Chapter XVI
Presents the reader, among many other particulars, with a full, though as concise an account as can be given, of the real quality and condition of the lady that Mrs. Munden had seen, and been so much charmed with, at the mercer's
Mrs. Munden carried enough home with her from Lady Loveit's to employ her mind, for that whole night at least. What she had been told in relation to the death of Mrs. Trueworth, raised a strange contrariety of ideas in her, which it was impossible for her either to reconcile, or oblige either the one or the other totally to subside.
She thought it great pity that so virtuous, so beautiful, and so accomplished, a young lady, as she had been told Mrs. Trueworth was, should thus early be snatched away from all the joys of love and life; but could not lament so melancholy an accident in a manner she was sensible it deserved: envy had ever been a stranger to her breast; yet, since her own marriage, and that of Mr. Trueworth with his lady, she had sometimes been tempted to accuse Heaven of partiality, in making so wide a difference in their fate; and, though the blame of her misfortunes lay wholly on herself, had been apt to imagine that she had only been impelled, by an unavoidable impulse, to act as she had done, and was fated, by an invincible necessity, to be the enemy of her own happiness.
Thus did this fair predestinarian reason within herself whenever the ill-usage of Mr. Munden made her reflect on the generosity of Mr. Trueworth. She repined not at the felicities she supposed were enjoyed by Mrs. Trueworth, but regretted that her own lot had been cast so vastly different.
But though all these little heart-burnings now ceased by the death of that so late happy lady, and even common humanity demanded the tribute of compassion for her destiny, of which none had a greater share, on other occasions, than Mrs. Munden, yet could she not on this pay it without some interruptions from a contrary emotion: in these moments, if it may be said she grieved at all, it was more because she knew that Mr. Trueworth was grieved, than for the cause that made him so.
Her good-sense, her justice, and her good-nature, however, gave an immediate check to such sentiments whenever she found them rising in her; but her utmost efforts could not wholly subdue them: there was a secret something in her heart which she would never allow herself to think she was possessed of, that, in spite of all she could do, diffused an involuntary satisfaction at the knowledge that Mr. Trueworth was a widower.
If Lady Loveit could have foreseen the commotions her discourse raised in the breast of her fair friend, she would certainly never have entertained her with it; but she so little expected her having any tenderness for Mr. Trueworth, that she observed not the changes in her countenance when she mentioned that gentleman, as she afterwards frequently did, on many occasions, in the course of the visits to each other: nor could Mrs. Munden, being ignorant herself of the real cause of the agitation she was in, make her ladyship a confidante in this, as she did in all her other affairs, the little happiness she enjoyed in marriage not excepted.
Lady Loveit had, indeed, a pretty right idea of her misfortune in this point, before she heard it from herself: Sir Bazil, though not at all conversant with Mr. Munden, was well acquainted with his character and manner of behaviour; and the account he gave of both to her on being told to whom he was married, left her no room to doubt how disagreeable a situation the wife of such a husband must be in. She heartily commiserated her hard fate; yet, as Lady Trusty had done, said every thing to persuade her to bear it with a becoming patience.
Perceiving she had lost some part of her vivacity, and would frequently fall into very melancholy musings, Sir Bazil himself, now fully convinced of her merit and good qualities, added his endeavours to those of his amiable consort, for the exhilarating her spirits: they would needs have her make one in every party of pleasure, either formed by themselves, or wherein they had a share; and obliged her to come as often to their house as she could do without giving offence to her domestick tyrant.
An excess of gaiety, when curbed, is apt to degenerate into its contrary extreme: it must, therefore, be confessed, that few things could have been more lucky for Mrs. Munden than this event; she had lost all relish for the conversation of the Miss Airishes, and those other giddy creatures which had composed the greatest part of her acquaintance; and too much solitude might have brought on a gloominess of temper equally uneasy to herself and to those about her; but the society of these worthy friends, the diversions they prepared for her, and the company to which they introduced her, kept up her native liveliness of mind, and at the same time convinced her that pleasure was no enemy to virtue or to reputation, when partook with persons of honour and discretion.
She had been with them one evening, when the satisfaction she took in their conversation, the pressures they made to detain her, joined to the knowledge that there was no danger of Mr. Munden's being uneasy at her absence, (he seldom coming home till towards daybreak) engaged her to stay till the night was pretty far advanced; yet, late as it was, she was presented with an adventure of as odd a kind as ever she had been surprized with.
She was undressing, in order to go to bed, when she heard a very loud knocking at the street-door; after which her footman came up, and told her that a woman was below, who said she must speak with her immediately. 'I shall speak to nobody at this time of the night,' said Mrs. Munden; 'therefore go down and tell her so.' The fellow went; but returned in a moment or two, and told her that the person would take no denial, nor would go out of the house without seeing her. 'Some very impudent creature, sure!' said Mrs. Munden--'but do you go,' added she in the same breath, to the maid that waited on her, 'and ask her name and business: if she will tell neither, let her be turned out of the house.'
She was in a good deal of perplexity to think who should enquire for her at that late hour; when the servant she had sent to examine into the matter, came back, and, before she had well entered the chamber, cried out, 'Lord, Madam! I never was so astonished in my life! I wonder Tom could speak in such a rude manner; the woman, as he called her, is a very fine lady, I am sure, though she has no hoop nor stays on--nothing but a fine rich brocade wrapping-gown upon her: she looks as if she was just going to bed, or rather coming out of bed, for her head-cloaths are in great disorder, and her hair all about her ears.'
'Well, but her name and business,' demanded Mrs. Munden hastily. 'Nay, Madam,' replied the maid, 'she will tell neither but to yourself; so, pray, dear Madam, either come down stairs, or let her be brought up: I am sure she does not look as if she would do you any hurt.'
Mrs. Munden paused a little on what she had heard; and believing there must be something very extraordinary indeed, both in the person and the visit, resolved to be convinced of the truth; therefore, having given a strict charge that both the footmen should be ready at her call in case there should be any occasion for them, went into the dining-room, and ordered that the person who enquired for her should be introduced.
Her whole appearance answered exactly to the description that had been given of her by the maid; but it was her face which most alarmed Mrs. Munden, as being positive she had seen it before, though when or where she could not at that instant recollect.
But the stranger soon eased her of the suspense she was in; when, throwing herself at her feet, and bursting into a flood of tears, 'You once offered me your friendship, Madam,' said she: 'a consciousness of my own unworthiness made me refuse that honour; but I now come to implore your compassion and charitable protection. I have no hope of safety, or of shelter, but in your goodness and generosity.'
The accents of her voice now discovered her to be no other than the lady Mrs. Munden had seen at the mercer's: she was strangely confounded, but not so much as to hinder her from raising the distressed fair-one with the greatest civility, and seating her in a chair, 'Though I cannot comprehend, Madam,' answered she, 'by what accident you are reduced to address me in these terms, yet you may rely upon my readiness to assist the unfortunate, especially a person, whom I cannot but look upon as far from deserving to be so.'
'Oh! would to God,' cried the other, very emphatically, 'that my history could preserve that kind opinion in you! but, alas! though I find myself obliged to relate it to you, in order to obtain the protection I intreat, I tremble lest, by doing so, I should forfeit those pretensions to your mercy, which otherwise my sex, and my distress, might justly claim.'
These words were sufficient to have aroused the curiosity of a woman who had less of that propensity in her nature than Mrs. Munden; she told her that, by being made the confidante of her affairs, she should think herself obliged to excuse whatever she found not worthy of her approbation.
'Prepare yourself, then, Madam,' said her still weeping guest; 'summon all your goodness to forgive the frailties of youth and inadvertency, and to pity the sad consequences which sometimes attend the pride of flattered beauty and vain desire of ambition.'
This expression sunk more deeply in the mind of Mrs. Munden than the person who uttered it imagined: she made no reply, however; and the other began the narrative she had promised in these or the like terms.
The history of Mademoiselle de Roquelair.
'I need not tell you, Madam,' said she, 'that I am not a native of this kingdom; my bad pronunciation of the language speaks it for me: I am, indeed, by birth a Parisian, and daughter of the Sieur de Roquelair, a man of some estimation in the world.
'The great hopes conceived of me in my infancy, encouraged him to be almost profuse in the expences of my education; no accomplishment befitting of my sex and rank was denied me: in fine, it was easy to see he had an affection for me above all his other children; and that the partial opinion he had of my person and understanding, made him build the highest expectations on my future fortune.
'But, alas! what he intended for my happiness proved my undoing; I had but just attained my fifteenth year of age, when the little beauty I was mistress of was taken notice of by the Duke de M----, as I was walking one evening in the Thuilleries, with a young companion of my own sex: he passed us twice without speaking, but at the third turn accosted us with a gallantry natural to persons of his high rank; the praises he bestowed on me were such as might excuse some vanity in a heart so young and inexperienced as mine then was.
'On our leaving the walks, a gentleman of his retinue followed; and, as I afterwards was informed, enquired who I was, and many other particulars concerning me: the next morning, being at mass in the church of St. Sulpice, I saw the duke again; and, on my coming out, had a letter put into my hands, which, as soon as I got to a convenient place, I opened, and found it, as I before imagined, from the duke.
'After magnifying the power of my wit, my beauty, my fine shape, and a thousand charms with which his amorous fancy painted me, and protesting, with the most solemn imprecations words could form, his everlasting adoration of me, he intreated I would meet him at the same place where he had first seen me, and appointed an hour in which he knew least company would be there.
'I was imprudent enough to comply with this request: my illustrious lover was there before me--he saluted me with the utmost transport in his voice and eyes--led me to a retired part of the walk--made me the most splendid offers--and endeavoured to persuade me, that being his mistress was a station more respectable than being the wife of a private gentleman, or even of a little marquis.
I was unprepared to confute the arguments he urged; and, to confess the truth, felt but too much satisfaction in hearing him speak: my tongue obeyed the dictates of my heart, and told him that I would be his, though I cannot say that I was tempted by any extraordinary liking of his person, but merely by my ambition of pleasing a prince of the blood-royal.
'It was agreed between us, that a proper place should be provided for my reception, and I should quit my father's house entirely; and this was to be accomplished at the end of three days: but, before the expiration of that time, a person who had seen me in the Thuilleries carried home intelligence with what company I had been, and my father, who preferred virtue above grandeur, took all imaginable precautions to prevent my continuing so dangerous an intercourse.
But what cannot the power of gold effect? Though I was locked up in my chamber, no letters or messages permitted to be delivered to me, an agent of the duke's, by a large bribe, corrupted one of the servants, by whose assistance I got out of the house when all the rest of the family were asleep; and a chariot, waiting for me at the end of the street, carried me to a magnificent hotel; where I found my noble lover, and every thing I could wish, ready to receive me.
'Here I lived, for near two whole years, in a pomp which excited the envy, and set me above the scandal, of the censorious: but, at length, malice overtook me; the baseness of those about me accused me to my prince of having wronged his bed; he too easily gave credit to their aspersions; and not only withdrew his affection and his favours from me, but cruelly discarded me without the least provision for my future support.
'My father, who would never see me in my exalted state, equally shunned me in my fallen one; but, at last, through the intercession of some friends, he was prevailed upon to forgive what was past, provided I would leave Paris for ever, and spend the remainder of my days in a monastery: to this, in the distracted condition I then was, I yielded; and a convent at Roan was made choice of for my retreat; the abbess was wrote to concerning me; and every thing was prepared for my departure; when chance brought me acquainted with Mr. Thoughtless.
'You start, Madam,' continued she, perceiving Mrs. Munden looked very much confused; 'but know, at once, that I am that very unfortunate woman your brother brought with him from Paris, who has ever since lived with him, and whom you must have heard of.'
The amazement Mrs. Munden was in, on finding her the mistress of her brothers, was such as would not permit her to make any other reply than to desire she would go on with what she had farther to relate: on which Mademoiselle de Roquelair resumed her discourse in this manner.
'This gentleman,' said she, 'was very well acquainted with my story; but it did not hinder him from entertaining a passion for me--he declared it to me; the aversion I had to a recluse life, the allurements of the world, and his more persuasive rhetorick, soon won me to yield to his desires; I made a second elopement--we embarked together, and came to England; where I have had the command of his family, and lived with him in all things like a wife, except the name. But fortune, always my enemy, conjured up a spirit of jealousy in him, for my torment at first, and, at last, for my utter ruin. His fears of losing me, as he pretended, secluded me from all society; denied me all the publick diversions of the town; and though I lived amidst the very seat of pleasures, kept me as much a stranger to them as if I had been a thousand leagues removed: but, oh! this night, this night, Madam, has compleated all his too suspicious temper long since threatened! The poor mercer, at whose house you saw me, came this night to bring a piece of silk I had bespoke of him: Mr. Thoughtless came home immediately after; and being told who was above with me, flew up stairs, burst open the door, which by some accident was locked, rushed in with his drawn sword, swearing he would sacrifice us both: the man, to avoid his fury, jumped out of the window into the yard; Mr. Thoughtless ran down the back stairs, in order, I suppose, to make him in that place the victim of his rage: whether he has effected it, I know not; for, trembling at my own danger, I took that opportunity of running directly out of the house; though where to go I knew not--I had no friend--no acquaintance to whom I could apply; I found myself all alone in the street, and exposed to insults, even worse than those from which I fled. My good genius, (for so I hope it was) in that dreadful instant, reminded me of you; I had heard a high character of your goodness; and was assured of it, even by the little I had seen of you, when you were pleased to think me worthy of your notice.
'This, Madam,' added she, 'has brought me to you; and I once more beseech shelter and protection under your roof for this night at least, till I can recollect in what manner I can dispose of my wretched self.'
Though Mrs. Munden was apprehensive this lady had favoured herself too much in the recital she had made, yet she could not think of refusing what she asked: she ordered a bed to be instantly prepared for her; and having conducted her to the chamber where she was to lie, told her she would defer, till the next morning, any farther discourse on the subject they had been talking of, as it was very late, and she expected Mr. Munden home; so wishing her a good repose, returned to her own apartment, to reflect at more leisure on this strange adventure.
Chapter XVII
Is less entertaining than some of the former
The husband of Mrs. Munden being engaged abroad till his usual hour, she had just time to get into bed before he came home; which she was very glad of, as it prevented him from asking any question concerning her sitting up so much beyond her custom; and she was not willing to say any thing to him of her new guest, till she had talked farther with her, and also examined into the truth of the affair which brought her thither.
The more she reflected on the account that lady had given of herself, the less reason she found to give credit to some passages in it: she could not think that a prince, such as the Duke of M----, would, on a mere suggestion, cast a woman out to misery and beggary, whom he had so passionately loved; and yet less could she believe that her brother, a man not fiery by nature, could have acted in the manner she had represented, without a much greater provocation than what she pretended.
Besides, the mercer bringing home goods so late at night to a customer, and being locked up with her, seemed so inconsistent with innocence, that she could not help being of opinion, that the cause must be bad indeed which had no better plea for it's defence.
It also afforded her a good deal of matter for vexation, that by expressing, in such warm terms, the great liking she took of this lady when they accidentally met at the mercer's, she had encouraged her to make choice of her house for an asylum in her distress, and by this means rendered herself interested in the concerns of a stranger, who, at the best, it did not well become her to take part with.
But her most alarming apprehensions were in relation to her brother: she knew not but, if irritated to the high degree Mademoiselle de Roquelair had described, he might in reality have been guilty of some rash action, which might endanger his reputation, and even his life.
Her mind being thus employed, it is easy to believe sleep had little power over her eyes: late as she went to bed, she rose pretty early in the morning; and, impatient to know something farther of the transactions of the preceding night, she dispatched a servant to her brother's house under pretence of enquiring after his health, not doubting but, by the answer he would bring, she should be able to form some conjecture whether any thing of the nature Mademoiselle de Roquelair seemed to apprehend, had really happened or not.
The man returning with the intelligence that Mr. Thoughtless was very well, and not yet stirring, gave her great consolation: she then went up to the chamber of Mademoiselle; and, after giving her the usual salutation of the morning, sat down by her bedside, and began talking in this manner.
'Madam,' said she, 'I have been considering on your story; and as I sincerely pity the misfortunes to which you have reduced yourself, should be glad to know by what method you propose to extricate yourself from them, and what farther assistance you require from me, or is in my power to grant, without acting unbecoming of my character.'
'I should be utterly unworthy,' answered the other, weeping, 'of the compassion you have shewn, and even of the life you have preserved, should I entreat any thing of you that might either injure your reputation, or prejudice the good understanding between you and your brother. As to my misfortunes, they are, alas! past remedy; I neither hope, nor shall endeavour, for a reconciliation with Mr. Thoughtless; I have long since been ashamed and weary of the errors of my conduct, though I wanted strength of resolution to reform them: but be assured, Madam, I have now no other wish than to pass my future life in that only retreat for wretches like myself--a monastery.'
Her streaming eyes, her moving accent, and, above all, the seeming contrition she expressed for her faults, raised such a flow of tenderness in the soul of Mrs. Munden, that she resolved from that instant to do every thing in her power to save her.
'As the religion of your country,' said she, 'and in which you were bred, affords a great number of those safe and sure asylums for persons who have made ill use of their liberty, you cannot, indeed, do better than to fly to some one of them for refuge from temptations, which you have too much experienced the force of; and if you persevere in this good disposition, I will endeavour to procure the means of rendering you able to accomplish so laudable a desire.'
'Ah, Madam,' cried Mademoiselle de Roquelair, 'it is all I ask of Heaven, or you; the accidents of my life have convinced me there can be no real happiness without virtue, and that the most certain defence of virtue is religion: if I could now flatter myself with the means of being received within those sacred walls, from which the fatal love of Mr. Thoughtless drew me, I should think my guardian angel had not quite forsook me.'
On this, the good-natured believing Mrs. Munden said many kind things to her--made her take some refreshment as she lay in bed, in which she advised her to continue some time, and endeavour to compose herself to sleep, she seeming to stand in need of it very much. In going out of the chamber, she told her she should return in a few hours; but if she wanted any thing in the mean time, on her ringing a bell by her bedside, a maid-servant would immediately attend upon her.
She was, indeed, bent to try all possible methods for the accomplishment of what she promised. 'How guilty soever this unhappy woman is,' said she within herself, 'my brother, in common justice, ought at least to leave in her in the same condition in which he found her: she was then going to a nunnery; and it is now his duty to send her to one; for it cannot be expected her father will make a second offer of that sort.'
With these reflections, together with others on the manner in which it would be most proper to address Mr. Thoughtless on this score, was her mind taken up, till the hour she imagined he might be stirring: the disturbances which must necessarily have happened in his family the night before, made her suppose he might lie longer than usual; but she chose rather to wait a while for his rising, than hazard losing the opportunity of speaking to him by his being gone abroad.
That gentleman had, in fact, passed the most disagreeable night he had ever known: he had loved Mademoiselle de Roquelair with such an extravagance of fondness, that he had sometimes been even prompted by it to marry her; but the too great warmth of her constitution, and the known inconstancy of her temper, as often deterred him from it, and also made him restrain her from any of those liberties he would otherwise have allowed her: he had thought himself no less secure of her person than she always pretended he was of her heart; and now to find all his tenderness for her abused, all his precautions frustrated, might well raise in him passions of the most desperate kind.
The inclinations of this woman were, in reality, too vicious to be bound by any obligations, or withheld from their gratifications, by any of the methods taken for that purpose: she loved variety--she longed for change, without consulting whether the object was suitable or not--the mercer had a person and address agreeable enough; he was of an amorous complexion, and readily improved the advances she made him: he frequently came to her under the pretence of bringing patterns of silks, or other things in his way of trade; and all this, as she imagined, without raising any suspicion in the family. No interruption happening in their repeated interviews, she sometimes kept him with her till near the hour in which Mr. Thoughtless usually came home, which was seldom till one or two o'clock.
But on this unlucky night it so fell out that a very ill run of play, and the loss of all the money he had about him, brought him home much sooner than was his custom: a servant being at the door, prevented his knocking; so that the lovers had not the least notice how near he was to them. He went directly into his dressing-room, which was backwards on the ground-floor, and sat musing for some time, casting up the sums he had lost, cursing fortune within himself, and protesting never to touch a card or throw a dice again; when, on a sudden, he was alarmed with the sound of a man's voice laughing very heartily; he stamped with his foot; and a servant immediately coming up, 'Is there any company above?' demanded he, hastily. 'None, Sir, but the mercer that comes to Madam with silks,' replied the man. 'A mercer at this time of night!' cried Mr. Thoughtless. 'How long has he been here?'--'I cannot tell exactly, Sir,' said he; 'but, I believe, three or four hours.'--'A long visit; and on business too!' resumed Mr. Thoughtless; and, after a little pause, 'Go,' continued he, 'bid Mademoiselle de Roquelair come down to me.'
If this unfaithful woman had been but mistress of artifice enough to have made any one of the family her friend, she would certainly have been told that Mr. Thoughtless was come home, and her gallant might easily have slipt out of the house without his knowledge; but, on the contrary, her imperious behaviour towards them, set them all in general against her: this fellow in particular, whom she had used worse than the rest, rejoiced that his master was likely to find out what he wished him to know, but never durst acquaint him with.
On his going up stairs, he found they were shut in the bed-chamber; and, running to his master with this account, 'Locked in the chamber!' said Mr. Thoughtless, starting up. 'Yes, Sir,' answered the servant; 'and nobody would answer, though I knocked two or three times;' which, by the way, if he did at all, it was too softly for them to hear.
'Confusion!' cried Mr. Thoughtless, now worked up to the highest pitch of jealous rage; 'I'll try if they will open to me!' With these words he drew his sword, and flew up stairs, burst open the door, and rushed into the room with all the fury of an incensed lion. The astonished guilty pair had neither thought nor means to escape; the lover, on the first burst of the door, jumped out of the window into the yard--Mademoiselle ran screaming to one corner of the room. 'Abandoned woman!' cried Thoughtless, 'your punishment shall be the second course!' then, followed by his man with lights, ran in pursuit of the person who had injured him.
This unhappy woman, not daring to stand the tempest of his rage when he should return, took the opportunity of his having quitted the chamber to make her escape; though, at the time she did so, as she had truly told Mrs. Munden, she neither knew where nor to whom she should apply for refuge.
The mercer, in the mean time, was found by Mr. Thoughtless, but in a condition more exciting pity than revenge: the poor man had broke both his legs with his fall, and was otherwise very much hurt; but on seeing by whom, and in what manner he was approached, the terror of immediate death made him exert all the strength that was left in him to cry out for pardon; which word he repeated over and over again in the most lamentable tone that could be. Mr. Thoughtless, on this, turned hastily away, bidding his servants raise and carry him into the hall, where a chair being presently brought, he was put into it, and sent home to make the best excuse he could to his wife for the mischief that had happened to him.
Every room was afterwards searched for Mademoiselle de Roquelair; but she not being found, and a maid-servant remembering that, in the midst of the confusion, the street-door had been left open, the flight of that lady was not to be doubted.
Though these disturbances had taken up the greatest part of the night, Mr. Thoughtless was able to enjoy little repose after going to bed; and rose rather sooner than usual--he was up and dressed when his sister came; but was a good deal surprized to be told of her being there, as she had never visited him before without a formal invitation.
'Good morrow, my dear sister,' said he, as soon as she was introduced; 'this is a favour quite unexpected: pray, what brings you abroad thus early?'--'You men,' answered she, 'who keep such late hours, may well think it early; but for us women, who live more regularly, it is no wonder to see us breathe the morning air: but I assure you I rose somewhat sooner than ordinary to-day on your account.'--'On mine! As how, pray?' demanded he. 'I am come,' answered she, 'to solicit in behalf of a person who has fallen under your displeasure--Mademoiselle de Roquelair.'
'Mademoiselle de Roquelair!' cried he, hastily interrupting her: 'what knowledge can you have of that infamous creature?' She then ingenuously related to him how they had met by accident at the mercer's--the offer she had then made of her friendship; and how, as she supposed, emboldened by that mistaken encouragement, she had flown to her house for shelter the preceding night: 'You see how dangerous it is,' said he, 'to make friendship at first sight; but surely the wretch cannot flatter herself with the least distant hope of a reconciliation?'
'Far be it from me, Sir,' replied Mrs. Munden very gravely, 'to become the negociator of such a treaty, or even to attempt a vindication of her behaviour: no, it is your own honour, for which alone I am concerned; and that, I think, requires you should send her to a monastery; since, as she says, you deprived her of the opportunity of entering into one.'
'All mere pretence!' cried he: ''tis true, there was some talk of such a thing; but she has inclinations of a different sort.' To which Mrs. Munden replied, that inclinations, though ever so corrupt, might be reformed by reason, adversity, and experience--that she hoped her penitence was sincere--and what before her was her aversion, was now become her choice. She then urged the request she came upon, in terms so moving and pathetick, that Mr. Thoughtless, irritated as he was, could not withstand the energy of her words: he told her he would consider on what she had said, and give his answer the next day; but, in the mean time, desired she would advise her unworthy guest to send for her baggage immediately; saying, he would have nothing in his house that should remind him of her.
Mrs. Munden, pretty well satisfied with having obtained thus much, took her leave; and returned to Mademoiselle de Roquelair, with an account of what she had done.
Chapter XVIII
Contains a most shocking instance of infidelity and ingratitude
Mademoiselle de Roquelair, on finding how far the good-nature of Mrs. Munden had made her interest herself in her behalf, expressed the transports of her gratitude in terms which gave some pain to the modesty of that lady to receive: 'What I have done,' said she, 'is to promote the cause of virtue; and I hope my endeavours that way will not be lost on your account.'--'You are all goodness,' replied the other; 'but I blush to think that, being already indebted for so many favours, I must still become your petitioner for more: though I have lived fifteen months in this town, I am a perfect stranger to the greatest part of it, quite unacquainted with it's customs, and know not where, and in what manner, to address myself for lodgings. In the midst of my distractions, I found shelter under your hospitable roof; may I presume to flatter myself with the continuance of that charitable protection, till I receive an answer from Mr. Thoughtless?'
Mrs. Munden paused a little at this request; but, thinking it would be cruel in this distress to have recourse to strangers, and to whom she could communicate nothing of her mind, made this reply 'Though it would be highly inconvenient, Madam,' said she, 'for you to remain in my house for any length of time; yet as, in all probability, your affairs will be determined in a few days, I would not have you think of leaving me till you are prepared to leave the kingdom. Please, therefore,' continued she, 'to make an inventory of what things you have at my brother's, and I will give orders for their being brought directly hither.'
Mademoiselle de Roquelair was beginning to give some fresh testimonies of the sense she had of this last obligation; but Mrs. Munden would not suffer her to proceed; and, pointing to a standish that stood on the table, desired her to write the memorandums she had mentioned. 'Obedience, Madam, is better than sacrifice,' said the other; and immediately did as she was directed: after which Mrs. Munden went down to give the orders she had promised.
She sent this inventory by her own man, and instructed him to procure persons for bringing thither every thing belonging to Mademoiselle de Roquelair: but as this could not be done, and that lady dressed, before the hour of dinner, which was just at hand, she judged it improper she should appear at table till she could do so with greater decency; she therefore bid one of the maids prepare something apart, and serve it up to her in her own chamber.
She then began to consider what she should say to Mr. Munden in relation to this affair: she knew not but he might already be apprized of what had passed; or if even he were not so, she thought it would be impossible to keep her in the house without his privity; so resolved to be quite open in the affair.
She was right in her conjecture: Mademoiselle de Roquelair had happened to ring the bell for something she wanted; Mr. Munden hearing it, and knowing his wife was abroad, asked who was above; and this question occasioned the man, who was then dressing him, to give an account, as far as was in his power to do, of the last night's accident.
This a little surprized him, yet not enough to keep him from the Park, where he constantly walked every day an hour or two before dinner; but on his return, he immediately interrogated his wife concerning her new guest; on which she told him, without the least reserve, every circumstance of this transaction; he listened attentively to what she said, but testified neither any dislike or approbation of her conduct in this respect: he said no more to her after she had done speaking; but behaved with the same sullen silence he had always done since her adventure with Lord ----; and as soon as dinner was over, went out to pass the remainder of the day, and best part of the night, according to custom.
Mrs. Munden's good-nature would not suffer her to go abroad the whole afternoon; she passed all the hours, till bed-time, with Mademoiselle Roquelair, and did every thing in her power both to comfort her in the affliction she was under, and to fortify her in the good resolution she seemed to have taken: the next morning she received, as she expected, the following billet from her brother.
'To Mrs. Munden.
Dear Sister,
In compliance with your desires, and to be certain of getting eternally rid of the sight of a woman who has so much abused the kindness I had for her, I consent to grant her request of being enabled to go into a monastery: a friend of mine has great dealings with a merchant at Bologne; I will see him this afternoon, and pay into his hands the sum which I am told is sufficient for that purpose. If you give yourself the trouble to call on me to-morrow morning, I will give you his order for her receiving it on her arrival. I cannot think of entering your house while she is in it; but am always, dear sister, your affectionate brother,
T. THOUGHTLESS.'
Mrs. Munden having imparted the contents of this letter to Mademoiselle de Roquelair, she seemed as much contented as a person in her circumstances could be: she dined below that day; and Mr. Munden treated her with the same politeness and complaisance he always used towards persons over whom he had no power.
The next morning did not fail of carrying his fair wife to her brother's about the hour in which she imagined he would expect her; but on the moment of her entrance, she had the mortification of being accosted by him in these terms: 'My dear sister,' said he, 'I was just going to send to you, to prevent your giving yourself this needless trouble. The gentleman I went to is out of town, and will not return these two days: so nothing can be done in this woman's affair till he comes back.' She told him she was extremely sorry; 'Because,' said she, 'delays are sometimes dangerous: but I hope, my dear brother, no second considerations will make you frustrate the good intentions of this unhappy penitent.'--'No, no!' cried he; 'I wish she may persevere in them as steadfastly as I shall to the promise I have made.' Satisfied with this assurance, she made her leave, little suspecting, while she was labouring with all her might in this good office, that cruel and ungenerous return which was about to be made for her compassion.
Mr. Munden had seen Mademoiselle de Roquelair no more than once; but that once was sufficient to make him become enamoured--her beauty fired him--the known wantonness of her inclinations encouraged him--he scarce doubted of success; but in case of a failure, and if she should even acquaint his wife with his attempt, her character furnished him with the pretence of having made it only to try how far her conversion was sincere.
He therefore hesitated not a moment if he should endeavour the accomplishment of his desires; and, for the doing so, no time was to be lost, as she was so suddenly to depart. Mrs. Munden was no sooner gone out, than he went softly up stairs to the chamber of this too lovely and less more virtuous stranger: she was sitting in a pensive posture, leaning her head upon her hand, when he came in; but rose to receive him with that respect which she thought due from her to the husband of her protectress.
After the salutations of the morning were over, 'Is it possible,' cried he, taking one of her hands, and looking earnestly on her face, 'that such youth, such beauty, charms in such profusion, should be condemned to a cloyster? No! it cannot be! All the powers of love and pleasure forbid you to make so unnatural a choice!' Transported and amazed at hearing him speak in this manner, she could not forbear telling him, with her eyes, that her thoughts corresponded with his words; but willing her tongue should preserve the decency of the character she had assumed, at least till he should make a farther declaration of his sentiments; 'If I were, indeed,' answered she, 'all that can be described of beautiful, I could not, sure, be an offering too amiable for Heaven!'
'Heaven never gave you these perfections,' resumed he, 'to be concealed in a dark lonesome cell! Those melting lips of yours were never formed to kiss the feet of a cold lifeless image, or pour forth oraisons to unhearing saints, but to make blest some warm, some happy he, who knows and has the power of returning the raptures they bestow!' These last words were attended with such vehement and repeated pressures of the lips he praised, as left her no room to doubt the aim of his desires; as did the manner of her receiving them also convince him of his success.
'But are you in earnest, resolved to be a nun?' replied he. 'Since fate will have it so,' replied she with a deep sigh, and a look so languishing and so sweet as pierced his very soul. 'Make me your fate, then,' cried he impatiently: 'be mine, and not all the saints in the kalendar shall snatch you from me.'--'You are then--you must be, my fate!' said she, returning his embrace with equal eagerness: 'you have the power of fate; and are no less resistless. Henceforth I'll seek no other heaven but your love--your breast my altar--and your arms my cell!'
It will be easily supposed that, after this, she refused no liberties he thought fit to take. Nothing but the last favour was wanting to compleat his wishes; and to that he would not venture to proceed, for fear of an interruption: but they agreed to meet at the Portuguese ambassador's chapel at six o'clock that same evening. Mutual kisses and embraces having sealed the covenant, he went down to dress, and left her to compose her countenance against Mrs. Munden's return.
This very wicked woman, who had never any real thoughts of going into a monastery, and only intended to appropriate the money she expected from Mr. Thoughtless to such uses as might induce some man of fortune to make choice of her for a mistress, now gave herself little pain whether he granted her request or not, imagining she had found in Mr. Munden all she wished for, or could hope, in a gallant.
She affected, however, to Mrs. Munden, to be under some concern for this delay of her intended journey; but said she would employ the time she staid in such acts of devotion as should best prepare her to become a member of that sacred society which she soon hoped to be among. 'I have not been,' added she, 'for a long time, at confession; but I will go this afternoon, and ease my conscience of it's load of guilt.'
Thus impiously did she profane the name of religion, by making it the veil to cover the most shameful depravities of nature. On the arrival of the appointed hour, with looks of sanctity, and a heart full of impurity, she hasted to the place of rendezvous. The punctual Mr. Munden waited for her at the chapel-door, and conducted her where they had all the freedom they could wish of indulging their vicious inclinations.
They broke off this amorous intercourse much sooner than either of them desired; Mademoiselle de Roquelair not being able to find a plausible excuse to make to Mrs. Munden for staying beyond the time which her pretended devotions might be reasonably supposed to take up: but, to atone for this misfortune, a strategem was contrived between them, not only for their meeting next day, but also for their continuing together a much longer time. It was thus.
She told Mrs. Munden that the reverend father to whom she had confessed, informed her that a young lady, of a very worthy family in England, having passed her year of probation at a monastery in Bologne, and returned hither only to take an eternal leave of her friends, and of the world, was now just ready to go back, in order to be initiated. 'To this family,' added she, 'the good father has offered to introduce me to-morrow; and if the young lady approves of my being the companion of her voyage, as he assures me she certainly will, how happy shall I think myself!'
The truth of all this not being suspected by Mrs. Munden, she congratulated her upon it. It is easy to deceive the innocent; but, it must be owned, this wicked woman had subtlety enough to have imposed on a person more skilled in the artifices of the world than was the amiable lady on whom she practised it.
But, not to detain the reader's attention on so ungrateful a subject, I shall only say, that one assignation was still productive of another; and the credulity of the injured wife served only as a matter of mirth to the transgressing husband and his guilty partner.
But now the time was come when the subterfuges must necessarily be at an end, or become too gross not to be seen through. Mr. Thoughtless had seen his friend--had paid the money into his hands, and received a bill from him on the merchant at Bologne. When he delivered it to Mrs. Munden--'Sister,' said he, 'this paper will entitle your guest to the receipt of three hundred louis-d'ors on her arrival at Bologne: but I expect you will oblige her to depart immediately; for it is neither consistent with your reputation to keep her in your house, nor with my peace of mind that she should continue in the kingdom.' To which she replied, with a smile, 'That there was nothing more certain than that his commands, in this point, would be punctually obeyed.'
This lady was rejoiced at having accomplished what she thought so good a work; but, having perceived in Mademoiselle de Roquelair some abatement of her first eagerness for a religious life, she thought proper, on giving her the bill, to repeat to her the words her brother had said on that account: to which the other coolly answered, 'Your brother, Madam, need be under no apprehensions of my offending him in this point, or of giving you any farther trouble.'
This, though no more than what the lovers expected, was yet a dreadful shock to them both: great part of the time they were together that evening was taken up in talking of it. Mademoiselle de Roquelair protested that death was less cruel than being torn from her dear Munden thus early--thus in the infancy of their happiness; and gave some hints that she wished he would hire private lodgings for her: but she knew little of the temper of the man she had to deal with. He loved her as a mistress, but hated the expence of keeping her as a mistress: he therefore evaded all discourse on that head; and told her he fancied that, by pretences such as already had been made, she might still continue in the house. 'Means, at least,' said he, 'might be found out to protract our mutual misfortune, and give us more time to consider what we have to do.'
She agreed, however, to make the experiment; and poor Mrs. Munden was imposed upon, by some new invention, from one day to another, for upwards of a week: but, at last, beginning to fear there was something more at the bottom of these delays than was pretended, and her brother having sent twice in that time to know if his desires had been complied with, she resolved at once to put a period to inconveniences which she thought she could so easily get rid of.
Mademoiselle de Roquelair having staid abroad extremely late one night, she took the opportunity of her having done so, of speaking more plainly to her than her good-nature and complaisance had hitherto permitted her to do: she went up to her chamber next morning; and, with an air which had something of severity in it, 'You keep odd hours, Madam,' said she, 'for a person who affects to be so great a penitent; but I suppose you are now prepared to ease me of all concern on your account.'--'I shall trouble you no longer,' cried the other, 'till the young lady I told you of is ready to depart.'--'You will do well,' resumed Mrs. Munden, 'to remain with her till she is so; for, Madam, I must insist on your removal hence this day.'--'You will not turn me out of doors?' cried Mademoiselle de Roquelair. 'I hope you will not oblige me to an act so contrary to my nature,' replied Mrs. Munden. 'Say, rather, contrary to your power,' returned that audacious woman; and, coming up to her with the most unparalleled assurance, 'This house, which you forbid me,' pursued she, 'I think Mr. Munden is the master of; and I shall, therefore, continue in it till my convenience calls me from it, or he shall tell me I am no longer welcome!'
Impossible is it to describe, and difficult even to conceive, Mrs. Munden's astonishment at these words; to hear a woman thus doubly loaded with guilt and obligations--a woman, who but a few days past had been prostrate at her feet, imploring pity and protection, now all at once ungratefully contemning the benefits she had received, and insolently defying the authority to which she had flown for shelter; all this must certainly give a shock almost beyond the strength of human reason to sustain. 'Mr. Munden!' cried the injured fair-one, with a voice hardly intelligible, 'Mr. Munden!' She could utter no more; but flew down stairs with such rapidity that her feet scarce touched the steps.
Mr. Munden was not quite ready to go out--she found him in his dressing-room; and, throwing herself into a chair, half suffocated with passion, related to him, as well as she was able, the manner in which she had been treated; to which he replied, with a good deal of peevishness, 'Pr'ythee, do not trouble me with these idle stories; Mademoiselle de Roquelair is your guest--I have no concern in your little quarrels.'--'I hope,' said she, 'you will do me that justice which every wife has a right to expect, and convince the French hypocrite that I am too much the mistress of this house for any one to remain in it without my permission.'--'So you would make me the dupe of your resentment!' replied he scornfully; 'but positively I shall not do a rude thing to oblige you or any body else.' In speaking these words, having now adjusted his dress, he flung out of the room without giving her time to add any thing farther on a subject he was wholly unprepared to answer.
What a perplexing whirl of wild imaginations must such a behaviour from a husband excite in a wife, conscious of having done nothing to provoke it! Happy was it for her that love had the least share in her resentment--all her indifference could not enable her to support, with any degree of patience, so palpable a contempt--she returned directly to her own chamber; where, shutting herself up, she gave a loose to agitations too violent for words to represent.
Chapter XIX
Relates such things as the reader will, doubtless, think of very great importance, yet will hereafter be found of much greater then he can at present imagine
After this much-injured wife had vented some part of the overflowing passions of her soul in tears and exclamations, she began to consider, with more calmness, in which manner she ought to behave, in so amazing a circumstance. She had not the least propensity in her nature to jealousy; yet she could not think that any thing less than a criminal correspondence between her husband and this Frenchwoman, could induce the one, or embolden the other, to act as they had done towards her.
'Neither divine nor human laws,' said she, 'nor any of those obligations by which I have hitherto looked upon myself as bound, can now compel me any longer to endure the cold neglects, the insults, the tyranny, of this most ungrateful, most perfidious man! I have discharged the duties of my station; I have fully proved I know how to be a good wife, if he had known how to be even a tolerable husband: wherefore, then, should I hesitate to take the opportunity, which this last act of baseness gives me, of easing myself of that heavy yoke I have laboured under for so many cruel months?'
She would not, however, do anything precipitately; it was not sufficient, she thought, that she should be justified to herself, she was willing also to be justified in the opinion of her friends: her brother was the first person to be consulted; she resolved, therefore, to go immediately to him; but as it was necessary to put something in order before her departure, in case she should return no more, she called the maid, who always waited on her in her chamber, to assist her on this occasion.
She locked up her jewels, and what other trinkets she had of value, in an amber-cabinet, and made her wearing-apparel be also disposed of in proper utensils, leaving out only some linen, and other necessaries, for the present use, which she also caused to be packed up. The poor maid, who loved her mistress dearly, and easily guessed the meaning of these preparations, could not refrain weeping all the time she was thus employed. 'Ah, Madam!' cried she, 'what a sad thing it is that married gentlemen will be so foolish!--Hang all the French, I say!'--'What do'st mean, Jenny?' said Mrs. Munden. 'Ah, Madam!' replied she, 'I should have told you before, but that I was afraid of making you uneasy: but, since I find you know how things are, I shall make no secret of it. You may remember, Madam, that you gave me leave last Monday to go to see my sister--she lives in St. Martin's Lane--it would have been nearer for me, indeed, to have gone through the Mews; but, I know not how it happened, I went by Charing Cross; and, just as I was going to cross the way, who should I see pop out of a hackney-coach but my master and this Frenchwoman--they hurried together, arm in arm, into a bagnio--and you know, Madam, some of those places have but an ugly name: for my part, I was so confounded that I scarce knew whether I stood upon my head or my heels; but I did not say a word of what I had seen when I came home, till just now John came down and told us all how that wicked woman had affronted you.'
Mrs. Munden then recalled that Mr. Munden's man was in the room when she related the behaviour of Mademoiselle de Roquelair; which she now was not sorry for, nor of the fresh proof given her by this maid of the perfidy of her husband.
'Well, Jenny,' said she, 'I am not yet determined how I shall proceed; I am going to my brother's, and shall take Tom with me: if I do not come back to-night, he shall bring you instructions what things to send me; but, in the mean time, say nothing to your master of what we have been talking.'
Mrs. Munden could not forbear shedding tears, as she was going into her chair, at the thoughts of this exile, voluntary as it was, from a house she had so much right to call her own; but the poor maid roared out so loud at seeing her depart, that it brought all the servants out of the kitchen to know what was the matter; which, being told by Jenny, occasioned so general a grief among them for the loss of so good a mistress, that had Mademoiselle de Roquelair remained in the house, and the same servants also been continued, it is possible she would have had little either of respect or obedience from them.
But fortune spared this mortification, in order to inflict a much greater one on her ingratitude and treachery. Mr. Munden had not quitted the presence of his wife many minutes before he began to reflect seriously on this accident; he found it might prove a very vexatious one, if the consequences it seemed to threaten were not in time prevented: he highly blamed Mademoiselle de Roquelair for her behaviour to Mrs. Munden; not so much because it might give that lady room to suspect in what manner he had wronged her, as because it plainly shewed that the other intended to pin herself on him, and oblige him to support her--a thing which did not at all suit with his humour; he had gratified his passion almost to a surfeit--a very little longer time would have made him as heartily wish to get rid of her, as he had ever done to gain her; and although it could not be said he was as yet altogether cloyed with the pleasures she so lavishly bestowed, yet a little examination into the extent of his inclinations, convinced him that he could bear the loss of her for ever without pain.
While the blood runs high, and the fire is rampant for possession, prudence is of little force; but when the one begins to flag, the other resumes its empire over the mind, and never rests till it finds means to retrieve what it has lost: he could now consider that the money remitted to Bologne by Mr. Thoughtless could be received by nobody but Mademoiselle de Roquelair herself, and that it was probable that gentleman, if told the usage that had been given to his sister, might be provoked to recal his order, and prevent the payment of it at all. This seemed, however, a plausible pretence for persuading her to go away directly, and also for making a merit to his wife of what he did.
Having fully determined within himself how to proceed in this affair, he shortened his morning's walk, and came home some hours before the usual time: he was at first a little fretted on being told Mrs. Munden was gone to her brother's, not doubting but the errand on which she went was to complain of the treatment she had received; but Jenny carefully concealing what her mistress had said to her concerning her intentions of coming back no more, he passed it lightly over, imagining her accusations and reproaches would cease, the object of them being once removed.
He found no difficulty in prevailing on Mademoiselle de Roquelair to go to Bologne. Three hundred louis-d'ors was too tempting a sum to be forfeited merely for the want of a little jaunt, especially as she considered that she might accomplish her business there and return to London within the compass of a very few days; and he told her that he would hire lodgings for her against her coming back.
'Well, then, my angel,' said he, 'no time is to be lost: as this is not post day, if you set out immediately for Dover, you may be at Bologne, and have received the money before any letter can reach that place to prevent it; for it is very likely that the spite my wife has towards you, may work upon the resentment of her brother to attempt such a thing.' Everything being concluded upon for this expedition, he went himself to procure a post-chaise, appointing her to meet him at a place he mentioned to her in an hour at farthest.
As he had promised to send all her baggage to the lodgings which he should provide for her return, she had nothing to do but to pack up some few necessaries to take with her. This little work being soon over, a hackney-coach carried her to the house that had been agreed upon; where she saw a post-chaise already at the door, and the diligent Mr. Munden waiting for her coming: as she proposed to reach Canterbury that same night, and it was then past two o'clock, the lovers were obliged to take a very hasty leave.
This double, deceitful man, having a farther view in what he did than she had any notion of, told her, at parting, that it would be proper for her to stay at Bologne till she received a letter from him with an account in what street and part of the town the lodgings he should provide for her were situated, to the end she might come directly into them on her arrival: he spoke this with an air so full of tenderness and care for her repose, that she had not the least suspicion of his drift; and replied, that she would not fail to do as he advised, but desired he would be as speedy as possible in writing to her; 'For,' cried she, embracing him, 'I shall think every day a year till I return to the arms of my dear Munden!'
Having thus, in reality, discarded, his mistress, though without her knowing he had done so, he went home, in order to boast to his wife of the complaisance he had shewn to her in this affair; but, finding she was not yet come back, he called for her maid, and bid her tell her, the moment she should return, that he had complied with her request, and made the Frenchwoman go out of the house.
After having said this, he went out again, and came not home till late at night; when he was confounded beyond measure on finding a letter from Mrs. Munden, which had been left for him by her own footman in the beginning of the evening; and contained these lines.
'To Mr. Munden.
Sir,
As you cannot but be sensible that the mutual engagements between us have been strictly adhered to on my part, and almost in every particular falsified on yours, you ought not to be surprized that I have at last resolved to put a final end to a way of life so unpleasing in the eyes of Heaven, and so disagreeable to ourselves: it never was in my power to make you truly happy, nor in your will to make me even tolerably easy; I therefore fly for ever from your ill-usage, and once more put myself under the protection of my friends, to whom I also shall commit the care of settling with you the terms of our separation; which being once agreed upon, you will not be troubled either with the complaints, or the reproaches, of your much-injured wife,
B. MUNDEN.
P.S. I have removed nothing out of your house but what was my own before marriage.'
Upon enquiring further into the matter, he was informed that Mrs. Munden had, indeed, removed a large India-chest, a bureau, cabinet dressing-table; and, in fine, every thing that belonged immediately to herself; and also that his family was now reduced to two, her own man and maid having followed her.
All this convincing him how much she was in earnest, involved him in the most perplexing cogitations; not that he regretted the parting with her through any remains of affection, or that his hardened heart was touched with a just sensibility of her merit, or with any repentance of his ill treatment of her; but that he knew such an affair must necessarily be attended with some noise and confusion, and in many respects give him a good deal of embarrassment: it was therefore these last two reasons which alone determined him to make use of all his artifice to bring about a second reconciliation.
That beautiful lady, in the mean time, had thoughts much more composed; her brother had received her in the most affectionate manner--had approved her conduct in regard to her unfaithful husband--had assured her of the continuance of his friendship and protection; and, before she could request it of him, invited her, and such of her servants as she chose should attend her, to remain in his house as long as she should think fit. He desired her to take upon her the sole command and management of his house and family, and assigned the best apartment for her particular use: in fine, he omitted nothing that might convince her of a sincere welcome.
On discoursing together concerning her obtaining a separate maintenance, it was the opinion of both of them, that Mr. Markland the lawyer should be advised with, as he was a man who could not but be well experienced in such affairs; and accordingly a servant was dispatched to that gentleman, to desire he would come to them the next day.
But though she had reason to be highly satisfied with the reception given her by her brother, yet she could not be quite easy till she should hear what judgment her dear Lady Loveit would pass on the step she had taken. She went the next morning to pay a visit at that lady's toilette; she related to her sincerely every particular of the provocation she had received, the manner in which she had resented it, and the resolution she had taken of living in an eternal state of separation from so bad a man: to which Lady Loveit replied, that though she was extremely sorry for the occasion, yet she thought if she had acted otherwise, it would have been an injustice not only to herself, but to all wives in general, by setting them an example of submitting to things required of them neither by law nor nature.
This encouragement, from a lady of her known scrupulous disposition, made Mrs. Munden not doubt but she would be equally absolved by Lady Trusty and her brother Frank; to both whom she wrote an account of all she had done.
On her return from Lady Loveit's, she found a letter from Mr. Munden, in answer to that she had sent to him the day before: the contents whereof were as follow.
'To Mrs. Munden.
Madam,
The unaccountableness of your behaviour astonishes me! For heaven's sake, how can you answer to yourself the having quitted your husband's house for so trifling a pretence? It is true, I did not at first give much regard to your complaint against Mademoiselle de Roquelair; but, on considering it, I obliged her to depart immediately. I do assure you she set out yesterday for Dover, and I believe by this time is as far as Calais on her way to Bologne; so that there now remains no excuse for your absenting yourself: and if you should continue to do so, it will be a very plain proof that you are extremely wanting in that duty and affection which the laws both of God and man expect from you. But I flatter myself that is not the case; and therefore expect you will return with all possible expedition to him who will be always ready to prove himself your most affectionate husband,
G. MUNDEN.
P.S. I know not what you mean by terms of separation: a wife who elopes from her husband forfeits all claim to every thing that is his, and can expect nothing from him till she returns to her obedience; but were it otherwise, and the law entirely on your side in this point, you might be certain that I look upon the happiness of possessing you in too just a light to be easily brought into any agreement that would deprive me of you.'
Though Mr. Munden wanted not cunning in most things, yet in writing this epistle he seemed not to consider the spirit or the penetration of his wife, who, he might have known, had too great a share of both to be either intimidated by the majesterial air of some of the expressions, or soothed by the fawning, unsincere compliments, of the others.
This vain attempt therefore only served to remind her of the many proofs she had received both of his ill-nature and deceit towards her; and, instead of weakening the resolution she had taken of not living with him again, rather rendered it more strong and permanent.
Chapter XX
More of the same
Mr. Markland did not, like too many of his profession, ever flatter his clients with an assurance of success in any cause of which he himself was doubtful: he plainly told Mrs. Munden, that he feared not all the ill-usage she had sustained would be sufficient to compel her husband to allow her a separate maintenance. 'Honour and generosity may, indeed,' added he, 'oblige him to do that which, I am very apprehensive, the law will not enforce him to.'
'Alas!' cried Mrs. Munden, bursting into tears, 'if I can have no relief but from his honour and generosity, I must be miserable!'--'Not so, my dear sister,' said Mr. Thoughtless, 'while you have a brother who has it in his power to support you against all the injuries of fortune, and the injustice of a husband so unworthy of you.'
She thanked him in terms which so affectionate an offer demanded from her, but could not help appearing very much dejected at what Mr. Markland had said to her: on which, 'Madam,' said he, 'though the letter of the law may not be altogether so favourable for you in this point as you certainly deserve, yet, notwithstanding that, and how refractory soever Mr. Munden may be in his principles or dispositions, I hope there may be means found to bring him to do you justice. I will wait on him--will talk to him in a proper manner; and do flatter myself with being able to give you a good account of what I have done.'
It is not to be doubted but both the brother and the sister earnestly intreated he would exert all his abilities in an affair which they easily saw would be difficult enough to manage; but the answers of this honest, good-natured gentleman, soon convinced them that there was no need of any persuasions to induce him to do every thing in his power for the service of ill-treated innocence.
Mrs. Munden having told him that about eleven o'clock was the most certain time for her husband to be spoke with, he went the next morning at that hour: on sending up his name, Mr. Munden guessed the errand on which he came; but that did not hinder him from ordering he should be introduced, nor, when he was so, from receiving him with that politeness he always used to strangers.
Mr. Markland began with telling him he was extremely sorry for the occasion on which he waited on him that morning; 'I little imagined,' said he, 'that when I drew up the articles for an union between you, Sir, and Mrs. Munden, I should ever have been employed in transacting a deed of separation: but, since it has unhappily proved so, I hope, at least, it may be done as amicably as the nature of the thing will admit.'
Mr. Munden at first affected to treat this proposal in a manner somewhat ludicrous; but perceiving it was not well taken by the other, 'You will pardon me, Sir,' cried he; 'I protest I am under the greatest consternation in the world, that my wife should have the assurance to trouble a gentleman of your character on so foolish an affair: upon my honour, Sir, there is nothing in it but mere whim--caprice!'
'If I did not think it sufficiently serious,' replied Mr. Markland, 'and were not also well convinced you will hereafter find it so, I should not have given either myself or you the trouble of this visit: but, Sir,' continued he, 'you may depend that the lady's complaints will have their weight.'
'All womanish spite, upon my soul, Sir!' resumed Mr. Munden; 'I defy her to accuse me of any one action that can justify her quitting my house, much less to prove any real injury received from me; without which, you know, Sir, there can be no pretence for separation.'
'You cannot as yet, Sir, be sensible what is in her power to prove,' said the lawyer: 'but God forbid this unhappy dissention should ever come to that! for, admitting she should be wanting in such proofs as the strictness of the law requires in these cases, the very attempt must necessarily involve you in an infinity of disquiet. Consider, Sir,' pursued he, 'when the affairs of a family are laid open, and every dispute between the husband and the wife exposed before a court of judicature, or even in a petition to a Lord Chancellor, the whole becomes a publick talk, and furnishes a matter of ridicule for the unthinking scoffers of the age.'
'I can easily prevent all this,' cried Mr. Munden hastily, 'by procuring a warrant from the Lord Chief Justice to force her immediately home.'--'You may certainly do so,' cried Mr. Markland, with a half smile; 'but, Sir, are you sure of keeping her at home when you have got her there? Is it not in her power to leave you again the same day, nay, even the same hour, in which you compelled her to return? so that your whole time may be spent in an unavailing chase, somewhat of a piece with the fable of the Sisyphæan stone, which, as often as the driver forced to the height he aimed at, rolled back to it's beloved descent. In short, Sir, as Mrs. Munden is determined to live apart, you have no way to preserve her but by confinement; and I appeal to your own judgment how that would look in the eyes of the world, and what occasion for complaint it would afford to all her friends, who would, doubtless, have a strict watch on your behaviour.'
These words threw Mr. Munden into a deep reverie, which the other would not interrupt, being willing to see how far this last remonstrance had worked upon him; till, coming out of it, and vexed that he had shewn any discomposure; 'Well, Sir,' said he, 'if she resolves to persist in this obstinacy, let her enjoy her humour; I shall give myself no pain about it; but she must not expect I shall allow one penny towards her maintenance.'
It was on this head that Mr. Markland found he had occasion to employ all the rhetorick he was master of: he urged the unreasonableness, the injustice, the cruelty, of denying the means of subsistence to a lady whose whole fortune he enjoyed; said such a thing was altogether unprecedented among persons of condition; and, to prove what he alledged, produced many instances of wives who, on parting from their husbands, were allowed a provision proportionable to the sums they had brought in marriage.
All these arguments were enforced in terms so strong and so pathetick, that Mr. Munden could make no other answer than, that he did not desire to part--that it was her own fault--and that if she would not return to her duty, she ought to be starved into a more just sense of it--and that he was very sure the law would not compel him to do any thing for her: on which Mr. Markland again reminded him of the vexation, the fatigue, the disgrace, with which a suit commenced by either party must be attended, in whose favour soever the decision should be made.
He talked so long on the subject, that Mr. Munden, either to get rid of him, or because he was really uncertain what to do, at last told him that he would consider on what he had been saying, and let him know his resolution in a week's time. Mr. Markland then replied, that he would trouble him no farther for the present; and after having prefixed a day for waiting on him again, took his leave.
The mind of Mr. Munden was, indeed, in the utmost confusion amidst that variety of vexatious incidents which he had now to struggle with--the little probability he found there was of re-establishing himself in the favour of his patron--the loss of all his hopes that way--the sudden departure of a wife whom, though he had no affection for, he looked upon as a necessary appendix to his house--the noise her having taken such a step would make in the town--the apprehensions of being obliged to grant her a separate maintenance; all these things put together, it is certain, were sufficient to overwhelm a man of less impatient temper.
He cursed his amour with the Frenchwoman, as having been the cause of this last misfortune falling on him; and, to prevent all farther trouble on her account, ordered that the baggage she had left behind should be immediately put on board a vessel, and sent after her to Bologne: he also wrote to her at the same time, acquainting her with the disturbance which had happened; and that it was highly necessary for his future peace that he should see her no more, nor even hold any correspondence with her.
Mrs. Munden, in the mean time, was far from being perfectly easy; though Mr. Markland gave her hopes that her husband would very speedily be brought to settle things between them in a reasonable way; and her brother was every day giving her fresh assurances of his friendship and protection, whether that event proved favourable or not: yet all this was not enough to quell some scruples which now rose in her mind; the violence of that passion which had made her resolve to leave Mr. Munden being a little evaporated, the vows she had made him at the altar were continually in her thoughts; she could not quite assure herself that a breach of that solemn covenant was to be justified by any provocations; nor whether the worst usage on the part of the husband could authorize resentment in that of a wife.
She was one day disburdening her disquiets on this score to her dear Lady Loveit, in terms which made that lady see, more than ever she had done before, the height of her virtue, and the delicacy of her sentiments, when Sir Bazil came hastily into the room with a paper in his hand; and after paying his compliments to Mrs. Munden, 'My dear,' said he to his lady, 'I have very agreeable news to tell you; I have just received a letter from my brother Trueworth, which informs me that he is upon the road, and we shall have him with us this evening.'--'I am extremely glad,' replied she; 'and, likewise, that he is so good to let us know it, that I may make some little preparations for his welcome.'
Mrs. Munden could not be told that Mr. Trueworth was so near, and might presently be in the same room with her, without the utmost confusion; which she fearing would be observed, laid hold of the pretence Lady Loveit's last words furnished her with, of taking her leave; and, rising hastily up, 'I will wait on your ladyship,' said she, 'at a more convenient time; for I perceive you are now going to be busy.'--'Not at all,' replied the other; 'three words will serve for all the instructions I have to give; therefore, pr'ythee, dear creature, sit down.' In speaking these words, she took hold of one of her hands, and Sir Bazil of the other, in order to replace her on the settee she had just quitted; but she resisting their efforts, and desiring to be excused staying any longer, 'I protest,' cried Lady Loveit, 'this sudden resolution of leaving us would make one think you did it to avoid Mr. Trueworth! and, if that be the case, I must tell you, that you are very ungrateful, as he always expresses the greatest regard for you.'--'Aye, aye!' said Sir Bazil, laughing; 'old love cannot be forgot: I have heard him utter many tender things of the charming Miss Betsy Thoughtless, even since his marriage with my sister.'
'I ought not, then,' replied she, 'to increase the number of obligations I have to him by that compassion which I know he would bestow on my present distress: but I assure you, Sir Bazil, I would not quit you and my dear Lady Loveit thus abruptly, if some letters I have to write, and other affairs which require immediate dispatch, did not oblige me to it.'
On this they would not offer to detain her; and she went home to give a loose to those agitations which the mention of Mr. Trueworth always involved her in.
Chapter XXI
Affords variety of amusement
Mrs. Munden was so ignorant of her own heart, in relation to what it felt on Mr. Trueworth's account, that she imagined she had only fled his presence because she could not bear a man who had courted her so long should see her thus unhappy by the choice she had made of another.
'I am well assured,' cried she, 'that he has too much generosity to triumph in my misfortune, and too much complaisance to remind me of the cause: yet would his eyes tacitly reproach my want of judgment; and mine, too, might perhaps, in spite of me, confess, as the poet says, that--
"I, like the child, whose folly prov'd it's loss, Refus'd the gold, and did accept the dross."
This naturally leading her into some reflections on the merits of Mr. Trueworth, she could not help wondering by what infatuation she had been governed when rejecting him, or, what was tantamount to rejecting him, treating him in such a manner as might make him despair of being accepted.--'What, though my heart was insensible of love,' said she, 'my reason, nay, my very pride, might have influenced me to embrace a proposal which would have rendered me the envy of my own sex, and excited the esteem and veneration of the other.' Thinking still more deeply, 'O God!' cried she with vehemence, 'to what a height of happiness might I have been raised! and into what an abyss of wretchedness am I now plunged!--Irretrievably undone--married without loving or being beloved--lost in my bloom of years to every joy that can make life a blessing!'
Nothing so much sharpens the edge of affliction as a consciousness of having brought it upon ourselves, to remember that all we could wish for, all that could make us truly happy, was once in our power to be possessed of; and wantonly shunning the good that Heaven and fortune offered, we headlong run into the ills we mourn, rendering them doubly grievous.
This being the case with our heroine, how ought all the fair and young to guard against a vanity so fatal to a lady, who, but for that one foible, had been the happiest, as she was in all other respects the most deserving, of her sex! But to return.
A just sensibility of the errors of her past conduct, joined with some other emotions, which the reader may easily guess at, though she as yet knew not the meaning of herself, gave her but little repose that night; and, pretty early the next morning, she received no inconsiderable addition to her perplexities.
The time in which Mr. Munden had promised to give his answer to the lawyer was now near expired; yet he was as irresolute as ever: loath he was to have the affair between him and his wife made publick, and equally loath to comply with her demands. Before he did either, it therefore came into his head to try what effect menaces would produce; and accordingly wrote to her in these terms.
'To Mrs. Munden.
Madam,
Though your late behaviour has proved the little affection you have for me, I still retain too much for you to be able to part with you. No! be assured, I never will forego the right that marriage gives me over you--will never yield to live a widower while I am a husband; and, if you return not within four and twenty hours, shall take such measures as the law directs, to force you back to my embraces. By this time to-morrow you may expect to have such company at your levee as you will not be well pleased with, and from whose authority not all your friends can screen you: but, as I am unwilling to expose you, I once more court you to spare yourself this disgrace, and me the pain of inflicting it. I give you this day to consider on what you have to do. The future peace of us both depends on your result; for your own reason ought to inform you, that being brought to me by compulsion will deserve other sort of treatment than such as you might hope to find on returning of your own accord to your much-affronted husband,
G. MUNDEN.'
This letter very much alarmed both the sister and the brother: the former trembled at the thoughts of seeing herself in the hands of the officers of justice; and the latter could not but be uneasy that a disturbance of this kind should happen in his house. They were just going to send for Mr. Markland, to consult him on what was to be done, when that gentleman, whom chance had brought that way, luckily came in. He found Mr. Thoughtless in great discomposure, and Mrs. Munden almost drowned in tears. On being informed of the occasion, 'I see no reason,' said he gravely, 'for all this: I cannot think that Mr. Munden will put in execution what he threatens; at last, not till after I have spoke to him again. I rather think he writes in this manner only to terrify you, Madam, into a submission to his will. However,' continued he, after a pretty long pause, 'to be secure from all danger of an affront this way, I think it would be highly proper you should retire to some place where he may not know to find you, till I have once more tried how far he may be prevailed upon to do you justice.'
This advice being highly approved of, 'My wife's sister,' resumed he, 'has a very pleasant and commodious house on the bank of the river on the Surrey side--she takes lodgers sometimes; but at present is without: so that, if you resolve to be concealed, you cannot find a more convenient retreat; especially as, it's being so near London, nothing of moment can happen here but what you may be apprized of in little more than an hour.'
Mrs. Munden testifying as much satisfaction at this proposal as a person in her circumstances could be capable of feeling, Mr. Markland told her that he was ready to conduct her immediately to the place he mentioned; and her brother adding that he would accompany them, and see his sister safe to her new abode, they all set out together on their little voyage; Mrs. Munden having first given directions to her servants where they should follow her with such things as she thought would be wanted during her stay there.
On their arrival, they found Mr. Markland had spoken very modestly of the place he recommended: the house was pleasant almost beyond description, and rendered much more so by the obliging behaviour of its owner.
They all dined together that day; and, on parting, it was agreed that Mrs. Munden should send her man every morning to town, in order to bring her intelligence of whatever accidents had happened in relation to her affairs on the preceding day.
As much as this lady had been rejoiced at the kind reception she had met with from her brother under her misfortunes, she was now equally pleased at being removed for a time from him, not only because she thought herself secure from any insults that might be offered by her husband, but also because this private recess seemed a certain defence against the sight of Mr. Trueworth--a thing she knew not well how to have avoided in town, without breaking off her acquaintance with Lady Loveit.
After the gentlemen were gone, the sister-in-law of Mr. Markland led her fair guest into the garden, which before she had only a cursory view of. She shewed her, among many other things, several curious exotick plants, which, she told her, she had procured from the nurseries of some persons of condition to whom she had the honour to be known: but Mrs. Munden being no great connoisseur that way, did not take much notice of what she said concerning them; till, coming to the lower end, she perceived a little wicker-gate. 'To where does this lead?' cried she. 'I will shew you presently, Madam,' replied the other; and, pulling it open, they both entered into a grass-walk, hemmed in on each side with trees, which seemed as old as the creation. They had not gone many paces, before an arbour, erected between two of these venerable monuments of antiquity, and overspread with jessamines and honeysuckles, attracted Mrs. Munden's eyes. 'Oh, how delightful is this!' said she. 'It would have been much more so, Madam, if it had been placed on the other side of the walk,' said the gentlewoman; 'and, if I live till next spring, will have the position of it altered. You will presently see my reasons for it,' continued she, 'if you please to turn your eyes a little to the right.' Mrs. Munden doing as she was desired, had the prospect of a very beautiful garden, decorated with plots of flowers, statues, and trees cut in a most elegant manner. 'Does all this belong to you?' demanded she, somewhat surprized. 'No, Madam,' answered the other; 'but they are part of the same estate, and, at present, rented by a gentleman of condition, who lives at the next door. The walk we are in is also common to us both, each having a gate to enter it at pleasure; though, indeed, they little frequent it, having much finer of their own.' With such like chat they beguiled the time, till the evening dew reminded them it was best to quit the open air.
Mrs. Munden passed this night in more tranquillity than she had done many preceding ones: she awoke, however, much sooner than was her custom; and, finding herself less disposed to return to the embraces of sleep than to partake that felicity she heard a thousand chearful birds tuning their little throats in praise of, she rose, and went down into the garden: the contemplative humour she was in, led her to the arbour she had been so much charmed with the night before; she threw herself upon the mossy seat, where scenting the fragrancy of the sweets around her, made more delicious by the freshness of the morning's gale, 'How delightful, how heavenly!' said she to herself, 'is this solitude! how truly preferable to all the noisy, giddy pleasures, of the tumultuous town! yet how have I despised and ridiculed the soft sincerity of a country life!' Then recollecting some discourse she formerly had with Mr. Trueworth on that subject, 'I wonder,' cried she, 'what Mr. Trueworth would say if he knew the change that a little time has wrought in me! he would certainly find me now more deserving of his friendship than ever he could think me of his love: but he is ignorant, insensible, of my real sentiments; and if Sir Bazil and Lady Loveit should tell him with what abruptness I fled their house at the news of his approach, I must appear in his eyes the most vain, stupid, thankless, creature I once was. But, such is my unhappy situation, that I dare not even wish he should discover what passes in my heart: the just sensibility of his amiable qualities, and of the services he has done me, which would once have been meritorious in me to have avowed, would now be highly criminal.'
With these reflections she took out Mr. Trueworth's picture, which she always carried about her; and, looking on it with the greatest tenderness, 'Though I no more must see himself,' said she, 'I may, at least, be allowed to pay the tribute of my gratitude to this dumb representative of the man to whom I have been so much obliged.' At this instant, a thousand proofs of love given her by the original of the copy in her hand, occurring all at once to her remembrance, tears filled her eyes, and her breast swelled with involuntary sighs.
In this painfully pleasing amusement did she continue for some time; and had, doubtless, done so much longer, if a sudden rustling among the leaves behind her, had not made her turn her head to see what had occasioned it: but where are the words that can express the surprize, the wild confusion, she was in, when the first glance of her eyes presented her with the sight of the real object, whose image she had been thus tenderly contemplating! She shrieked--the picture dropped from her hand--the use of her faculties forsook her--she sunk from the seat where she was sitting, and had certainly fainted quite away but for the immediate assistance of the person who had caused the extraordinary emotions.
Her fancy, indeed, strong as it was, had formed no visionary appearance--it was the very identical Mr. Trueworth whom chance had brought to make the discovery of a secret which, of all things in the world, he had the least suspicion of.
He was intimately acquainted with the person to whom the house adjoining to that where Mrs. Munden lodged belonged; and, hearing where he was, on his return from Oxfordshire, had come the evening before, intending to pass a day or two with him in this agreeable recess.
As he was never a friend to much sleeping, he rose that morning, and went down into the garden before the greatest part of the family had quitted their beds: he saw Mrs. Munden while at too great a distance to know who she was; yet did her air and motion, as she walked, strike him with something which made him willing to see what sort of face belonged to so genteel a form. Drawing more near, his curiosity was gratified with a sight he little expected: he was just about to accost her with the salutation of the morning, when she went into the arbour, and seated herself in the manner already described. The extreme pensiveness of her mind had hindered her from perceiving that any one was near; but the little covert under which she was placed being open on both sides, he had a full view of every thing she did. Though she was in the most negligent night-dress that could be, she seemed as lovely to him as ever; all his first flames rekindled in his heart, while gazing on her with this uninterrupted freedom: he longed to speak to her, but durst not, lest, by doing so, he should be deprived of the pleasure he now enjoyed; till, observing she had something in her hand which she seemed to look upon with great attention, and sometimes betrayed agitations he had never seen in her before, he was impatient to discover, if possible, the motive; he therefore advanced as gently as he could towards the back of the arbour; which having no wood-work, and the leafy canopy only supported by ozier boughs placed at a good distance from each other, he had a full opportunity of beholding all that the reader has been told. But what was his amazement to find it was his own picture!--that very picture, which had been taken from the painter's, was the object of her meditations! He heard her sighs--he saw her lovely hand frequently put up to wipe away the tears that fell from her eyes while looking on it; he also saw her, more than once, (though, doubtless, in those moments, not knowing what she did) press the lifeless image to her bosom with the utmost tenderness: scarce could he give credit to the testimony of his senses, near as he was to her; he even strained his sight to be more sure; and, forgetting all the precautions he had taken, thrust himself as far as he was able between the branches of which the arbour was composed.
On perceiving the effect this last action had produced, the gate, though not above twenty paces off, seemed too slow a passage to fly to her relief; and, setting his foot upon a pedestal of a statue, quick as thought, or the flash of elemental fire, sprang over the myrtle-hedge that parted the garden from the walk. 'Ah, Madam!' cried he, catching her in his arms to hinder her from falling, 'what has the unhappy Trueworth done to render his presence so alarming! How have I deserved to appear thus dreadful in your eyes!'
That admirable presence of mind which Mrs. Munden had shewn on many occasions, did not on this entirely leave her: the time he was speaking those few words sufficed to enable her to recollect her scattered spirits; and, withdrawing herself from the hold he had taken of her, and removing a little farther on the bench, as if to give him room to sit, 'Sir,' said she, with a voice pretty well composed, 'the obligations I have to you demand other sort of sentiments than those you seem to accuse me of; but I thought myself alone, and was not guarded against the surprize of meeting you in this place.'--'I ought, indeed,' replied he, 'to have been more cautious in my approach, especially as I found you deep in contemplation; which, perhaps, I have been my own enemy by interrupting.'
Till he spoke in this manner, she was not quite assured how far he had been witness of her behaviour; but what he now said confirming her of what she had but feared before, threw her into a second confusion little inferior to the former. He saw it--but saw it without that pity he would have felt had it proceeded from any other motive; and, eager to bring her to a more full eclaircissement, 'If you really think, Madam,' said he, 'that you have any obligations to me, you may requite them all by answering sincerely to one question. Tell me, I beseech you,' continued he, taking up the picture, which she had neither thought nor opportunity to remove from the place where it had fallen; 'resolve me how this little picture came into your possession?' What was now the condition of Mrs. Munden! She could neither find any pretence to evade the truth, nor fit words to confess it; till Mr. Trueworth repeating his request, and vowing he would never leave her till she granted it, 'What need have I to answer?' said she, blushing. 'You know it what manner it was taken from the painter's; and the sight of it in my hand is sufficient to inform you of the whole.'
'Charming declaration!--transporting, ravishing, to thought!' cried he, kissing her hand. 'O had I known it sooner, engaged as I then was to one who well deserved my love; could I have guessed Miss Betsy Thoughtless was the contriver of that tender fraud; I know not what revolution might have happened in my heart! the empire you had there was never totally extirpated; and kindness might have regained what cruelty had lost!'--'Do not deceive yourself, Sir,' said she, interrupting him with all the courage she could assume; 'nor mistake that for love which was only the effect of mere gratitude.' These words were accompanied with a look which once would have struck him with the most submissive awe; but he was now too well acquainted with the sentiments she had for him to be deterred by any other outward shew of coldness. 'Call it by what name you please,' cried he, 'so you permit me the continuance of it, and vouchsafe me the same favours you bestow on my insensible resemblance.' In speaking this, he threw his arms about her waist, not regarding the efforts she made to hinder him, and clasped her to his breast with a vehemence which in all his days of courtship to her he never durst attempt. 'Forbear, Sir,' said she; 'you know I am not at liberty to be entertained with discourses, or with actions, of this nature. Loose me this moment! or be assured, all the kind thoughts I had of you, and on which you have too much presumed, will be converted into the extremest hatred and detestation!' The voice in which she uttered this menace convincing him how much she was in earnest, he let go his hold, removed some paces from her, and beheld her for some moments with a silent admiration. 'I have obeyed you, Madam!' cried he, with a deep sigh; 'you are all angel--be all angel still! Far be it from me to tempt you from the glorious height you stand in: yet how unhappy has this interview made me! I love you without daring even to wish for a return! nay, so fully has your virtue conquered, that I must love you more for the repulse you have given my too audacious hopes. You may at least pity the fate to which I am condemned.'
'It would be in vain for me,' replied she, in a voice somewhat broken by the inward conflict she sustained, 'to endeavour to conceal what my inadvertencies have so fully betrayed to you; and you may assure yourself, that I shall think on you with all the tenderness that honour, and the duties of my station, will admit. But remember, Sir, I am a wife; and, being such, ought never to see you more: in regard, therefore, to my reputation and peace of mind, I must intreat you will henceforth avoid my presence with the same care I will do yours.'
'Severe as this injunction is,' replied he, 'my soul avows the justice of it; and I submit.'--'Farewel, then!' said she, rising from her feet. 'Oh, farewel!' cried he, and kissed her hand with emotions not to be expressed. 'Farewel for ever!' rejoined she, turning hastily away to prevent his seeing the tears with which her eyes were overcharged, and in that cruel instant overflowed her cheeks. She advanced with all the speed she could towards the wicker-gate; but, when there, could not forbear giving one look behind; and, perceiving he had left the walk, and was proceeding through the garden, with folded arms, and a dejected pace, 'Poor Trueworth!' cried she, and pursued him with her eyes till he was quite out of sight.
Some readers may, perhaps, blame Mr. Trueworth, as having presumed too far on the discovery of the lady's passion; and others, of a contrary way of thinking, laugh at him for being so easily repulsed: but all, in general, must applaud the conduct of Mrs. Munden. Till this dangerous instance, she had never had an opportunity of shewing the command she had over herself; and, as Mr. Eastcourt justly says--
'Ne'er let the fair-one boast of virtue prov'd, Till she has well refus'd the man she truly lov'd.'
Chapter XXII
Is less pleasing than the former
After this solemn parting between Mr. Trueworth and Mrs. Munden, that lady's mind was in too much disorder to think what was become of the little picture that had occasioned it; till, an hour or two after, the maid of the house came running into the chamber with it in her hand. 'Does this pretty picture belong to you, Madam?' said she. Mrs. Munden started; but, soon recovering herself, answered that it did--said that it was the picture of her youngest brother--and that she believed she might pull it out of her pocket with her handkerchief, or some how or other drop it in the walk. 'Aye, to be sure, it was so,' said the maid; 'for it was there I found it: as I was going to the pump for some water, I saw something that glittered just by the little arbour, on which I ran and took it up; but my mistress told me she believed it was yours; for she knew your ladyship was in the walk this morning.'--'I am glad thou hast found it,' replied Mrs. Munden; 'for it would have vexed me to the heart to have lost it.'--'Aye, to be sure, Madam!' cried she; 'for it is a sweet picture--your brother is a handsome gentleman--I warrant there are a thousand ladies in love with him.' Mrs. Munden could not forbear smiling at the simplicity of the wench; but, willing to be rid of her, rewarded her honesty with a crown-piece, and dismissed her.
She was rejoiced, indeed, to have this picture once more in her possession; not only because some other might have found and kept it, but also because she thought she might indulge herself in looking on it without any breach of that duty to which she was resolved so strictly to adhere. To be secure, however, from a second rencounter with the original in that place, she kept close in the house, and stirred not out of it all the time he was there: but her apprehensions on this score were needless; Mr. Trueworth religiously observed the promise he had made her; and, lest he should be under any temptation to break it while so near her, took leave of his friend that same day, and returned to London; but carried with him sentiments very different from those he had brought down, as will hereafter appear.
As to Mrs. Munden, she found that she had no less occasion for exerting the heroine when alone, than when encircled in the arms of Mr. Trueworth: the accident which had betrayed the secret of her heart to him had also discovered it to herself. She was now convinced that it was something more than esteem--than friendship--than gratitude--his merits had inspired her with; she was conscious that, while she most resisted the glowing pressure of his lips, she had felt a guilty pleasure in the touch which had been near depriving her of doing so; and that, though she had resolved never to see him more, it would be very difficult to refrain wishing to be for ever with him.
This she thought so highly criminal in herself, that she ought not to indulge the remembrance of so dear, so dangerous, an invader of her duty; yet when she considered that, merely for her sake, and not through the weak resistance she had made, his own honour had nobly triumphed over wild desire in a heart so young and amorous as his, it increased that love and admiration which she in vain endeavoured to subdue: and she could not help crying out, with Calista in the play--
'Oh, had I sooner known thy wond'rous virtue, Thy love, thy truth, thou excellent young man! We might have both been happy.'
But, to banish as much as possible all those ideas which her nicety of honour made her tremble at, it was her fixed determination to retire into L----e as soon as she had ended her affairs with her husband, and pass the remainder of her days, where she should never hear the too dear name of Trueworth.
She did not, therefore, neglect sending her servant to town; but he returned that day, and several succeeding ones, without the least intelligence; no letter nor message from Mr. Munden having been left for her at her brother's: on which she began to imagine that he never had, in reality, intended to put his threats in execution.
Mr. Markland, in the mean time, had been twice to wait upon him; but the servants told him that their master was extremely indisposed, and could not be seen: this he looked upon as a feint to put off giving him an answer as he had promised; and both Mr. Thoughtless and his sister were of the same opinion when they heard it. Mr. Markland went again and again, however; but was still denied access: near a whole week passing over in this manner, Mrs. Munden grew very uneasy, fearing she should be able to obtain as little justice as favour from her husband.
But, guilty as he had been in other respects, he was entirely innocent in this: the force of the agitation he had of late sustained, joined to repeated debauches, had over-heated his blood, and thrown him into a very violent fever, insomuch that in a few days his life was despaired of; the whispers of all about him--the looks of the physician that attended him--and, above all, what he felt within himself, convincing him of the danger he was in--all his vices, all his excesses, now appeared to him such as they truly were, and filled him with a remorse which he had been but too much addicted to ridicule in others: in fine, the horrors of approaching dissolution, rendered him one of those many examples which daily verify these words of Mr. Dryden--
'Sure there are none but fear a future state! And when the most obdurate swear they do not, Their trembling hearts belie their boasting tongues!'
Among the number of those faults which presented him with the most direful images, that of the ill-treatment he had given a wife, who so little deserved it, lay not the least heavy upon his conscience: he sent his servants to Mr. Thoughtless, at whose house he imagined she still was, to intreat he would prevail on her to see him before he died; but that gentleman giving a very slight answer, as believing it all artifice, he engaged the apothecary who administered to him, and was known by Mr. Thoughtless, to go on the same errand; on which the brother of Mrs. Munden said she was not with him at present, but he would send to let her know what had happened. Accordingly, he dispatched one of his men immediately to her with the following billet.
'To Mrs. Munden.
Dear sister,
Mr. Cardiack, the apothecary, assures me that your husband is in fact ill, and in extreme danger; he is very pressing to see you: I will not pretend to advise you what to do on this occasion--you are the best judge; I shall only say that, if you think fit to comply with his request, you must be speedy; for, it seems, it is the opinion of the gentlemen of the faculty, that he is very near his end. I am, dear sister, yours affectionately,
T. THOUGHTLESS.'
Not all the indifference she had for the person of Mr. Munden--not all the resentment his moroseness and ill-nature had excited in her--could hinder her from feeling an extreme shock on hearing his life was in danger: she sought for no excuses, either to evade or delay what he desired of her; she went directly to him, equally inclined to do so by her compassion, as she thought herself obliged to it by her duty.
As she entered the chamber, she met the apothecary coming out: in asking him some questions, though she spoke very low, Mr. Munden thought he distinguished her voice; and cried out, as loud as he was able, 'Is my wife here?' On which, approaching the bed, and gently opening one of the curtains, 'Yes, Mr. Munden,' replied she; 'I am come to offer all the assistance in my power; and am sorry to find you are in any need of it.'--'This is very kind,' said he, and stretched out one of his hands towards her, which she took between hers with a great deal of tenderness: 'I have been much to blame,' resumed he; 'I have greatly wronged you; but forgive me--if I live, I will endeavour to deserve it.'
'I hope,' said she, 'Heaven will restore your health, and that we may live together in a manner becoming persons united as we are.'--'Then you will not leave me?' cried he. 'Never,' answered she, 'till your behaviour shall convince me you do not desire my stay.'
Here he began to make solemn protestations of future amendment; but his voice failing him, through extreme weakness, a deep sigh, and tender pressure of his cheek to hers, as she leaned her head upon the pillow, gave her to understand what more he would have said: on this she assured him she was ready to believe every thing he would have her--intreated him to compose himself, and endeavour to get a little rest. 'In the mean time,' said she, 'I will order things so that I may lie in the same room with you, and quit your presence neither night nor day.'
Here he pressed his face close to hers again, in token of the satisfaction he felt in hearing what she said; and the nurse who attended him that instant presenting him with some things the physician had ordered should be given him about that hour, joined her entreaties with those of Mrs. Munden, that he would try to sleep; to which he made a sign that he would do so: and, the curtains being drawn, they both retired to the farther end of the room.
As he lay pretty quiet for a considerable time, Mrs. Munden recollected that there was a thing which friendship and good manners exacted from her: she had wrote, the very day before, to Lady Loveit, acquainting her with the motive which had obliged her to quit her brother's house, and desiring she would favour her with a visit, as soon as convenience would permit, at the place of her retirement. As she doubted not but the good-nature of this lady would prevail on her to comply with her request, she could not dispense with sending her an immediate account of the sudden revolution in her affairs, and the accident which had occasioned this second removal.
She had no sooner dispatched a little billet for this purpose, than the groans of Mr. Munden, testifying that he was awake, drew both her and the nurse again to the bedside: they found him in very great agonies, and without the power of speech; the doctor and apothecary were sent for in a great hurry; but, before either of them came, the unhappy gentleman had breathed his last.
Mrs. Munden had not affected any thing more in this interview than what she really felt; her virtue and her compassion had all the effect on her that love has in most others of her sex; she had been deeply touched at finding her husband in so deplorable a situation; the tenderness he had now expressed for her, and his contrition for his past faults, made a great impression on her mind; and the shock of seeing him depart was truly dreadful to her: the grief she appeared in was undissembled--the tears she shed unforced; she withdrew into another room; where, shutting herself up for some hours, life, death, and futurity, were the subject of her meditations.
Chapter XXIII
Contains a very brief account of every material occurrence that happened in regard of our fair widow, during the space of a whole year, with some other particulars of less moment
Mr. Thoughtless was not at home when the news of Mr. Munden's death arrived; but, as soon as he was informed of it, he went to his sister; and, on finding her much more deeply affected at this accident than he could have imagined, pressed her, in the most tender terms, to quit that scene of mortality, and return to his house: the persuasions of a brother, who of late had behaved with so much kindness towards her, prevailed on her to accept of the invitation; and, having given some necessary orders in regard to the family, was carried away that same night in a chair, with the curtains close drawn.
She saw no company, however, till after the funeral; and, when that was over, Lady Loveit was the first admitted. As Mrs. Munden was still under a great dejection of spirits, which was visible in her countenance, 'If I did not know you to be the sincerest creature in the world,' said Lady Loveit, 'I should take you to be the greatest dissembler in it; for it would be very difficult for any one less acquainted with you, to believe you could be really afflicted at the death of a person whose life rendered you so unhappy.'
'Mistake me not, Lady Loveit,' answered she; 'I do not pretend to lament the death of Mr. Munden, as it deprives me of his society, or as that of a person with whom I could ever have enjoyed any great share of felicity, even though his life had made good the professions of his last moments: but I lament him as one who was my husband, whom duty forbids me to hate while living, and whom decency requires me to mourn for when dead.'
'So, then,' cried Lady Loveit, 'I find you take as much pains to grieve for a bad husband, as those who have the misfortune to lose a good one do to alleviate their sorrows: but, my dear,' continued she, with a more serious air, 'I see no occasion for all this. I am well assured that your virtue, and the sweetness of your temper, enabled you to discharge all the duties of a wife to Mr. Munden while alive; and with that I think you ought to be content: he is now dead--the covenant between you is dissolved--Heaven has released you--and, I hope, forgiven him; decency obliges you to wear black--forbids you to appear abroad for a whole month--and at any publick place of diversion for a much longer time; but it does not restrain you from being easy in yourself, and chearful with your friends.'
'Your ladyship speaks right,' said Mrs. Munden: 'but yet there is a shock in death which one cannot presently get over.'--'I grant there is,' replied Lady Loveit; 'and if we thought too deeply on it, we should feel all the agonies of that dreadful hour before our time, and become a burden to ourselves and to the world.'
It is certain, indeed, that the surprize and pity for Mr. Munden's sudden and unexpected fate had at the first overwhelmed her soul; yet, when those emotions were a little evaporated, she rather indulged affliction, because she thought it her duty to do so, than endeavoured any way to combat with it.
It was not, therefore, very difficult to reason her out of a melancholy which she had in a manner forced upon herself, and was far from being natural to her; and when once convinced that she ought to be easy under this stroke of Providence, became entirely so.
The painful task she had imposed upon her mind being over, more agreeable ones succeeded: the remembrance of Mr. Trueworth--his recovered love--the knowledge he had of hers--and the consideration that now both of them were in a condition to avow their mutual tenderness without a crime, could not but transfuse a sensation more pleasing than she had ever before been capable of experiencing.
In the mean time, that gentleman passed through a variety of emotions on her account; nor will it seem strange he should do so to any one who casts the least retrospect on his former behaviour; he had loved her from the first moment he beheld her; and had continued to love her for a long series of time with such an excess of passion, that not all his reason on her ill-treatment of him, and her supposed unworthiness, was scarce sufficient to enable him wholly to desist: a new amour was requisite to divide his wishes--the fondness and artful blandishments of Miss Flora served to wean his heart from the once darling object--but there demanded no less than the amiable person, and more amiable temper, of Miss Harriot, to drive thence an idea so accustomed to preside. All this, however, as it appeared, did not wholly extinguish the first flame; the innocence of the charming Miss Betsy fully cleared up--all the errors of her conduct reformed--rekindled in him an esteem; the sight of her, after so many months absence, made the seemingly dead embers of desire begin to glow, and, on the discovery of her sentiments in his favour, burst forth into a blaze: he was not master of himself in the first rush of so joyous a surprize--he forgot she was married--he approached her in the manner the reader has already been told; and for which he afterwards severely condemned himself, as thinking he ought to be content with knowing she loved him, without putting her modesty to the blush by letting her perceive the discovery he had made.
As Lady Loveit, without suspecting the effect which her discourse produced, had been often talking of the ill-treatment she received from Mr. Munden, and the necessity she had been under of quitting his house, the sincere veneration she now had for her made him sympathize in all the disquiets he was sensible she sustained; but when he heard this cruel husband was no more, and, at the same time, was informed in what manner she behaved, both in his last moments, and after his decease, nothing, not even his love, could equal his admiration of her virtue and her prudence.
What would he not now have given to have seen her! but he knew such a thing was utterly impracticable; and to attempt it might lose him all the tenderness she had for him: his impatience, however, would not suffer him to seem altogether passive and unconcerned at an event of so much moment to the happiness of them both; and he resolved to write, but to find terms to express himself so as not to offend either her delicacy, by seeming too presuming, or her tenderness, by a pretended indifference, cost him some pains; but, at length, he dictated the following little billet.
'To Mrs. Munden.
Madam,
I send you no compliments of condolence; but beg you to be assured, that my heart is too deeply interested in every thing that regards you, to be capable of feeling the least satisfaction while yours remains under any inquietude: all I wish at present is, that you would believe this truth; which, if you do, I know you have too much justice, and too much generosity, to lavish all your commiseration on the insensible dead, but will reserve some part for the living, who stand most in need of it. I dare add no more as yet, than that I am, with an esteem perfect and inviolable, Madam, your most obedient, most devoted, and most faithful servant,
C. TRUEWORTH.'
These few lines, perhaps, served more to raise the spirits of Mrs. Munden than all she could receive from any other quarter; she nevertheless persevered in maintaining the decorum of her condition; and as she had resolved to retire into L----e in case of a separation from her husband, she thought it most proper to fix her residence in that place in her state of widowhood, at least for the first year of it.
Accordingly, she wrote to Lady Trusty to acquaint her with her intentions, and received an answer such as she expected, full of praises for her conduct in this point, and the most pressing invitations to come down with all the speed she could.
What little business she had in London was soon dispatched, and all was ready for her quitting it within a month after the death of Mr. Munden: places for herself and her maid were taken in the stagecoach--all her things were packed up, and sent to the inn; she thought nothing now remained but to take leave of Lady Loveit, whom she expected that same evening, being the last she was to stay in town; but, near as her departure was, fortune in the mean time had contrived an accident, which put all her fortitude, and presence of mind, to as great a trial as she had ever yet sustained.
Lady Loveit, having got a cold, had complained of some little disorder the day before; and though nothing could be more slight than her indisposition, yet, as she was pretty far advanced in her pregnancy, the care of her physician, and the tenderness of Sir Bazil, would not permit her by any means to expose herself to the open air.
Mrs. Munden being informed by a messenger from her of what had happened, found herself under an absolute necessity of waiting on her, as it would have been ridiculous and preposterous, as well as unkind, to have quitted the town for so long a time without taking leave of a friend such as Lady Loveit.
She could not think of going there without reflecting at the same time how strong a probability there was of meeting Mr. Trueworth; she knew, indeed, that he did not live at Sir Bazil's, having heard he had lately taken a house for himself; but she knew also, that his close connection with that family made him seldom let slip a day without seeing them; she therefore prepared herself as well as she was able for such an interview, in case it should so happen.
That gentleman had dined there; and on finding Lady Loveit was forbid going abroad, and Sir Bazil unwilling to leave her alone, had consented to stay with them the whole day: they were at ombre when Mrs. Munden came, but on her entrance threw aside the cards; Lady Loveit received her according to the familiarity between them, and Sir Bazil with little less freedom; but Mr. Trueworth saluted her with a more distant air. 'I had not the honour, Madam,' said he, 'to make you any compliments on either of the great changes you have undergone; but you have always had my best wishes for your prosperity.'
Mrs. Munden, who had pretty well armed herself for this encounter, replied with a voice and countenance tolerably well composed, 'Great changes indeed, Sir, have happened to us both in a short space of time.'--'There have so, Madam,' resumed he; 'but may the next you meet with bring with it lasting happiness!' She easily comprehended the meaning of these words, but made no answer, being at loss what to say, which might neither too much embolden, nor wholly discourage, the motive which dictated them.
After this, the conversation turned on various subjects, but chiefly on that of Mrs. Munden's going out of town: Mr. Trueworth said little; Lady Loveit, though she expressed an infinite deal of sorrow for the loss of so amiable a companion, could not forbear applauding her resolution in this point; but Sir Bazil would fain have been a little pleasant on the occasion, if the grave looks of Mrs. Munden had not put his raillery to silence. Perceiving the day was near shut in, she rose to take her leave; it was in vain that they used all imaginable arguments to persuade her to stay supper; she told them, that as the coach went out so early, it was necessary for her to take some repose before she entered upon the fatigue of her journey; Lady Loveit on this allowed the justice of her plea, and said no more.
The parting of these ladies was very moving; they embraced again and again, promised to write frequently to each other, and mingled tears as they exchanged farewels. Sir Bazil, who had really a very high esteem for her, was greatly affected, in spite of the gaiety of his temper, on bidding her adieu; and happy was it for Mrs. Munden that the concern they were both in hindered them from perceiving that confusion, that distraction of mind, which neither she nor Mr. Trueworth were able to restrain totally the marks of as he approached to make her those compliments, which might have been expected on such an occasion, even from a person the most indifferent; his tongue, indeed, uttered no more than words of course, but his lips trembled while saluting her; nor could she in that instant withhold a sigh, which seemed to rend her very heart: their mutual agitations were, in fine, too great not to be visible to each other, and left neither of them any room to doubt of the extreme force of the passion from which they sprang.
The motive which had made her refuse staying supper at Sir Bazil's, was to prevent Mr. Trueworth from having any pretence to wait upon her home, not being able to answer how far she could support her character, if exposed to the tender things he might possibly address her with on such an opportunity; and she now found, by what she had felt on parting with him, how necessary the precaution was that she had taken.
After a night less engrossed by sleep than meditation, she set out for L----e, where she arrived without any ill accident to retard her journey; and was received by Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty with all those demonstrations of joy, which she had reason to expect from the experienced friendship of those worthy persons.
As this was the place of her nativity, and her father had always lived there in very great estimation, the house of Lady Trusty at first was thronged with persons of almost all conditions, who came to pay their compliments to her fair guest; and as no circumstance, no habit, could take from her those charms which nature had bestowed upon her, her beauty and amiable qualities soon became the theme of conversation through the whole country.
She was not insensible of the admiration she attracted; but was now far from being elated with it: all the satisfaction she took out of her dear Lady Trusty's company was in reading some instructive or entertaining book, and in the letters of those whom she knew to be her sincere friends; but she had not been much above two months in the country before she received one from a quarter whence she had not expected it. It was from Mr. Trueworth, and contained as follows.
'To Mrs. Munden.
Madam,
I have the inexpressible pleasure to hear that you are well by those whom you favour with your correspondence; but, as they may not think any mention of me might be agreeable to you, I take the liberty myself to acquaint you that I live; and flatter myself that information is sufficient to make you know that I live only to be, with the most firm attachment, Madam, your eternally devoted servant,
C. TRUEWORTH.'
These few lines assuring her of his love, and at the same time of his respect, by his not presuming once to mention the passion of which he was possessed, charmed her to a very high degree, and prepared her heart for another, which, in a few weeks after, he found a pretence for sending to her. It contained these lines.
'To Mrs. Munden.
I am now more unhappy than ever; Lady Loveit is gone out of town, and I have no opportunity of hearing the only sounds that can bless my longing ears: in pity, therefore, to my impatience, vouchsafe to let me know you are in health--say that you are well--it is all I ask. One line will cost you little pains, and be no breach of that decorum to which you so strictly adhere; yet will be a sovereign specifick to restore the tranquillity of him who is, with an unspeakable regard, Madam, your unalterable, and devoted servant,
C. TRUEWORTH.'
Mrs. Munden found this epistle so reasonable, and withal couched in such respectful terms, that she ought not to refuse compliance with it; and, accordingly, wrote to him in this manner.
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.
Sir,
The generous concern you express for my welfare demands a no less grateful return. As to my health, it is no way impaired since I left London; nor can my mind labour under any discomposure, while my friends continue to think kindly of me. I am, with all due respect, Sir, yours, &c.
B. MUNDEN.'
Upon this obliging answer he ventured to write again, intreating her to allow a correspondence with him by letters while she remained in L----e; urging, that this was a favour she could not reasonably deny to any friend who desired it with the same sincerity she must be convinced he did.
Mrs. Munden paused a little; but finding that neither her virtue nor her reputation could any way suffer by granting this request, her heart would not permit her to deny both him and herself so innocent a satisfaction; and by the next post gave him the permission he petitioned for, in these words.
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.
Sir,
I should be unjust to myself, as well as ungrateful to the friendship with which you honour me, should I reject any proofs of it that are consistent with my character to receive and to return: write, therefore, as often as you think proper; and be assured I shall give your letters all the welcome you can wish, provided they contain nothing unsuitable to the present condition of her who is, as much as you ought to expect, Sir, yours, &c.
B. MUNDEN.'
After this, an uninterrupted intercourse of letters continued between them for the whole remainder of the year. Mr. Trueworth was for the most part extremely cautious in what manner he expressed himself; but whenever, as it would sometimes so happen, the warmth of his passion made him transgress the bounds which had been prescribed him, she would not seem to understand, because she had no mind to be offended.
Thus equally maintaining that reserve which she thought the situation she was in demanded, and at the same time indulging the tenderness of her heart for a man who so well deserved it, she enjoyed that sweet contentment which true love alone has the power of bestowing.
Chapter XXIV
Is the last; and, if the author's word may be taken for it, the best
Innocent and pure as the inclinations of Mrs. Munden were, it is highly probable, however, that she was not sorry to see the time arrive which was to put an end to that cruel constraint her charming lover had been so longer under; and, while it gave him leave to declare the whole fervency of the passion he was possessed of, allowed her also to confess her own without a blush.
Mr. Trueworth, who had kept an exact account of the time, contrived it so that a letter from him should reach her hands the very next day after that in which she was to throw off her mourning weeds. It was in these terms he now wrote.
'To Mrs. Munden.
Madam,
The year of my probation is expired--I have now fully performed the painful penance you enjoined; and you must expect me shortly at your feet, to claim that recompence which my submission has in some measure merited. You cannot now, without an injustice contrary to your nature, forbid me to approach you with my vows of everlasting love; nor any longer restrain my impatient lips from uttering the languishments of my adoring heart: nor can I now content myself with telling you, at the distance of so many miles, how very dear you are to me. No! you must also read the tender declarations in my eyes, and hear it in my sighs. The laws of tyrant custom have been fulfilled in their most rigorous forms; and those of gentler love, may, sure, demand an equal share in our obedience. Fain would my flattering hopes persuade me that I shall not find you a too stubborn rebel to that power, to whose authority all nature yields a willing homage, and that my happiness is a thing of some consequence to you. If I am too presuming, at least forgive me; but let your pen assure me you do so by the return of the post; till when I am, with a mixture of transport and anxiety, Madam, your passionately devoted, and most faithful adorer,
C. TRUEWORTH.'
Though this was no more than Mrs. Munden had expected, it diffused through her whole frame a glow of satisfaction unknown to those who do not love as she did: she thought, indeed, as well as he, that there was no need of continuing that cruel constraint she so long had imposed upon herself; and hesitated not if she should acknowledge what he before had not the least cause to doubt. The terms in which she expressed herself were these.
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.
Sir,
I know there is a great share of impatience in the composition of your sex, and wonder not at yours--much less have I any pretence to excuse you of presumption, as you are too well acquainted with the just sensibility I have of your merits not to expect all the marks of it that an honourable passion can require. An attempt to conceal my heart from you will be vain--you saw the inmost recesses of it at a time when you should most have been a stranger there: but what was then my shame to have discovered, is now my glory to avow; and I scruple not to confess, that whatever makes your happiness will confirm mine. But I must stop here, or, when I see you, shall have nothing left to add in return for the pains so long a journey will cost you. Let no anxieties, however, render the way more tedious; but reflect that every step will bring you still nearer to a reception equal to your wishes, from her who is, with an unfeigned sincerity, yours &c.
B. MUNDEN.'
This was the first love-letter she had ever wrote; and it must be owned that the passion she was inspired with had already made her a pretty good proficient that way: but though the prudish part of the sex may perhaps accuse her of having confessed too much, yet those of a more reasonable way of thinking will be far from pronouncing sentence against her--the person of Mr. Trueworth--his admirable endowments--the services he had done her, might well warrant the tenderness she had for him--his birth, his estate, his good character, and her own experience of his many virtues, sufficiently authorized her acceptance of his offers; and it would have been only a piece of idle affectation in her to have gone about to have concealed her regard for a person whom so many reasons induced her to marry, especially as chance had so long before betrayed to him her inclinations in his favour.
Thus fully justified within herself, and assured of being so hereafter to all her friends, and to the world in general, she indulged the most pleasing ideas of her approaching happiness, without the least mixture of any of those inquietudes, which pride, folly, ill-fortune, or ill-humour, too frequently excite, to poison all the sweets of love and imbitter the most tender passion.
As she had not made Lady Trusty the confidante of any part of what had passed between her and Mr. Trueworth; deterred at first through shame, and afterwards by the uncertainty of his persisting in his addresses, that lady would have been greatly surprized at the extraordinary vivacity which now on a sudden sparkled in her eyes, if there had not been other motives besides the real one by which she might account for it.
Mrs. Munden had received intelligence that Lady Loveit was safely delivered of a son and heir; and, what was yet more interesting to her, that Mr. Thoughtless was married to a young lady of a large fortune, and honourable family: letters also came from Mr. Francis Thoughtless, acquainting them that he had obtained leave from his colonel to leave the regiment for two whole months; and that, after the celebration of his brother's nuptials, he would pass the remainder of his furlow with them in L----e.
These, indeed, were the things which at another time would have highly delighted the mind of Mrs. Munden; but at this her thoughts were so absorbed in Mr. Trueworth, whom she now every hour expected, that friendship, and even that natural affection which had hitherto been so distinguishable a part of her character, could not boast of but a second place.
Lady Trusty observing her one day in a more than ordinarily chearful humour, took that opportunity of discoursing with her on a matter which had been in her head for some time. 'Mr. Munden has been dead a year,' said she; 'you have paid all that regard to his memory which could have been expected from you, even for a better husband; and cannot now be blamed for listening to any offers that may be made to your advantage.'--'Offers, Madam!' cried Mrs. Munden; 'on what score does your ladyship mean?'--'What others can you suppose,' relied she gravely, 'than those of marriage? There are two gentleman who have solicited both Sir Ralph and myself to use our best interest with you in their behalf; neither of them are unworthy your consideration; the one is Mr. Woodland, whom you have frequently seen here; his estate at present, indeed, is no more than eight hundred pounds a year, but he has great expectations from a rich uncle: the other is our vicar, who, besides two large benefices, has lately had a windfall of near a thousand pounds a year by the death of his elder brother; and it is the opinion of most people, that he will be made a bishop on the first vacancy.'
'So much the worse, Madam,' said the spiritous Mrs. Munden; 'for if he takes the due care he ought to do of his diocese, he will have little time to think of his wife: as to Mr. Woodland, indeed, I have but one objection to make, but that is a main one; I do not like him, and am well assured I never can. I therefore beg your ladyship,' continued she, with an air both serious and disdainful, 'to advise them to desist all thoughts of me on the account you mention, and to let them know I did not come to L----e to get a husband, but to avoid all impertinent proposals of that kind.'
'It is not in L----e,' replied Lady Trusty, a little piqued at these last words, 'but in London you are to expect proposals deserving this contempt: here are no false glosses to deceive or impose on the understanding--here are no pretenders to birth, or to estate; every one is known for what he really is; and none will presume to make his addresses to a woman without a consciousness of being qualified to receive the approbation of her friends.'
'I will not dispute with your ladyship on this point,' replied Mrs. Munden: 'I grant there is less artifice in the country than the town, and should scarce make choice of a man that has been bred, and chuses to reside always, in the latter; but Madam, it is not the place of nativity, nor the birth, nor the estate--but the person, and the temper of the man, can make me truly happy: I shall always pay a just regard to the advice of my friends, and particularly to your ladyship; but as I have been once a sacrifice to their persuasions, I hope you will have the goodness to forgive me when I say, that if ever I become a wife again, love, an infinity of love, shall be the chief inducement.'
'On whose side?' cried Lady Trusty hastily. 'On both, I hope, Madam!' replied Mrs. Munden with a smile.
'Take care, my dear,' rejoined the other; 'for if you should find yourself deceived in that of the man, your own would only serve to render you the more unhappy.'
The fair widow was about to make some answer, which perhaps would have let Lady Trusty into the whole secret of her heart, if the conversation had not been broke off by a very loud ringing of the bell at the great gate of the courtyard before the house; on which, as it was natural for them, they both ran to the window to see what company were coming.
The first object that presented itself to them was a very neat running footman, who, on the gate being opened, came tripping up towards the house, and was immediately followed by a coach, with one gentleman in it, drawn by six prancing horses, and attended by two servants in rich liveries, and well mounted. Lady Trusty was somewhat surprized, as she never had seen either the person in the coach, or the equipage, before; but infinitely more so when Mrs. Munden, starting from the window in the greatest confusion imaginable, cried, 'Madam, with your leave--I will speak to him in the parlour!'--'Speak to whom?' said Lady Trusty. The other had not power to answer and was running out of the room, when a servant of Sir Ralph's came up to tell her a gentleman, who called himself Trueworth, was come to wait on her. 'I know--I know!' cried she, 'conduct him into the parlour.'
Prepared as she was by the expectation of his arrival, all her presence of mind was not sufficient to enable her to stand the sudden rush of joy which on sight of him bursted in upon her heart: nor was he less overcome--he sprang into her arms, which of themselves opened to receive him; and, while he kissed away the tears that trickled from her eyes, his own bedewed her cheeks. 'Oh, have I lived to see you thus!' cried he, 'thus ravishingly kind!'--'And have I lived,' rejoined she, 'to receive these proofs of affection from the best and most ill-used of men! Oh, Trueworth! Trueworth!' added she, 'I have not merited this from you.'--'You merit all things!' said he; 'let us talk no more of what is past, but tell me that you now are mine; I came to make you so by the irrevocable ties of love and law, and we must now part no more! Speak, my angel--my first, my last, charmer!' continued he, perceiving she was silent, blushed, and hung down her head; 'let those dear lips confirm my happiness, and say the time is come that you will be all mine.' The trembling fair now, having gathered a little more assurance, raised her eyes from the earth, and looking tenderly on him, 'You know you have my heart,' cried she; 'and cannot doubt my hand.'
After this a considerable time was passed in all those mutual endearments which honour and modesty would permit, without Mrs. Munden once remembering the obligations she was under of relieving Lady Trusty from the consternation she had left her in.
That lady had, indeed, heard her servant say who was below; but as Mrs. Munden had never mentioned the name of Mr. Trueworth the whole time she had been with her, and had not any suspicion of the correspondence between them, much less could have the least notion of her affection for a gentleman whom she had once refused, in spite of the many advantages an alliance with him offered, nothing could be more astonishing to her than this visit, and the disorder with which Mrs. Munden went down to receive it.
She was still ruminating on an event which appeared so extraordinary to her, when the now happy lovers entered the room, and discovered, by their countenances, some part of what she wished to know: 'I beg leave, Madam,' said Mrs. Munden, 'to introduce to your ladyship a gentleman whose name and character you are not unacquainted with, Mr. Trueworth.'
'I am, indeed, no stranger to both,' replied Lady Trusty, advancing to receive him, 'nor to the respect they claim:' he returned this compliment with a politeness which was natural to him; and, after they were seated, her ladyship beginning to express the satisfaction she felt in seeing a gentleman of whose amiable qualities she had so high an idea, 'Your ladyship does me too much honour,' said he; 'but I fear you will repent this goodness, when you shall find I am come with an intent to rob you of a companion who, I know, is very dear to you.'
'If you should succeed in the robbery you mention,' answered she, smiling, 'you will make me ample atonement for it by the pleasure you will give me in knowing what I have lost is in such good hands.'
Mr. Trueworth had no time to make any reply to these obliging words; Sir Ralph, who had dined abroad, came in that instant, not a little surprized to find so gay an equipage, and altogether unknown to him, before his door; but on his lady's acquainting him with the name of their new guest, welcomed him with a complaisance not at all inferior to what she had shewn. There requires little ceremony between persons of good-breeding to enter into a freedom of conversation; and the good old baronet was beginning to entertain Mr. Trueworth with some discourses, which at another time would have been very agreeable to him; but that obedient lover having undertaken, in order to save the blushes of his fair mistress, to make them fully sensible of the motive which had brought him into L----e, delayed the performance no longer than was necessary to do it without abruptness.
Mrs. Munden, who, in desiring he should break the matter, had not meant he should do it suddenly, or in her presence, looked like the sun just starting from a cloud all the time he was speaking, and was ready to die with shame; when Sir Ralph said, that since all things were concluded between them, and there was no need for farther courtship, he could not see any reason why their marriage should not be immediately compleated: but Lady Trusty, in compassion to her fair friend's confusion, opposed this motion. The next day after the succeeding one was, however, appointed without any shew of reluctance on the side of Mrs. Munden, and the inexpressible satisfaction of Mr. Trueworth.
He had lain the night before at an inn about eight miles short of Sir Ralph's seat; and, as he had no acquaintance either with him or his lady, had intended to make that his home during his stay in the country: but Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty would not consent to his departure; and all he could obtain from them was, permission to send back his coach, with one servant to take care of the horses.
No proposals having yet been made concerning a settlement for Mrs. Munden, by way of dowry, Mr. Trueworth took Sir Ralph aside the next morning, and desired he would send for a lawyer, which he immediately did--a gentleman of that profession happening to live very near; and, on his coming, received such instructions from Mr. Trueworth for drawing up the writings, as convinced Sir Ralph both of the greatness of his generosity, and the sincerity of his love, to the lady he was about to make his wife.
Expedition having been recommended to the lawyer, he returned soon after dinner with an instrument drawn up in so judicious a manner, that it required not the least alteration. While Sir Ralph and Mr. Trueworth were locked up with him in order to examine it, Mrs. Munden received no inconsiderable addition to the present satisfaction of her mind by the arrival of her brother Frank. After the first welcome being given--'You are come, captain,' said Lady Trusty, 'just time enough to be a witness of your sister's marriage, which is to be celebrated to-morrow.'--'Marriage!' cried he; 'and without acquainting either of her brothers with her intentions! But I hope,' continued he, 'it is not to disadvantage, as your ladyship seems not displeased at it?'--'I assure you, captain,' resumed Lady Trusty, 'I knew nothing of the affair till yesterday, nor had ever seen before the gentleman your sister has made choice of: but love and destiny,' added she, 'are not to be resisted.' These words, and the serious air she assumed in speaking them, giving him cause to fear his sister was going to throw herself away, he shook his head, and seemed in a good deal of uneasiness; but had not an opportunity to testify what he felt any otherwise than by his looks; Sir Ralph and Mr. Trueworth in that instant entering the room. The extreme surprize he was in at the sight of the latter, was such as prevented him from paying his respects to either in the manner he would have done if more master of himself; but Mr. Trueworth, guessing the emotions of his mind, locked him in his arms, saying, 'Dear Frank! I shall at last be so happy as to call you brother.'--'Heavens! is it possible?' cried he. 'Am I awake, or is this illusion!' Then running to Mrs. Munden, 'Sister,' said he, 'is what I hear a real fact? Are you, indeed, to be married to Mr. Trueworth?'--'You hear I am,' answered she, smiling, 'and hear it from a mouth not accustomed to deceit.' He then flew to Mr. Trueworth, crying, 'My dear, dear Trueworth! I little hoped this honour!' Then, turning to Lady Trusty, 'Oh, Madam!' said he, 'how agreeably have you deceived me!'--'I knew it would be so,' replied she; 'but I told you nothing but the truth.'
The extravagance of the young captain's joy being a little over, Mr. Trueworth presented Mrs. Munden with the parchment he had received from the lawyer. 'What is this?' demanded she. 'Take it, take it!' cried Sir Ralph; 'it is no less than a settlement of eight hundred pounds a year on you in case of accidents.'--'I accept it, Sir,' said Mrs. Munden to Mr. Trueworth, 'as a fresh proof of your affection: but Heaven forbid I should ever live to receive any other advantage from it.' He kissed her hand with the most tender transports on these obliging words; after which they all seated themselves: and never was there a joy more perfect and sincere than what each of these worthy company gave demonstrations of in their respective characters. The next morning compleated the wishes of the enamoured pair, and the satisfaction of their friends.
An account of this event was dispatched the next post to all who had any welfare in the interest of the new-wedded lovers. Mr. Thoughtless, though very much engrossed by his own happiness, could not but rejoice in the good fortune of his sister. Sir Bazil, who, since his thorough knowledge of Mrs. Munden, had a high esteem of her, was extremely glad; but his lady was warm even to an excess in her congratulations: in fine, there were few of her acquaintance who did not in some measure take part in her felicity.
Thus were the virtues of our heroine (those follies that had defaced them being fully corrected) at length rewarded with a happiness retarded only till she had rendered herself wholly worthy of receiving it.
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Transcriber's Notes:
Archaic spellings have been retained. Obvious typesetting errors have been corrected and inconsistencies in punctuation and hyphenation have been standardized.