We got out of my room into a little sort of anti-chamber, but found the door of that fast locked.
We now gave ourselves up for lost; our despair is not to be expressed: we sat down, and consulted what was best to be done. I saw now that there was nothing that our base persecutor would not attempt, and I told my father I was resolved at all events to make my escape.
He said that the shocking wretch had given him till the next day to consider of his proposal; and he hoped, by that time, both father and daughter would come enough to their senses, to think he had made them a very advantageous offer.
I told him in that lucky interval I hoped to be able to affect my deliverance; which I thought I might accomplish, with his assistance, by tying the sheets of my bed together, and so from the window, sliding into the street.
We were both pleased with this expedient; but the next thing to be considered was, what place I should go to, as I could not make this attempt till late at night, and must go alone; for my father being in years, and pretty corpulent, I could not think of letting him run the same hazard, which might have put his life into imminent danger, especially as I could not give him the same help which he could afford me. This was a difficulty, till I recollected a mantua-maker, who was then making some clothes for me; and I happened to know where she lived. To her house I resolved to go (having first settled all my previous steps) and to remain concealed there till my father should get an opportunity of coming to me. I told him asIwas the unhappy object on whom Mr Ware had designs, I supposed he would not detain my father after I was gone. He shook his head, but said, he hoped he would not.
Having now settled our little plan, we were more composed. A servant brought breakfast into my apartment at the usual hour, and dinner, and supper, in the like manner. We did not appear, troubled, but as carefully avoided seeming chearful, for fear of giving suspicion.
The house-keeper was generally the last person up in the family; so that I was either to seize the opportunity before she came up to myroom, or wait till she was asleep. The last I thought was the securest method, as she was an extremely sound sleeper. I lifted up the sash in the bed-chamber, to be in readiness, and closed the shutters again.
Very fortunately my father having received his quarterly payment from Mr Ware just before we came to town, had fifty guineas in his purse, half of which he insisted on my taking in case of any emergency.
About twelve o’clock the house-keeper came into the room where we were sitting, as she was obliged to pass through that to go to the room where we lay.
We heard her at the door, and my father suddenly changing the subject of our discourse, made me a sign which I understood; and as the woman entered, affected to be representing to me the charms of wealth and grandeur, whilst I seemed to listen, with a sort of pleasure to him. He stopped when the woman came in, but not till he was sure she had heard what he said, for we observed that she staid at the outside of the door a little while, as if to listen to our conversation. On seeing us engaged in discourse, she made a motion to withdraw, saying she would come up again when Mr Price was retired to rest; but I told her she might if she pleased, then go to bed, as we should not sit up long. But as I suppose she had orders to lock me in after my father had left me, she did not chuse to do this. She said she was not sleepy, but would come up in half an hour, and left the room smiling.
This was an opportunity which I thought was not to be lost. I repaired to the window, and hearing a watchman cry the hour, I waited till he came under it, and having prepared a piece of paper, in which I had put a weight to carry it down, I lighted it and dropped it at his feet; it was fastened to a string, and at some distance from it above, was fastened another large piece of white paper folded up, in which I put a guinea, and in two lines written in a large plain hand, beseeched him to assist me in getting down, for which I would reward him with another guinea.
The lighted paper (as I concluded it would) attracted the man’s notice, he stopped and took it up, and finding another paper hanging to the string, looked up at the window. I leaned my body out as far as I could, and, in a low voice, but loud enough for him to hear me, bid him read it. He opened the paper, and, by the light of his own lantern, read the lines, at the same time taking out the guineas, which I could perceive he also examined by the same light.He then said, I’ll help you, stay a little.
He made what haste he could away, and I was now afraid he intended to leave me, and return no more. My terror was inexpressible during the man’s absence, especially as several people in that interval passed by; however, he soon returned with a companion; and the street being now clear, I saw he had brought a sort of plank, or board, under his arm, which he fixed from the iron pallisados a-cross to the stone-work which jutted out from the bottom of the lower windows, on this he without difficulty mounted, and being now much nearer to me, he told me he would receive me, if I could contrive to get down to him.
My poor father hastily kissed, and blessed me, and having my apparatus ready for descending, he had the farther precaution to fix some strong ribbons, which I had tied together for the purpose under my arms; these he held in his hands, whilst I slid down by the sheets which I had fastened together corner-ways with a knot.
The trusty watchman caught me in his arms, and lifted me over the pallisados, to his comrade, who set me safely down in the street.
It was very dark, but I could distinguish when my father drew in the linen, and heard him shut the window. I then told my deliverer that I must beg a farther act of kindness from him, which was to see me safe to the street where I wanted to go.
He readily complied, and leaving it to his comrade to carry away the plank, took me under the arm, and we got without being molested to the mantua-maker’s house. The family were all in bed; when after repeated knocking, a maid looked out of an upper window, and asked us what we wanted. I told her an acquaintance of her mistress had urgent business with her, and begged she would step down and speak to me from the parlour window. After keeping me a long while waiting, she at length came down, I then gave the watchman the other guinea I had promised him, and dismissed him, very well pleased with his night’s adventure.
After he was gone, I told the woman my name, and begged she would let me come in, which she immediately did. I without scruple acquainted her with the manner of my escape, and the occasion of it; she was shocked and affected with my story, and promised to keep me concealed till my father should come to carry me to some place of greater safety; for she said, as Mr Ware’s house-keeper was her acquaintance I might be discovered at her house.
This terrified me exceedingly, but the good-natured woman gaveme the most solemn assurances that I should be safe for the short time she supposed I should stay with her. She invited me to part of her bed, as she told me she had never a spare one, and I readily accepted of her offer.
I remained all the next day in the utmost grief and anxiety, at hearing nothing from my poor father. In the evening of the second day, a porter brought a letter to the mantua-maker, which served only as a cover for a note directed to me. Seeing it writ in my father’s hand, I eagerly opened it; but oh, Madam, how shall I tell you my grief, and horror, when I saw it dated from a prison! My poor father told me, that our cruel persecutor, enraged at my escape, had charged my father with it, who immediately acknowleged he had assisted in delivering me from ruin; that Mr Ware, after treating him with the most injurious language, demanded payment of him for the sums he said he had lent him from time to time since his father’s death.
To this my father making no other reply, than that Mr Ware knew he had it not in his power to refund any of that money, which, though it was a free gift, he would restore sooner than lie under any obligation to such a base man, the villain was barbarous enough to have him arrested, and sent to jail, where he said he should remain till his stubborn spirit should be glad to yield up his daughter to him.
My father desired me to come to him directly, and to bring some body with me to protect me by the way. I instantly obeyed, and sending for a hackney coach, the mantua-maker got her husband, a decent tradesman, and his apprentice to accompany me. We drove directly to my poor father’s melancholy habitation, where they delivered me safe into his hands. His joy at seeing me again, made him for a while forget the sorrows which surrounded us.
He told me that after he had seen me get safe into the street, and had recommended me to the care of providence, he had put every thing out of the way which had assisted me in my escape; and putting out one of the candles left it in my room, that the house-keeper, when she come up, might suppose me in bed; he then went to his own. He concluded that the woman, when she went into my room, supposed me asleep. Mr Ware was at home the whole evening, and had before that retired to rest, so that there was no discovery made that night.
My father now informed me that Mr Ware had said, when he first made the odious proposal to him, that if I complied, he would allowmy father four hundred pounds a year, and settle the like sum upon me for life; at the same time, in case of refusal, insinuating the threat which he afterwards put into execution. Thinking, no doubt, he should by this intimidate my poor father so much, that upon reflexion he would use his endeavours to prevail on me to comply; and it was for this wicked purpose he was permitted, or rather compelled to pass the whole day with me. I would not, added my father relate this particular to you, for fear your tenderness to me might shake your virtue; but the trial God be praised! is now past; you are here my poor child at least in safety. We have some money to support us for a while, perhaps the wicked wretch may relent. If he gives me my liberty I may still obtain a livelihood; and if I can get you received into some worthy family, that will protect you from his violence, I shall be contented.
My father, unwilling to expose his ungrateful pupil, and thinking when he cooled a little he would be ashamed of his conduct and release him, resolved not to apprise any of his friends in Berkshire of his situation; but wrote a long expostulatory letter to Mr Ware, which he concluded with requesting no other favour but his liberty.
To this, Mr Ware wrote in answer, that he was still ready to make good his first proposals, and since he now found that he had got his daughter with him, he should obtain his liberty on no other terms.
My father still loath to believe him so lost to humanity as to persist in this barbarous resolution, patiently waited another month; at the end of which he again wrote him a very affecting letter; but to this he received no answer, being told Mr Ware was gone into Berkshire. He wrote to two or three gentlemen of his acquaintance there, informing them of his deplorable situation, and begging them to use their influence with Mr Ware on his behalf. He did not disclose the enormity of his behaviour, but only said, that on a quarrel he had with him, he had confined him under colour of a debt, which it was not in his power to discharge; this he did as much in tenderness to Mr Ware’s character, as to avoid exasperating him more against him.
He ordered me at the same time to write to an old maid-servant, who took care of our little house in the country, to send me my clothes, my father’s books, and such other things as belonged to him. As I had come to town but for a month, and was in deep mourning for my mother, I had left the best part of my apparel behind me, and I had taken nothing with me from Mr Ware’s but a little bundle oflinnen; my father had been permitted to carry his with him to the prison.
As the furniture in this little house was of no great value, my father having purchased it as it stood in the house of the former curate, he made a present of it to the old servant, who had lived with him from the time he married.
He received no answer to any of the letters he wrote to the gentlemen; but I got a letter from this old servant, at the same time that she sent the things which I wrote for. And you will scarce believe, Madam, to what a height this abandoned wretch carried his crimes.
Not contented with having plunged my poor father and me into the deepest distress, he endeavoured to blast and destroy our characters in the country. He gave out that my father, taking advantage of his (Mr Ware’s) being a little overcome with wine one night, had put his daughter to bed to him, and would have insisted the next day that he had married them. To punish the ungrateful designing old rogue, he said he had put him into jail where he intended to keep him a month or two till he repented.
Though the respectable character my father bore in his neighbourhood made this story incredible, yet Mr Ware’s power and influence was such, that people seemed to believe it, and applauded Mr Ware’s clemency in my father’s punishment. No wonder then his letters were unanswered; they were shewn to Mr Ware, and laughed at. The old servant, who was sure we were both cruelly belied, lamented our unhappy fate, but poor creature she could do nothingbutlament. This last blow quite subdued my father’s courage; he fell sick upon it, and languished many weeks in a most melancholy condition.
When he recovered a little from his sickness, he was suddenly struck with the dead palsey on one side, by which he lost the use of his right hand; so that I am obliged to dress and undress him like a child.
When the money which we had brought with us to the prison was spent, we were obliged to sell most of my father’s books, and the best of my clothes.
We had repeated messages from the mercilessman, by his vile house-keeper, who used all her rhetoric to persuade us to compliance; but my father constantly repulsed her, with contempt and indignation; ’till at length Mr Ware, tired, I believe, with persecuting us, left us to perish in peace. He supposed my fathercould not hold out long; and he then concluded I should be at his mercy; for as I never stirred out of the jail, he had no hopes of getting me into his power whilst my poor father lived.
If I had even a place of refuge to go to, I could not think of leaving him in the wretched hopeless condition to which he was now reduced. I thought therefore of applying myself to something, by which I could obtain bread for our support. I set about making those little artificial flowers, which had formerly been one of my amusements; and a woman, who was confined in the same prison with us, and worked for some shops, undertook to dispose of them for me. She had a daughter, who came often to see her, and used to carry her work and mine to the people who bespoke it.
In this manner we have languished, Madam, near eighteen months; when hearing lately that Mr Ware was gone to Bath, and the girl who used to visit her mother being sick, I ventured out myself with the work. The person who employs us did live in the city; but has lately taken a shop in this street; and though it is a journey from what I now call my dismal home, I have come to her once a week, for this month past, with the product of my own, and, I may say, my fellow prisoner’s labours. She told me this day she was overstocked with such flowers as I brought her, and, having picked out a few of the best of them, she left those, which you see in my band-box, upon my hands. I was returning home very disconsolate, when, to avoid your chariot, which drew up close to the house, I stood up on one of your steps, not knowing it was going to stop; and something in your countenance, Madam, I know not how, encouraged me to offer my little ware to you.
I have given you this affecting story, my Cecilia, pretty nearly in the girl’s own words. I was much moved by it. If this be all fact, said I, what monsters are there among mankind!
She replied, It was all very true.
Though the girl was very young, and, as I told you, had a modest and ingenuous look, yet as I had seen such cheating faces before, I would not yield up my belief implicitly. This story might be invented to move compassion, at least, the most material circumstances of it; and though I could not suppose she had contrived it on the spot, yet I did not know but it might have been contrived for her.
I have a mind to see your father, child, said I.
She answered, quite composed, Then, Madam, you will see an object, that would greatly move your pity.
She rose up as she spoke this, saying, her poor father would be very uneasy at her staying so long, and was preparing to go.
I was seized with a strong inclination to visit this unhappy father directly. If, said I, the case be as she represents it, I cannot be too speedy in my relief; and, if she has falsified in any thing, I shall probably detect her, by not giving her an opportunity of seeing and preparing him first.
It was not more than eleven o’clock; and I resolved not to defer the charity I intended. I desired the young woman to stay a while, and ordering Patty to bring down a plain black silk hood and scarf of her own, I made the poor girl, to her great astonishment, put them on. I then ordered a hackney coach to be called, and said, I would go with her to her father. She looked surprized, but not startled, which made a favourable impression on me. She appeared decent, and I desired her to get into the coach, which I ordered, according to her direction, to drive to the jail, where her father was confined.
When we arrived at this mansion of horror, for so it appeared to me, I let her go up stairs before me. She stopped at a door, and said that was the room where her father lay. I bid her go in first; she entered, and I stood without-side the door, where (as the lobby was dark) I could not readily be perceived.
I saw there a man of about sixty; and as she had told me her father was corpulent, I did not at first take him to be the person, for he looked worn out, pale, and emaciated. He wore his own grisled hair, and had on a cassock, girded about him with silk sash. One of his hands was slung in a black crape; he sat pensively, leaning on a table, with a book open before him, which seemed to be the Bible.
Upon his daughter’s going into the room, he lifted up his eyes to see who it was: he had a fine countenance; candour and sincerity were painted on it.
My dear, you made a long stay, said he, in a melancholy voice, I was afraid something had happened to you. What has detained you?
Oh, Sir, said she, looking towards the door, I believe I met with a good angel, who is come to visit you in prison.
I entered at these words: the venerable man rose.—A good angel indeed, if her mind be like her face! He bowed respectfully.
Pray, Sir, keep your seat.
I took a chair, and placed myself by him. He did not seem in the least embarrassed, but gravely and modestly demanded to what it was that he owed the honour of a visit from a lady of my appearance; for,said he, affluence and prosperity seldom seek the dwellings of the wretched.
I informed him, that, having met with his daughter by accident, she had given me a melancholy account of his situation, and that I wished to hear the particulars from his own mouth. He made an apology for the length of his story; but said, if I had patience, he would relate it. I told him, I had come for that purpose.
He then repeated to me every particular, as I had before heard them from his daughter, enlarging on certain passages, which she had but slightly touched upon. He shewed me copies of his two letters to Mr Ware, and that gentleman’s answer to the first, as also the old servant’s letter to his daughter, which convinced me of the truth of every thing he had said.
I asked Mr Price, what Mr Ware’s demand on him might amount to?
He said, four hundred pounds, which was what he had received from him, since his father’s death.
Take courage, Sir, said I, you shall not long remain here.
Ah! Madam, cried he, may God be the rewarder of your goodness! but my enemy is a hardened man; he is not to be influenced by honour or virtue.
I perceived by this that the poor gentleman had no thought of my paying his debt, but supposed I would endeavour to soften Mr Ware on his account. Have a little patience, said I, and we will try what is to be done.
I requested he would give me Mr Ware’s letter, wherein he promised to make good his first proposal, if he would consent to yield up his daughter to him.
I took my leave, and slipped my purse, which had ten guineas in it, into his daughter’s hand as I went down stairs.
As soon as I returned home, I sent for Mr Warner, and related to him circumstantially the distresses of this worthy father and child. His honest indignation burst forth against the base betrayer of them both; honest I must call it, though he vented his wrath in oaths and execrations on his head.
These are proper objects, said I, to exercise our humanity on; I mean to pay his debt, and make the remnant of his days comfortable. You are a good girl, said, he, you know my purse is open to you.
Oh, Sir, said I, there is no need to tax your generosity upon this occasion, the two thousand pounds you so lately gave me is but littlediminished. Psha, psha, said he, I gave you that to make ducks and drakes of; it is not to go into the account; you know your quarter’s income is commenced, you may have what you will.
I begged he would immediately write to Mr Ware, who is now at Bath, and make him a tender of his money, that we might get the poor man discharged from confinement as soon as possible.
I gave him that vile fellow’s letter, and advised him to let him know that he was acquainted with the whole truth of the story; which, perhaps, might frighten him into better terms than insisting on his whole demand.
Mr Warner said, there was a merchant of his acquaintance at Bristol, to whom he would write immediately, and order him to pay the money directly, if it was insisted on. He said, he knew his friend would readily undertake the thing, and execute it as soon as possible.
He called for pen, ink, and paper, and wrote before me the following letter to his correspondent, which, as he left it with me to seal, and send it to the post-office, I first copied.
‘Dear Sir,‘I beg immediately on the receipt of this, you will take the trouble of riding to Bath, and there enquire for a man of fortune, one Ware, who is the greatest villain in England, and you may tell him I say so. He has kept a poor honest clergyman starving in jail this year and a half, because he would not sell his daughter to him. He pretends the parson owes him four hundred pounds, which is a lie; for though he received that sum from him, it was paid him for value received by agreement. However, as the man can have no redress, I request you would immediately tender him that sum, and get a discharge, for I will have the poor fellow out.I herewith send you inclosed a letter which that scoundrel Ware wrote; pray shew it to him, as a token that the parson’s case is known, and that he has got friends to stand by him.Your speedy execution of this affair, and answer, will oblige,
‘Dear Sir,
‘I beg immediately on the receipt of this, you will take the trouble of riding to Bath, and there enquire for a man of fortune, one Ware, who is the greatest villain in England, and you may tell him I say so. He has kept a poor honest clergyman starving in jail this year and a half, because he would not sell his daughter to him. He pretends the parson owes him four hundred pounds, which is a lie; for though he received that sum from him, it was paid him for value received by agreement. However, as the man can have no redress, I request you would immediately tender him that sum, and get a discharge, for I will have the poor fellow out.
I herewith send you inclosed a letter which that scoundrel Ware wrote; pray shew it to him, as a token that the parson’s case is known, and that he has got friends to stand by him.
Your speedy execution of this affair, and answer, will oblige,
‘Your friend and servant,‘Edward Warner.’To Mr William Blow,merchant, at Bristol.London, March 14, 1707–8.
‘Your friend and servant,‘Edward Warner.’
To Mr William Blow,merchant, at Bristol.
London, March 14, 1707–8.
My honest kinsman desired I would immediately send this letter off. I suppose his correspondent will have more discretion than to let Mr Ware see the contents, but I hope we shall have a good account of this negotiation.
I have been very impatient, my Cecilia, for an answer to Mr Warner’s odd letter, and this day he received one. His friend at Bristol I take it for granted acted very prudently, for he says, that havingwaitedon Mr Ware (which word Mr Warner took great exceptions to) he acquainted him with his commission, and at the same time produced his letter to Mr Price by way of identifying the person, as Mr Ware at first seemed not to recollect any thing of the matter. He said, Mr Ware blushed upon seeing his own letter, in the hands of a stranger; Aye, I remember the silly affair now, said he; the man is an old hypocrite, and his daughter is a young one; but as I never meant to ruin him, I will forgive him the debt; and accordingly wrote a full acquittal, which the merchant transmitted with his answer.
Nothing now remained but to pay the usual fees, and get the poor old gentleman out as fast as we could. Mr Warner undertook to do what was proper on the occasion, and instantly set out it with an alacrity that shewed the goodness of his heart.
How wonderfully shame operates on some minds! this wretched man, Ware, whom neither the laws of God nor man could restrain, has, by this single passion alone, been subdued. He found his base conduct was known by people whom he could not impose on; and his forgiving the pretended debt, no doubt, was meant as a bribe to prevent his disgrace from being propagated: for though he could sit down and enjoy himself under the accumulated guilt of fraud, perfidy, cruelty, oppression, and ingratitude; he was not proof against the reproach and ridicule of the world. This shews at least that he was not long practised in crimes of this sort.
I did not see Mr Warner again till this morning, when he entered my room making flourishes with his hands. Mr Price and his daughter were with him—Here they are for you, said he, and it has done myheart good to deliver such honest people from their misery.
The good old man poured forth such fervent prayers, and thanks for my goodness towards them, that my heart exulted with rapture, at being the means of conferring such happiness, as this worthy parent and child seemed to enjoy. The young girl’s gratitude was silent, but not less ardent than her father’s. She had kneeled down before me, and kissed my hands. I was greatly touched with the humility and tenderness of her acknowlegement.
I put an end to the grateful effusions of these honest hearts. I have done but little for you, said I, as yet; as Mr Ware had the grace to refuse the offered sum, I shall apply that money which I intended for him to your future use, or your liberty will avail you but little.
We shall think of some method of settling you comfortably for life; in the mean while your daughter and you shall be welcome to live with me.
I stopped him from renewing his thanks, and insisted on his saying no more on that subject. The poor old gentleman is extremely feeble and languishing from his long confinement, but I hope with proper care, as he is naturally strong, he will recover his health.
What true delight springs from benevolent actions, my dear! I never expected such heart-felt satisfaction as I have received from restoring comfort to these truly deserving people. I have bought the young lady some new clothes, plain, but genteel; and you cannot imagine what a pretty creature she is, now she is dressed. I find the old gentleman a man of admirable understanding, and great reading. He has a simplicity in his manner that is truly engaging, but at the same time a politeness that shews he is no stranger to the great world. Of his integrity he has given convincing proofs. Praised be the Lord! who has made me, and honest Mr Warner, the instruments of delivering such a man from the depths of affliction. He mends apace in his health, but I am afraid he will never recover the use of his hand; though, as it is not painful, it seems not to give him any uneasiness.—April 10I am infinitely charmed with the conversation of this couple; for the girl is very sensible, and prettily accomplished. I wish she were married to some honest man that knew her value; for I find she has still terrors on Mr Ware’s account, nor is her father without his apprehensions.
He said to me to-day, if I were to die, Madam, I would conjureyou as my last request to take my daughter into your service. With such a pattern before her she must be virtuous, and with such a protector I am sure she would be safe.
I told him he might rely on me, but that I hoped he would live long enough to see her happily disposed of in marriage.
If I could see that day, said he, I should then have no other worldly care to disturb me.
Here, my dearest Cecilia, I will close my very long narrative. The pacquet is already swelled to an enormous size, but you never think them too large.
After so many trifles, my dear, as my journal for nearly a month past contained, you will be glad ofsomethinga little more serious. I mentioned in my last week’s journal, that I had cast my eyes on a young man, who I thought would make a suitable match for Miss Price, if he were approved of by her, and her father. This person is a linen-draper in the Strand, a second brother of my Patty’s. You can’t have forgot Harry Main, my dear, whom we both knew as a boy, remarkable for his sober behaviour, modesty, and sweetness of temper. He is just now out of his time, and his eldest brother has set him up in a handsome shop. You may be sure I am his customer. ’Tis on this lad then that I have turned my thoughts, as a fit husband for the amiable girl. I went yesterday morning to buy some linen for Miss Price, and carried her with me, as I had done once or twice before. After we made our markets, I told young Main, with a freedom which a long acquaintance gave me, that I thought he was so well settled, he wanted nothing but a good wife to complete his happiness. He replied, he should think himself very happy if he could light on some good young woman as a partner for life. Why do you not look out for one, said I? They are not so hard to be come at. I believe, Madam, he answered, I must get some one else to do it for me, my friends laugh at me and say I am too bashful to speak for myself, but I fancy were I to meet with a person that really touched my heart, I should make a shift to find courage enough to tell her so.
And have you never yet seen such a person, said I? He blushed, and by an involuntary motion his eyes were turned on Miss Price, of whom I concluded his sister Patty, as she often visits him, had given him the history. He said if I commanded him to tell his secret, I should know it another time.
This was enough; I asked in a jocose way, would he take a wife of my chusing? Sooner than of any body’s in the world, Madam, he replied.
We took our leave, and I asked Patty when I went home, whether she had ever mentioned any thing about Miss Price to her brother? Poor Patty coloured for fear she had committed a fault, but owned directly she had told him every circumstance of her story; her brother having been very inquisitive about her, from the first time he had seen her with me; and added, that she believed he was down-right in love with her.
I told her if Miss Price liked her brother, and her father did not disapprove the match, I saw no reason why they might not make each other happy, as I should give Miss Price a fortune worth a young man’s acceptance.
Patty said, she was sure her brother would rejoice at the offer, and that she herself could not wish him to make a better choice.
It only remained now to know how the young lady herself stood affected towards him. I put Patty (for whom Miss Price had conceived a great affection) upon this task. I thought she would speak her mind with less reserve to her, as I feared the obligation she thought herself under to me, might have such an influence on her gratitude, as to prevent that freedom which I wished her to use; for I was resolved not to put the least shadow of constraint on her inclinations.
Patty succeeded so well, that without seeming to have any design in it, she drew a confession from Miss Price very much in her brother’s favour.
Being now sure that the young people liked each other, I thought I might open my design to the old gentleman, which I did in few words. How the good man was delighted with the happy prospect which his deservedly-beloved daughter had before her! he has left the affair intirely to me, so that I hope to have the girl disposed of very much to all our satisfaction.
I am charmed with Mr Warner’s noble behaviour. I claim an interest, said he, in these honest creatures that you have taken under your protection. I like the old fellow mightily, and admire the little girl so much, that, if you had not provided a better husband for her, I should have been half tempted to have taken her myself; but since it is as itis, we must do handsomely by her.
I told him I had enquired into the young man’s circumstances, and found that about a thousand pounds would set him forward extremely well, and that this was the portion I intended to give him with the young gentlewoman.
Well said he, I believe that will do; but I must make the poor thing a present myself for wedding-trinkets. And the old man too, must we not take care of him?
Dear Sir, said I, how good you are? You would remind me of my duty, if I myself were forgetful of it. But I have already settled a hundred pounds a year on him.
Is that enough, said he? will it make the good fellow easy?
Oh, Sir, it exceeds his wishes; he intends to live with his daughter, as his growing infirmities require her tender care.
Every thing is to be this day settled. Mr Price is exceedingly pleased with his son-in-law elect; and the wedding will be no longer delayed, than till Mr Main receives the answer to those letters which he has wrote to his friends in the country, to apprize them of his approaching marriage.
I am sure my dear Cecilia will rejoice with her friend in the acquisition she has received to her own happiness by conferring so much on a worthy family. The bride is this day gone home to her own house; her delighted father with her. Their prayers and blessings, poured out from truly grateful and virtuous hearts, remain with me. A reward, my dear, and a rich one too, for the self-satisfying part I have acted.
My worthy Patty, whose merit alone raises her much above her station, I shall no longer consider as my servant. She has been my friend in the tenderest and most enlarged sense of the word, and she shall continue so. I have hired another maid to wait on me, and with a sort of merry ceremony enfranchised Patty on the day of her brother’s marriage; for I had her dressed elegantly as bride’s maid to her new sister, and she sat on her right-hand at the wedding dinner. I look on her as my companion, but I cannot persuade her to forget that I was her mistress. She shews this by actions, not by words. [Here follows an interval of thirteen months, in which nothing material to the thread of the story occurs. The journal contains only acontinued series of such actions, as shewed the noble and pious use which Mrs Arnold made of the great fortune which providence had blessed her with. The rest is filled up with a variety of little incidents, many of them relative to her brother and his lady, to Mr Warner, and several letters from Lady V——, with whom she constantly corresponded. At the end of that period the journal proceeds thus.]June 28, 1708And shall I really be so blessed, my ever beloved Cecilia, as to see you at the time you mention? Oh, my dear, after an absence of five long years, how my heart bounds with joy at your approach! The two months that are to intervene before we meet will appear very tedious to me. But it is always so with happiness, that is within our view. Before I expected you, though I regretted your absence, yet did I patiently acquiesce under it, and could entertain my thoughts with other objects; but I am now, I cannot tell you how anxious and impatient to see you. And yet, my Cecilia, we shall have nothing new to say to each other, knowing as we both do every circumstance of each other’s life since we parted. Mine has been a strange one; but my lot is now fallen on a fair ground, where, I hope it will please heaven to continue me whilst I am to remain in this world. The noble, I may almost call it, princely fortune that my kinsman has settled on me, will enable meto leavemy children greatly provided for, whenever it shall be God’s pleasure to call me away. Let me but live to embrace my Cecilia, and then, providence, thy will be done!
Gracious God! for what I am yet reserved? My trembling hand can scarce hold my pen, but I will try to tell you the event which yesterday produced.
I was but just set down to dinner; nobody with me but Patty and my children. A note was brought into me, which, they said came by a porter, who waited for an answer. I opened and read it. My eyes were struck with the unlooked for name of Orlando Faulkland at the bottom; the contents filled me with terror and surprize. I know not what I have done with the note, but he informed me in it that he was just arrived in town, and begged I would appoint an hour that evening to see him alone, adding, that his arrival was, and must be, a secret to every body but me.
Troubled and shocked as I was, I returned for answer, by the samemessenger, that I should expect him at six o’clock. I need not tell you how I passed the interval ’till that hour. It was impossible for me, amidst a thousand conjectures, to form one which could probably occasion this amazing visit. So strangely introduced! so unthought of! and from one I imagined to be in another kingdom.
Precisely at six o’clock, I heard a coach stop at the door; Patty was in the way to receive him, and presently Mr Faulkland himself entered the drawing-room. Distraction was in his looks! I rose to receive him, but shook from head to foot; and I felt the blood forsaking my face. He ran to me, as if with a design to salute me, but started back without making the offer. I made a motion to a chair for him, and sat down myself, for I was not able to stand. You are welcome to England, Sir, I am glad to see you—scarce knowing what I said. I hope your lady is well? He looked wildly, as if in horror at the question. Then suddenly catching both my hands, he fell on his knees before me, his eyes fixed mournfully on my face, and it was some time before he could answer.
I could not speak; I burst into tears:—there was something dreadful in his silence. He kissed both my hands, but I withdrew them from him. Sir, Sir, speak I conjure you. You shock me to death! I see I have, said he; and I am afraid to proceed: you will die at the relation. For God’s sake, Sir, explain yourself.— You see a man, said he, whose life is forfeited to the law—My wife is dead—and by my hand—.
I don’t know whether he said more, for I fainted away. It seems he did not call for any help, but by his own endeavours at last brought me to myself, and I found him weeping bitterly over me.
The sound of the last horrid words I had heard him speak still rung in my ears. I begged him to explain them.
That wife, said he, that woman whomyoupersuaded me to marry, I caught in adultery, and I punished the villain who had wronged me with death. She shared in his fate, though without my intending it. For this act of justice, which the law will deem murder, I myself must die, and I am come but to take a last look.—What recompence then can you make the man, whom you have brought to misery, shame and death?
His looks, and the tone of voice with which he spoke this, made my blood run cold, and my heart die within me.
I wrung my hands, and redoubling my tears, I do not need your reproaches, said I, to make me the most miserable woman on earth—What recompence indeedcanI make you—None, none, but to tell you that if you will fly this instant, my fortune will be at your disposal, and I will take care to supply you in what part soever of the world you shall chuse for your residence.
And can you after all that is past, said he, persist in such barbarity as to drive me from you? or are you determined to see me perish here? If that be so, I will soon rid you of this miserable hated wretch.
He drew his sword like a madman, and with a dreadful imprecation, which made me shudder, swore that if I did not that minute, promise to bear him company in his flight, he would plunge it into his breast, and die before my eyes.—Good God, what a scene of horror was this! I will, I will, I cried, I will go with you to the farthest verge of the earth. I catched his arm, fell down on my knees, and was more mad, if possible than himself.
I begged of him to put up his sword, which he did, seeing me almost dead with fear. You know, said he, the means of dying are always in my own power; take care you do not trifle with me, nor plead in excuse for falsifying your promise, that you made it to save me from immediate destruction.
I beseeched him to calm himself a little, and to permit me to send for my brother. Sir George you know has an intire affection for you, said I, you may trust him with your life in safety.
I had forgot him, said he; poor Bidulph! he will be afflicted when he hears my story.
I instantly wrote a line to my brother requesting to see him immediately. By good fortune he was home, and came to me directly.
In the mean time, as I saw Mr Faulkland’s mind was exceedingly disturbed, I endeavoured, by giving him an account of my own situation, to divert his thoughts from the trouble that preyed on them; for I was apprehensive of his relapsing into the same phrenzy that had so much terrified me, if I touched on the cause, and therefore chose to defer enquiring into the particulars of his misfortune, till my brother should be present.
Sir George was equally astonished with me at the sight of Mr Faulkland; they embraced tenderly; poor Mr Faulkland wept upon my brother’s neck. It was easy to discover he laboured under some extraordinary affliction.
My brother looked at me as if for an explanation; he seemed to guess at least part of the fatal truth. Are you come to England alone, Faulkland, said he? I prevented the reply; he is alone, said I, he has adreadful story to relate to you. Mrs Faulkland is dead. I durst not ask the manner of her death, till you were by, to calm the transports of your friend.
My heart forebodes, answered my brother, addressing himself to Mr Faulkland, that the ungrateful woman you married has betrayed you. She did, replied Mr Faulkland, but I did not mean to stain my hands with her blood, perfidious as she was; her death be on her own head.
Sir George looked astonished; that she is dead I rejoice said he, but how my dear Faulkland, were you accessary to it?
We were that instant interrupted. Mr Warner passing by, called to ask me how I did, and as my brother’s chariot stood at the door, I could not be denied to him, though I had ordered that nobody should be let in.
I was called down to him, and indeed was not sorry to have an excuse for absenting myself a while, for my spirits were quite overpowered.
Mr Warner quickly observed that something extraordinary had happened, and as he was already acquainted with the greatest part of Mr Faulkland’s history, some particulars relative to his wifeexcepted, I made no scruple, relying on his prudence and secrecy, of telling him the cause of my present distress; in which he seemed to take a friendly and even paternal share.
When he was gone, I returned to the room where I had left my brother and his friend. They both seemed in extreme agitation, they were walking about.
This is an unfortunate affair, said my brother, and may be attended with dreadful consequences, if Faulkland does not shew more regard to his own safety, than he seems inclined to do. I have been persuading him to retire to a place which I can provide for him, where he may lye concealed for a day or two, till he is recovered from the fatigue of his journey; for he has travelled night and day for these three days without sleeping.
Sir George looked at me, and by a sorrowful sign which he made, I apprehended he feared his unhappy friend’s head was disturbed.
For heaven’s sake, Sir, said I, be advised by my brother, who loves you; suffer him to conduct you to some place of security; when you have had a little repose we will both come to you, and concert such measures as shall be best for your safety.
He snatched my hand, Sir George is my true friend, said he, takecare that you do not deceive me. I find myself giddy for want of rest. I am satisfied to be disposed of for to-night how you please. But give me your word of honour that I shall see you in the morning.
You shall indeed, Sir, I replied.
Depend upon it, answered Sir George, I’ll bring her to you myself.
He looked irresolute, and as if he knew not what to say; then turning to my brother, and leaning on his shoulder, Do, dear Bidulph, carry me to some place where I may lie down, for my spirits can hold out no longer.
Come, said Sir George, taking him under the arm, my chariot is at the door, I will bring you to a house where you may be quiet at home.
Mr Faulkland rivetted his eyes on me, as my brother led him out of the room, but he did not speak.
Sir George whispered me that he would return again. They went into the chariot together and drove away.
It was ten o’clock before my brother returned. He told me he had lodged Mr Faulkland safely at a friend’s house in whom he could confide, as he did not think his own, in case of a search, a place of security.
He said he had seen him in bed, and hoped a little sleep would compose his mind, which seemed very much disturbed. I requested my brother to give me the particulars of that terrible affair, which Mr Faulkland had mentioned. Sir George related to me what follows, though Mr Faulkland, he said, told the story but incoherently.
Mr Faulkland said he had no reason to be displeased with his wife’s conduct for more than a year after their marriage; her affection for him seemed lively and sincere; and he had made her the most grateful returns, it being the study of his life to render her happy. Her love abated not of its ardor, and he had all the reason in the world to imagine himself intirely possessed of her heart.
Whilst Mr Faulkland’s house in the country was building, he had been invited by a neighbouring gentleman, who lived at the distance of about three miles from his own place, to stay at his house; which obliging offer Mr Faulkland had readily accepted, as by that means he had daily opportunities of seeing, and expediting his own improvements.
Mr Bond (that was the gentleman’s name) had a wife and two or three daughters, all very agreeable women; with whom Mrs Faulkland had, by living so much in their family, contracted a great intimacy; but particularly with the eldest, a sprightly fine youngwoman, of about twenty years old. They had been three or four months at Mr Bonds; their house, which was nothing more than a little lodge, was finished; and they only waited till it was thoroughly dry to remove into it, as Mr Faulkland had laid out extensive gardens, in the finishing of which he proposed to amuse himself some time; for he acknowleged to my brother, he was in no haste to return to England.
During their residence with this gentleman, they had made two or three excursions to town. On their return from one of these, after an absence of about a fortnight, they found a visitor at Mr Bond’s; his name was Smyth; he was an officer, a genteel handsome man, and they were given to understand he made his addresses to the eldest daughter; of whom he had been an admirer a long time, but durst not make his pretensions known to her father, till having lately been promoted in the army to the rank of a major, the young lady’s parents admitted his visits to their daughter. She had long before that acknowleged to Mrs Faulkland in confidence, her attachment to him. Mr Faulkland, who had learned this secret from his wife, was very glad to find that Miss Bond, for whom he had great esteem, was likely to have her wishes accomplished, as he saw that Major Smyth was treated with distinction by her parents, who complimented him with a bed at their house; for he generally staid two or three nights with them, every time he paid them a visit, as his regiment was then quartered at a town about fifteen miles distant from their house.
The Major, without being a man of very shining parts, had such talents as made him acceptable to the women. He sung prettily, was lively to extravagance, full of agreeable trifling, and always in good humour. Miss Bond loved him; and as he was considered in the light of a person who would shortly be one of the family. Mr Faulkland soon contracted a friendship with him, which the Major on his part, seemed very solicitous to improve.
The marriage was now agreed on, and was only deferred till the young lady’s brother should be at age, as he was to join with his father in making a settlement on his sister. This desirable event was at the distance of four months; but as the lover was in the mean time permitted to enjoy so much of his mistress’s conversation, he seemed to submit to the delay with patience.
Things were in this situation, when Mr Faulkland, thinking it time to remove to his own house, proposed it to his lady; but she objected to it, declaring she did not think it safe, as the house had been solately built. Though indeed it was now perfectly well seasoned; for the shell had been intirely finished some time before Mr Faulkland had gone to Mr Bond’s house, and it was only the inside work, and a kitchen that was built apart from the lodge, that wanted to be completed. Mr Faulkland was unwilling to oppose his lady in any thing; but he was the more solicitous that she should comply with his request in this particular, as he thought he had observed that the eldest Miss Bond, had, of late, behaved with more coldness towards her than usual. Though he was far from guessing the cause of this, he thought it, however, a sufficient reason for their removal. He was afraid they had already staid too long; and that, perhaps, notwithstanding the good nature and hospitality of the family they all now secretly wished their absence. This, though he intended to make a suitable return for their friendly reception of him during so long a time, made him resolve not to continue there; and the more so, as Miss Bond, who was present when he proposed it to Mrs Faulkland, seemed to wish for their departure; as she dissented from that lady with regard to her opinion of the state of the new house, and seemed to think there could no danger attend their immediate entrance into it. Mrs Faulkland seemed nettled at this, and immediately assented to her husband’s proposal; the next day they took their leave of Mr Bond’s family, and repaired to their own house.
Mr Faulkland, from this period, remarked a change in his wife’s behaviour; she grew melancholy and peevish; but as she complained of not being well, he imputed the alteration in her temper to that alone; and the more so, as she did not abate in the tokens of her seeming affection for him.
Mr Bond’s family frequently visited them; Major Smyth always made one of the party, and often came without them. Though they lived but at the distance of three miles from each other, yet as the road for carriages between the two houses, being a-cross one, was very bad, the ladies were often prevailed on, if they staid late, to lye a night at Mr Faulkland’s, and in consequence of this, Mr Bond and the Major had frequently done the same when they were of the party.
Though Mr Faulkland was far from having any injurious suspicion of his wife, he could not help observing that all her complaints vanished, whenever this family were at her house. This, however, he ascribed to nothing more than her being fond of the company, though he thought a coolness between her, and the eldest Miss Bond, was still apparent. The principals of the family, however,behaved with their usual frankness and good-humour, and Mr Faulkland thought there might be some little female pique between the two ladies, which was not worth enquiring into.
As they punctually returned the friendly visits of these agreeable neighbours, Mrs Faulkland always proposed passing the night there, to induce them, as she said, to use the same obliging freedom at her house. Mr Faulkland, on those occasions observed, that his lady always rose much earlier than usual, but unsuspecting as he was, he was satisfied with the reason she assigned for it, that of enjoying the pleasant hours of the morning in a very delicious garden; a pleasure which they could not have at home, as Mr Faulkland’s improvements were only in their infancy.
The mutual intercourse between the two families was thus carried on for more than three months, when the time drew near, that Miss Bond and her lover were to be united, and every thing was preparing for the purpose. The young Mr Bond was come home from the college, and the house on this occasion was more chearful than ever. Mr Faulkland and his lady were there at a ball one night, when the latter, after dancing a long time, complained suddenly of being violently ill and either really did, or pretended to, faint. She was immediately conveyed to bed, and, at her request, another room prepared for Mr Faulkland. He, extremely alarmed at her indisposition, came to her bed-side, purposing to sit up by her the whole night; the youngest of the Miss Bond’s offering to do the same, but Mrs Faulkland absolutely refused them both, and about midnight, saying she found herself inclined to sleep, insisted on their retiring; nor would she admit a servant to stay in the room, but contented herself with having a candle burning on the hearth.
Mr Faulkland, who really had an affection for his lady, was impatient the next morning to enquire after her health; he found her in bed, the complaints of the preceding night all renewed.
The family were extremely disconcerted at this unlucky accident, and expresed the utmost uneasiness, all but the eldest Miss Bond, who was silent; and heard her mother and sisters condoling with Mr Faulkland, not only with unconcern, but a suppressed smile of contempt, which did not escape Mr Faulkland’s observation. He now began to resent such a behaviour, which he thought very unkind; and told his lady he wished she was in a condition to be removed, as he was fearful in her present situation it might be very inconvenient to the family to have her remain sick in their house; especially as it quitebroke in on the mirth and festivity which were now going forward.
To this she replied, that she found herself so weak and dispirited, which she said was always the consequence of those faintings, to which she had been subject from her childhood, that she could not think of leaving her room. She made a shift, however, to rise, and said she hoped in a day or two to be able to remove.
Mrs Bond, who was of an extremely humane and tender disposition, begged of her not to think of stirring till she found her health perfectly re-established: Mrs Faulkland thankfully accepted her offer, and Mr Faulkland, though reluctantly, was obliged to acquiesce.
They remained thus two days longer, Mrs Faulkland’s complaints still furnishing her with a pretence for sleeping alone; and, under colour of not giving trouble in the family, she would not suffer a maid to sit up with her.
Major Smyth, who had been in the house all this time, had now some call to his regiment, which obliged him to go to the town where it lay, and Mr Faulkland heard him give his man directions for their journey.
Mrs Faulkland still kept her room, and had not left it since the time she was first taken ill. It happened that the chamber which was assigned for Mr Faulkland, immediately joined his lady’s, and was only separated from it by a wainscot partition, by which means he could hear the least stir in her chamber.
The unsuspecting injured husband, whose anxiety for his faithless wife had always made him watchful and attentive to her motions, happened this night to be more than ordinarily so. The family had now been for some hours buried in sleep; every thing was profoundly silent for some time. Mr Faulkland, who hoped his lady was settled to rest, was endeavouring to compose himself to sleep, when he heard her stir. This immediately roused him, and raising his head off the pillow, he found she got out of bed. Though she seemed to use the utmost precaution, he nevertheless heard her very distinctly open her door, and go out. Surprized as he was at this motion, no other thought occurred to him, than that perhaps Mrs Faulkland, finding herself ill, had got up to call some of the female servants. Prepossessed with this belief, he started out of bed, and hastily slipping on his clothes, ran into his lady’s room, where he found her candle still burning.
As he concluded she would presently return, he waited someminutes in her chamber; at length, perceiving her clothes lying on a chair at her bed-side, he was afraid she had gone out without putting any thing on her, and though the night was not cold, he was apprehensive, that in her apparently weak condition, her health might be farther injured.
On this account, he determined to go in quest of her; and concluding she had gone to the apartment of the female servants, which was on the floor over that on which they lay, he ascended the stairs as silently as possibly.
As he was passing by a room on the top of the first flight, he heard some one speak in a low voice, and listning, fancied it was his wife’s.
As he knew not who lay in that room, he made no doubt but that it was she, who was calling the person that slept there; and, without farther reflection, hastily opened the door, and went in, with the candle, which he had taken in his hand. On his sudden entrance, the person, who was in bed, eagerly called out, Who is there? He soon perceived by his voice, that it was Major Smyth. He was about to make an apology for his intrusion, when he perceiving his lady’s wrapping gown, which he had seen her wear that morning, lying on the floor, and in the same instant recollecting that he had heard a woman’s voice when he was without-side the door, the horror of her guilt rushed upon him at once, and without making any answer to the major, he suddenly drew back the feet curtains of the bed, where he plainly perceived that the major had a companion, though she had hid her head under the clothes.
The major instantly leaped out of bed, and though he saw Mr Faulkland was unarmed, he snatched up one of his own pistols, which lay on the table, and which his man had charged that night, as they were to go a short journey the next morning. Mr Faulkland, in the first transports of his rage, seized the other; the miserable woman, observing their fatal motions, threw herself out of bed. Mr Faulkland was too much distracted to be able to give a distinct account of this dreadful incident; all he can say is, that Major Smyth snapped his pistol at him, which, he thinks, missed fire, and he instantly discharged his with more fatal success; for Mrs Faulkland, who had in the instant rushed between them shrieked out, and dropped on the ground; and the major reeling a few steps, fell against one of the pillars of the bed, and cried out, He has killed us both.
Mr Faulkland says, that, after this dreadful action, without knowing what he did, he ran down stairs, and opening the front door,made the best of his way home on foot. The phrenzy of his mind was such that he thought not of providing for his safety; but having got into his house, he had no intention of going farther, when, in less than a quarter of an hour, one of his servants, whom he had left behind him at Mr Bond’s, a faithful fellow, who had lived with him many years, came to him, scared and breathless, having ran himself almost dead to overtake his master.
Oh, Sir, said he, for heaven’s sake, get away as fast as you can: Mr Bond’s family are all in an uproar; you will be taken, if you do not make your escape this instant.
Have I killed any body? demanded Mr Faulkland.
Oh, Sir, answered the man, you have killed my lady, and Major Smyth is mortally wounded.
I know not what I did, cried Mr Faulkland, but I did not mean to hurt your mistress.
I believe it, Sir, replied the servant, but I fear nobody else will, for that wicked wretch, though they think he cannot live many hours, would take away your life if he could. The report of the pistol alarmed the family, and we all ran into his room, gentry and servants and all; the major was able to speak, but my lady was quite dead.
The account he gives is, that my lady’s candle having gone out she got up to get it lighted, and was endeavouring to find one of the maid’s rooms, when passing by his, and seeing a light, for he was but just got into bed, she stepped in; and before she had time to retire again, you rushed in like a madman; and seeing his pistols lie on the table, you snatched them both up, and discharged one at your lady, which killed her on the spot, you fired the other at him, while he was leaping out of bed. I am sure, Sir, this is a false story, yet, as the family may all believe it, I beg you on my knees, to provide for your safety. Miss Bond was tearing her hair for her lover; but I heard her say, she was glad that wicked woman (meaning my lady) had lost her life.
They had sent off some of the people for a surgeon, and I ran as fast as I could to warn you of your dangers.
This honest fellow, not contented with urging his master, soon saddled a very swift hunter, which he had in the stable; and Mr Faulkland, now convinced of the necessity of flying, mounted it directly, and, attended only by one groom, galloped off to Dublin, which he reached by seven o’clock in the morning, and was lucky enough to arrive just as a packet, which was going off with an expresswas ready to sail. He went on board, and landed at Holly-head in twelve hours, from thence, without stopping night or day, except to change horses, he rode post to London, and presented himself, in the manner I have already told you, before me.
Such, my Cecilia, are the dismal particulars of this sad story. My brother staid with me ’till it was very late; our time was past in consulting on measures for Mr Faulkland’s preservation. He said, he would advise him, by all means, to get over to Holland as fast as he could; for if that story, which the execrable Smyth had invented, should be believed, and it was very likely to gain credit in case he died of his wound, and persevered in it to the last, Mr Faulkland, having no witness to disprove any part of the charge, would be in imminent danger of losing his life.
I need not describe to you the horror in which I passed last night. I rose this morning at day-light, and was but just dressed, when I was informed Mr Warner wanted to speak to me. I went down stairs to him directly.
I could not sleep all night for thinking of your affairs, said he, without any previous salute; and I am so impatient to hear Faulkland’s story, that I could not rest ’till I came to you to be informed of it, for I suppose you heard every thing last night.
I related all the particulars minutely as I have done to you, Mr Warner never once interrupting me. When I had ended the story, what do you intend for Faulkland, said my kinsman? I know not what to do, Sir, I replied; but this I am sure of, that if it were in the power of wealth to relieve his afflicted mind, he has an undoubted right to a large portion of the fortune I possess; this I think myself bound to bestow on the man, who, when I was destitute, offered me his. If we can prevail on him to take care of his own safety, which, when he is a little more collected, I hope we shall be able to do, I must entreat your assistance, Sir, in helping me to make him as easy as his unhappy circumstances will admit of.—And is thisall, demanded Mr Warner sternly? Does not your gratitude suggest a warmer recompence than giving him a paultry income?
I was startled at the question, and not replying immediately, You must marry him, said he in a peremptory tone; there is nothing now to hinder you; the heavy misfortune which has fallen upon him, puts it in your power to make him such a return as his prosperous days would not have allowed you. You can confer an obligation on himnow; sothatscruple is rubbed out. As for any former idle aspersions, you have already done more than enough to convince the world they were without foundation. I could wish indeed that Jezebel of a wife had been cut off in the common way; but since he was guiltless in his intentions, it would be barbarous to makethatan objection, and I dare answer for it, all mankind will acquit him, though the law perhaps may not, of that scoundrel’s death, who so well deserved it at his hands.
I told Mr Warner, that though Mr Faulkland had proposed something like this, I was sure it was owing to his distracted mind, for that he had at first declared he only came to take a last look at me, and that I hoped, when he came to the cool use of his reason, he would be far from urging such a request—The more are you bound then, said he, interrupting me, to deal generously by him.—What does your brother say upon the subject? He has not touched upon it, I replied, I was so taken up with hearing Mr Faulkland’s melancholy story from my brother, that I mentioned not to him his wild proposal; and as Sir George told me Mr Faulkland was much more composed when he left him to his rest, I presume he hinted nothing of that kind to my brother.
Ay, ay, cried Mr Warner, Sir George to be sure will change his note. Mr Faulkland is now a fallen man, therefore depend on it he will not be for your marrying him; but for this very reason, I insist on your doing a noble thing. If you have a grain of honour, or of gratitude in you, you will not hesitate a moment. I will not desire you, continued he, finding me silent, to carry your gratitude so far as to marry a madman, if he should prove to be so; but if on your visit to him this morning, you find him composed, and in his right mind, make him a frank offer of your hand, and see you do it handsomely; consult not George, upon the subject, I will have it allmydoing. Go, added he, if I did not know that at the bottom of your heart youloveFaulkland, I would not make this a point with you; but notwithstanding all your pretended demurs I am sure that is the case.
I should be disingenuous to deny it, answered I; far from doing so, I will own that I should prefer him before all the world, if the strangeness of his present situation did not frighten me. Trouble not your head about that, cried Mr Warner, if the man is in his senses, do as I bid you, and take care that you acquit yourself with honour.
He left me without waiting for a reply. What can I say or do, my Cecilia? My heart and my reason are at variance. What a strangedilemma am I driven to? nobody to advise me. Mr Warner, precipitate and fanciful in his determinations, urges me on to I know not what. Marry Mr Faulkland! receive a hand stained with—Oh the very thought is terrible!
What would the world say to such an union? It cannot be. He will not sure when he comes to the use of his cooler reason insist upon a promise, which my own terror, and his desperation, extorted from me.
I must try to convince Mr Warner’s judgment? I hope he will not obstinately persist in pressing me to what I dare not comply with.... My brother is just come to carry me to Mr Faulkland. Heaven grant I may find him restored to his right mind!... Just returned from my visit to Mr Faulkland. What a scene! He wrung my very heart. I would I had never seen him.
We found him up, and walking about his room; his looks much more composed than they were last night.
On our entering his chamber, his eyes sparkled with pleasure. He ran to my brother, and embraced him. Thank you my dear, dear Bidulph, said he, you at length give her to me, and with her own consent too. My bride! turning passionately to me, and snatching my hand.
My brother seemed shocked, and cast his eyes mournfully at me: mine moistened, and I was obliged to apply my handkerchief to them, turning my head away.
Tears! cried Mr Faulkland, in a tone of surprize, and on our wedding-day! I could not bear this, I sobbed aloud. My brother was willing, if possible, to give his thoughts another turn, for not knowing what had passed the day before, he thought this was some sudden start of phrenzy.
My dear Faulkland, said he, you affect my Sister too much; we have been consulting for your safety, and came to talk with you upon it.
I think there is no time to be lost, and that you ought immediately to retire into Holland.
I am ready, said Mr Faulkland, but Mrs Arnold goes with me, I have her promise for it.
Sidney shall follow you, answered my brother, making a motion to me to shew he would have me humour him in his ravings. I will not go without her, cried Mr Faulkland; the universe shall not now part us.
I was almost distracted with apprehension, and knew not what reply to make; my brother looked confounded, and was silent.
Mr Faulkland approached me, and with a look of gloomy despair, You are both mute, said he; Bidulph, I always thoughtyouloved me. Mrs Arnold I hoped did not wish my death; but I am deceived in you both—I have no farther business with life—The friend I most confided in betrays me; the woman whom my soul worships, and to whom I sacrificed all my hopes of happiness, repays me with ingratitude. Why should such a wretch any longer submit to life? I have borne it too long already; but there’s my remedy, pointing furiously to his sword, which lay in the scabbard on a table.
I could no longer contain myself, but bursting into tears, Oh, Sir, said I, accuse me not of ingratitude; I would to heavenmydeath could repair the heavy afflictions I have brought upon you; if it could, I would welcome it this hour. Your reproaches, cruel as they are, I forgive. I own myself the unhappy cause of all your misfortunes; we have been mutually fatal to each other. You know I always valued and esteemed you, and have in your calamity already been sufficiently punished for the share I have had in bringing it on you. What shall I say to you, Sir? My whole fortune I think too small, too poor a recompence, to the man who has obliged me beyond a possibility of return. Yet what have I to offer more? Can you, Sir, can you urge me to a marriage at so strange a juncture? Think how it will expose us both to censure. Your long attachment to me has not been a secret. Think what dreadful constructions may be put onyourconduct, nay, onmine, should a union now take place, brought about, as it must appear, by so terrible an event.