CHAP. III.LETTERXXXV.“Inthis house I first met my Harriet. Her attractions were of a kind to engage my attention; for, like myself, she appeared to be the child of sorrow; and it was not difficult to discover that she was of a different order of beings from those who were with her. Her meek and pensive form, her tenderness to her infant, her courteous and unaffected manners when chance threw me in her way, soon produced their effects, and I insensibly forgot my usual train of thoughts in watching the hour for her appearing in our little garden with her nursling. She became interested for a man who, at this period, was again the prey of grief. I had intelligence of the death of my friend Wallace, who fell as honourably as he had lived. Her pity, her gentle soothings, drew from my overcharged bosom the whole tale of my woes. She wept, Miss Cowley; and told me that she also had known the pangs ofsevered loveandblasted hope. Thus were our hearts cemented!“For a time our union was opposed by her brother. I was poor; and in avowing my poverty Mr. Flamall perceived that I was proud. Miss Flint employed her influence in favour of Harriet’s wishes; and on giving up my solicitations at the war office, our marriage took place without further opposition. My wife mentioned to me a promise she had made to Miss Flint, in consequence of her good offices with Mr. Flamall; and expatiating on her sister’s, (as she styled her daughter in law,) fondness for her infant brother, she timidly proposed to me the plan of residing with Miss Flint at Tarefield Hall. I saw the mother in this arrangement; and I admitted the plea. Harriet was pleased, and Miss Flint was contented. On arriving here I found that every attention had been paid for securing my domestic comforts. Apartments were prepared for our exclusive use; and to do justice to Miss Flint, her conduct was at this period both discreet and generous. But my character was determined. I had found tranquillity: I had gained a heart on which to repose: my wife was my asylum from care; but I had no relish for joy: society was distasteful to me, and the common amusements of life were irksome and fatiguing. My Harriet, the kind and guardian angel that heaven had bestowed on me, convinced me that we were formed for each other. My tastes were hers, my comforts hers, and retirement was necessary to her happiness. I saw with contentment Miss Flint’s increasing attachment to the little Philip: she was continually engaged in the nursery with him; and there appeared a perfectly good understanding established in our family. But this season of tranquillity was not permitted to be permanent. The birth of Malcolm, an event which had opened once more my mind to the sensations of joy, was marked for a source of petty discontents, and officious intrusions. Mr. Flamall’s visits to the Hall became more frequent, and his stay longer. Lucretia, as my gentle Harriet told me with a languid smile, was jealous of the little stranger, and feared that she should love him. For a time this passed, but abstracted as I was in myself, and disposed as I had always been, to reserve with Mr. Flamall, I discovered that his presence was the signal for Harriet’s depressed spirits and Miss Flint’s peevishness. Struck from time to time by the insolent authority he held in the family, and the power he exercised over a woman impatient of the slightest contradiction from others, I was led to conclusions which could alone solve the difficulty; and I foresaw that the time was not remote when Miss Flint would have a tyrant legally authorized to be the despot at Tarefield. I mentioned my opinion to my wife; she acknowledged that she believed Lucretia loved her brother, but that she still loved her independence better; and the struggle, added she, has been for so long a time so equally maintained, that I think her temper and his own have gained nothing in the contest. He has, however, succeeded in gaining her confidence, by his zeal and knowledge in her business, and his partiality for her darling boy has confirmed in her a respect for his talents.“Satisfied at length, that my temper would not conform to Mr. Flamall’s growing influence, I determined on my measures of prudence; and mentioned to my wife my wish of residing in France, and particularly at Nismes, on account of the air, and from motives of economy. She cheerfully acceded to the proposal, and from that time became my pupil in the language of the country, rapidly recovering her school knowledge of it, and with improvement. But when my intention was declared to Miss Flint, my wife had to sustain a difficult part: prayers, reproaches, sullenness, and tears were employed to divert her from her compliance with my wishes and plan. She was firm, and steadily urged, that my health and spirits were objects which she could not, nor would not attempt to impede. Mr. Flamall was summoned from town, to assist in subduing Harriet’s resolution. She referred him to me, and with all that poor and contemptiblecunningwhich he callsaddress, he began his attack. He wondered what could have led me to the design of quitting a situation so convenient to my finances, and so congenial to my love of retirement. I answered with my usual reserve, that I had maturely deliberated on my plan, and should adhere to it. ‘You have beenteasedinto it,’ answered he, ‘by Harriet’s silly complaints of the temper of Miss Flint. I think she has been wrong, for she has known her long enough not to mind the submissions she exacts from every one in her way.’ ‘Lady Maclairn has been hitherto silent with me on this point,’ answered I; ‘but I thank you for having given me an additional motive for leaving Tarefield. My wife shall not submit to the caprice or tyranny of any one whilst I can prevent her degradation.’ He coloured. ‘I perceive none in her conduct,’ replied he, ‘that is not enforced by her duty, as the mother of a child who has no father at hand to protect him. If she complies with the inequalities of this woman’s temper, she will be well paid for her trouble; and I do not see how she can reconcile herself to her duty to her son Philip, by sacrificing his future expectations for an uncertain experiment. If she leave Philip with Miss Flint, her weak fondness will be his ruin; if she remove him, it is ten to one but that in a few months his place in her heart will be filled up by a new favourite; and she will hate him with the same fervour with which she at present conceives that his society is requisite to the preservation of her life.’ ‘He must take his chance, in this predicament,’ replied I; ‘and of two evils his mother will chuse theleast. He will be rendered virtuous, I trust, by our cares, and he will escape the humiliating conditions annexed to dependence and expectations. I have no doubt of his mother’s choice, nor will Miss Flint’s fortune tempt her to leave her child to another’s care.’ He made no reply, and we parted. From this ineffectual trial of his eloquence, Mr. Flamall seemed convinced that I was not to be managed: he spoke no more on the subject. I had in the mean time, as I believed, silenced many of Miss Flint’s fears. I had engaged to return in three years on a visit to Tarefield; and soothed her with the prospect of Philip’s improvement, promising to be his tutor. She seemed to consider our departure as inevitable; and to experience the necessity of submitting with a good grace to a privation which she could not prevent. The first week in October was fixed for our leaving Tarefield; and September was given to our necessary preparations, and Lucretia’s consolation.”Sir Murdoch paused for some moments: at length resuming his narrative, he said, “I am not quite certain, that what I have further to say is strictly conformable with my own notions of honour, or with that justice which is prescribed by our religion. My mind is prejudiced; my suspicions rest on conjectural ground; and you must listen to what follows with caution and candour. Believe, if it be possible, that my infirmity of mind has raised up the hideous spectre I am about to present to your eyes, and call it by any name but Flamall’s”—He spoke with emotion, and wiped the faint dew from his forehead. “One evening in the early part of September,” continued Sir Murdoch, “we were summoned from the avenue by the servant, who said that supper was served, and Mr. Flamall waiting for our return. I had, in conformity with Harriet’s wishes, given more of my time than usual to Miss Flint, who had appeared sensible of my consideration. She pressed me to sup with her, and with good nature added, ‘you will find your favourite ragout, which I ordered expressly for you.’ I made no objections; and we entered the dining-room. Flamall was sitting at the spread table, reading a newspaper. ‘I thought,’ said he, throwing it aside, ‘that I was doomed to sup solus; all has been waiting here these twenty minutes, and must now be cold.’ ‘Whose fault was that?’ replied Miss Flint, taking her station. ‘If you had not givenyour orders, the cook would have waitedfor mine.’ ‘I was half famished,’ answered he, ‘and a hungry man is not observant of ceremony.’ During this observation he helped himself to the ragout of mushrooms, which stood at his hand, and with the eagerness of a keen appetite tasted them; when abruptly retiring to the side-board he regorged what he had taken, rinsed his mouth several times, and then swore, that one dish at least was hot enough for the devil himself. Knowing his aversion to spice, and particularly to Cayenne pepper, I was not disposed to condemn the cook, or to reject the mushrooms on his evidence; I therefore exchanged dishes with him, and helped myself to the reprobated mushrooms, and finding them seasoned to my palate, I ate some. He observed me, and remarked that he was astonished to see me relish so infernal a cookery. ‘They are rather overdone,’ said I, crossing my knife and fork, and asking for beer; ‘but I have not yet done with them.’ The awkwardness of the servant, or my haste, so managed the business, that the glass of beer fell, inundated my plate, and was shivered in a number of pieces among the mushrooms. Flamall cursed the servant; and my wife said she was glad of the disappointment I had received; for that she had been told, that in the great number of mushrooms apparently alike, there was only one sort wholesome. Order, however, was restored, and the spirit of contradiction gave place to more cheerful conversation.“In the night I was suddenly seized with a violent pain and a severe nausea, which was somewhat relieved by warm water; languor and stupefaction succeeded to this effort of nature, and when the physician saw me, he pronounced my life doubtful, and called the malady aputrid fever. I was tempted to declaremy opinion of the diseasefor I had heardhis; but my wife was at my pillow. I soon became unconscious of my condition;memory closed its records.“I will not attempt to describe to you, the sensations which assailed me, when I first recollected my wife. A sense of my own danger and of her protection were at once so blended that I could not for a moment support her absence. I was still persuaded that I had been poisoned; but my imagination had given a new form to Flamall. I thought it was a fiend invisible to all eyes but mine, and who watched to destroy my wife and child. His voice was for ever ringing in my ears—‘They die if you discover me!’ But let me quit a subject which unmans me, and afflicts you. Well might I have said, ‘my kinsfolks have failed, and my familiar friends have forgotten me; they that dwell in mine house, and my maids, count me a stranger. I called my servant, and he gave me no answer.’ One being only filled up this void, and that wasmy Harriet! Soothed by her gentleness, supported by her presence, my apartment was my world; and the horrors which had encompassed me gave place to passive quietness and transient pleasure, for my son Malcolm amused me. My recovery was slow and gradual; but in proportion as my reason gained strength, and my health was renewed, I experienced the painful sense of a mind conscious of its lost energies; and I considered myself as a subject for unfeeling curiosity, rather than for respect or usefulness. I shuddered with dread at the thoughts of being seen, andfor a time, no persuasioncould allure me into the garden. When, at length, I had in some degree recovered from this despondency, I listened with more docility to my wife’s tender entreaties, and by degrees the garden became the boundary of my voluntary prison. Mr. Flamall’s proposal of placing you here produced another change in my mind, for it roused in me a sense of injuries, and a resentment which bespoke a mind once more alive to its original character. Iwillleave England, said I to Malcolm, with an energy which astonished him. I will have no concerns with Mr. Flamall. His very name is abhorrent to my ears.He is a villain!I checked myself; and Malcolm, to my surprise, said with calmness, ‘I have long known him as one. But ifMaclairncan prevent the mischief he is now meditating, will he not exert his prerogative? My father is made for the agent of Providence in the cause of the oppressed.’ He proceeded to inform me of the circumstances relative to you, which had reached him by means of a young friend. The result of this conversation you know. I was resolved to receive you, to guard you from a less eligible situation, and in a word to shelter innocence, as securely as I could, from the machinations of a man, who I have reason to believe to be as cruel as he is artful and designing. Deprived as you are, my dear young lady,” continued the worthy creature, “of those pleasures which youth demands, and of the society of your early friends, yet, believe me, you are not without a guardian here: my arm, were it necessary, should protect you; and in a just cause, it would yet be found aMaclairn’s.” His dark blue eyes were again fixed on my face, but with what expression!—“Not even my Harriet’s claims,” added he, “would restrain my vengeance, were my Matilda’s image insulted.”“I neither fear Mr. Flamall’s power, nor have I submitted to his authority,” replied I, “in choosing to withdraw from my friend Mr. Hardcastle’s house.” My heart was on my lips, Lucy, and I briefly related to him my motives. “But,” continued I, “little did I expect to find a parent in any abode appointed by such a miscreant as Flamall. I joyfully accept of the endearing title you offer: call me your child, your daughter: your affection shall be returned in acts of duty and reverence.” “And when you forsake us,” said he, relapsing into pensiveness, “what are we to do?” “To rejoice in my happiness,” answered I, “to solace your declining years with your Malcolm’s children and mine; to live an evidence of that truth which promises peace to the virtuous man, bothhereandhereafter.”—“It is her blessed spirit which speaks,” said he.—“I will not permit you, my dear father,” answered I, “to indulge in this enthusiasm; let us call a new subject.” “I will obey you,” replied he, “after one question. Tell me, has it not been a matter of surprise to you, as well as of curiosity, to see my wife so much influenced and attached to Miss Flint?” “Yes,” replied I with firmness; “but your story has solved the enigma; Lady Maclairn knows that her brother has been, and may be still dear to this woman, and the sister’s humanity wishes to repair the mischief which the brother’s infidelity has made.” He looked pleased. “It may be so,” observed he, “for I know her principles.” His wife at this instant entered, and with assumed gaiety I told her, that I had been making my confession to Sir Murdoch, in return for his adopting me as a daughter. She smiled, and answered that she hoped I was also disposed to receive her as a mother. I gave her my hand, but added, “Will you be indulgent? Will you, like my father, permit me to love the man whom my heart and my understanding have prefered? On no other condition will I promise to be yourdutiful daughter.” “Receive the blessing on any terms, my dear Harriet,” said the baronet, pressing our hands in his; “she has already shed peace into my bosom, and hope and comfort into yours.” Lady Maclairn made no other reply, than that of hiding her face in my bosom, and weeping.Again, Lucy, do I repeat for the thousandth time, thatall is not genuine in this woman’s conduct. There is asomethingwhich pervades and obstructs the display of those feelings which nature has bestowed on her, as intended blessings to herself and others, and with which she appears perpetually to struggle. At one moment her heart seems to be on her very lips with me; at another, she is silent, and as though intimidated by my presence. Sometimes I fancy my frankness is obtrusive, and my manners too unceremonious. I become more attentive, and she appears serious and more pensive, and anxiously inquires whether I am displeased with her. My answer dissipates the apprehension; cheerfulness returns, till some unguarded expression, some casual incident, again impedes my access to her heart. I think, Lucy, that she would not be a sufferer were she to trust me: I am certain that my compassion is now the most active of my feelings. She imagines, perhaps, that I think her a sharer in her brother’s plots and contrivances; but she is mistaken, for I know that she has detested him from the hour he proposed sending her husband to a mad-house; and I am assured, that she has not the most remote suspicion of his having in any way been accessary to Sir Murdoch’s illness; for she has more than once told me, that his complaint came on as gradually as it has disappeared, and originated in the catastrophe of his cousin’s death. I must finish this subject. Mrs. Allen assures you that Miss Cowley is well, and that her nightly dreams are not disturbed byscarlet fevers.Heaven bless you, and all I love at Heathcot!Rachel Cowley.
LETTERXXXV.
“Inthis house I first met my Harriet. Her attractions were of a kind to engage my attention; for, like myself, she appeared to be the child of sorrow; and it was not difficult to discover that she was of a different order of beings from those who were with her. Her meek and pensive form, her tenderness to her infant, her courteous and unaffected manners when chance threw me in her way, soon produced their effects, and I insensibly forgot my usual train of thoughts in watching the hour for her appearing in our little garden with her nursling. She became interested for a man who, at this period, was again the prey of grief. I had intelligence of the death of my friend Wallace, who fell as honourably as he had lived. Her pity, her gentle soothings, drew from my overcharged bosom the whole tale of my woes. She wept, Miss Cowley; and told me that she also had known the pangs ofsevered loveandblasted hope. Thus were our hearts cemented!
“For a time our union was opposed by her brother. I was poor; and in avowing my poverty Mr. Flamall perceived that I was proud. Miss Flint employed her influence in favour of Harriet’s wishes; and on giving up my solicitations at the war office, our marriage took place without further opposition. My wife mentioned to me a promise she had made to Miss Flint, in consequence of her good offices with Mr. Flamall; and expatiating on her sister’s, (as she styled her daughter in law,) fondness for her infant brother, she timidly proposed to me the plan of residing with Miss Flint at Tarefield Hall. I saw the mother in this arrangement; and I admitted the plea. Harriet was pleased, and Miss Flint was contented. On arriving here I found that every attention had been paid for securing my domestic comforts. Apartments were prepared for our exclusive use; and to do justice to Miss Flint, her conduct was at this period both discreet and generous. But my character was determined. I had found tranquillity: I had gained a heart on which to repose: my wife was my asylum from care; but I had no relish for joy: society was distasteful to me, and the common amusements of life were irksome and fatiguing. My Harriet, the kind and guardian angel that heaven had bestowed on me, convinced me that we were formed for each other. My tastes were hers, my comforts hers, and retirement was necessary to her happiness. I saw with contentment Miss Flint’s increasing attachment to the little Philip: she was continually engaged in the nursery with him; and there appeared a perfectly good understanding established in our family. But this season of tranquillity was not permitted to be permanent. The birth of Malcolm, an event which had opened once more my mind to the sensations of joy, was marked for a source of petty discontents, and officious intrusions. Mr. Flamall’s visits to the Hall became more frequent, and his stay longer. Lucretia, as my gentle Harriet told me with a languid smile, was jealous of the little stranger, and feared that she should love him. For a time this passed, but abstracted as I was in myself, and disposed as I had always been, to reserve with Mr. Flamall, I discovered that his presence was the signal for Harriet’s depressed spirits and Miss Flint’s peevishness. Struck from time to time by the insolent authority he held in the family, and the power he exercised over a woman impatient of the slightest contradiction from others, I was led to conclusions which could alone solve the difficulty; and I foresaw that the time was not remote when Miss Flint would have a tyrant legally authorized to be the despot at Tarefield. I mentioned my opinion to my wife; she acknowledged that she believed Lucretia loved her brother, but that she still loved her independence better; and the struggle, added she, has been for so long a time so equally maintained, that I think her temper and his own have gained nothing in the contest. He has, however, succeeded in gaining her confidence, by his zeal and knowledge in her business, and his partiality for her darling boy has confirmed in her a respect for his talents.
“Satisfied at length, that my temper would not conform to Mr. Flamall’s growing influence, I determined on my measures of prudence; and mentioned to my wife my wish of residing in France, and particularly at Nismes, on account of the air, and from motives of economy. She cheerfully acceded to the proposal, and from that time became my pupil in the language of the country, rapidly recovering her school knowledge of it, and with improvement. But when my intention was declared to Miss Flint, my wife had to sustain a difficult part: prayers, reproaches, sullenness, and tears were employed to divert her from her compliance with my wishes and plan. She was firm, and steadily urged, that my health and spirits were objects which she could not, nor would not attempt to impede. Mr. Flamall was summoned from town, to assist in subduing Harriet’s resolution. She referred him to me, and with all that poor and contemptiblecunningwhich he callsaddress, he began his attack. He wondered what could have led me to the design of quitting a situation so convenient to my finances, and so congenial to my love of retirement. I answered with my usual reserve, that I had maturely deliberated on my plan, and should adhere to it. ‘You have beenteasedinto it,’ answered he, ‘by Harriet’s silly complaints of the temper of Miss Flint. I think she has been wrong, for she has known her long enough not to mind the submissions she exacts from every one in her way.’ ‘Lady Maclairn has been hitherto silent with me on this point,’ answered I; ‘but I thank you for having given me an additional motive for leaving Tarefield. My wife shall not submit to the caprice or tyranny of any one whilst I can prevent her degradation.’ He coloured. ‘I perceive none in her conduct,’ replied he, ‘that is not enforced by her duty, as the mother of a child who has no father at hand to protect him. If she complies with the inequalities of this woman’s temper, she will be well paid for her trouble; and I do not see how she can reconcile herself to her duty to her son Philip, by sacrificing his future expectations for an uncertain experiment. If she leave Philip with Miss Flint, her weak fondness will be his ruin; if she remove him, it is ten to one but that in a few months his place in her heart will be filled up by a new favourite; and she will hate him with the same fervour with which she at present conceives that his society is requisite to the preservation of her life.’ ‘He must take his chance, in this predicament,’ replied I; ‘and of two evils his mother will chuse theleast. He will be rendered virtuous, I trust, by our cares, and he will escape the humiliating conditions annexed to dependence and expectations. I have no doubt of his mother’s choice, nor will Miss Flint’s fortune tempt her to leave her child to another’s care.’ He made no reply, and we parted. From this ineffectual trial of his eloquence, Mr. Flamall seemed convinced that I was not to be managed: he spoke no more on the subject. I had in the mean time, as I believed, silenced many of Miss Flint’s fears. I had engaged to return in three years on a visit to Tarefield; and soothed her with the prospect of Philip’s improvement, promising to be his tutor. She seemed to consider our departure as inevitable; and to experience the necessity of submitting with a good grace to a privation which she could not prevent. The first week in October was fixed for our leaving Tarefield; and September was given to our necessary preparations, and Lucretia’s consolation.”
Sir Murdoch paused for some moments: at length resuming his narrative, he said, “I am not quite certain, that what I have further to say is strictly conformable with my own notions of honour, or with that justice which is prescribed by our religion. My mind is prejudiced; my suspicions rest on conjectural ground; and you must listen to what follows with caution and candour. Believe, if it be possible, that my infirmity of mind has raised up the hideous spectre I am about to present to your eyes, and call it by any name but Flamall’s”—He spoke with emotion, and wiped the faint dew from his forehead. “One evening in the early part of September,” continued Sir Murdoch, “we were summoned from the avenue by the servant, who said that supper was served, and Mr. Flamall waiting for our return. I had, in conformity with Harriet’s wishes, given more of my time than usual to Miss Flint, who had appeared sensible of my consideration. She pressed me to sup with her, and with good nature added, ‘you will find your favourite ragout, which I ordered expressly for you.’ I made no objections; and we entered the dining-room. Flamall was sitting at the spread table, reading a newspaper. ‘I thought,’ said he, throwing it aside, ‘that I was doomed to sup solus; all has been waiting here these twenty minutes, and must now be cold.’ ‘Whose fault was that?’ replied Miss Flint, taking her station. ‘If you had not givenyour orders, the cook would have waitedfor mine.’ ‘I was half famished,’ answered he, ‘and a hungry man is not observant of ceremony.’ During this observation he helped himself to the ragout of mushrooms, which stood at his hand, and with the eagerness of a keen appetite tasted them; when abruptly retiring to the side-board he regorged what he had taken, rinsed his mouth several times, and then swore, that one dish at least was hot enough for the devil himself. Knowing his aversion to spice, and particularly to Cayenne pepper, I was not disposed to condemn the cook, or to reject the mushrooms on his evidence; I therefore exchanged dishes with him, and helped myself to the reprobated mushrooms, and finding them seasoned to my palate, I ate some. He observed me, and remarked that he was astonished to see me relish so infernal a cookery. ‘They are rather overdone,’ said I, crossing my knife and fork, and asking for beer; ‘but I have not yet done with them.’ The awkwardness of the servant, or my haste, so managed the business, that the glass of beer fell, inundated my plate, and was shivered in a number of pieces among the mushrooms. Flamall cursed the servant; and my wife said she was glad of the disappointment I had received; for that she had been told, that in the great number of mushrooms apparently alike, there was only one sort wholesome. Order, however, was restored, and the spirit of contradiction gave place to more cheerful conversation.
“In the night I was suddenly seized with a violent pain and a severe nausea, which was somewhat relieved by warm water; languor and stupefaction succeeded to this effort of nature, and when the physician saw me, he pronounced my life doubtful, and called the malady aputrid fever. I was tempted to declaremy opinion of the diseasefor I had heardhis; but my wife was at my pillow. I soon became unconscious of my condition;memory closed its records.
“I will not attempt to describe to you, the sensations which assailed me, when I first recollected my wife. A sense of my own danger and of her protection were at once so blended that I could not for a moment support her absence. I was still persuaded that I had been poisoned; but my imagination had given a new form to Flamall. I thought it was a fiend invisible to all eyes but mine, and who watched to destroy my wife and child. His voice was for ever ringing in my ears—‘They die if you discover me!’ But let me quit a subject which unmans me, and afflicts you. Well might I have said, ‘my kinsfolks have failed, and my familiar friends have forgotten me; they that dwell in mine house, and my maids, count me a stranger. I called my servant, and he gave me no answer.’ One being only filled up this void, and that wasmy Harriet! Soothed by her gentleness, supported by her presence, my apartment was my world; and the horrors which had encompassed me gave place to passive quietness and transient pleasure, for my son Malcolm amused me. My recovery was slow and gradual; but in proportion as my reason gained strength, and my health was renewed, I experienced the painful sense of a mind conscious of its lost energies; and I considered myself as a subject for unfeeling curiosity, rather than for respect or usefulness. I shuddered with dread at the thoughts of being seen, andfor a time, no persuasioncould allure me into the garden. When, at length, I had in some degree recovered from this despondency, I listened with more docility to my wife’s tender entreaties, and by degrees the garden became the boundary of my voluntary prison. Mr. Flamall’s proposal of placing you here produced another change in my mind, for it roused in me a sense of injuries, and a resentment which bespoke a mind once more alive to its original character. Iwillleave England, said I to Malcolm, with an energy which astonished him. I will have no concerns with Mr. Flamall. His very name is abhorrent to my ears.He is a villain!I checked myself; and Malcolm, to my surprise, said with calmness, ‘I have long known him as one. But ifMaclairncan prevent the mischief he is now meditating, will he not exert his prerogative? My father is made for the agent of Providence in the cause of the oppressed.’ He proceeded to inform me of the circumstances relative to you, which had reached him by means of a young friend. The result of this conversation you know. I was resolved to receive you, to guard you from a less eligible situation, and in a word to shelter innocence, as securely as I could, from the machinations of a man, who I have reason to believe to be as cruel as he is artful and designing. Deprived as you are, my dear young lady,” continued the worthy creature, “of those pleasures which youth demands, and of the society of your early friends, yet, believe me, you are not without a guardian here: my arm, were it necessary, should protect you; and in a just cause, it would yet be found aMaclairn’s.” His dark blue eyes were again fixed on my face, but with what expression!—“Not even my Harriet’s claims,” added he, “would restrain my vengeance, were my Matilda’s image insulted.”
“I neither fear Mr. Flamall’s power, nor have I submitted to his authority,” replied I, “in choosing to withdraw from my friend Mr. Hardcastle’s house.” My heart was on my lips, Lucy, and I briefly related to him my motives. “But,” continued I, “little did I expect to find a parent in any abode appointed by such a miscreant as Flamall. I joyfully accept of the endearing title you offer: call me your child, your daughter: your affection shall be returned in acts of duty and reverence.” “And when you forsake us,” said he, relapsing into pensiveness, “what are we to do?” “To rejoice in my happiness,” answered I, “to solace your declining years with your Malcolm’s children and mine; to live an evidence of that truth which promises peace to the virtuous man, bothhereandhereafter.”—“It is her blessed spirit which speaks,” said he.—“I will not permit you, my dear father,” answered I, “to indulge in this enthusiasm; let us call a new subject.” “I will obey you,” replied he, “after one question. Tell me, has it not been a matter of surprise to you, as well as of curiosity, to see my wife so much influenced and attached to Miss Flint?” “Yes,” replied I with firmness; “but your story has solved the enigma; Lady Maclairn knows that her brother has been, and may be still dear to this woman, and the sister’s humanity wishes to repair the mischief which the brother’s infidelity has made.” He looked pleased. “It may be so,” observed he, “for I know her principles.” His wife at this instant entered, and with assumed gaiety I told her, that I had been making my confession to Sir Murdoch, in return for his adopting me as a daughter. She smiled, and answered that she hoped I was also disposed to receive her as a mother. I gave her my hand, but added, “Will you be indulgent? Will you, like my father, permit me to love the man whom my heart and my understanding have prefered? On no other condition will I promise to be yourdutiful daughter.” “Receive the blessing on any terms, my dear Harriet,” said the baronet, pressing our hands in his; “she has already shed peace into my bosom, and hope and comfort into yours.” Lady Maclairn made no other reply, than that of hiding her face in my bosom, and weeping.
Again, Lucy, do I repeat for the thousandth time, thatall is not genuine in this woman’s conduct. There is asomethingwhich pervades and obstructs the display of those feelings which nature has bestowed on her, as intended blessings to herself and others, and with which she appears perpetually to struggle. At one moment her heart seems to be on her very lips with me; at another, she is silent, and as though intimidated by my presence. Sometimes I fancy my frankness is obtrusive, and my manners too unceremonious. I become more attentive, and she appears serious and more pensive, and anxiously inquires whether I am displeased with her. My answer dissipates the apprehension; cheerfulness returns, till some unguarded expression, some casual incident, again impedes my access to her heart. I think, Lucy, that she would not be a sufferer were she to trust me: I am certain that my compassion is now the most active of my feelings. She imagines, perhaps, that I think her a sharer in her brother’s plots and contrivances; but she is mistaken, for I know that she has detested him from the hour he proposed sending her husband to a mad-house; and I am assured, that she has not the most remote suspicion of his having in any way been accessary to Sir Murdoch’s illness; for she has more than once told me, that his complaint came on as gradually as it has disappeared, and originated in the catastrophe of his cousin’s death. I must finish this subject. Mrs. Allen assures you that Miss Cowley is well, and that her nightly dreams are not disturbed byscarlet fevers.
Heaven bless you, and all I love at Heathcot!
Rachel Cowley.