love, and that he had infinitely the preference of all mankind in her esteem; in fine, her behaviour was such as left nothing wanting, but the ceremony, to assure him of his happiness.
Sir Bazil also having concluded every thing with the father of his mistress, brought that young lady acquainted with his sisters; who, highly approving their brother's choice, soon treated her, and were treated by her, with the same affection and familiarity as if already united.
There were few hours, excepting those allotted by nature and custom for repose, which this amiable company did not pass together. The old gentleman, who was extremely good-humoured when nothing relating to the parting with his money came on the carpet, would frequently make one among them; and being one day more than ordinarily chearful, told Mr. Trueworth that, as he found the two weddings were to be solemnized in one day, and he should give his daughter's hand to Sir Bazil, desired he might also have the honour of bestowing Miss Harriot's upon him: to which Mr. Trueworth replied, that he should joyfully receive her from any hands, but more particularly from his; and that he took the offer he made as a very great favour. On this, the other grew very gay, and said abundance of merry things, to the no small expence of blushes both in his daughter and Miss Harriot.
It is impossible for any lover, while waiting for the consummation of his wishes, to enjoy a more uninterrupted felicity than did Sir Bazil and Mr. Trueworth--continually blest with the society of their mistresses, and receiving from them all the marks that a virtuous affection could bestow: yet both of them found it requisite to contrive every day some new party of pleasure or other, in order to beguile the necessary, though to them tedious, time it took up in drawing of writings, and other preparations for the much longed-for nuptials; which Mrs. Wellair did not fail to do all on her part to hasten, being impatient to return to her family, whence she had been absent longer than she had intended.
Sir Bazil and Mr. Trueworth having been taking a little walk in the Park one morning, the former finding himself so near the habitation of Miss Mabel, could not forbear calling on her, though she was to dine that day at his house, and Mr. Trueworth accompanied him. That lady was then at her toilette, but made no scruple of admitting them into her dressing-room, where they had scarce seated themselves, when her woman, who was waiting, was called out by a footman to speak to some people, who, he said, were very importunate to see Miss Mabel, and would take no answer from him.
'Rude guests, indeed,' cried Miss Mabel, 'that will not take an answer from a servant!--Who are they?'--'I never saw them before, Madam,' replied the footman: 'but the one is a woman of a very mean appearance, and the other, I believe, is a soldier. I told them your ladyship had company, and could not be seen; but the man said he only begged one word with you; that he has just come from abroad, and wanted to know where he might see his child, and a deal of such stuff. The woman is almost as impertinent as the man; and I cannot get them from the door.'
'I will lay my life upon it, Madam,' said the waiting maid, 'that this is the father of the child that you and Miss Betsy Thoughtless have been so good to keep ever since the mother's death.'--'I verily believe thou hast hit upon the right!' cried Miss Mabel. 'Pr'ythee go down; and, if it be as thou imaginest, bid them come up--I will see them.'
The maid went as she was ordered, and immediately returned with two persons, such as the footman had described. The woman was the first that advanced, and, after dropping two or three curtseys to each of the company, addressed herself to Miss Mabel in these words--'I do not know, Madam,' said she, 'whether your ladyship may remember me; but I nursed poor Mrs. Jinks, your ladyship's sempstress and clear-starcher, all the time of her lying-in, when your ladyship and Madam Betsy Thoughtless were so good as to stand godmothers, and afterwards took the child, that it might not go to the parish.'
'I remember you very well,' said Miss Mabel: 'but, pray, what is your business with me now?'--'Why, Madam,' said she, 'your ladyship must know, that Mrs. Jinks's husband has seen his folly at last--has left the army, and is resolved to take up and settle in the world: so, Madam, if your ladyship pleases, he would willingly have his child.'
'O doubtless, he may have his child!' rejoined Miss Mabel.--'But, hark'e, friend,' continued she, turning to the man, 'are you able to keep your child?'--'Yes, Madam,' answered he, coming forward, 'thank God, and good friends. I had an uncle down in Northamptonshire, who died a while ago, and left me a pretty farm there; and so, as my neighbour here was telling you, I would not have my child a burden to any body.'--'If we had thought it a burden,' said Miss Mabel, 'we should not have taken it upon us; however, I am glad you are in circumstances to maintain it yourself. Your wife was a very honest, industrious woman, and suffered a great deal through your neglect; but I hope you will make it up in the care of the child she has left behind.'
'Aye, Madam,' replied he, wiping his eyes, 'I have nothing else to remember her! I did not use her so well as she deserved, that's certain: but I have sowed all my wild oats, as the saying is; and I wish she were alive to have the benefit of it.'
'That cannot be,' interrupted the woman; 'so don't trouble good Madam with your sorrowful stories. If her ladyship will be so good only to give us directions where to find the child; for we have been to Madam Betsy's, and her ladyship was not at home; so we made bold to come here.'--'Yes, Madam,' cried he, 'for my colonel comes to town in a day or two, and I shall get my discharge, and have no more to do with the service; so would willingly have my child to take down with me to the farm.'
Miss Mabel made no other answer to this, than saying it was very well; and immediately gave them the direction they requested to Goody Bushman's, at Denham. 'I cannot tell you exactly where the house is,' said she: 'but you will easily find her; the husband is a gardener, and she has been a nurse for many years.'
The fellow seemed extremely pleased, thanked her as well as he could in his homely fashion, and desired she would be so kind as to give his duty to the other lady, and thank her also, for her part of the favours both his wife and child had received; nor had he forgot his manners so far as not to accompany the testimonies of his gratitude with a great many low scrapes, till he got quite out of the room.
After this, Sir Bazil began to grow a little pleasant with Miss Mabel concerning the motherly part she had been playing. 'You do me more honour than I deserve,' said she, laughing; 'for it was but half a child I had to take care of; so, consequently, I could but be half a mother. I am glad, however,' continued she, more seriously, 'that my little goddaughter has found a father.'
While they were talking in this manner, the old gentleman happening to come in, and hearing Sir Bazil was above with his daughter, sent to desire to speak with him in his closet.
Miss Mabel being now alone with Mr. Trueworth, thought she saw something in his countenance which very much surprized her. 'You are pensive, Sir!' said she. 'I hope the mention we have been making of Miss Betsy has given you no alarm.'--'A very great one,' answered he; 'but not on the account you may, perhaps, imagine. I have wronged that lady in the most cruel manner; and, though the injury I have done her went no farther than my own heart, yet I never can forgive myself for harbouring sentiments which, I now find, were so groundless and unjust.'
As it was not possible for Miss Mabel to comprehend the meaning of these words, she intreated him, somewhat hastily, to explain the mystery they seemed to contain: on which he made no scruple of repeating to her the substance of the letter he had received; his going down to Denham, in order to convince himself more fully; and the many circumstances which, according to all appearances, corroborated the truth of that infamous scandal.
Never was astonishment equal to that Miss Mabel was in on hearing the narrative of so monstrous a piece of villainy. 'Good God!' cried she, 'I know Miss Betsy has many enemies, who set all her actions in the worst light, and construe every thing she says and does into meanings she is ignorant of herself: but this is so impudent, so unparalleled a slander, as I could not have thought the malice of either men or devils could have invented!'
'Indeed, Madam,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'should fortune ever discover to me the author of this execrable falsehood, I know no revenge I could take that would be sufficient, both for traducing the innocence of that lady, and the imposition practised upon myself.' Miss Mabel agreed with him, that no punishment could be too bad for the inventors of such cruel aspersions; and, having a little vented her indignation on all who were capable of the like practices, 'I suppose, then,' said she, 'that it was owing to this wicked story that you desisted your visits to Miss Betsy?'
'Not altogether, Madam,' answered he: 'I had long before seen it was not in my power to inspire that lady with any sentiments of the kind that would make me happy in the married state. I loved her; but my reason combated with my passion, and got the better.'
'I understand you, Sir,' replied she; 'and though I hope, nay, believe in my soul, that poor Miss Betsy is innocent as a vestal, yet I cannot but own, that the too great gaiety of her temper, and the pride of attracting as many admirers as to have eyes to behold her, hurries her into errors, which, if persevered in, cannot but be fatal both to the peace and reputation of a husband. Where you are now fixed, you doubtless have a much better prospect of being truly happy. It is, however, a great pity, methinks,' continued this amiable lady, 'that so many rare and excellent qualities as Miss Betsy is possessed of, should all be swallowed up and lost in the nonsensical vanity of being too generally admired.'
They had time for no more; Sir Bazil returned: he had only been sent for to examine the sole copy of the marriage-articles, which the old gentleman had just brought from his lawyer's, on purpose to shew them to him some time that day; and they now took their leave, that the lady might have time to dress; Sir Bazil looking on his watch, said, it was then a quarter past two, and they should dine at three, so begged she would not waste too much time in consulting her glass; 'For,' added he, 'you know you have always charms for me.'--'And I am not ashamed, then,' replied she, with a smile, 'even before Mr. Trueworth, to confess, that I desire to have none for any other.'
He kissed her hand on this obliging speech, and ran hastily down stairs, followed by Mr. Trueworth; whose temper had not quite recovered its accustomed vivacity.
Chapter XIII
Seems to promise a very great change for the better, both in the humour and conduct of Miss Betsy, in regard to those who professed themselves her lovers
As little as Miss Betsy had accustomed herself to compare and judge of things, she wanted not the power, whenever it pleased her to have the will to do so: the words of Sir Frederick Fineer, on taking leave of her at his last visit, sunk pretty deeply into her mind; nor could she remember them without a mixture of surprize, resentment, and confusion. No man, excepting Mr. Saving, whose reasons for it she could not but allow were justifiable, had hitherto ever presumed to make his addresses to her in a clandestine manner; and Sir Frederick Fineer seemed to her, of all men, to have the least excuse for doing so; and she would not have hesitated one moment to come into her brother Frank's opinion, that he was no other than an impostor, if the dependance she had on the good faith of Mrs. Modely had not prevented her from entertaining such a belief.
Besides, all the pleasure her gay young heart as yet had ever been capable of taking in the conquests she had made, consisted in their being known; and this proceeding in Sir Frederick was too mortifying to that darling propensity, to be easily forgiven, even though he should make it appear, that the motives on which he requested this secrecy were such as could not be dispensed with.
'What can the man mean?' said she: 'I suppose, by his desiring his courtship to me should be a secret, he intends a marriage with me should be so too--that I should live with him only as the slave of his loose pleasures; and, though a lawful wife, pass me in the eyes of the world for a kept mistress. Was ever such insolence! such an unparalleled insult; both on my person and understanding! Heaven be my witness, that it is only his quality could induce me; nay, I know not as yet whether even that could be sufficient to induce me to become his wife, and can he be so ridiculously vain as to imagine I would accept him on any cheaper terms than that eclat his rank and fortune would bestow upon me?'
She spent all that part of the night which she could spare from sleep, in meditating on this affair; and at last came to a resolution of seeing him no more, whatever he might pretend in justification of his late request.
She also had it in her head to return unopened any letter he should send: but curiosity prevailed above her resentment in this point; and when his servant came in the morning, and presented her with his master's compliments, and a billet at the same time, she had not the power of denying herself the satisfaction of seeing what excuse he would make: the contents of it were as follows.
'To the delight of my eyes, the life of my desires, the only hope and joy of my adoring soul, the divine Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Since last I left your radiant presence, my mind has been all dark and gloomy--my anxieties are unutterable--intolerable--I know not what cruel constructions you may have put upon the petition I made you, of not mentioning me to your brothers--but, sure, you cannot think I apprehend a refusal from that quarter: no, my birth and fortune set me above all doubts of that nature; and I am very certain that both they, and all your kindred, would rather force you, if in their power, to accept the hand I offer; but it is not to them, but to yourself alone, I can submit to yield. Heaven, it is true, is in possessing you; but then I would owe that heaven only to your love; you may think, perhaps, that this is too great a delicacy; but know, fair angel, that there is another motive--a motive which, though derived from the same source, binds me in a different way. Fain would I court you; fain marry you; with all the pomp and splendour your superior beauty merits; but neither my virtue, my honour, nor my religion, will permit it: the mystery is this.
Upon examining into the cause why we see so many jarring pairs united in the sacred yoke of matrimony, I found it wholly owing to the want of that true affection which, to make perfect happiness, ought to precede the nuptial ceremony; that sordid interest, the persuasion of friends, or some such selfish view, either on the one side or the other, had given the hand without the heart, and inclination had no share in beckoning to the altar.
Being convinced of this truth by innumerable examples, and resolved to avoid the fate of others, I made a vow, and bound myself by the most solemn imprecations, never to marry any woman, how dear soever she might be to me, that would not assure me of her love, by flying privately with me to the altar, without consulting friends, or asking any advice but of her own soft desires.
This, my adorable charmer, being the case, I am certain you have too high a sense of the duty owing to all that's holy, to exact from me a thing which you cannot but be certain, must entail eternal perdition on my perjured soul.
Let us haste, then, to tie the blissful knot, and surprize our friends with a marriage they little dreamt of. As Phoebus each night hurries himself into the lap of Thetis, to render his appearance the more welcome the next day, so shall the next morning after our marriage behold us shine forth at once no less gorgeous than the bright ruler of the day, dazzling the eyes of the admiring world.
I am fired with the imagination, and am wrapped in extasies unutterable; but will fly this evening to your divine feet, where I hope to persuade you to delay our mutual happiness no longer than to-morrow, and exchange my present appellation of lover into that of husband; assuring yourself, I shall then be, as now, with the most consummate devotion to your all-conquering charms, sweet goddess of my hopes, your passionate adorer, and everlasting slave,
F. FINEER.
P.S. I beseech you will give necessary orders for preventing any impertinent intruder from breaking in upon our converse, for, exclusive of my vow, I should detest, as the poet says--
"With noise and shew, and in a crowd to woo; For true felicity dwells in two."
Once more, my dear divinity, adieu.'
Miss Betsy read this letter over several times, and made herself mistress of the sense, as she thought, of every part of it; she had always found, in every thing he said or did, a great deal of the affected and conceited coxcomb; but in this she imagined she discovered more of the designing knave: the vow he mentioned was an excuse too shallow to pass on a discernment such as hers; but her vanity still suggesting that he was really in love with her, and that if he intended any villainy towards her, it was enforced by the violence of his passion, it came into her head, that there was a possibility of his being already married, or contracted to some lady whom he durst not break with, but being bent on gaining her at all events, he had formed this pretence of a vow, in order to gain her to a clandestine marriage, thinking, that after it was over, and there was no remedy, she would be content to live with him in a private manner, since it would then be impracticable for her to do so in a publick one.
This, indeed, she could not be certain of; but she was so, that it did not become a woman of any family and character to receive the addresses of a man, how superior soever he might be in point of fortune, who either was ashamed, or had any other reasons to hinder him from avowing his passion to her relations.
She had no sooner fixed herself in this determination, than she went to her cabinet, with an intent to pack up all the letters she had received from him, and inclose them in one to Mrs. Modely; but recollecting, she had given one of them to her brother Frank, which he had not yet returned, she thought she would defer, till another opportunity, this testimony of the disregard she had for himself and all that came from him.
To prevent, however, his troubling her with any more visits, messages, or epistles, she sat down to her escrutore, and immediately wrote her presentiments to his agent, in the following terms.
'To Mrs. Modely.
Dear Modely,
As it is not my custom to write to men, except on business, of which I never reckoned love, nor the professions of it, any part, I desire you will tell Sir Frederick Fineer, that the only way for him to keep his oath inviolated, is to cease entirely all farther prosecutions of his addresses to me; for as my birth and fortune, as well as my humour, set me above encouraging a secret correspondence with any man, on what pretence soever it may be requested, he may expect, nay, assure himself, that on the next visit he attempts to make me, or letter or message he causes to be left for me, I shall directly acquaint my brothers with the whole story of his courtship; the novelty of which may possibly afford us some diversion.
I thank you for the good I believe you intended me, in your recommendation of a lover, whose title and estate you might think had some charms in them, and the oddities of whose temper you were perhaps unacquainted with.
I desire, however, you will henceforth make no mention of him; but, whenever I send for you, confine your conversation to such matters as befit your vocation; for, as to others, I find you are but little skilled in what will please her who is, notwithstanding this raillery, my dear Modely, your friend and servant,
B. THOUGHTLESS.
P.S. To shew how much I am in earnest, I should have sent the baronet all the epistles he has been at the pains of writing to me, but I am just going out, and I have not leisure to look them up; I will not fail, however, to let him have them in a day or two; they may serve any other woman as well as me, and save him abundance of trouble in his next courtship. You see I have some good-nature, though nothing of that love I suppose he imagined his merits had inspired me with. Adieu.'
Miss Betsy was highly diverted, after sending this dispatch, to think how silly poor Modely would look on finding herself obliged to deliver such a message to her grand lodger, and how dismally mortified he would be on the receiving it.
Chapter XIV
Shews that Miss Betsy, whenever she pleased to exert herself, had it in her power to be discreet, even on occasions the most tempting to her honour and inclinations
Soon after Miss Betsy had sent away what she thought would be a final answer to Sir Frederick, her brother Frank came in; she immediately shewed him the letter she had received that morning, and related to him in what manner she had behaved concerning it, with which he was extremely pleased, and said more tender things to her than any she had heard from him since he came to town.
'This is a way of acting, my dear sister,' said he, 'which, if you persevere in, will infallibly gain you the esteem of all who know you; for while you encourage the addresses of every idle fop, believe me, you will render yourself cheap, and lose all your merit with the sensible part of mankind.'
If she was not quite of his opinion in this point, she offered no arguments in opposition to the remarks he made; and assured him, as she had done once before, that she would never give any man the least grounds to hope she approved his pretensions, till she had first received the sanction of both his and her brother Thoughtless's approbation.
He then told her that they had received intelligence, that the India ship, which they heard was to bring Mr. Edward Goodman, was safely arrived in the Downs; so that, in all likelihood, that gentleman would be in London in two or three days at farthest; 'Which I am very glad of,' said he; 'for, though I believe the lawyer a very honest, diligent man, as any can be of his profession, the presence of the heir will give a life to the cause, and may bring things to a more speedy issue.'
He also told her that a gentleman of her brother's acquaintance had the day before received a letter from Sir Ralph Trusty, intimating that he should be obliged, by the death of Mr. Goodman, there being affairs of consequence between them, to come to town much sooner than he had intended, and that he should bring his lady with him: 'And then, my dear sister,' said he, 'you will be happy, for a time at least, in the conversation and advice of one who, I am certain, in her good wishes for you, deserves to be looked upon by you as a second mother.'
He was going on in some farther commendations of that worthy lady, when Miss Betsy's man came to the dining-room door, and told her that Mr. Munden was below in the parlour, and would wait on her if she was at leisure. Mr. Francis perceiving she was hesitating what answer to make, cried hastily, 'Pray, sister, admit him. This is lucky! now I shall see how much he excels Mr. Trueworth in person and parts.'--'I never told you,' answered she, 'that he did so in either; but perhaps he may in his good opinion and esteem for me: however, I think you promised never to mention Trueworth again to me; I wish you would keep your word.'--'Well, I have done,' said he; 'do not keep the gentleman waiting.' On which she bade the footman desire Mr. Munden to walk up.
That gentleman was a good deal disconcerted in his mind concerning the little progress his courtship had made with Miss Betsy--he had followed her for a considerable time--been at a great expence in treating and making presents to her--he had studied her humour, and done every thing in his power to please her; yet thought himself as far from the completion of his wishes as when he began his addresses to her: he had not for several days had an opportunity of speaking one word to her in private; she was either abroad when he came, or so engaged in company that his presence served only to fill a vacant seat in her dining-room--he therefore determined to know what fate he was to expect from her.
As he had not been told any body was now with her, and had never seen Mr. Francis before, he was a little startled on his coming into the room, to find a young, gay gentleman, seated very near her, and lolling his arm, in a careless posture, over the back of the chair in which she was sitting: on his entrance, they both rose to receive him with a great deal of politeness, which he returned in the same manner; but added to the first compliments, that he hoped he had been guilty of no intrusion.
'Not at all, Sir,' replied the brother of Miss Betsy; 'I was only talking to my sister on some family affairs, which we may resume at any time, when no more agreeable subjects of entertainment fall in our way.'--'Yes, Mr. Munden,' said Miss Betsy, 'this is that brother whose return to town you so often heard me wish for--and this, brother,' continued she, turning to Mr. Francis, 'is a gentleman who sometimes does me the honour of calling upon me; and whose visits to me I believe you will not disapprove.'
She had no sooner ended these words than the two gentleman mutually advanced, embraced, and said they should be proud of each other's acquaintance; after which they entered into a conversation sprightly enough for the time it lasted, which was not long; for Mr. Francis, looking on his watch, said he was extremely mortified to leave such good company, but business of a very urgent nature called him to a different place at that hour.
As much as Mr. Munden was pleased to find himself so obligingly introduced by his mistress to the acquaintance of her brother, he was equally glad to be rid of him at this juncture, when he came prepared to press her so home to an eclaircissement as should deprive her of all possibility of keeping himself any longer in suspense.
It was in vain for her now to have recourse to any of those evasions by which she had hitherto put him off; and she found herself under a necessity, either of entirely discarding him, or giving him some kind of assurance that the continuance of his pretensions would not be in vain.
Never had she been so plunged before--never had any of her lovers insisted in such plain terms her declaring herself; and she was compelled, as it were, to tell him, since he was so impatient for the definition of his fate, it was from her brothers he must receive it, for she was resolved, nay, had solemnly promised, to enter into no engagement without their knowledge and approbation. 'But suppose,' said he, 'I should be so happy as to obtain their consent, may I then assure myself you will be mine?'--'Would you wish me to hate you?' cried she, somewhat peevishly. 'Hate me!' answered he; 'no, Madam, it is your love I would purchase, almost at the expence of life.'
'Persecute me then no more,' said she, 'to give you promise, or assurances, which would only make me see you with confusion; and think of you with regret; it is sufficient I esteem you, and listen to the professions of your love: let that content you, and leave to myself the grant of more.'--'Yet, Madam--' resumed he; and was going on, but was interrupted by the maid, who came hastily into the room, and said, 'Madam, here is Miss Mabel!'
She had no sooner spoke these words, than the lady she mentioned followed her into the room. Miss Betsy was never more glad to see her than now, when her presence afforded her so seasonable a relief: 'My dear Miss Mabel,' said she, 'this is kind indeed, when I already owe you two visits!'--'I believe you owe me more,' answered she with a smile: 'but I did not come to reproach you; nor can this, indeed, be justly called a visit, since it is only a mere matter of business brings me hither at this time.'
Mr. Munden, on this, thought proper to take his leave; but, in doing so, said to Miss Betsy, with a very grave air, 'I hope, Madam, you will have the goodness to consider seriously on what we have been talking of: I will do myself the honour to wait upon your brothers to-morrow, and afterwards on yourself.' With these words he withdrew, without staying for an answer.
'I know not,' said Miss Mabel, after he was gone, 'whether what I have to say to you will be of sufficient moment to excuse me for depriving you of your company, since I only called to tell you, that we are eased of your little pensioner at Denham, by the father's unexpectedly coming to claim his own.'
Miss Betsy replied, that she guessed as much, for she had heard those people had been at her lodgings when she was not at home, and had said somewhat of their business to her servant. 'I am also to pay you,' resumed the other, 'my quota of the last month's nursing.' In speaking these words she took out of her pocket the little sum she stood indebted for, and laid it on the table.
Though Miss Betsy had the most perfect regard and good wishes for Miss Mabel, and Miss Mabel the same for Miss Betsy, yet neither of them was in the secrets of the other: they visited but seldom; and, when they did, talked only on indifferent affairs. In fine, though they both loved the amiable qualities each found in the other, yet the wide contrariety between their dispositions occasioned a coolness in their behaviour which their hearts were far from feeling.
Miss Mabel stayed but a very few minutes after having dispatched the business she came upon; nor was Miss Betsy at all troubled at her departure, being at present, what she very rarely was, in a humour rather to be alone than in any company whatever.
She no sooner was at liberty than she began to reflect on the transactions of that morning: she had done two things which seemed pretty extraordinary to her; she had entirely dismissed one lover, a piece of resolution she did not a little value herself upon; but then she was vexed at the too great encouragement, as she thought it, which she had given to another.
'What shall I do with this Munden?' said she to herself. 'If my brothers should take it into their heads to approve of his pretensions, I shall be as much teazed on his account as I was on that of Mr. Trueworth: I have no aversion, indeed, to the man, but I am equally as far from having any love for him; there is nothing in his person, or behaviour, that might make a woman ashamed of being his wife; yet I can see nothing so extraordinary in him as to induce me to become so.
'Why, then,' continued she, 'did I not tell him at once I would not have him; and that, if he was weary of paying his respects to me, he might carry them where they would be more kindly received? It was a very silly thing in me to send him to my brothers: they are in such haste to get me out of the way of what they call temptation, that I believe they would marry me to any man that was of a good family, and had an estate. If I must needs have a husband to please them, I had better have taken Trueworth; I am sure there is no comparison between the men; but it is too late to think of that now; for it is very plain, both by his behaviour to me when last I saw him, and by what he said to my brother Frank, that he has given over all intentions on that score.'
She was in the midst of these cogitations, when a servant belonging to the ladies whom she visited at St. James's, came, and presented her with a letter, containing these lines.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Dear creature,
My sister and self had an invitation to a party of pleasure, where there will be the best company, the best musick, and the best entertainment in the world; but my father having unluckily forced her to pass some days with an old aunt, who lies dangerously sick at Hampstead, I know nobody can so well supply her vacant place as your agreeable self; therefore, if you are not already too deeply engaged this evening, would beg the favour of you to share with me in the proposed diversion: we shall have two young gentlemen of rank for our conductors and protectors; but I flatter myself you will make no scruple to go any where with her who is, with the most perfect amity, dear Miss Betsy, your most humble, and most obedient servant,
A. AIRISH.
P.S. Let me know whether I can be so happy as to have you with me; and if so, I will call on you about five, and drink tea, for we shall not go to the assembly 'till eight.'
This proposal put Miss Betsy out of all her serious reflections; and she returned for answer to the lady, that she would not fail to be at home, and ready to attend her at the appointed hour.
Accordingly, as soon as ever dinner was over, she went to dress, and thought of nothing but how to make as brilliant a figure as any she should meet with at the assembly. Miss Airish came somewhat before the hour she had mentioned in her letter, accompanied by two rakes of quality, whom Miss Betsy had seen two or three times before with her and her sister, and by one of whom she had once been treated with some familiarities, which had made her ever since very cautious of giving him any opportunity to attempt the like.
As much, therefore, as she had pleased herself with the idea of this evening's pleasures, she no sooner saw who were to be their conductors, than she resolved not to put herself in their powers; yet knew not how, without affronting Miss Airish, to avoid complying with the promises she had made of accompanying her.
They all came singing and romping into the room; but the perplexity of Miss Betsy's mind made her receive them with a very serious air. The men accosted her with a freedom conformable enough to their own characters, but not very agreeable to one of hers; and she rebuffed, with a good deal of contempt, him with whom she had most reason to be offended.
'Lord! How grave you look!' said Miss Airish, observing her countenance: 'pr'ythee, my dear creature, put on a more chearful aspect; this is to be a night of all spirit, all mirth, all gaiety!'--'I am sorry I cannot be a partaker of it,' said Miss Betsy, who, by this time, had contrived an excuse. 'Lord! What do you mean? not partake of it!' cried Miss Airish hastily; 'sure you would not offer to disappoint us?'--'Not willingly,' replied Miss Betsy; 'but I was just going to send to let you know I have received a message from my elder brother, to come to his house, in order to meet some persons there on very extraordinary business: but, I hope,' added she, 'that my not going will be no hindrance to the diversion you propose.'
'It would have been none, Madam,' said one of the gallants, 'if this assembly were like others; but we are only a select company of gay young fellows, who resolve to try how far nature may be exhilarated by regaling every sense at once: to prevent all quarrels, every man is to bring a lady with him, who is to be his partner in singing, dancing, playing, or whatever they two shall agree upon. We two,' continued he, 'pitched upon the two Miss Airishes; but one of them being gone another way, we thought of you; otherwise we could have found ladies who would have obliged us.'
'Very likely,' replied Miss Betsy; 'and I suppose it may not be too late to seek them.'--'But I had rather have you than all the world,' cried he whom Miss Betsy was most apprehensive of: 'you know I have always shewn a particular tendre for you; therefore, pr'ythee,' continued he, catching her in his arms, and eagerly kissing her, 'my dear girl, send some excuse to your brother, and let us have you with us.'
'Unhand me, my lord!' cried she, struggling to get loose; 'what you ask is impossible, for I neither can nor will go!' The resolution with which she spoke these words, and the anger which at the same time sparkled in her eyes, made them see it would be but lost labour to endeavour to persuade her; they looked one at another, and were confounded what to do; till Miss Airish, vexed to the very heart at Miss Betsy's behaviour, hit upon an expedient to solve the matter: 'Well,' said she, 'since Miss Betsy cannot go, I will introduce your lordship to a young lady, who, I am sure, will not refuse us; besides, I know she is at home, for I saw her looking out of her chamber-window as we came by: but we must go directly, that she may have time to dress.'
On this they both cried, with all their hearts; and one of them, taking her hand, skipped down stairs with her in the same wild way they came up: the other followed, only turning his head towards Miss Betsy, crying with a malicious sneer--
'How unregarded now that piece of beauty stands!'
Miss Betsy, though sufficiently piqued, was very glad to get rid of them; and the more so, that by their happening to call on her, instead of her meeting them at Miss Airish's apartment, she had the better opportunity of excusing herself from going where they desired.
Chapter XV
The terrible consequence which may possibly attend our placing too great a dependance on persons whose principles we are not well assured of, are here exemplified in a notable act of villainy and hypocrisy
Miss Betsy no sooner found herself alone, than she began to reflect very seriously on the preceding passage: she knew very little of these two young noblemen, yet thought she saw enough in their behaviour to make any woman, who had the least regard for her honour or reputation, fearful to trust herself with them in any place where both might be so much endangered; she was, therefore, very much amazed that Miss Airish should run so great a risque; and, to find that she did so, joined to some other things which she had of late observed in the conduct of both the sisters, contributed to diminish the love and esteem she once had for them.
She found, however, too many objects of satisfaction in the visits she made to those ladies to be willing to break acquaintance with them; and, as she doubted not but that she had highly disobliged the one, by not complying with her invitation, and that this would infallibly occasion a rupture with the other also, if not in time reconciled, she went the next morning to their apartment, in order to make her peace.
On her enquiring for that lady, the footman told her she was but just come home, and, he believed, was going to bed; but he would tell the chamber-maid she was there. 'No, no!' cried Miss Betsy; 'only give my compliments to your lady, and tell her I will wait on her this afternoon.' She was going away with these words, but Miss Airish, lying on the same floor, heard her voice, and called to her to come in.
Miss Betsy did as she was desired, and found her in a much better humour than she expected. 'O, my dear!' said she, 'what a night have you lost by not being with us! Such a promiscuous enjoyment of every thing that can afford delight or satisfaction!--Well, after all, there is nothing like playing the rake a little sometimes--it gives such a fill-up to the spirits.'
'Provided it be innocent, I am of your mind,' replied Miss Betsy; 'I suppose every thing was managed with decency among you.'--'O quite so!' cried the other; 'all harmless libertinism: it is true, there were private rooms; but, you know, one might chuse whether one would go into them or not.'--'I am not sure of that,' said Miss Betsy: 'I am glad, however, you were so well pleased with your entertainment; and equally so, that you were not hindered from enjoying it by my not being able to share with you in it.'
'I am obliged to you, my dear,' replied Miss Airish; 'I was a little vexed with you at first, indeed, but knew you could not help it: the lady we called upon went very readily with us; so, as it happened, there was no disappointment in the case.'
'It was only to be convinced of that,' said Miss Betsy, 'that I came hither thus early; but I will now take my leave--repose I am sure is necessary for you, after so many waking hours.' The other did not oppose her departure, being, in effect, desirous of taking that rest which her exhausted spirits wanted.
Never had Miss Betsy felt within herself a greater or more sincere satisfaction than she now did, for having so prudently avoided falling into inconveniences, the least of which, as she very rightly judged, would have been paying too dear a price for all the pleasures she could have received.
Sweet indeed are the reflections which flow from a consciousness of having done what virtue, and the duty owing to the character we bear in life, exact from us! but poor Miss Betsy was not to enjoy, for any long time, so happy a tranquillity; she was rouzed out of this serenity of mind by an adventure of a different kind from all she had ever yet experienced, and which, if she were not properly guarded against, it ought to be imputed rather to the unsuspecting goodness of her heart, than to her vanity, or that inadvertency which had occasioned her former mistakes.
She was sitting near the window, leaning her arms upon the slab, very deep in contemplation, when, hearing a coach stop at the door, she looked out, imagining it might be somebody to her, and saw Mrs. Modely come out: she wondered what business that woman should now come upon, after the letter she had sent her; and resolved to chide her for any impertinent message she should deliver.
Mrs. Modely, whose profession was known to the people of the house, always ran up without any other ceremony than asking if Miss Betsy was at home and alone: being now told she was so, she flew into the room, with a distraction in her countenance which very much surprized Miss Betsy; but before she had time to ask the meaning, the other, throwing herself down in a chair, increased her astonishment by these words.
'O, Madam!' cried she, 'I am come to tell you of the saddest accident--poor Sir Frederick Fineer!--O that he had never seen you!--O that I had never meddled between you!--I am undone, that is to be sure--ruined for ever!--I shall never get another lodger--nay, I believe I shall never recover the fright I am in!'
Here she burst into a violent fit of tears; and her sobs interrupting the passage of her words, gave Miss Betsy opportunity to enquire into the mystery of her behaviour. 'For Heaven's sake, what is the matter?' said that young lady; 'pr'ythee, cease these exclamations, and speak to be understood!'
'Ah, dear Miss Betsy!' resumed the other, 'I scarce know what I say or do; poor Sir Frederick has run himself quite through the body!'--'What! killed himself!' cried Miss Betsy hastily. 'He is not dead yet,' replied Mrs. Modely; 'but there he lies, the most dismal object that ever eyes beheld! the agonies of death in his face--the sword sticking in his breast; for the surgeon says, that the moment that is drawn out, his life comes with it.'
Perceiving Miss Betsy said nothing, and looked a little troubled, she went on in this manner. 'But this is not the worst I have to tell you, Madam,' continued she; 'his death is nothing, but it is his soul--his soul, Miss Betsy! hearing them say he could not live above three hours at most, I sent for a parson; and there the good man sits and talks, and argues with him; but, would you think it, he will not pray, nor be prayed for, nor confess his sins--nor say he is sorry for what he has done--nor do any thing that is right till he has seen you.'
'Me!' said Miss Betsy; 'what would he see me for?'--'Nay, I know not; but it is his whim, and he is obstinate: therefore, my dear Madam, in christian charity, and in compassion to his soul, hear what he has to say.'
'What good can I do him by going, Mrs. Modely?' said Miss Betsy. 'None, as to his share in the world,' answered she: 'but, dear Madam, consider the other, think what a sad thing it is for a man to die without the rites of the church; I'll warrant he has sins enough upon him, as most young gentlemen have; and, sure, you would not be the cause of his being miserable to all eternity!'
'Indeed, Mrs. Modely, I do not care to go,' said Miss Betsy. 'The sight is very terrible, indeed,' cried the other; 'but you need not stay two minutes; if you but just step in and speak to him, I fancy it will be enough: but, Lord! he may be dead while we are talking; and if he should leave the world in this manner, I should not be able to live in my house; and I have a lease of eleven years to come--I should think I saw his ghost in every room--so, dear, dear Miss Betsy! for my sake, if not for his, go with me--I came in a hackney-coach for haste, and it is still at the door.'
'Well, Modely, you shall prevail,' answered Miss Betsy: 'but you shall stay in the room all the time I am there.'--'That you may be sure I will,' returned the other: 'but come, pray Heaven we are not too late!'
They said little more to each other till they came to the house of Mrs. Modely; where the first sound that reached the ears of Miss Betsy were groans, which seemed to issue from the mouth of a person in the pangs of death.
Mrs. Modely led her into Sir Frederick's chamber, which was judiciously darkened, so as to leave light enough to discern objects, yet not so much as to render them too perspicuous. Miss Betsy saw him lying on the bed, as Mrs. Modely described, with a sword sticking upright in his breast, a clergyman, and another person, who appeared to be the surgeon, were sitting near him. 'Miss Betsy is so good,' said Mrs. Modely, 'to come to visit you, Sir Frederick.'--'I am glad of it,' replied he, in a low voice.--'Pray, Madam, approach.'
'I am sorry, Sir Frederick, to find you have been guilty of so rash an action,' said Miss Betsy, drawing towards the bed. 'I could not live without you,' rejoined he; 'nor would die without leaving you as happy as it is in my power to make you: I have settled two thousand pounds a year upon you during your natural life; but, as I would consult your honour in every thing I do, and people might imagine I made you this settlement in consideration of some favours which I had too true a regard for you ever to desire, you must enjoy it as my widow, and with it the title of Lady Fineer.'
Miss Betsy was so much amazed at this proposal that she had not the power to speak; but Mrs. Modely cried out, 'Was ever any thing so generous!'--'Truly noble, indeed!' added the surgeon; 'and worthy of himself and the love he has for this lady.'--'Bless me!' said Miss Betsy, 'would you have me marry a dying man?--You ought, Sir Frederick, to have other thoughts, as you are going out of the world.'
'Aye, Sir Frederick,' cried the parson, 'think of your immortal part.'--'I can think of nothing,' answered he, groaning bitterly, 'of my own happiness till I have fixed that of Miss Betsy.'--'Lord, Madam!' cried Mrs. Modely, softly, 'you would not be so mad to refuse: what! two thousand pounds a year, and a ladyship, with liberty to marry who you will!'
'This is the most generous offer I ever heard of,' said the parson: 'But I wish the lady would resolve soon; for it is high time Sir Frederick should prepare for another world.'--'He cannot live above an hour,' rejoined the surgeon: 'even if the sword is not withdrawn; therefore, good Madam, think what you have to do.'
While they were speaking, Sir Frederick redoubled his groans, and they went on pressing her to accept the terms he offered. 'Do not plunge a man into a sad eternity, merely for his love to you,' said the parson. 'All the world would condemn you, should you refuse,' cried the surgeon. 'A virgin-widow with two thousand pounds a year!' added Mrs. Modely.
In this manner did they urge her; and the parson getting on the one side of her, and the surgeon on the other, plied her so close with arguments, both on the advantages accruing to herself, and the compassion owing from her to a gentleman who had committed this act of desperation on himself, merely through his love for her, that she neither could nor knew how to make any answer; when Sir Frederick, giving two or three great groans, which seemed more deep than before, and the surgeon, pretending to take Miss Betsy's silence for consent, cried out, 'Madam, he is just going--we must be speedy!' And then turning to the parson, 'Doctor,' said he, 'proceed to the ceremony; pass over the prelude, and begin at the most essential part, else my patient won't live to the conclusion.'
The parson knew very well what he had to do, having his book ready, began at--'Sir Frederick Fineer, Baronet, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?' and so on. To which Sir Frederick answered in the same dismal accents he had hitherto spoken, 'I will!' Then the parson, turning to Miss Betsy, said, 'Betsy Thoughtless, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband?' and so forth. Miss Betsy, in the confusion of her mind, not well knowing what she said or did, replied in the affirmative; on which he was hurrying over the rest of the ceremony; but she, recollecting herself, cried out, 'Hold, doctor! I cannot be married in this manner.' But he seemed not to regard her words, but read on; and the surgeon taking hold of her hand, and joining it with Sir Frederick's, held it, in spite of her resistance, till the ring was forced upon her finger.
This action so incensed her, that the instant she got her hand at liberty, she plucked off the ring, and threw it on the ground. 'What do you mean?' said she. 'Do you think to compel me to a marriage?--Modely, you have not used me well!' With these words she was turning to go out of the room, but perceived, not till then, that Mrs. Modely had slipped out, and that the door was locked; she then began to call, 'Mrs. Modely, Mrs. Modely!' To which no answer was made.
'Come, come, Madam,' said the surgeon, 'this passion will avail you nothing; you are effectually married, whatever you may imagine to the contrary.'--'Yes, yes,' rejoined the parson, 'the ceremony is good and firm: I will stand to what I have done before any bishop in England.'--'There wants only consummation,' cried the surgeon; 'and that we must leave the bridegroom to compleat before he dies.' With these words they both went out, making the door fast after them.
Miss Betsy made use of her utmost efforts to pass at the same time they did, but they pushed her back with so much violence as almost threw her down; and Sir Frederick at the same time jumping off the bed, and throwing away the sword, which she imagined sheathed in his body, catched her suddenly in his arms.
It is hard to say whether rage for the imposition she now found had been practised on her, or the terror for the danger she was in, was the passion now most predominant in the soul of Miss Betsy; but both together served to inspire her with unusual strength and courage.
'Your resistance is vain,' cried he; 'you are my wife, and as such I shall enjoy you: no matter whether with your will or not.' She made no answer to these words; but, collecting all her force, sprung from him, and catching hold of one of the posts at the bed's foot, clung so fast round it, that all his endeavours to remove her thence were ineffectual for some moments, though the rough means he made use of for that purpose were very near breaking both her arms.
Breathless at last, however, with the continual shrieks she had sent out for help, and the violence she had sustained by the efforts of that abandoned wretch, who had as little regard to the tenderness of her sex, as to any other principle of humanity, she fell almost fainting on the floor; and was on the point of becoming a victim to the most wicked strategem that ever was invented, when on a sudden the door of the chamber was burst open, and a man, with his sword drawn, at that instant rushed in upon them.
'Monster!' cried he that entered, 'what act of villainy are you about to perpetrate?' Miss Betsy rising from the ground, at the same time, said to him, 'Oh, whoever you are, that Heaven has sent to my deliverance, save me, I conjure you, from that horrid wretch!'--'Fear nothing, Madam,' answered he. He had time for no more; the intended ravisher had snatched up his sword, and was advancing towards him with these words, 'That woman is my wife,' said he; 'how dare any one interfere between us?'--'O, it is false! it is false! believe him not!' cried Miss Betsy. Her protector made no reply; but, flying at his antagonist, immediately closed with him, and wrenched the sword out of his hand, which, throwing on the ground, he set his foot upon, and snapped it in pieces.
The obscurity of the room, joined to the excessive agitations Miss Betsy was in, had till now hindered her from discovering, either by the voice or person, who it was to whom she owed her safety: on his drawing back one of the window-curtains to give more light into the place, that he might see with whom he had been engaged, she presently saw, to her great amazement and confusion, that her deliverer was no other than Mr. Trueworth.
But how great soever was her astonishment, that of Mr. Trueworth was not less, when, looking on the face of the pretended Sir Frederick Fineer, he presently knew him to be a fellow who had served in quality of valet de chambre to a gentleman he was acquainted with in France, who had robbed his master, and only through his lenity and compassion had avoided the punishment his crimes deserved.
'Rascal!' cried Mr. Trueworth, 'have you escaped breaking on the wheel at Paris, to attempt deeds more deserving death in England!' The wretch, who hitherto had behaved with a very lofty air, now finding he was discovered, fell at Mr. Trueworth's feet, and begged he would have mercy on him--alledged, that what he had done was occasioned by mere necessity--said, he was told the lady had a great fortune, and might be easily gained, and such like stuff; which putting Mr. Trueworth beyond all patience, he gave him three or four blows with the flat of his sword, before he sheathed it, saying, at the same time, 'Execrable dog! If thou wert not unworthy of death from any hand but that of the common hangman, thou shouldst not live a moment to boast the least acquaintance with this lady.' Then turning to Miss Betsy, who was half dying with the various emotions she was possessed of, 'Madam,' said he, 'I will not ask by what means you came into this villain's company; only permit me to conduct you hence, and see you safely home.'
Miss Betsy was seized with so violent a fit of trembling through all her frame, that she had neither voice to thank him for the extraordinary assistance she had received from him, nor strength enough to bear her down stairs, if he had not with the greatest politeness, and most tender care, supported her at every step she took.
They found no creature below; the house seemed as if forsaken by all it's inhabitants; but the parlour-door being open, Mr. Trueworth placed his fair charge in an easy chair, while he ran to find somebody to get a coach.
After much knocking and calling, Mrs. Modely came out of a back room, into that where Miss Betsy was. As soon as that young lady saw her, 'Oh, Mrs. Modely!' cried she, 'I could not have believed you would have betrayed me in this cruel manner!'--'Bless me, Madam!' replied she, in a confusion which she in vain endeavoured to conceal, 'I know not what you mean. I betray you! When you were talking with Sir Frederick I was sent for out; when I came back, indeed, I saw the parson and surgeon pass through the entry in a hurry, and at the same time hearing a great noise, was going up as soon as I had pulled off my things: but I hope,' continued she, in a whining tone, 'nothing has happened to my dear Miss Betsy.'--'Whatever has happened,' said Mr. Trueworth, fiercely, 'will be enquired into: in the mean time, all we require of you is to send somebody for a coach.'
Mrs. Modely then ringing a bell, a maid-servant appeared, and what Mr. Trueworth had requested was immediately performed; but, though Miss Betsy now saw herself safe from the mischief which had so lately threatened her, she had still emotions very terrible to sustain, and would have, doubtless, thrown her into a swoon, if not vented in a violent flood of tears.
Being arrived at the house where Miss Betsy lodged, just as Mr. Trueworth was helping her out of the coach, they were met by the two Mr. Thoughtlesses coming out of the door: they started back at a sight which, it must be confessed, had something very alarming in it--they beheld their sister all pale and trembling--her eyes half drowned in tears--her garments torn--her hair hanging loosely wild about her neck and face--every token of despair about her--and in this condition conducted by a gentleman, a stranger indeed to the one, but known by the other to have been once passionately in love with her; might well occasion odd sort of apprehensions in both the brothers, especially in the younger.
The sudden sight of her brothers made a fresh attack on the already weakened spirits of Miss Betsy; and she would have sunk on the threshold of the door, as Mr. Trueworth quitted her hand, in order to present it to Mr. Francis, if the elder Mr. Thoughtless, seeing her totter, had not that instant catched her in his arms.
'Confusion!' cried Mr. Francis, 'what does all this mean? Trueworth, is it thus you bring my sister home?'--'I am heartily sorry for the occasion,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'since--' He was going on; but Mr. Francis, fired with a mistaken rage, prevented him, crying out, ''Sdeath, Sir! how came you with my sister?'--Mr. Trueworth, a little provoked to find the service he had done so ill requited, replied, in a disdainful tone, 'She will inform you! after that, if you have any farther demands upon me, you know where I am to be found; I have no leisure now to answer your interrogatories.'
With these words he stepped hastily into the coach, and ordered to be drove to the Two Red Lamps in Golden Square.
Miss Betsy's senses were entirely lost for some moments, so that she knew nothing of what passed. Mr. Francis hearing what directions Mr. Trueworth had given the coachman, was for following him, and forcing him to an explanation; but the elder Mr. Thoughtless prevailed on him to stay till they should hear what their sister would say on this affair.
She was carried into her apartment, rather dead than alive; but being laid on a settee, and proper means applied, she soon returned to a condition capable of satisfying their curiosity.
Chapter XVI
Will not tire the reader
Miss Betsy having her heart and head full of the obligation she had to Mr. Trueworth, and on the first discovery of her senses, thinking he was still near her, cried out, 'Oh, Mr. Trueworth! how shall I thank the goodness you have shewn me!--I have no words to do it; it is from my brothers you must receive those demonstrations of gratitude, which are not in my power to give.'
The brothers looked sometimes on her, and sometimes on each other, with a good deal of surprize all the time she was speaking; till, perceiving she had done, 'To whom are you talking, sister?' said Mr. Francis; 'here is nobody but my brother and myself.'
'Bless me!' cried she, looking round the room, 'how wild my head is!--I knew not where I was--I thought myself still in the house of that wicked woman who betrayed me, and saw my generous deliverer chastising the monster that attempted my destruction.'
'Who was that monster?' demanded the elder Mr. Thoughtless, hastily. 'A villain without a name,' said she; 'for that of Sir Frederick Fineer was but assumed, to hide a common cheat--a robber!'--'And who, say you,' rejoined Mr. Francis, 'was your deliverer?'--'Who, but that best of men!' answered she, 'Mr. Trueworth!--O, brothers! if you have any regard for me, or for the honour of our family, you can never too much revere or love the honour and the virtue of that worthy man.'
'You see, Frank, how greatly you have been to blame,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless; 'and how much more you might have been, if I had not dissuaded you from following that gentleman; who, I now perceive, was the saviour, not the invader, of our sister's innocence.'--'I blush,' said Mr. Francis, 'at the remembrance of my rashness--I ought, indeed, to have known Trueworth better.'
There passed no more between them on this subject; but on finding Miss Betsy grew more composed, and able to continue a conversation, they obliged her to repeat the particulars of what had happened to her; which she accordingly did with the greatest veracity imaginable, omitting nothing of moment in the shocking narrative.
The calling to mind a circumstance so detestable to her natural delicacy, threw her, however, into such agonies, which made them think it their province, rather to console her under the affliction she had sustained, than to chide her for the inadvertency which had brought it on her.
They stayed supper with her, which, to save her the trouble of ordering, Mr. Thoughtless went to an adjacent tavern, and gave directions for it himself--made her drink several glasses of wine, and both of them did every thing in their power, to chear and restore her spirits to their former tone: after which they retired, and left her to enjoy what repose the present anxieties of her mind would permit her to take.
Though the condition Miss Betsy was in, made these gentlemen treat her with the above-mentioned tenderness, yet both of them were highly incensed against her, for so unadvisedly encouraging the pretensions of a man, whose character she knew nothing of but from the mouth of a little mantua-maker--her consenting to sup with him at the house of that woman, and afterwards running with her into his very bed-chamber, were actions, which to them seemed to have no excuse.
Mr. Francis, as of the two having the most tender affection for her, had the most deep concern in whatever related to her. 'If she were either a fool,' said he, stamping with extreme vexation, 'or of a vicious inclination, her conduct would leave no room for wonder! But for a girl, who wants neither wit nor virtue, to expose herself in this manner, has something in it inconsistent!--unnatural!--monstrous!
'I doubt not,' cried he again, 'if the truth could be known, but it was some such ridiculous adventure as this that lost her the affection of Mr. Trueworth, though her pride and his honour joined to conceal it.'
The elder Mr. Thoughtless was entirely of his brother's opinion in all these points; and both of them were more confirmed than ever, that marriage was the only sure guard for the reputation of a young woman of their sister's temper. Mr. Munden had been there the day before; and, as he told Miss Betsy he would do, declared himself to them; so it was resolved between them, that if, on proper enquiry, his circumstances should be found such as he said they were, to clap up the wedding with all imaginable expedition.
But no business, how important or perplexing soever it be, can render gratitude and good manners forgotten or neglected by persons of understanding and politeness. These gentlemen thought a visit to Mr. Trueworth neither could or ought to be dispensed with, in order to make him those acknowledgements the service he had done their sister demanded from them.
Accordingly, the next morning, Mr. Thoughtless, accompanied by his brother, went in his own coach, which he made be got ready, as well in respect to himself as to the person he was going to visit.
They found Mr. Trueworth at home; who, doubtless, was not without some expectation of their coming. On their sending up their names, he received them at the top of the stair-case with so graceful an affability and sweetness in his air, as convinced the elder Mr. Thoughtless, that the high character his brother Frank had given of that gentleman, was far from exceeding the bounds of truth.
It is certain, indeed, that Mr. Trueworth, since the eclaircissement of the Denham affair, had felt the severest remorse within himself, for having given credit to that wicked aspersion cast upon Miss Betsy; and the reflection, that fortune had now put it in his power to atone for the wrong he had been guilty of to that lady, by the late service he had done her, gave a secret satisfaction to his mind, that diffused itself through all his air, and gave a double sprightliness to those eyes which, by the report of all who ever saw him, stood in need of no addition to their lustre.
The elder Mr. Thoughtless, having made his compliments on the occasion which had brought him thither, the younger advanced, though with a look somewhat more downcast than ordinary--'I know not, Sir,' said he, 'whether any testimonies of the gratitude I owe you will be acceptable, after the folly into which a mistaken rage transported me last night.'--'Dear Frank!' cried Mr. Trueworth, smiling, and giving him his hand; in token of a perfect reconciliation, 'none of these formal speeches--we know each other; you are by nature warm, and the little philosophy I am master of, makes me think whatever is born with us pleads it's own excuse! besides, to see me with your sister in the condition she then was, entirely justifies your mistake.'--'Dear Trueworth!' replied the other, embracing him, 'you are born every way to overcome!'
Mr. Thoughtless returning to some expressions of his sense of the obligation he had conferred upon their whole family--'Sir, I have done no more,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'than what every man of honour would think himself bound to do for any woman in the like distress, much more for a lady so deserving as Miss Betsy Thoughtless. I happened, almost miraculously, to be in the same house with her when she stood in need of assistance; and I shall always place the day in which my good stars conducted me to the rescue of her innocence, among the most fortunate ones of my whole life.'
In the course of their conversation, the brothers satisfied Mr. Trueworth's curiosity, by acquainting him with the means by which their sister had been seduced into the danger he had so happily delivered her from; and Mr. Trueworth, in his turn, informed them of the accident that had so seasonably brought him to her relief: which latter, as the reader is yet ignorant of, it is proper should be related.
'Having sent,' said he, 'for my steward to come to town, on account of some leases I am to sign, the poor man had the misfortune to break his leg as he was stepping out of the stagecoach, and was carried directly to Mrs. Modely's; where, it seems, he has formerly lodged. This casualty obliged me to go to him. As a maid-servant was shewing me to his room, (which is up two pair of stairs) I heard the rustling of silks behind me; and casting my eyes over the banister, I saw Miss Betsy, and a woman with her, who I since found was Mrs. Modely, pass hastily into a room on the first floor.
'A curiosity,' continued he, 'which I cannot very well account for, induced me to ask the nurse who attends my steward, what lodgers there were below. To which she replied, that they said he was a baronet, but that she believed nothing of it; for the two fellows who passed for his servants were always with him, and, she believed, ate at the same table, for they never dined in the kitchen. "Besides," said she, "I have never seen two or three shabby, ill-looked men, that have more the appearance of pick-pockets, than companions for a gentleman, come after him; and, indeed, I believe he is no better than a rogue himself."
'Though I was extremely sorry,' pursued Mr. Trueworth, 'to find Miss Betsy should be the guest of such a person, yet I could not forbear laughing at the description this woman gave of him; which, however, proved to be a very just one. I had not been there above half an hour before I heard the shrieks of a woman, and fancied it the voice of Miss Betsy, though I had never heard it made use of in that manner. I went, however, to the top of the stair-case; where, hearing the cries redoubled, I drew my sword, and ran down. The door of the chamber was locked; but, setting my foot against it, I easily bursted it open, and, believe, entered but just in time to save the lady from violation.
'On seeing the face,' added he, 'of this pretended baronet, I immediately knew him to be a fellow who waited on a gentleman I was intimate with at Paris. What his real name is I either never heard or have forgot; for his master never called him by any other than that of Quaint, on account of the romantick and affected manner in which he always spoke. The rascal has a little smattering of Latin; and, I believe, has dipped into a good many of the ancient authors. He seemed, indeed, to have more of the fop than the knave in him; but he soon discovered himself to be no less the one than the other; for he ran away from his master, and robbed him of things to a considerable value. He was pursued and taken; but the gentleman permitted him to make his escape, without delivering him into the hands of justice.'
After this mutual recapitulation, the two brothers began to consider what was to be done for the chastisement of the villain, as the prosecuting him by law would expose their sister's folly, and prove the most mortal stab that could be given to her reputation. The one was for cutting off his ears; the other for pinning him against the very wall of the chamber where he had offered the insult. To which Mr. Trueworth replied, 'I must confess his crime deserves much more than your keenest resentments can inflict; but these are punishments which are only the prerogative of law; to which, as you rightly judge, it would be improper to have recourse. I am afraid, therefore, you must content yourselves with barely caning him; that is,' continued he, 'if he is yet in the way for it; but I shrewdly suspect he has before now made off, as well as his confederates, the parson and the surgeon: however, I think it would be right to go to the house of this Modely, and see what is to be done.'
To this they both readily agreed; and they all went together: but, as they were going--'O what eternal plagues,' said Mr. Francis, 'has the vanity of this girl brought upon all her friends!'--'You will still be making too hasty reflections,' cried Mr. Trueworth; 'I hope to see Miss Betsy one day as much out-shine the greatest part of her sex in prudence, as she has always done in beauty.'
By this time they were at Mrs. Modely's door; but the maid, whom she had tutored for the purpose, told them that Sir Frederick Fineer was gone--that he would not pay her mistress for the lodgings, because she had suffered him to be interrupted in them--and that she was sick in bed with the fright of what had happened, and could not be spoke to.
On this Mr. Trueworth ran up to his steward's chamber, not doubting but he should there be certainly informed whether the mock baronet was gone or not; the two Mr. Thoughtlesses waited in the parlour till his return, which was immediately, with intelligence, that the wretch had left the house soon after himself had conducted Miss Betsy thence.
They had now no longer any business here; but the elder Mr. Thoughtless could not take leave of Mr. Trueworth without intreating the favour of seeing him at his house: to which he replied, that he believed he should not stay long in town, and while he did so, had business that very much engrossed his time, but at his return should rejoice in an opportunity of cultivating a friendship with him. With this, and some other compliments, they separated; the two brothers went home, and Mr. Trueworth went where his inclinations led him.
Chapter XVII
Love in death; an example rather to be wondered at than imitated
On Mr. Trueworth's going to Sir Bazil's, he found the two ladies with all the appearance of the most poignant grief in their faces: Mrs. Wellair's eyes were full of tears; but those of her lovely sister seemed to flow from an exhaustless spring.
This was a strange phoenomenon to Mr. Trueworth; it struck a sudden damp on the gaiety of his spirits; and he had but just recovered his surprize enough to ask the meaning, when Mrs. Wellair prevented him, by saying, 'O, Mr. Trueworth, we have a melancholy account to give you--poor Mrs. Blanchfield is no more!'
'Dead!' cried he. 'Dead!' repeated Miss Harriot; 'but the manner of it will affect you most.'--'A much less motive,' replied he, 'if capable of giving pain to you, must certainly affect me: but I beseech you, Madam,' continued he, 'keep me not in suspense.'
'You may remember,' said Miss Harriot, sighing, 'that some time ago we told you that Mrs. Blanchfield had taken leave of us, and was gone down to Windsor. It seems she had not been long there before she was seized with a disorder, which the physicians term a fever on the spirits; whatever it was, she lingered in it for about three weeks, and died yesterday: some days before she sent for a lawyer, and disposed of her effects by will; she also wrote a letter to me, which last she put into the hands of a maid, who has lived with her almost from her infancy, binding her by the most solemn vow to deliver to me as soon as possible after she was dead, and not till then, on any motive whatsoever.
'The good creature,' pursued Miss Harriot, 'hurried up to town this morning, to perform her lady's last injunctions: this is the letter I received from her,' continued she, taking it out of her pocket, and presenting it to him; 'read it, and join with us in lamenting the fatal effects of a passion people take so much pains to inspire.'
The impatience Mr. Trueworth was in for the full explanation of a mystery, which, perhaps, he had some guess into the truth of, hindered him from making any answer to what Miss Harriot had said upon the occasion; he hastily opened the letter, and found in it these lines.
'To Miss Harriot Loveit.
Dear, happy friend!
As my faithful Lucy, at the same time she delivers this into your hands, brings you also the intelligence of my death, the secret it discovers cannot raise in you any jealous apprehensions: I have been your rival, my dear Harriot; but when I found you were mine, wished you not to lose what I would have given the world, had I been the mistress of it, to have gained. The first moment I saw the too agreeable Mr. Trueworth, something within told me, he was my fate--that according as I appeared in his eyes, I must either be happy, or no more: it has proved the latter; death has seized upon my heart, but cannot drive my passion thence. Whether I shall carry it beyond the grave I shall know before this reaches you; but at present I think it is so incorporated with my immortal part, as not to be separated by the dissolution of my frame.
I will not pretend to have had so much command over myself, as to refrain taking any step for the forwarding my desires: before I was convinced of his attachment to you, I caused a letter to be wrote to him, making him an offer of the heart and fortune of a person, unnamed indeed, but mentioned as one not altogether unworthy of his acceptance. This he answered as requested, and ingenuously confessed, that the whole affections of his soul were already devoted to another. I had then no more to do with hope, nor had any thing to attempt but the concealing my despair: this made me quit London, and all that was valuable to me in it. I flattered myself, alas! that time and absence would restore my reason; but, as I said before, my doom was fixed--irrevocably fixed! and I soon found, by a thousand symptoms of an inward decay, that to be sensible of that angelick man's perfections, and to live without him, are things incompatible in nature: even now, while I am writing, I feel the icy harbingers of death creep through my veins, benumbing as they pass. Soon, very soon, shall I be reduced to a cold lump of senseless clay; indeed, I have now no wish for life, nor business to transact below. I have settled my worldly affairs, and disposed of the effects that Heaven has blessed me with, to those I think most worthy of them. My last will is in the hands of Mr. Markland the lawyer; I hope he is an honest man; but lest he should prove otherwise, let Mr. Trueworth know I have made him master of half that fortune, which once I should have rejoiced to lay wholly at his feet: all my jewels I intreat you to accept; they can add nothing to your beauty, but may serve to ornament your wedding-garments; Lucy has them in her possession, and will deliver them to you.
And now, my dear Miss Harriot, I have one favour to beg of you; and that is, that you exert all the influence your merits claim over the heart of Mr. Trueworth, to engage him to accompany you in seeing me laid in the earth. I know your gentle, generous nature, too well, to doubt you will deny me this request; and the very idea that you will ask, and he will grant, gives, methinks, a new vigour to my enfeebled spirits. O if some departed souls are permitted, as some say they are, to look down on what passes beneath the moon, how will mine triumph--how exult to see my poor remains thus honoured! thus attended! I can no more but this--may you make happy the best of men, and may he make you the happiest of women! Farewel--enternally farewel--be assured, that I as lived, so I die, with the greatest sincerity, dear Miss Harriot, yours, &c.
J. BLANCHFIELD.
P.S. Be so good to give my last adieus to Mrs. Wellair; she will find I have not forgot her, nor my little godson, in my bequests.'
How would the vain unthinking sop have exulted on such a proof of his imagined merit! how would the sordid avaricious man, in the pleasure of finding so unexpected an accession to his wealth, have forgot all compassion for the hand that gave it! Mr. Trueworth, on the contrary, blushed at having so much more ascribed to him than he would allow himself to think he deserved, and would gladly have been deprived of the best part of his fortune, rather than have received an addition to it by such fatal means.
The accident, however, was so astonishing to him, that he scarce believed it real; nor could what he read in the letter under her own hand, nor all Mrs. Wellair and Miss Harriot alledged, persuade him to think, at least to acknowledge, that the lady's death was owing to a hopeless flame for him.
While they were speaking, Sir Bazil came in; he had been at home when his sister received the letter, and had heard what Lucy said of her mistress's indisposition, and was therefore no stranger to any part of the affair.
'Well, Trueworth,' said he to that gentleman, 'I have often endeavoured to emulate, and have even envied, the great talents you are master of; but am now reconciled to nature for not bestowing them on me, lest they might prove of the same ill consequences to some women, as yours have been to Mrs. Blanchfield.'
'Dear Sir Bazil,' replied Mr. Trueworth, 'do not attempt to force me into an imagination which would render me at once both vain and wretched. Chance might direct the partial inclination of this lady to have kinder thoughts of me, than I could either merit or return; but I should be loth to believe that they have produced the sad event we now lament.'
'I am of opinion, indeed,' said Sir Bazil, 'that there are many who deceive themselves, as well as the world, in this point. People are apt to mistake that for love, which is only the effect of pride, for a disappointment: but it would be unjust to suppose this was the case with Mrs. Blanchfield; the generous legacy she has bequeathed to you, and the tenderness with which she treats my sister, leaves no room to suspect her soul was tainted with any of those turbulent emotions, which disgrace the name of love, and yet are looked upon as the consequence of that passion; she knew no jealousy, harboured no revenge; the affection she had for you was simple and sincere; and, meeting no return, preyed only upon herself and by degrees consumed the springs of life.'
'I am glad, however,' said the elder sister of Sir Bazil, 'to find that Mr. Trueworth has nothing to reproach himself with on this unhappy score: some men, on receiving a letter of the nature he did, would, through mere curiosity of knowing on whose account it came, have sent an answer of encouragement; it must be owned, therefore, that the command he had over himself in this generosity to his unknown admirer, demanded all the recompense in her power to make.'
Mr. Trueworth, whose modesty had been sufficiently wounded in this conversation, hastily replied, 'Madam, what you by an excess of goodness are pleased to call generosity, was, in effect, no more than a piece of common honesty: the man capable of deceiving a woman who regards him, is no less a villain than he who defrauds his neighbour of the cash intrusted into his hands: the unfortunate Mrs. Blanchfield did me the honour to depend on my sincerity and secrecy: I did but my duty in observing both; and she, in so highly over-rating that act of duty, shewed indeed the magnanimity of her own mind, but adds no merit to mine.'
'I could almost wish it did not,' said Miss Harriot, sighing. 'Madam!' cried Mr. Trueworth, looking earnestly on her, as not able to comprehend what she meant by these words. 'Indeed,' resumed she, 'I could almost wish, that you were a little less deserving than you are, since the esteem you enforce is of so dangerous a kind.' She uttered this with so inexpressible a tenderness in her voice and eyes, that he could not restrain himself from kissing her hand in the most passionate manner, though in the presence of her brother and sister; crying, at the same time, 'I desire no more of the world's esteem, than just so much as may defend my lovely Harriot from all blame for receiving my addresses.'
They afterwards fell into some discourse concerning what was really deserving admiration, and what was so only in appearance; in which many mistakes in judging were detected, and the extreme weakness of giving implicitly into the opinions of others, exposed by examples suitable to the occasion.
But these are inquisitions which it is possible would not be very agreeable to the present age; and it would be madness to risk the displeasure of the multitude for the sake of gratifying a few: so the reader must excuse the repetition of what was said by this agreeable company on that subject.
Chapter XVIII
Displays Miss Betsy in her penitentials, and the manner in which she behaved after having met with so much matter for the humiliation of her vanity; as also some farther particulars, equally worthy the attention of the curious
While Miss Betsy had her brothers with her, and was treated by them with a tenderness beyond what she could have expected, just after the unlucky adventure she had fallen into, she felt not that remorse and vexation which it might be said her present situation demanded.
But when they were gone, and she was left entirely to those reflections, which their presence and good-humour had only retarded, how did they come with double force upon her! To think she had received the addresses, and entertained with a mistaken respect the lowest and most abject dreg of mankind--that she had exposed herself to the insults of that ruffian--that it had not been in her power to defend herself from his taking liberties with her the most shocking to her delicacy--and that she was on the very point of becoming the victim of his base designs upon her; made her feel over again, in idea, all the horrors of her real danger.
By turns, indeed, she blessed Heaven for her escape; but then the means to which she was indebted for that escape, was a fresh stab to her pride. 'I am preserved, 'tis true,' said she, 'from ruin and everlasting infamy: but then by whom am I preserved? by the very man who once adored, then slighted, and must now despise, me. If nothing but a miracle could save me, O why, good Heaven! was not that miracle performed by any instrument but him! What triumph to him! what lasting shame to me, has this unfortunate accident produced!
'Alas!' continued she, weeping, 'I wanted not this proof of his honour--his courage--his generosity--nor was there any need of my being reduced in the manner he found me, to make him think me undeserving of his affection.'
Never was a heart torn with a greater variety of anguish than that of this unfortunate young lady: as she was yet ignorant of what steps her brothers intended to take in this affair, and feared they might be such as would render what had happened to her publick to the world, she fell into reflections that almost turned her brain; she represented to herself all the sarcasms, all the comments, that she imagined, and probably would have been made on her behaviour--her danger, and her delivery--all these thoughts were insupportable to her--she resolved to hide herself for ever from the town, and pass her future life in obscurity: so direful to her were the apprehensions of becoming the object of derision, that, rather than endure it, she would suffer any thing.
In the present despondency of her humour, she would certainly have fled the town, and gone directly down to L----e, if she had not known that Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty were expected here in a very short time; and she was so young when she left that country, that she could not think of any family to whom it was proper for her to go, without some previous preparations.
All her pride--her gaiety--her vanity of attracting admiration--in fine, all that had composed her former character, seemed now to be lost and swallowed up in the sense of that bitter shame and contempt in which she imagined herself involved; and she wished for nothing but to be unseen, unregarded, and utterly forgotten, by all that had ever known her, being almost ready to cry out, with Dido--
'Nor art, nor nature's hand, can ease my grief, Nothing but death, the wretch's last relief; Then farewel, youth, and all the joys that dwell With youth and life--and life itself, farewel!'
The despair of that unhappy queen, so elegantly described by the poet, could not far transcend what poor Miss Betsy sustained during this whole cruel night: nor did the day afford her any more tranquillity--on the contrary, she hated the light--the sight even of her own servants was irksome to her--she ordered, that whoever came to visit her, except her brothers, should be denied admittance--complained of a violent pain in her head--would not be prevailed upon to take the least refreshment; but kept herself upon the bed, indulging all the horrors of despair and grief.
In the afternoon Mr. Francis Thoughtless came--seemed a little surprized to find his brother was not there; and told Miss Betsy, that, having been called different ways, they had appointed to meet at her lodgings, in order to have some serious discourse with her concerning her future settlement: to which she replied, that her late fright hung so heavy on her spirits, that she was in little condition at present to resolve on any thing.
She spoke this with so dejected an air, that Mr. Francis, who truly loved her, in spite of all the resentment he had for the errors of her conduct, could not forbear saying a great many tender things to her; but nothing afforded her so much consolation as the account he gave her, that no prosecution would be commenced against the sham Sir Frederick Fineer. 'The villain', said he, 'is run away from his lodgings, but, questionless, might easily be found out, and brought to justice; but the misfortune is, that in cases of this nature, the offended must suffer as well as the offender: to punish him, must expose you. You see, therefore, to what your inadvertency has reduced you--injured to the most shocking degree, yet denied the satisfaction of revenge.'
Miss Betsy only answering with her tears--'I speak not this to upbraid you,' resumed he; 'and would be far from adding to the affliction you are in; on the contrary, I would have you be chearful, and rejoice more in the escape you have had, than bewail the danger you have passed through: but then, my dear sister, I would wish you also to put yourself into a condition which may defend you from attempts of this vile nature.'
He was going on with something farther, when the elder Mr. Thoughtless came in. 'I have been detained,' said that gentleman, 'longer than I expected; my friend is going to have his picture drawn; and, knowing I have been in Italy, would needs have my judgment upon the painter's skill.' 'I suppose, then,' said Mr. Francis, 'your eyes have been feasted with the resemblance of a great number of beauties, either real or fictitious.'--'No, faith,' replied the other; 'I believe none of the latter: the man seems to be too much an artist in his profession to stand in any need of having recourse to that stale strategem of inviting customers by exhibiting shadows, which have no substances but in his own brain; and, I must do him the justice to say, that I never saw life imitated to more perfection.'
'Then you saw some faces there you were acquainted with,' said the younger Mr. Thoughtless. 'Two or three,' answered the elder; 'but one, which more particularly struck me, as I had seen the original but twice--but once, indeed, to take any notice of: it was of your friend, the gentleman we waited on this morning.'
'What, Trueworth!' demanded Mr. Francis. 'The same,' resumed the other: 'never was there a more perfect likeness--he is drawn in miniature; I believe, by the size of the piece, intended to be worn at a lady's watch; but I looked on it through my magnifier, and thought I saw his very self before me.'
He said much more in praise of the excellence of this artist; as, indeed, he was very full of it, having a desire his favourite mistress's picture should be drawn, and was transported to have found a person who, he thought, could do it so much justice.
Though Miss Betsy sat all this time in a pensive posture, and seemed not to take any notice of this discourse, yet no part of it was lost upon her. 'You extol this painter so much, brother,' said she, 'that if I thought my picture worth drawing, I would sit to him myself. Pray,' continued she, 'where does he live, and what is his name?' Mr. Thoughtless having satisfied her curiosity in these points, no more was said on the occasion; and the brothers immediately entered into a conversation upon the business which had brought them thither.
The elder of them remonstrated to her, in the strongest terms he was able, the perpetual dangers to which, through the baseness of this world, and her own inadvertency, she was liable every day to be exposed. 'This last ugly incident,' said he, 'I hope may be hushed up; Mr. Trueworth, I dare say, is too generous to make any mention of it; and those concerned in it will be secret for their own sakes: but you may not always meet the same prosperous chance. It behoves us, therefore, who must share in your disgrace, as well as have a concern in your happiness, to insist on your putting yourself into a different mode of life: Mr. Munden makes very fair proposals; he has given me leave to examine the rent-roll of his estate, which accordingly I have ordered a lawyer to do. He will settle an hundred and fifty pounds per annum on you for pin-money, and jointure you in four hundred; and I think your fortune does not entitle you to a better offer.'
'Brother, I have had better,' replied Miss Betsy, with a sigh. 'But you rejected it!' cried Mr. Francis, with some warmth; 'and you are not to expect a second Trueworth to fall to your share.'--'Let us talk no more of what is past,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless; 'but endeavour to persuade our sister to accept of that which at present is most for her advantage.'
Both these gentlemen, in their different turns, made use of every argument that could be brought on the occasion, to prevail on Miss Betsy to give them some assurance, that as now there was no better prospect for her, she would trifle no longer with the pretensions of Mr. Munden, but resolve to marry him, in case the condition of his affairs was proved, upon enquiry, to be such as he had represented to them.
She made, for a great while, very little reply to all this; her head was now, indeed, very full of something else; she sat in a kind of reverie, and had a perfect absence of mind during this latter part of their discourse: she heard, but heard without attention, and without considering the weight of any thing they urged; yet, at last, merely to get rid of their importunities and presence, that she might be alone to indulge her own meditations, she said as they said, and promised to do whatever they required of her.
Mr. Thoughtless having now, as he imagined, brought her to the bent he wished, took his leave: but Mr. Francis staid some time longer; nor had, perhaps, gone so soon, if Miss Betsy had not discovered a certain restlessness, which made him think she would be glad to be alone.
This was the first time she had ever desired his absence; but now, indeed, most heartily did so: she had got a caprice in her brain, which raised ideas there she was in pain till she had modelled, and brought to the perfection she wanted. What her brother had cursorily mentioned concerning the picture of Mr. Trueworth, had made a much deeper impression on her mind than all the serious discourse he had afterwards entertained her with; she longed to have in her possession so exact a resemblance of a man who had once loved her, and for whom she had always the most high esteem, though her pride would never suffer her to shew it to any one who professed himself her lover. 'This picture,' said she, 'by looking on it, will remind me of the obligation I have to him; I might forget it else; and I would not be ungrateful: though it is not in my nature to love, I may, nay, I ought, after what he has done for me, to have a friendship for him.'
She then began to consider whether there was a possibility of becoming the mistress of what she so much desired--she had never given her mind to plotting--she had never been at the pains of any contrivances but how to ornament her dress, or place the patches of her face with the most graceful art; and was extremely at a loss what strategem to form for the getting this picture into her hands: at first, she thought of going to the painter, and bribing him to take a copy of it for her own use. 'But then,' said she, 'a copy taken from a copy goes still farther from the original; besides, he may betray me, or he may not have time to do it; and I would leave nothing to chance. No! I must have the very picture that my brother saw, that I may be sure is like, for I know he is a judge.
'Suppose,' cried she again, 'I go under the pretence of sitting for my picture, and look over all his pieces--I fancy I may find an opportunity of slipping Trueworth's into my pocket--I could send the value of it the next day, so the man would be no sufferer by it.'
This project seemed feasible to her for a time; but she afterwards rejected it, on account she could not be sure of committing the theft so artfully as not to be detected in the fact: several other little strategems succeeded this in her inventive brain; all which, on second thoughts, she found either impossible to be executed, or could promise no certainty in their effects.
Sleep was no less a stranger to her eyes this night than it had been the preceding one; yet of how different a nature were the agitations that kept her waking: in the first, the shock of the insult she had sustained, and the shame of her receiving her protection from him by whom, of all men living, she was at least willing to be obliged, took up all her thoughts--in the second, she was equally engrossed by the impatience of having something to preserve him eternally in her mind.
After long revolving within herself, she at last hit upon the means of accomplishing her desires--the risque she ran, indeed, was somewhat bold; but as it succeeded without suspicion, she had only to guard against accidents that might occasion a future discovery of what she had done.
Early the next morning she sent to Blunt's--hired a handsome chaise and pair, with a coachman and two servants, in a livery different from that she gave her own man; then dressed herself in a riding-habit and hunting-cap, which had been made for her on her going down to Oxford, and she had never been seen in by Mr. Trueworth; so that she thought she might be pretty confident, that when he should come to examine who had taken away his picture, the description could never enable him to guess at the right person.
With this equipage she went to the house where the painter lived: on enquiring for him by name, he came immediately to know her commands.--'You have the picture here of Mr. Trueworth,' said she; 'pray, is it ready?'--'Yes, Madam,' answered he, 'I am just going to carry it home.'--'I am glad, then, Sir,' resumed Miss Betsy, 'that I am come time enough to save you that trouble: Mr. Trueworth went to Hampstead last night; and being to follow him this morning, he desired I would bring it with me, and pay you the money.'--'O, Madam, as to the money,' said he, 'I shall see Mr. Trueworth again!' and then called to the man to bring down his picture.--'Indeed I shall not take it without paying you,' said she; 'but, in the hurry, I forgot to ask him the sum--pray, how much is it?'--'My constant price, Madam,' replied he, 'is ten guineas, and the gentleman never offered to beat me down.'
By this time the man had brought the picture down in a little box, which the painter opening, as he presented it to her, cried, 'Is it not a prodigious likeness, Madam?'--'Yes, really, Sir,' said she, 'in my opinion there is no fault to be found.'--She then put the picture into her pocket, counted ten guineas to him out of her purse, and told him, with a smile, that she believed he would very shortly have more business from the same quarter--then bid the coachman drive on.
The coachman having previous orders what to do, was no sooner out of sight of the painter's house, then he turned down the first street, and carried Miss Betsy home: she discharged her retinue, undressed herself with all the speed she could; and whoever had now seen her, would never have suspected she had been abroad.
This young lady was not of a temper to grieve long for any thing: how deep soever she was affected, the impression wore off on the first new turn that offered itself. All her remorse, all her vexation, for the base design laid against her at Mrs. Modely's, were dissipated the moment she took it into her head to get possession of this picture; and the success of her enterprize elated her beyond expression.
It cannot be supposed; that it was altogether owing to the regard she had for Mr. Trueworth, though in effect much more than she herself was yet sensible of, that she took all these pains; it looks as if there was also some little mixture of female malice in the case. Her brother had said that the picture seemed to be intended to be worn at a lady's watch--she doubted not but it was so; and the thoughts of disappointing her rival's expectations contributed greatly to the satisfaction she felt at what she had done.
Chapter XIX
Presents the reader with some occurrences which, from the foregoing preparations, might be expected, and also with others that may seem more surprizing
Miss Betsy was not deceived in her conjecture in relation to the picture being designed as an offering to some lady: Mr. Trueworth had not, indeed, sat for it to please himself, but to oblige Miss Harriot, who had given some hints that such a present would not be unwelcome to her.
It is a common thing with painters to keep the pieces in their own hands as long as they can, after they are finished, especially if they are of persons endued by nature with any perfections which may do honour to their art: this gentleman was like others of his profession; he found it to his credit to shew frequently Mr. Trueworth's picture to as many as came to look over his paintings, and had detained it for several days beyond the time in which he had promised to send it, on pretence that there were still some little touches wanting on the drapery.
Mr. Trueworth growing a little impatient at the delay, as Miss Harriot had asked two or three times, in a gay manner, when she should see his resemblance, went himself in order to fetch it away: the painter was surprized at the sight of him, and much more so when he demanded the picture. He told him, however, the whole truth without hesitation, that he delivered it to a lady not above an hour before he came, who paid him the money for it, and said that she had called for it on his request.
Nothing had ever happened that seemed more strange to him; he made a particular enquiry concerning the face, age, complexion, shape, stature, and even dress of the lady, who had put this trick upon him: and it was well for Miss Betsy, that she had taken all the precautions she did, or she had infallibly been discovered; a thing which, perhaps, would have given her a more lasting confusion, than even her late unlucky adventure with the mock baronet.
She was, however, among all the ladies of his acquaintance, almost the only one who never came into his head on this occasion: sometimes he thought of one, sometimes he thought of another; but on recollecting all the particulars of their behaviour towards him, could find no reason to ascribe what had been done to any of them. Miss Flora was the only person he could imagine capable of such a thing; he found it highly probable, that her love and invention had furnished her with the means of committing this innocent fraud; and though he was heartily vexed that he must be at the trouble of sitting for another picture, yet he could not be angry with the woman who had occasioned it: on the contrary, he thought there was something so tender, and so delicate withal, in this proof of her passion, that it very much enhanced the pity and good-will he before had for her.
But while his generous heart was entertaining these too favourable and kind sentiments of her, she was employing her whole wicked wit to make him appear the basest of mankind, and also to render him the most unhappy.
She had found out every thing she wanted to know concerning Mr. Trueworth's courtship to Miss Harriot; and flattered herself, that a lady bred in the country, and unacquainted with the artifices frequently practised in town, to blacken the fairest characters, would easily be frightened into a belief of any thing she attempted to inspire her with.
In the vile hope, therefore, of accomplishing so detestable a project, she contrived a letter in the following terms.
'To Miss Harriot Loveit.
Madam,
Where innocence is about to suffer merely through it's incapacity of suspecting that ill in another it cannot be guilty of itself, common honesty forbids a stander-by to be silent. You are on the brink of a precipice which, if you fall into, it is not in the power of human art to save you. Death only can remove you from misery, remorse, distraction, and woes without a name! Trueworth, that sly deceiver of your sex, and most abandoned of his own, can only bring you a polluted heart and prostituted vows! He made the most honourable professions of love to a young lady of family and character--gained her affections--I hope no more: but, whatever was between them, he basely quitted her, to mourn her ill-placed love and ruined fame. Yet this, Madam, is but his least of crimes: he has since practised his betraying arts on another, superior to the former in every female virtue and accomplishments--second to none in beauty, and of a reputation spotless as the sun, till an unhappy passion for that worst of men obscured it's brightness, at least in the eyes of the censorious. He is, however, bound to her by the most solemn engagements that words can form, under his own hand-writing; which, if she does not in due time produce against him, it will be owing only to her too great modesty. These two, Madam, are the most conspicuous victims of his perfidy. Pray Heaven you may not close the sad triumvirate, and that I may never see such beauty and such goodness stand among the foremost in the rank of those many wretches he has made!
In short, Madam, he has deceived your friends, and betrayed you into a mistaken opinion of his honour and sincerity. If he marries you, you cannot but be miserable, he being the right of another: if he does not marry you, your reputation suffers. Happy is it for you, if the loss of reputation is all you will have to regret! He already boasts of having received favours from you; which, whoever looks in your face, will find it very difficult to think you capable of granting: but yet, who knows what strange effects too great a share of tenderness in the composition may not have produced!
Fly, then, Madam, from this destructive town, and the worst monster in it, Trueworth! Retire in time to those peaceful shades from whence you came; and save what yet remains of you worthy your attention to preserve!
Whatever reports to your prejudice the vanity of your injurious deceiver may have made him give out among his loose companions, I still hope your virtue has hitherto protected you, and that this warning will not come too late to keep you from ever verifying them.
Be assured, Madam, that in giving this account, I am instigated by no other motive than merely my love of virtue, and detestation of all who would endeavour to corrupt it; and that I am, with perfect sincerity, Madam, your well-wisher, and humble servant,
UNKNOWN.'
Miss Flora, on considering what she had wrote, began to think she had expressed herself in somewhat too warm a manner; but she let it pass on this account: 'By the virulence', said she, 'with which I have spoken of Trueworth, his adored Miss Harriot will certainly imagine it comes from one of those unhappy creatures I have represented in it; and, if so, it will gain the more credit with her. If she supposes that rage and despair have dictated some groundless accusations against her love, she, nevertheless, will believe others to be fact, and that at least he has been false to one.'
She, therefore, went to the person who was always her secretary in affairs of this nature; and, having got it copied, was going to the post-house, in order to send it away; for she never trusted any person but herself with these dispatches.
She was within three or four yards of the post-house, when she saw Mr. Trueworth at some distance, on the other side of the street. Her heart fluttered at this unexpected sight of him--she had no power to refrain from speaking to him--she staid not to put her letter in, but flew directly across the way, and met him just as he was turning the corner of another street.
'Oh, Mr. Trueworth!' cried she, as they drew near each other, 'I have prayed that I might live once more to see you; and Heaven has granted my petition!'
'I hope, Madam,' said he, 'that Heaven will always be equally propitious to your desires in things of greater moment.'--'There can scarce be any of greater moment,' answered she; 'for, at present, I have a request to make you of the utmost importance to me, though no more than I am certain you would readily grant to any one you had the least acquaintance with. But,' continued she, 'this is no proper place for us to discourse in. Upon the terms we now are, it can be no breach of faith to the mistress of your vows to step with me, for three minutes, where we may not be exposed to the view of every passenger.'
Mr. Trueworth had not been very well pleased with the rencounter, and would gladly have dispensed with complying with her invitation; but thought, after what she had said, he could not refuse, without being guilty of a rudeness unbecoming of himself as well as cruel to her: yet he did comply in such a manner as might make her see his inclination had little part in his consent. He told her he was in very great haste, but would snatch as much time as she mentioned from the business he was upon. Nothing more was said; and they went together into the nearest tavern; where, being seated, and wine brought in, 'Now, Madam,' said he, with a cold civility, 'please to favour me with your commands.'
'Alas!' replied she, 'it belongs not to me to command, and my request you have already granted.'--'What, without knowing it!' cried he. 'Yes,' resumed she; 'I thought an intimacy, such as ours had been, ought not to have been broke off, without a kind farewel. I blame you not for marrying; yet, sure, I deserve not to be quite forsaken--utterly thrown off: you might at least have flattered me with the hope that, in spite of your matrimonial engagement, you would still retain some sparks of affection for your poor Flora.'--'Be assured,' said he, 'I shall always think on you with tenderness.'--'And can you then resolve never to see me more?' rejoined she passionately. 'I hoped,' replied he, 'that you had acquiesced in the reasons I gave you for that resolution.'--'I hoped so, too,' said she; 'and made use of my utmost efforts for that purpose: but it is in vain; I found I could not live without you; and only wished an opportunity to take one last embrace before I leave the world and you for ever.' In speaking these words, she threw herself upon his neck, and burst into a flood of tears.
How impossible was it for a heart such as Mr. Trueworth's to be unmoved at a spectacle like this! Her love, her grief, and her despair, shot through his very soul. Scarce could he refrain mingling his tears with hers. 'My dear Flora,' cried he, 'compose yourself--by Heaven I cannot bear to see you thus!' He kissed her cheek while he was speaking, seated her in a chair, and held her hand in his with the extremest tenderness.
This wicked creature was not so overcome with the emotions of her love and grief, as not to see the pity she had raised in him; and, flattering herself that there was in it some mixture of a passion she more wished to inspire, fell a second time upon his bosom, crying, 'Oh, Trueworth! Trueworth! here let me die; for death hath nothing in it so terrible as the being separated from you!'
Mr. Trueworth was a man of strict honour, great resolution, and passionately devoted to the most deserving of her sex: yet he was still a man--was of an amorous complexion; and thus tempted, who can answer, but in this unguarded moment he might have been guilty of a wrong to his dear Harriot, for which he would afterwards have hated himself, if an accident of more service to him than his own virtue, in so critical a juncture, had not prevented him.
He returned the embrace she gave, and joined his lips to hers with a warmth which she had not for a long time experienced from him: a sudden rush of transport came at once upon her with such force, that it overwhelmed her spirits, and she fell into a kind of fainting between his arms. He was frightened at the change he observed in her; and hastily cutting the lacings of her stays, to give her air, the letter above-mentioned dropped from her breast upon the ground. He took it up, and was going to throw it upon the table; but in that action seeing the name of Miss Harriot on the superscription, was struck with an astonishment not easy to be conceived. He no longer thought of the condition Miss Flora was in; but, tearing open the letter, he began to examine the contents.
Miss Flora in that instant recovering her senses, and the remembrance of what had been concealed in her bosom, flew to him, endeavouring to snatch the paper from his hands; but he had already seen too much not to be determined to see the rest. 'Stand off!' cried he, in a voice half choaked with fury; 'I am not yet fully acquainted with the whole of the favours you have bestowed upon me in this paper!' Confounded as she was, cunning did not quite forsake her. 'I am ignorant of what it contains,' said she; 'I found it in the street!--It is not mine!--I wrote it not!'
With such like vain pretences would she have pleaded innocence; yet all the time endeavoured, with her whole strength, to force the proof of her guilt from him; insomuch that, though he was very tall, he was obliged with one hand to keep her off, and with the other to hold the paper at arms length, while he was reading it; and could not forbear frequently interrupting himself, to cast a look of contempt and rage on the malicious authoress. 'Vile hypocrite!' cried he: and then again, as he got farther into the base invective, 'Thou fiend in female form!'
She now finding all was over, and seized with a sudden fit of frenzy, or something like it, ran to his sword, which he had pulled off and laid in the window, and was about to plunge it in her breast. He easily wrested it from her; and, putting it by his side, 'O thou serpent!--thou viper!' cried he. 'If thou wert a man, thou shouldest not need to be thy own executioner!' The tide of her passion then turning another way, she threw herself at his feet, clung round his legs, and, in a voice rather screaming than speaking, uttered these words--'O pardon me!--pity me! Whatever I have done, my love of you occasioned it!'--'Curse on such poisonous love!' rejoined he. 'Hell, and its worst effects, are in the name, when mentioned by a mouth like thine!' Then finding it a little difficult to disentangle himself from the hold she had taken of him, 'Thou shame and scandal to that sex to which alone thou owest thy safety!' cried he furiously, 'quit me this instant, lest I forget thou art a woman!--lest I spurn thee from me, and use thee as the worst of reptiles!'
On hearing these dreadful words, all her strength forsook her; the sinews of her hand relaxed, and lost their grasp. She fell a second time into a fainting-fit; but of a nature as different from what the former had been as were the emotions that occasioned it. Mr. Trueworth was now too much and too justly irritated to be capable of relenting: he left her in this condition, and only bid the people at the bar, as he went out of the house, send somebody up to her assistance.
The humour he was at present in rendering him altogether unfit for company, he went directly to his lodgings; where examining the letter with more attention than he could do before, he presently imagined he was not altogether unacquainted with the hand-writing. He very well knew it was not that of Miss Flora, yet positive that he had somewhere seen it before: that which he had received concerning Miss Betsy and the child at Denham came fresh into his head; he found them, indeed, the same on comparing; and, as the reader may suppose, this discovery added not a little to the resentment he was before inflamed with against the base inventress of these double falsehoods.
Chapter XX
Contains divers things
Miss Betsy was all this time enjoying the little fraud she had been guilty of: the idea how Mr. Trueworth would be surprized at finding his picture had been taken away, and the various conjectures that would naturally rise in his mind upon so odd an accident, gave her more real pleasure than others feel on the accomplishment of the most material event.
She was, indeed, of a humour the most perfectly happy for herself that could be: chearful, gay--not apt to create imaginary ills, as too many do, and become wretched for misfortunes which have no existence but in their own fretful dispositions. On any real cause, either for grief or anger, that happened to her, nobody, it is certain, felt them with a more poignant sensibility; but then she was affected with them but for a short time. The turbulent passion could obtain no residence in her mind; and, on the first approaches of their opposite emotions, entirely vanished, as if they had never been. The arrows of affliction, of what kind soever they were, but slightly glanced upon her heart, nor pierced it, much less were able to make any lasting impression there.
She now visited as usual--saw as much company as ever; and hearing no mention made, wherever she went, of her adventure with the mock baronet, concluded the whole thing was, and would remain, an eternal secret, and therefore easily forgot it; or, if it came into her head, remembered it only on account of her deliverer.
She was now on exceeding good terms with her brothers, who were full of spirits themselves. The elder Mr. Thoughtless, who loved play but too well, had lately had some lucky casts; and Mr. Francis had accomplished his affairs--his commission was signed, and every thing contributed to render the whole family perfectly easy in themselves, and obliging to each other.
In the midst of this contentment of mind, Mr. Edward Goodman came to town from Deal. The two Mr. Thoughtlesses, on account of the many obligations they had to his uncle, and the good character they had heard of himself, received him with abundance of respect and affection.
This young Indian had a great deal of the honest simplicity of his uncle, both in his countenance and behaviour, and wanted not politeness and good manners sufficient to render his conversation very agreeable.
He was sent from Bengal at about four years of age, and received the first rudiments of his education at one of the best schools in England; where he continued till he had attained to his nineteenth, and then returned to his native country, and was now about twenty-four.
Mr. Thoughtless had now got so much the better of his mistress as to prevail on her to content herself with keeping in her own apartment whenever he had any company by whom it was improper for her to be seen.
He made a handsome entertainment for Mr. Goodman soon after his arrival; to which the lawyer who had the care of his affairs, with his wife, a well-bred, discreet woman, were also invited. Miss Betsy, at the request of her brother, presided at the head of the table.
Dinner was ordered to be ready about three, and the invitation accordingly made; but the lawyer not coming, his wife, perceiving they waited for him, was a little perplexed; but she was soon eased of it, by his coming in less than a quarter of an hour after the time he was expected.
This gentleman was the very person who made Mrs. Blanchfield's will; and, to apologize for his stay, he related to them the cause that had detained him; which was, that a demur being made to the payment of some part of the money bequeathed by that lady to Mr. Trueworth, he had been obliged to go with him, in order to rectify the mistake which had occasioned it. In giving this account, he imagined not that any person present had the least concern in it, or even was acquainted with either of the parties he mentioned.
Miss Betsy said nothing, but had her own reflections on what he had been saying: she, however, had the satisfaction of hearing her two brothers ask those questions she longed to put to him herself. By the answers he made, she doubted not but the deceased had been courted by Mr. Trueworth--had loved him, and was to have been married to him, by her having made him so considerably a legacy.
The rest of their conversation that whole day was chiefly on matters concerning the late Mr. Goodman, the baseness of Lady Mellasin, and the measures that were taken to detect the fraud she had been guilty of; all which was very dry and insipid to Miss Betsy at this time, as, indeed, it would have been had it turned on any other subject. She was not, therefore, very sorry when the company broke up, that she might be at home, and at full liberty to indulge meditations which promised her more satisfaction than any thing she could hear abroad.
She had set it down in her mind, from what the lawyer had said, as a sure fact, that Mr. Trueworth, since his desisting his courtship to her, had loved another; and also, that her rival in his affection was now no more. 'He need not,' said she to herself, 'be at the trouble of sitting a second time for his picture in compliment to her; nor can what I have done be a subject of disquiet to either of them.'
She then would take his picture out of the cabinet, where she had concealed it, and examine it attentively. 'Good God!' cried she, 'how uncertain is the heart of man! How little dependence ought we to place on all the professions of love they make us! Just so he looked, with all this tenderness in his eyes, when his false tongue protested he never could think of marrying any woman but myself.' But these uneasy, and, indeed, unjust reflections, lasted not above a minute. 'Mrs. Blanchfield,' said she, 'had a large fortune; it was that, perhaps, he was in love with, and finding no hope of gaining me, he might be tempted, by his ambition, to make his addresses to her; but whatever were his thoughts on her account, she is now dead; and who knows what may happen? That he once loved me is certain; if he should return to his first vows, the obligation I have received from him would not permit me to treat him with the same indifference I have done. I am not in love with any man,' continued she; 'but if ever I marry, he certainly, exclusive of what he has done for me, deserves, in every respect, to have the preference; and I should, with less regret, submit to the yoke of wedlock with him than any other I have seen.'
Thus she went on, forming ideal prospects all that night, and part of the ensuing day; when the elder Mr. Thoughtless came in, and gave her the most unwelcome interruption she could receive.
He told her that he had just received an account, to his entire satisfaction, in every thing relating to Mr. Munden; and that no reasonable objection could be made, either as to the family, the estate, or the character of that gentleman. 'Therefore,' said he, 'as you have thought fit to encourage his pretensions, and he has continued them a sufficient length of time to defend you from the censure of a too quick consent, you cannot, I think, in honour, but reward his passion without delay.'
Miss Betsy was, at present, in a disposition very unfit to comply with her brother's advice; but, after all that had been urged by him, and by Mr. Francis, she could not assume courage wholly to refuse.
She hesitated--she began a sentence without ending it--and when she did, her answers were not all of a piece with that ready wit which she had always testified on other occasions.
Mr. Thoughtless, perceiving she was rather studious to evade giving any determinate answer, than willing to give such a one as he desired she should, began to expostulate with her on the capriciousness of her humour and behaviour; he conjured her to reflect on her late adventure with the impostor, Sir Frederick Fineer; and how ill it became her to countenance the addresses of a wretch like him, and, at the same time, trifle with a man of fortune and reputation.
She suffered him to go on in this manner for a considerable time, without giving him the least interruption; but by degrees recovering her spirits, 'I shall take care, Sir,' said she, 'never to fall into the like adventure again; neither do I intend to trifle with Mr. Munden: but marriage is a thing of too serious a nature to hurry into, without first having made trial of the constancy of the man who would be a husband, and also of being well assured of one's own heart.'
Mr. Thoughtless then told her, with some warmth, that he found she was relapsing into a humour and way of thinking which could not in the end but bring ruin on herself and disgrace to all her family; and added, that for his part he should meddle no more in her affairs. The tender soul of Miss Betsy was deeply affected at these words: she loved her brothers, and could not bear their displeasure; the thought of having any disagreement with them was dreadful to her; yet the putting a constraint on her inclinations to oblige them was no less so. In this dilemma, whether she complied, or whether she refused, she found herself equally unhappy.
One moment she was opening her mouth to yield a ready assent to all that was requested of her on the score of Mr. Munden; the next to confess, that she neither liked nor loved that gentleman, and knew not whether she should ever be able to resolve on a marriage with him; but her sincerity forbade the one, and her fears of offending gave a check to the other; and both together kept her entirely silent.
'You ought, methinks, however,' resumed Mr. Thoughtless, 'to have spared Mr. Munden the trouble of laying open his circumstances, and me that of examining into them.'--'I should undoubtedly have done so, Sir,' answered she, 'if I had been entirely averse to the proposals of Mr. Munden; therefore, both you and he are too hasty in judging. You know, brother, that Sir Ralph and my dear Lady Trusty will be in town in a very few days; and I am willing to have the approbation of as many of my friends as possible, in a thing of so much consequence to my future peace.'
Mr. Thoughtless was now somewhat better satisfied than he had been; and after recommending to her a constancy of mind and resolution, took his leave of her.
This conversation having a little dissipated those gay imaginations she was before possessed of, she began to consider seriously what she meant by all this, and what it availed her to give both her lover and brothers so much matter of complaint against her: she reflected that she had now gone so far with that gentleman, that neither honour towards him, nor regard to her own reputation, would well suffer her to go back. 'Since it is so, then,' said she to herself, 'to what end do I take all this trouble to invent excuses for delaying what must one day necessarily be?
'Yet, wherefore must it be?' continued she; 'I have made no promise; and if a better offer should happen, I see no reason that obliges me to reject it: for example, if Mr. Trueworth or such a one as Mr. Trueworth, (if his equal is to be found in nature) neither my brothers, nor the world, I fancy, would condemn me for quitting Mr. Munden.
'Why, then,' cried she, 'need I make all this haste to put myself out of the way of fortune? I am young enough; have lost no part of what has attracted me so many admirers; and, while my heart and hand are free, have, at least, a chance of being more happy than Mr. Munden can make me.'
In a word, being fully persuaded in her mind that the lady, who had supplanted her in Mr. Trueworth's affections, was dead, she imagined there was a probability he might renew his addresses to herself; she wished, at least, to make the experiment; and, to that end, resolved to give no promise to Mr. Munden: yet would she not allow herself to think she loved the other, but only that she would give him the preference, as he was a match of more advantage.
Nothing is more certain, nor, I believe, more obvious to the reader, than that this young lady, almost from the time of Mr. Trueworth's quitting her, had entertained a growing inclination for him, which the late service he had rendered had very much increased: but this her pride would not suffer her to own, even to herself, as the comick poet truly says--
'For whatso'er the sages charge on pride, The angels fall, and twenty faults beside; On earth, 'tis sure, 'mong us of mortal calling, Pride saves man oft, and woman too, from falling.'