Mr. Glanville continuing in a sort of sullen silence, Arabella, raising her voice, went on:
Though I do not conceive myself obliged to give you an account of my conduct, seeing that I have only permitted you yet to hope for my favour; yet I owe to myself and my own honour the justification I am going to make. Know then, that however suspicious my compassion for Mr. Selvin may appear to your mistaken judgment, yet it has its foundation only in the generosity of my disposition, which inclines me to pardon the fault when the unhappy criminal repents; and to afford him my pity when his circumstances require it. Let not therefore the charity I have discovered towards your rival, be the cause of your despair, since my sentiments for him, were he living, would be what they were before; that is, full of indifference, nay, haply, disdain. And suffer not yourself to be so carried away by a violent and unjust jealousy, as to threaten your own death, which, if you really had any ground for your suspicions, and truly loved me, would come unsought for, though not undesired—For indeed, was your despair reasonable, death would necessarily follow it; for what lover can live under so desperate a misfortune? In that case you may meet death undauntedly when it comes, nay, embrace it with joy; but truly the killing one's self is but a false picture of true courage, proceeding rather from fear of a further evil, than contempt of that you fly to: for if it were a contempt of pain, the same principle would make you resolve to bear patiently and fearlessly all kind of pains; and hope being of all other the most contrary thing to fear, this being an utter banishment of hope, seems to have its ground in fear.
Arabella, when she had finished these words, which banished in part Mr. Glanville's confusion, went to her own apartment, followed by Miss Glanville, to whom she had made a sign for that purpose; and throwing herself into a chair, burst into tears, which greatly surprising Miss Glanville, she pressed her to tell her the cause.
Alas! replied Arabella, have I not cause to think myself extremely unhappy? The deplorable death of Mr. Selvin, the despair to which I see your brother reduced, with the fatal consequences which may attend it, fill me with a mortal uneasiness.
Well, said Miss Glanville, your ladyship may make yourself quite easy as to both these matters; for Mr. Selvin is not dead, nor is my brother in despair that I know of.
What do you say, miss? interrupted Arabella: is not Mr. Selvin dead? Was the wound he gave himself not mortal then?
I know of no wound that he gave himself, not I, said Miss Glanville. What makes your ladyship suppose he gave himself a wound? Lord bless me, what strange thoughts come into your head!
Truly I am rejoiced to hear it, replied Arabella; and in order to prevent the effects of his despair, I'll instantly dispatch my commands to him to live.
I dare answer for his obedience, madam, said Miss Glanville, smiling.
Arabella then gave orders for paper and pens to be brought her; and seeing Mr. Glanville enter the room, very formally acquainted him with her intention, telling him, that he ought to be satisfied with the banishment to which she had doomed his unhappy rival, and not require his death, since he had nothing to fear from his pretensions.
I assure you, madam, said Mr. Glanville, I am perfectly easy upon that account: and in order to spare you the trouble of sending to Mr. Selvin, I may venture to assure you that he is in no danger of dying.
It is impossible, sir, replied Arabella: according to the nature of things, it is impossible but he must already be very near death—You know the rigour of my sentence, you know——
I know, madam, said Mr. Glanville, that Mr. Selvin does not think himself under a necessity of obeying your sentence; and has the impudence to question your authority for banishing him from his native country.
My authority, sir, said Arabella, strangely surprised, is founded upon the absolute power he has given me over him.
He denies that, madam, said Glanville, and says that he neither can give, nor you exercise, an absolute power over him; since you are both accountable to the king, whose subjects you are, and both restrained by the laws under whose sanction you live.
Arabella's apparent confusion at these words giving Mr. Glanville hopes that he had fallen upon a proper method to cure her of some of her strange notions, he was going to pursue his arguments, when Arabella looking a little sternly upon him—
The empire of love, said she, like the empire of honour, is governed by laws of its own, which have no dependence upon, or relation to, any other.
Pardon me, madam, said Glanville, if I presume to differ from you. Our laws have fixed the boundaries of honour as well as those of love.
How is that possible, replied Arabella, when they differ so widely, that a man may be justified by the one, and yet condemned by the other? For instance, pursued she, you are not permitted by the laws of the land to take away the life of any person whatever; yet the laws of honour oblige you to hunt your enemy through the world, in order to sacrifice him to your vengeance. Since it is impossible then for the same actions to be at once just and unjust, it must necessarily follow, that the law which condemns it, and that which justifies it, is not the same, but directly opposite. And now, added she, after a little pause, I hope I have entirely cleared up that point to you.
You have, indeed, madam, replied Mr. Glanville, proved to a demonstration, that what is called honour is something distinct from justice, since they command things absolutely opposite to each other.
Arabella, without reflecting on this inference, went on to prove the independent sovereignty of love: which, said she, may be collected from all the words and actions of those heroes who were inspired by this passion. We see it in them, pursued she, triumphing not only over all natural and avowed allegiance, but superior even to friendship, duty, and honour itself. This the actions of Oroondates, Artaxerxes, Spitridates, and many other illustrious princes sufficiently testify.
Love requires a more unlimited obedience from its slaves, than any other monarch can expect from his subjects; an obedience which is circumscribed by no laws whatever, and dependent upon nothing but itself.
I shall live, madam, says the renowned prince of Scythia to the divine Statira; I shall live, since it is your command I should do so; and death can have no power over a life which you are pleased to take care of——
Say only that you wish I should conquer, said the great Juba to the incomparable Cleopatra, and my enemies will be already vanquished—victory will come over to the side your favour—and an army of a hundred thousand men will not be able to overcome the man who has your commands to conquer—
How mean and insignificant, pursued she, are the titles bestowed on other monarchs compared with those which dignify the sovereigns of hearts, such as Divine Arbitress of my Fate, Visible Divinity, Earthly Goddess, and many others equally sublime—
Mr. Glanville losing all patience at her obstinate folly, interrupted her here with a question quite foreign to the subject she was discussing, and soon after quitting her chamber, retired to his own, more than ever despairing of her recovery.
Miss Glanville, whose envy and dislike of her lovely cousin were heightened by her suspicions that she disputed with her the possession of Sir George's heart, she having been long in reality a great admirer of that gay gentleman, was extremely delighted with the ridicule her absurd behaviour had drawn upon her at Bath, which she found by enquiry was through Mr. Tinsel's representation grown almost general.
In order therefore to be at liberty to go to the public places uneclipsed by the superior beauty of Arabella, she acquainted her father and brother with part of what she had heard, which determined them to prevent that young lady's appearance in public while they stayed at Bath; this being no difficult matter to bring about, since Arabella only went to the rooms or parade in compliance with the invitation of her cousins.
Miss Glanville being by these means rid of a rival too powerful even to contend with, went with more than usual gaiety to the assembly, where the extravagancies of Arabella afforded a perpetual fund for diversion. Her more than passive behaviour upon this occasion, banishing all restraint among those she conversed with, the jest circulated very freely at Arabella's expense. Nor did Miss Glanville fail to give new poignancy to their sarcasms, by artfully disclosing the bent of her cousin's studies, and enumerating the many absurdities they had made her guilty of.
Arabella's uncommon beauty had gained her so many enemies among the ladies that composed this assembly, that they seemed to contend with each other who should ridicule her most. The celebrated Countess of ----, being then at Bath, approached a circle of these fair defamers, and listening a few moments to the contemptuous jests they threw out against the absent beauty, declared herself in her favour; which in a moment, such was the force of her universally acknowledged merit, and the deference always paid to her opinion, silenced every pretty impertinent around her.
This lady, who among her own sex had no superior in wit, elegance, and ease, was inferior to very few of the other in sense, learning, and judgment. Her skill in poetry, painting, and music, though incontestably great, was numbered among the least of her accomplishments. Her candour, her sweetness, her modesty and benevolence, while they secured her from the darts of envy, rendered her superior to praise, and made the one as unnecessary as the other ineffectual.
She had been a witness of the surprise Arabella's extraordinary appearance had occasioned, and struck with that as well as the uncommon charms of her person, had pressed near her with several others of the company, when she was discoursing in the manner we have related.
A person of the countess's nice discernment could not fail of observing the wit and spirit, which though obscured, was not absolutely hid under the absurdity of her notions. And this discovery adding esteem to the compassion she felt for the fair visionary, she resolved to rescue her from the ill-natured raillery of her sex. Praising therefore her understanding, and the beauty of her person, with a sweetness and generosity peculiar to herself, she accounted in the most delicate manner imaginable for the singularity of her notions, from her studies, her retirement, her ignorance of the world, and her lively imagination. And to abate the keenness of their sarcasms, she acknowledged that she herself had, when very young, been deep read in romances; and but for an early acquaintance with the world, and being directed to other studies, was likely to have been as much a heroine as Lady Bella.
Miss Glanville, though she was secretly vexed at this defence of her cousin, was however under a necessity of seeming obliged to the countess for it: and that lady expressing a desire to be acquainted with Lady Bella, Miss Glanville respectfully offered to attend her cousin to her lodgings; which the countess as respectfully declined, saying, as Lady Bella was a stranger, she would make her the first visit.
Miss Glanville at her return gave her brother an account of what had happened at the assembly, and filled him with an inconceivable joy at the countess's intention. He had always been a zealous admirer of that lady's character, and flattered himself that the conversation of so admirable a woman would be of the utmost use to Arabella.
That very night he mentioned her to his beloved cousin; and after enumerating all her fine qualities, declared that she had already conceived a friendship for her, and was solicitous of her acquaintance.
I think myself extremely fortunate, replied Arabella, in that I have (though questionless undeservedly) acquired the amity of this lovely person; and I beg you, pursued she to Miss Glanville, to tell her, that I long with impatience to embrace her, and to give her that share in my heart which her transcendent merit deserves.
Miss Glanville only bowed her head in answer to this request, giving her brother at the same time a significant leer; who, though used to Arabella's particularities, could not help being a little confounded at the heroic speech she had made.
The countess was as good as her word, and two days after sent a card to Arabella, importing her design to wait on her that afternoon.
Our heroine expected her with great impatience, and the moment she entered the room, flew towards her with a graceful eagerness, and straining her in her arms, embraced her with all the fervour of a long absent friend.
Sir Charles and Mr. Glanville were equally embarrassed at the familiarity of this address; but observing that the countess seemed not to be surprised at it, but rather to receive it with pleasure, they were soon composed.
You cannot imagine, lovely stranger, said Arabella to the countess, as soon as they were seated, with what impatience I have longed to behold you, since the knowledge I have received of your rare qualities, and the friendship you have been pleased to honour me with—And I may truly protest to you, that such is my admiration of your virtues, that I would have gone to the farthest part of the world to render you that which you with so much generosity have condescended to bestow upon me.
Sir Charles stared at this extraordinary speech, and not being able to comprehend a word of it, was concerned to think how the lady to whom it was addressed would understand it.
Mr. Glanville looked down, and bit his nails in extreme confusion; but the countess, who had not forgot the language of romance, returned the compliment in a strain as heroic as hers.
The favour I have received from Fortune, said she, in bringing me to the happiness of your acquaintance, charming Arabella, is so great, that I may rationally expect some terrible misfortune will befall me: seeing that in this life our pleasures are so constantly succeeded by pains, that we hardly ever enjoy the one without suffering the other soon after.
Arabella was quite transported to hear the countess express herself in language so conformable to her own; but Mr. Glanville was greatly confounded, and began to suspect she was diverting herself with his cousin's singularities: and Sir Charles was within a little of thinking her as much out of the way as his niece.
Misfortunes, madam, said Arabella, are too often the lot of excellent persons like yourself. The sublimest among mortals both for beauty and virtue have experienced the frowns of Fate. The sufferings of the divine Statira, or Cassandra, for she bore both names, the persecutions of the incomparable Cleopatra, the distresses of the beautiful Candace, and the afflictions of the fair and generous Mandana, are proofs that the most illustrious persons in the world have felt the rage of calamity.
It must be confessed, said the countess, that all those fair princesses you have named, were for a while extremely unfortunate; yet in the catalogue of these lovely and afflicted persons you have forgot one who might with justice dispute the priority of sufferings with them all—I mean the beautiful Elisa, princess of Parthia.
Pardon me, madam, replied Arabella. I cannot be of your opinion. The princess of Parthia may indeed justly be ranked among the number of unfortunate persons, but she can by no means dispute the melancholy precedence with the divine Cleopatra—For in fine, madam, what evils did the princess of Parthia suffer which the fair Cleopatra did not likewise endure, and some of them haply in a greater degree? If Elisa, by the tyrannical authority of the king her father, saw herself upon the point of becoming the wife of a prince she detested, was not the beautiful daughter of Antony, by the more unjustifiable tyranny of Augustus likely to be forced into the arms of Tyberius, a proud and cruel prince, who was odious to the whole world as well as to her? If Elisa was for some time in the power of pirates, was not Cleopatra captive to an inhuman king, who presented his sword to the fair breast of that divine princess, worthy the adoration of the whole earth? And in fine, if Elisa had the grief to see her dear Artaban imprisoned by the order of Augustus, Cleopatra beheld with mortal agonies her beloved Coriolanus enclosed amidst the guards of that enraged prince, and doomed to a cruel death.
It is certain, madam, replied the countess, that the misfortunes of both these princesses were very great, though as you have shown me with some inequality: and when one reflects upon the dangerous adventures to which persons of their quality were exposed in those times, one cannot help rejoicing that we live in an age in which the customs, manners, habits, and inclinations differ so widely from theirs, that it is impossible such adventures should ever happen.
Such is the strange alteration of things, that some people I dare say at present cannot be persuaded to believe there ever were princesses wandering through the world by land and sea in mean disguises, carried away violently out of their father's dominions by insolent lovers; some discovered sleeping in forests, other shipwrecked on desolate islands, confined in castles, bound in chariots, and even struggling amidst the tempestuous waves of the sea, into which they had cast themselves to avoid the brutal force of their ravishers. Not one of these things having happened within the compass of several thousand years, people unlearned in antiquity would be apt to deem them idle tales, so improbable do they appear at present.
Arabella, though greatly surprised at this discourse, did not think proper to express her thoughts of it. She was unwilling to appear absolutely ignorant of the present customs of the world, before a lady whose good opinion she was ardently desirous of improving. Her prepossessions in favour of the countess made her receive the new lights she held out to her with respect, though not without doubt and irresolution. Her blushes, her silence, and down-cast eyes gave the countess to understand part of her thoughts; who for fear of alarming her too much for that time, dropped the subject, and turning the conversation on others more general, gave Arabella an opportunity of mingling in it with that wit and vivacity which was natural to her when romances were out of the question.
The countess, charmed with the wit and good sense of Arabella, could not conceal her admiration, but expressed it in terms the most obliging imaginable: and Arabella, who was excessively delighted with her, returned the compliments she made her with the most respectful tenderness.
In the midst of these mutual civilities, Arabella, in the style of romance, entreated the countess to favour her with the recital of her adventures.
At the mention of this request, that lady conveyed so much confusion into her countenance, that Arabella, extremely embarrassed by it, though she knew not why, thought it necessary to apologise for the disturbance she seemed to have occasioned in her.
Pardon me, madam, replied the countess, recovering herself, if the uncommoness of your request made a moment's reflection necessary to convince me that a young lady of your sense and delicacy could mean no offence to decorum by making it. The word adventures carries in it so free and licentious a sound in the apprehensions of people at this period of time, that it can hardly with propriety be applied to those few and natural incidents which compose the history of a woman of honour. And when I tell you, pursued she with a smile, that I was born and christened, had a useful and proper education, received the addresses of my Lord —— through the recommendation of my parents, and married him with their consents and my own inclination, and that since we have lived in great harmony together, I have told you all the material passages of my life; which upon enquiry you will find differ very little from those of other women of the same rank, who have a moderate share of sense, prudence and virtue.
Since you have already, madam, replied Arabella blushing, excused me for the liberty I took with you, it will be unnecessary to tell you it was grounded upon the customs of ancient times, when ladies of the highest rank and sublimest virtue were often exposed to a variety of cruel adventures, which they imparted in confidence to each other, when chance brought them together.
Custom, said the countess, smiling, changes the very nature of things; and what was honourable a thousand years ago, may probably be looked upon as infamous now—A lady in the heroic age you speak of, would not be thought to possess any great share of merit, if she had not been many times carried away by one or other of her insolent lovers: whereas a beauty in this could not pass through the hands of several different ravishers, without bringing an imputation on her chastity.
The same actions which made a man a hero in those times would constitute him a murderer in these—And the same steps which led him to a throne then, would infallibly conduct him to a scaffold now.
But custom, madam, said Arabella, cannot possibly change the nature of virtue or vice: and since virtue is the chief characteristic of a hero, a hero in the last age will be a hero in this—Though the natures of virtue or vice cannot be changed, replied the countess, yet they may be mistaken; and different principles, customs, and education, may probably change their names, if not their natures.
Sure, madam, said Arabella a little moved, you do not intend by this inference to prove Oroondates, Artaxerxes, Juba, Artaban, and the other heroes of antiquity bad men?
Judging them by the rules of Christianity, and our present notions of honour, justice, and humanity, they certainly are, replied the countess.
Did they not possess all the necessary qualifications of heroes, madam, said Arabella, and each in a superlative degree? Was not their valour invincible, their generosity unbounded, and their fidelity inviolable?
It cannot be denied, said the countess, but that their valour was invincible; and many thousand men less courageous than themselves, felt the fatal effects of that invincible valour, which was perpetually seeking after occasions to exert itself. Oroondates gave many extraordinary proofs of that unbounded generosity so natural to the heroes of his time. This prince being sent by the king his father, at the head of an army, to oppose the Persian monarch, who had unjustly invaded his dominions, and was destroying the lives and properties of his subjects; having taken the wives and daughters of his enemy prisoners, had by these means an opportunity to put a period to a war so destructive to his country: yet out of a generosity truly heroic, he released them immediately without any conditions; and falling in love with one of those princesses, secretly quitted his father's court, resided several years in that of the enemy of his father and country, engaged himself to his daughter, and when the war broke out again between the two kings, fought furiously against an army in which the king his father was in person, and shed the blood of his future subjects without remorse; though each of those subjects, we are told, would have sacrificed his life to save that of their prince, so much was he beloved. Such are the actions which immortalize the heroes of romance, and are by the authors of those books styled glorious, godlike, and divine. Yet judging of them as Christians, we shall find them impious and base, and directly opposite to our present notions of moral and relative duties.
It is certain therefore, madam, added the countess with a smile, that what was virtue in those days, is vice in ours: and to form a hero according to our notions of them at present, it is necessary to give him qualities very different from Oroondates.
The secret charm in the countenance, voice, and manner of the countess, joined to the force of her reasoning, could not fail of making some impression on the mind of Arabella; but it was such an impression as came far short of conviction. She was surprised, embarrassed, perplexed, but not convinced. Heroism, romantic heroism, was deeply rooted in her heart; it was her habit of thinking, a principle imbibed from education. She could not separate her ideas of glory, virtue, courage, generosity, and honour, from the false representations of them in the actions of Oroondates, Juba, Artaxerxes, and the rest of the imaginary heroes. The countess's discourse had raised a kind of tumult in her thoughts, which gave an air of perplexity to her lovely face, and made that lady apprehensive she had gone too far, and lost that ground in her esteem, which she had endeavoured to acquire by a conformity to some of her notions and language. In this, however, she was mistaken; Arabella felt a tenderness for her that had already the force of a long contracted friendship, and an esteem little less than veneration.
When the countess took leave, the professions of Arabella, though delivered in the language of romance, were very sincere and affecting, and were returned with an equal degree of tenderness by the countess, who had conceived a more than ordinary affection for her.
Mr. Glanville, who could have almost worshipped the countess for the generous design he saw she had entertained, took an opportunity as he handed her to her chair, to entreat in a manner as earnest as polite, that she would continue the happiness of her acquaintance to his cousin; which, with a smile of mingled dignity and sweetness, she assured him of.
Mr. Glanville at his return to the dining-room, finding Arabella retired, told his father in a rapture of joy, that the charming countess would certainly make a convert of Lady Bella.
Methinks, said the baronet, she has as strange whims in her head as my niece. Ad's-heart, what a deal of stuff did she talk about! A parcel of heroes as she calls them, with confounded hard names—In my mind, she is more likely to make Lady Bella worse than better.
Mr. Glanville, a little vexed at his father's misapprehension, endeavoured with as much delicacy as he could, to set him right with regard to the countess; so that he brought him at last to confess she managed the thing very well.
The countess, who had resolved to take Arabella openly into her protection, was thinking on means to engage her to appear at the assembly, whither she proposed to accompany her in a modern dress. But her good intentions towards our lovely heroine were suspended by the account she received of her mother's indisposition, which commanded her immediate attendance on her at her seat in ——.
Her sudden departure gave Arabella an extreme uneasiness, and proved a cruel disappointment to Mr. Glanville, who had founded all his hopes of her recovery on the conversation of that lady.
Sir Charles having affairs that required his presence in London, proposed to his niece the leaving Bath in a few days, to which she consented; and accordingly they set out for London in Arabella's coach and six, attended by several servants on horseback, her women having been sent away before in the stage.
Nothing very remarkable happened during this journey; so we shall not trouble our readers with several small mistakes of Arabella's, such as her supposing a neat country girl who was riding behind a man, to be some lady or princess in disguise, forced away by a lover she hated, and entreating Mr. Glanville to attempt her rescue; which occasioned some little debate between her and Sir Charles, who could not be persuaded to believe it was as she said, and forbade his son to meddle in other people's affairs. Several of these sorts of mistakes, as we said before, we omit; and will therefore, if our reader pleases, bring our heroine without further delay to London.
Miss Glanville, whose spirits were greatly exhilarated at their entrance into London, that seat of magnificence and pleasure, congratulated her cousin upon the entertainment she would receive from the new and surprising objects which every day for a considerable time would furnish her with; and ran over the catalogue of diversions with such a volubility of tongue, as drew a gentle reprimand from her father, and made her keep a sullen silence till they were set down in St. James's Square, the place of their residence in town.
Sir Charles having ordered his late lady's apartment to be prepared for the accommodation of his niece; as soon as the first civilities were over, she retired to her chamber where she employed herself in giving her women directions for placing her books, of which she had brought a moderate quantity to London, in her closet.
Miss Glanville as soon as she had dispatched away some hundred cards to her acquaintance, to give them notice she was in town, attended Arabella in her own apartment; and as they sat at the tea she began to regulate the diversions of the week, naming the Drawing-Room, Park, Concert, Ranelagh, Lady ——'s Assembly, the Duchess of ——'s Rout, Vauxhall, and a long &c. of visits; at which Arabella, with an accent that expressed her surprise, asked her, if she supposed she intended to stay in town three or four years.
Law, cousin, said Miss Glanville, all this is but the amusement of a few days.
Amusement, do you say? replied Arabella: methinks it seems to be the sole employment of those days; and what you call the amusement, must of necessity be the business of life.
You are always so grave, cousin, said Miss Glanville, one does not know what to say to you. However, I shan't press you to go to public places against your inclination, yet you'll condescend to receive a few visits, I suppose?
Yes, replied Arabella, and if among the ladies whom I shall see, I find any like the amiable Countess of ——, I shall not scruple to enter into the most tender amity with them.
The Countess of —— is very well, to be sure, said Miss Glanville; yet I don't know how it is, she does not suit my taste—She is very particular in a great many things, and knows too much for a lady, as I heard my Lord Fribble say one day. Then she is quite unfashionable: she hates cards, keeps no assembly, is seen but seldom at public places; and in my opinion, as well as in a great many others, is the dullest company in the world. I'm sure I met her at a visit a little before I went down to your seat; and she had not been a quarter of an hour in the room, before she set a whole circle of ladies a-yawning.
Arabella, though she had a sincere contempt for her cousin's manner of thinking, yet always politely concealed it; and vexed as she was at her sneers upon the countess, she contented herself with gently defending her, telling her at the same time, that till she met with a lady who had more merit than the countess, she should always possess the first place in her esteem.
Arabella, who had from youth adopted the resentments of her father, refused to make her appearance at court, which Sir Charles gently intimated to her; yet being not wholly divested of the curiosity natural to her sex, she condescended to goincog.to the gallery on a ball night, accompanied by Mr. Glanville and his sister, in order to behold the splendour of the British Court.
As her romances had long familiarised her thoughts to objects of grandeur and magnificence, she was not so much struck as might have been expected with those that now presented themselves to her view. Nor was she a little disappointed to find that among the men she saw none whose appearance came up to her ideas of the air and port of an Artaban, Oroondates, or Juba; or any of the ladies, who did not in her opinion, fall short of the perfections of Elisa, Mandana, Statira, &c. It was remarkable too, that she never enquired how often the princesses had been carried away by love-captivated monarchs, or how many victories the king's sons had gained; but seemed the whole time she was there to have suspended all her romantic ideas of glory, beauty, gallantry, and love.
Mr. Glanville was highly pleased with her composed behaviour, and a day or two after entreated her to allow him the honour of showing her what was remarkable and worthy of her observation in this great metropolis. To this she also consented, and for the greater privacy began their travels in a hired coach.
Part of several days were taken up in this employment; but Mr. Glanville had the mortification to find she was full of allusions to her romances upon every occasion; such as her asking the person who shows the armoury at the Tower, the names of the knights to whom each suit belonged, and wondering there were no devices on the shields or plumes of feathers in the helmets. She observed that the lion Lysimachus killed, was, according to the history of that prince, much larger than any of those she was showed in the Tower, and also much fiercer; took notice that St. Paul's was less magnificent in the inside, than the temple in which Cyrus, when he went to Mandana, heard her return thanks for his supposed death; enquired if it was not customary for the king and his whole court to sail in barges upon the Thames, as Augustus used to do upon the Tyber; whether they had not music and collations in the Park; and where they celebrated the justs and tournaments.
The season for Vauxhall being not yet over, she was desirous of once seeing a place, which by the description she had heard of it, greatly resembled the gardens of Lucullus at Rome, in which the emperor, with all the princes and princesses of his court were so nobly entertained, and where so many gallant conversations had passed among those admirable persons.
The singularity of her dress, for she was covered with her veil, drew a number of gazers after her, who pressed round her with so little respect, that she was greatly embarrassed, and had thoughts of quitting the place, delightful as she owned it, immediately, when her attention was wholly engrossed by an adventure in which she soon interested herself very deeply.
An officer of rank in the sea service had brought his mistress, disguised in a suit of man's or rather boy's clothes, and a hat and feather, into the gardens. The young creature being a little intoxicated with the wine she had taken too freely, was thrown so much off her guard as to give occasion to some of the company to suspect her sex; and a gay fellow, in order to give them some diversion at her expense, pretending to be affronted at something she said, drew his sword upon the disguised fair-one, which so alarmed her, that she shrieked out she was a woman, and ran for protection to her lover; who was so disordered with liquor, that he was not able to defend her.
Miss Glanville, ever curious and inquisitive, demanded the cause why the company ran in crowds to that particular spot; and received for answer, that a gentleman had drawn his sword upon a lady disguised in a man's habit.
Oh Heavens! cried Arabella, this must certainly be a very notable adventure. The lady has doubtless some extraordinary circumstances in her story, and haply, upon enquiry, her misfortunes will be found to resemble those which obliged the beautiful Aspasia to put on the same disguise, who was by that means murdered by the cruel Zenodorus in a fit of jealousy at the amity his wife expressed for her. But can I not see this unfortunate fair-one? added she, pressing in spite of Mr. Glanville's entreaties through the crowd: I may haply be able to afford her some consolation.
Mr. Glanville, finding his persuasions were not regarded, followed her with very little difficulty: for her veil falling back in her hurry, she did not mind to replace it; and the charms of her face, joined to the majesty of her person, and singularity of her dress, attracting every person's attention and respect, they made way for her to pass, not a little surprised at the extreme earnestness and solemnity that appeared in her countenance upon an event so diverting to every one else.
The disguised lady whom she was endeavouring to approach, had thrown herself upon a bench in one of the boxes, trembling still with the apprehension of the sword, though her antagonist was kneeling at her feet, making love to her in mock-heroics for the diversion of the company.
Her hat and peruke had fallen off in her fright, and her hair, which had been turned up under it, hung now loosely about her neck, and gave such an appearance of woe to a face, which notwithstanding the paleness that terror had overspread it with, was really extremely pretty, that Arabella was equally struck with compassion and admiration of her.
Lovely unknown, said she to her, with an air of extreme tenderness, though I am a stranger both to your name and history, yet your aspect persuadeth me your quality is not mean; and the condition and disguise in which I behold you, showing that you are unfortunate, permit me to offer you all the assistance in my power, seeing that I am moved thereto by my compassion for your distress, and that esteem which the sight of you must necessarily inspire.
Mr. Glanville was struck dumb with confusion at this strange speech, and at the whispers and scoffs it occasioned among the spectators. He attempted to take hold of her hand, in order to lead her away, but she disengaged herself from him with a frown of displeasure; and taking no notice of Miss Glanville, who whispered with great emotion, Lord, cousin, how you expose yourself! pressed nearer to the beautiful disguised, and again repeated her offers of service.
The girl being perfectly recovered from her intoxication by the fright she had been in, gazed upon Arabella with a look of extreme surprise: yet being moved to respect by the dignity of her appearance, and, strange as her words seemed to be, by the obliging purport of them, and the affecting earnestness with which they were delivered, she rose from her seat and thanked her, with an accent full of regard and submission.
Fair maid, said Arabella, taking her hand, let us quit this place, where your discovery may probably subject you to more dangers. If you will be pleased to put yourself into my protection, and acquaint me with the history of your misfortunes; I have interest enough with a valiant person, who shall undertake to free you from your persecutions, and re-establish the repose of your life.
The kneeling hero, who as well as every one else that were present, had gazed with astonishment at Arabella during all this passage, perceiving she was about to rob him of the disguised fair, seized hold of the hand she had at liberty, and swore he would not part with her.
Mr. Glanville, almost mad with vexation, endeavoured to get Arabella away.
Are you mad, madam, said he in a whisper, to make all this rout about a prostitute? Do you see how every body stares at you? What will they think—For Heaven's sake, let us be gone!
What, sir, replied Arabella in a rage, are you base enough to leave this admirable creature in the power of that man, who is questionless her ravisher; and will you not draw your sword in her defence?
Hey-day! cried the sea-officer, waked out of his stupid doze by the clamour about him: what's the matter here—What are you doing? Where's my Lucy? Zounds, sir! said he, to the young fellow who held her, what business have you with my Lucy? And uttering a dreadful oath, drew out his sword, and staggered towards his gay rival, who observing the weakness of his antagonist, flourished with his sword to show his courage and frighten the ladies, who all ran away screaming. Arabella taking Miss Glanville under the arm, cried out to Mr. Glanville as she left the place, to take care of the distressed lady, and, while the two combatants were disputing for her, to carry her away in safety.
But Mr. Glanville, without regarding this injunction, hastened after her; and to pacify her, told her the lady was rescued by her favourite lover, and carried off in triumph.
But are you sure, said Arabella, it was not some other of her ravishers who carried her away, and not the person whom she has haply favoured with her affection? May not the same thing have happened to her, as did to the beautiful Candace, queen of Ethiopia; who, while two of her ravishers were fighting for her, a third whom she took for her deliverer, came and carried her away.
But she went away willingly, I assure you, madam, said Mr. Glanville: pray don't be in any concern about her——
If she went away willingly with him, replied Arabella, it is probable it may not be another ravisher: and yet if this person that rescued her happened to be in armour, and the vizor of his helmet down, she might be mistaken as well as Queen Candace.
Well, well, he was not in armour, madam, said Glanville, almost beside himself with vexation at her folly——
You seem to be disturbed, sir, said Arabella, a little surprised at his peevish tone. Is there any thing in this adventure which concerns you? Nay, now I remember, you did not offer to defend the beautiful unknown. I am not willing to impute your inaction upon such an occasion to want of courage or generosity; perhaps you are acquainted with her history, and from this knowledge refused to engage in her defence.
Mr. Glanville, perceiving the company gather from all parts to the walk they were in, told her he would acquaint her with all he knew concerning the disguised lady when they were in the coach on their return home; and Arabella, impatient for the promised story, proposed to leave the gardens immediately, which was gladly complied with by Mr. Glanville, who heartily repented his having carried her thither.
As soon as they were seated in the coach, she did not fail to call upon him to perform his promise: but Mr. Glanville, excessively out of humour at her exposing herself in the gardens, replied, without considering whether he should not offend her, that he knew no more of the disguised lady than any body else in the place.
How, sir! replied Arabella, did you not promise to relate her adventures to me? And would you have me believe you knew no more of them than the rest of the cavaliers and ladies in the place?
Upon my soul, I don't, madam, said Glanville: yet what I know of her is sufficient to let me understand she was not worth the consideration you seemed to have for her.
She cannot sure be more indiscreet than the fair and unfortunate Hermione, replied Arabella; who like her put on man's apparel, through despair at the ill success of her passion for Alexander—And certain it is, that though the beautiful Hermione was guilty of one great error which lost her the esteem of Alexander, yet she had a high and noble soul; as was manifest by her behaviour and words when she was run through by the sword of Demetrius. Oh! death, cried she, as she was falling, how sweet do I find thee, and how much and how earnestly have I desired thee!
Oh Lord! Oh Lord! cried Mr. Glanville, hardly sensible of what he said, was there ever any thing so intolerable!
You pity the unhappy Hermione, sir? said Arabella, interpreting his exclamation her own way. Indeed, she is well worthy of your compassion. And if the bare recital of the words she uttered at receiving her death's wound affects you so much, you may guess what would have been your agonies, had you been Demetrius that gave it to her.
Here Mr. Glanville groaning aloud through impatience at her absurdities——
This subject affects you deeply, I perceive, said Arabella. There is no question but you would have acted in the same circumstance as Demetrius did: yet let me tell you, the extravagancy of his rage and despair for what he had innocently committed, was imputed to him as a great imbecility, as was also the violent passion he conceived soon after for the fair Deidamia. You know the accident which brought that fair princess into his way.
Indeed I do not, madam, said Glanville, peevishly.
Well, then I'll tell you, said Arabella; but, pausing a little:
The recital I have engaged myself to make, added she, will necessarily take up some hours' time, as upon reflection I have found: so if you will dispense with my beginning it at present, I will satisfy your curiosity to-morrow, when I may be able to pursue it without interruption.
To this Mr. Glanville made no other answer than a bow with his head; and the coach a few moments after arriving at their own house, he led her to her apartment, firmly resolved never to attend her to any more public places while she continued in the same ridiculous folly.
Sir Charles, who had several times been in doubt whether Arabella was not really disordered in her senses; upon Miss Glanville's account of her behaviour at the gardens, concluded she was absolutely mad, and held a short debate with himself, whether he ought not to bring a commission of lunacy against her, rather than marry her to his son, whom he was persuaded could never be happy with a wife so unaccountably absurd. Though he only hinted at this to Mr. Glanville, in a conversation he had with him while his dissatisfaction was at its height, concerning Arabella, yet the bare supposition that his father ever thought of such a thing, threw the young gentleman into such agonies, that Sir Charles, to compose him, protested he would do nothing in relation to his niece that he would not approve of. Yet he expostulated with him on the absurdity of her behaviour, and the ridicule to which she exposed herself wherever she went; appealing to him, whether in a wife he could think those follies supportable, which in a mistress occasioned him so much confusion.
Mr. Glanville, as much in love as he was, felt all the force of this inference, and acknowledged to his father, that he could not think of marrying Arabella, till the whims her romances had put into her head, were erased by a better knowledge of life and manners. But he added with a sigh, that he knew not how this reformation would be effected; for she had such a strange facility in reconciling every incident to her own fantastic ideas, that every new object added strength to the fatal deception she laboured under.
Our lovely heroine had not been above a fortnight in London, before the gross air of that smoky town affected her health so much, that Sir Charles proposed to her to go for a few weeks to Richmond, where he hired a house elegantly furnished for her reception.
Miss Glanville had been too long out of that darling city to pay her the compliment of attending her constantly at Richmond; yet she promised to be as often as possible with her: and Sir Charles, having affairs that could not dispense with his absence from town, placed his steward in her house, being a person whose prudence and fidelity he could rely upon; and he, with her women, and some other menial servants, made up her equipage.
As it was not consistent with decorum for Mr. Glanville to reside in her house, he contented himself with riding to Richmond generally every day; and as long as Arabella was pleased with that retirement, he resolved not to press her return to town till the Countess of —— arrived, in whose conversation he grounded all his hopes of her cure.
At that season of the year, Richmond not being quite deserted by company, Arabella was visited by several ladies of fashion; who, charmed with her affability, politeness, and good sense, were strangely perplexed how to account for some peculiarities in her dress and manner of thinking.
Some of the younger sort, from whom Arabella's extraordinary beauty took away all pretensions to equality on that score, made themselves extremely merry with her oddnesses, as they called them, and gave broad intimations that her head was not right.
As for Arabella, whose taste was as delicate, sentiments as refined, and judgment as clear as any person's could be who believed the authenticity of Scudery's romances, she was strangely disappointed to find no lady with whom she could converse with any tolerable pleasure; and that instead of Clelias, Statiras, Mandanas, &c. she found only Miss Glanvilles among all she knew.
The comparison she drew between such as these and the charming Countess of ——, whom she had just begun to be acquainted with at Bath, increased her regret for the interruption that was given to so agreeable a friendship; and it was with infinite pleasure Mr. Glanville heard her repeatedly wish for the arrival of that admirable lady (as she always called her) in town.
Not being able to relish the insipid conversation of the young ladies that visited her at Richmond, her chief amusement was to walk in the park there; which, because of its rural privacy, was extremely agreeable to her inclinations.
Here she indulged contemplation, leaning on the arm of her faithful Lucy, while her other women walked at some distance behind her, and two men servants kept her always in sight.
One evening when she was returning from her usual walk, she heard the sound of a woman's voice, which seemed to proceed from a tuft of trees that hid her from her view. And stopping a moment, distinguished some plaintive accents, which increasing her curiosity, she advanced towards the place, telling Lucy she was resolved if possible to discover who the distressed lady was, and what was the subject of her affliction.
As she drew nearer with softly treading steps, she could distinguish through the branches of the trees, now despoiled of great part of their leaves, two women seated on the ground, their backs towards her, and one of them, with her head gently reclined on the other's shoulder, seemed by her mournful action to be weeping; for she often put her handkerchief to her eyes, breathing every time a sigh, which, as Arabella phrased it, seemed to proceed from the deepest recesses of her heart.
This adventure, more worthy indeed to be styled an adventure than all our fair heroine had ever yet met with, and so conformable to what she had read in romances, filled her heart with eager expectation. She made a sign to Lucy to make no noise, and creeping still closer towards the place where this afflicted person sat, she heard her distinctly utter these words, which, however, were often interrupted with her sighs.
Ah, Ariamenes! whom I to my misfortune have too much loved, and whom to my misfortune I fear I shall never sufficiently hate, since that Heaven, and thy cruel ingratitude, have ordained that thou shalt never be mine, and that so many sweet and dear hopes are for ever taken from me, return me at least, ungrateful man, return me those testimonies of my innocent affection, which were sometimes so dear and precious to thee. Return me those favours, which all innocent as they were, are become criminal by thy crime. Return me, cruel man, return me those relics of my heart which thou detainest in despite of me, and which, notwithstanding thy infidelity, I cannot recover.
Here her tears interrupting her speech, Arabella being impatient to know the history of this afflicted person, came softly round to the other side, and showing herself, occasioned some disturbance to the sad unknown; who, rising from her seat, with her face averted, as if ashamed of having so far disclosed her sorrows in a stranger's hearing, endeavoured to pass by her unnoticed.
Arabella, perceiving her design, stopped her with a very graceful action, and, with a voice all composed of sweetness, earnestly conjured her to relate her history.
Think not, lovely unknown, said she, (for she was really very pretty) that my endeavours to detain you proceed from an indiscreet curiosity. It is true, some complaints which have fallen from your fair mouth, have raised in me a desire to be acquainted with your adventures; but this desire has its foundation in that compassion your complaints have filled me with: and if I wish to know your misfortunes, it is only with a view of affording you some consolation.
Pardon me, madam, said the fair afflicted, gazing on Arabella with many signs of admiration, if my confusion at being overheard in a place I had chosen to bewail my misfortunes, made me be guilty of some appearance of rudeness, not seeing the admirable person I wanted to avoid. But, pursued she, hesitating a little, those characters of beauty I behold in your face, and the gracefulness of your deportment convincing me you can be of no ordinary rank, I will the less scruple to acquaint you with my adventures, and the cause of those complaints you have heard proceed from my mouth.
Arabella assuring her, that whatever her misfortunes were, she might depend upon all the assistance in her power, seated herself near her at the foot of the tree where she had been sitting; and giving Lucy orders to join the rest of her women, and stay at a distance till she made a sign to them to advance, she prepared to listen to the adventures of the fair unknown; who, after some little pause, began to relate them in this manner.
My name, madam, is Cynecia, my birth illustrious enough, seeing that I am the daughter of a sovereign prince, who possesses a large and spacious territory in what is now called ancient Gaul.
What, madam! interrupted Arabella, are you a princess, then?
Questionless I am, madam, replied the lady; and a princess happy and prosperous, till the felicity of my life was interrupted by the perfidious Ariamenes.
Pardon me, madam, interrupted Arabella again, that my ignorance of your quality made me be deficient in those respects which are due to your high birth, and which notwithstanding those characters of greatness I might read in the lineaments of your visage, I yet neglected to pay——
Alas, madam! said the stranger, that little beauty which the heavens bestowed on me only to make me wretched, as by the event it has proved, has long since taken its flight, and together with my happiness, I have lost that which made me unhappy. And certain it is, grief has made such ravages among what might once have been thought tolerable in my face, that I should not be surprised if my being no longer fair, should make you with difficulty believe I ever was so.
Arabella after a proper compliment in answer to this speech, entreated the princess to go on with her history; who, hesitating a little, complied with her request.
Be pleased to know then, madam, said she, that being bred up with all imaginable tenderness in my father's court, I had no sooner arrived to my sixteenth year than I saw myself surrounded with lovers; who nevertheless, such was the severity with which I behaved myself, concealed their passions under a respectful silence, well knowing banishment from my presence was the least punishment they had to expect, if they presumed to declare their sentiments to me.
I lived in this fashion, madam, for two years longer, rejoicing in the insensibility of my own heart, and triumphing in the sufferings of others, when my tranquillity was all at once interrupted by an accident which I am going to relate to you.
The princess stopped here to give vent to some sighs which a cruel remembrance forced from her; and continuing in a deep muse for five or six minutes, resumed her story in this manner.
It being my custom to walk in a forest adjoining to one of my father's summer residences, attended only by my women, one day when I was taking this amusement, I perceived at some distance a man lying on the ground; and impelled by a sudden curiosity, I advanced towards this person, whom upon a nearer view I perceived to have been wounded very much, and fainted away through loss of blood. His habit being very rich, I concluded by that he was of no mean quality: but when I had looked upon his countenance, pale and languishing as it was, methought there appeared so many marks of greatness, accompanied with a sweetness so happily blended, that my attention was engaged in an extraordinary manner, and interested me so powerfully in his safety, that I commanded some of my women to run immediately for proper assistance, and convey him to the castle, while I directed others to throw some water in his face, and to apply some linen to his wounds, to stop the bleeding.
These charitable cares restored the wounded stranger to his senses. He opened his eyes, and turning them slowly to the objects around him, fixed at last their languishing looks on me: when moved, as it should seem, to some respect by what he saw in my countenance, he rose with some difficulty from the ground, and bowing almost down to it again, by that action seemed to pay me his acknowledgments for what he supposed I had done for his preservation.
His extreme weakness having obliged him to creep towards a tree, against the back of which he supported himself, I went nearer to him, and having told him the condition in which I found him, and the orders I had dispatched for assistance, requested him to acquaint me with his name and quality, and the adventure which had brought him into that condition.
My name, madam, answered he, is Ariamenes. My birth is noble enough. I have spent some years in my travels, and was returning to my native country, when passing through this forest I was seized with an inclination to sleep. I had tied my horse to a tree, and retiring some few paces off, stretched myself at the foot of a large oak whose branches promised me an agreeable shade. I had not yet closed my eyes, when the slumber I invited was dissipated by the sound of some voices near me.
A curiosity, not natural to me, made me listen to the discourse of these persons, whom by the tone of their voices, though I could not see them, I knew to be men.
In short, madam, I was a witness to a most horrible scheme which they concerted together. My weakness will not permit me to enter into an exact detail of all I heard: the result of their conference was, to seize the princess of this country, and carry her off.
Here, pursued Cynecia, I interrupted the stranger with a loud cry, which giving him to understand who I was, he apologized in the most graceful manner imaginable for the little respect he had hitherto paid me.
I then entreated him to tell me, if he had any opportunity of hearing the name of my designed ravisher; to which he replied, that he understood it to be Taxander.
This man, madam, was one of my father's favourites, and had been long secretly in love with me.
Ariamenes then informed me, that being enflamed with rage against these impious villains, he rose from the ground, remounted his horse, and defied the two traitors aloud, threatening them with death, unless they abandoned their impious design.
Taxander made no answer, but rushed furiously upon him, and had the baseness to suffer his wicked associate to assist him: but the valiant Ariamenes, though he spoke modestly of his victory, yet gave me to understand that he had made both the villains abandon their wicked enterprise, with their lives; and that dismounting, in order to see if they were quite dead, he found himself so faint with the wounds he had received from them both, that he had not strength to remount his horse; but crawling on, in hopes of meeting with some assistance, fainted away at last through weariness and loss of blood.
While he was giving me this account, the chariot I had sent for arrived, and having made him such acknowledgments as the obligation I had received from him demanded, I caused him to get into the chariot; and sending one with him to acquaint the prince my father with all that had happened, and the merit of the valiant stranger, I returned the same way I came with my women, my thoughts being wholly engrossed by this unknown.
The service he had done me filled me with a gratitude and esteem for him, which prepared my heart for those tender sentiments I afterwards entertained, to the ruin of my repose.
I will not tire your patience, madam, with a minute detail of all the succeeding passages of my story; it shall suffice to tell you, that Ariamenes was received with extraordinary marks of esteem by my father; that his cure was soon completed; and that having vowed himself to my service, and declared an unalterable passion for me, I permitted him to love me, and gave him that share in my heart, which I fear not all his infidelities will ever deprive him of.
His attachment to me was soon suspected by Taxander's relations, who having secretly vowed his ruin, endeavoured to discover if I had admitted his addresses; and having made themselves masters of our secrets, by means of the treachery of one of my women, procured information to be given to my father of our mutual passion.
Alas! what mischiefs did not this fatal discovery produce! My father, enraged to the last degree at this intelligence, confined me to my apartment, and ordered Ariamenes to leave his dominions within three days.
Spare me, madam, the repetition of what passed at our last sad interview, which by large bribes to my guards he obtained.
His tears, his agonies, his vows of everlasting fidelity, so soothed my melancholy at parting with him, and persuaded me of his constancy, that I waited for several months with perfect tranquillity for the performance of the promise he made me, to do my father such considerable services in the war he was engaged in with one of his neighbours, as should oblige him to give me to him for his reward.
But, alas! two years rolled on without bringing back the unfaithful Ariamenes. My father died, and my brother, who succeeded him, being about to force me to marry a prince whom I detested, I secretly quitted the court, and attended only by this faithful confidante whom you behold with me, and some few of my trusty domestics, I came hither in search of Ariamenes; he having told me this country was the place of his birth.
Polenor, the most prudent and faithful of my servants, undertook to find out the ungrateful Ariamenes, whom yet I was willing to find excuses for; but all his enquiries were to no effect; the name of Ariamenes was not known in this part of the world.
Tired out with unsuccessful enquiries, I resolved to seek out some obscure place, where I might in secret lament my misfortunes, and expect the end of them in death. My attendants found me out such a retreat as I wanted, in a neighbouring village, which they call Twickenham, I think, from whence I often make excursions to this park, attended only as you see; and here indulge myself in complaints upon the cruelty of my destiny.
The sorrowful Cynecia here ended her story, to which in the course of her relation she had given a great many interruptions through the violence of her grief: and Arabella, after having said every thing she could think on to alleviate her affliction, earnestly entreated her to accept of an asylum at her house; where she should be treated with all the respect due to her illustrious birth.
The afflicted lady, though she respectfully declined this offer, yet expressed a great desire of commencing a strict amity with our fair heroine, who, on her part, made her the most tender protestations of friendship.
The evening being almost closed, they parted with great reluctancy on both sides; mutually promising to meet in the same place the next day.
Cynecia having enjoined her new friend to absolute secrecy, Arabella was under a necessity of keeping this adventure to herself. And though she longed to tell Mr. Glanville, who came to visit her the next day, that the countess was extremely mistaken, when she maintained there were no more wandering princesses in the world, yet the engagement she had submitted to kept her silent.
Arabella, who impatiently longed for the hour of meeting the fair princess, with whom she was extremely delighted, consulted her watch so often, and discovered so much restlessness and anxiety, that Mr. Glanville began to be surprised; and the more, as she peremptorily commanded him not to attend her in her evening walk. This prohibition, which, though he durst not dispute, he secretly resolved to disobey; and as soon as she set out for the park with her usual attendants, he slipped out by a back-door, and keeping her in his sight, himself unseen, he ventured to watch her motions.
As he had expected to unravel some great mystery, he was agreeably disappointed to find she continued her walk in the park with great composure; and though she was soon joined by the imaginary princess, yet conceiving her to be some young lady with whom she had commenced an acquaintance at Richmond, his heart was at rest; and for fear of displeasing her, he took a contrary path from that she was in, that he might not meet her, yet resolved to stay till he thought she would be inclined to return, and then show himself, and conduct her home;—a solicitude for which he did not imagine she need be offended.
The two ladies being met, after reciprocal compliments, the princess entreated Arabella to relate her adventures; who not being willing to violate the laws of romance, which require an unbounded confidence upon these occasions, began very succinctly to recount the history of her life; which, as she managed it, contained events almost as romantic and incredible as any in her romances; winding them up with a confession that she did not hate Mr. Glanville, whom she acknowledged to be one of the most faithful and zealous of lovers.
Cynecia, with a sigh, congratulated her upon the fidelity of a lover, who by her description, was worthy the place he possessed in her esteem; and expressing a wish that she could see, unobserved by him, this gallant and generous person, Arabella, who that moment espied him at a distance, yet advancing towards them, told her, with a blush that overspread all her face, that her curiosity might be satisfied in the manner she wished: for yonder, added she, is the person we have been talking of.
Cynecia, at these words, looking towards the place where her fair friend had directed; no sooner cast her eyes upon Mr. Glanville, than giving a loud cry, she sunk into the arms of Arabella, who, astonished and perplexed as she was, eagerly held them out to support her.
Finding her in a swoon, she dispatched Lucy, who was near her, to look for some water to throw in her face; but that lady, breathing a deep sigh, opened her languishing eyes, and fixing a melancholy look upon Arabella—
Ah! madam, said she, wonder not at my affliction and surprise, since in the person of your lover I behold the ungrateful Ariamenes.
Oh Heavens! my fair princess, replied Arabella, what is it you say? Is it possible Glanville can be Ariamenes?
He, cried the afflicted princess with a disordered accent, he whom I now behold, and whom you call Glanville, was once Ariamenes, the perjured, the ungrateful Ariamenes! Adieu, madam, I cannot bear his sight; I will hide myself from the world for ever; nor need you fear a rival or an enemy in the unfortunate Cynecia, who, if possible, will cease to love the unfaithful Ariamenes, and will never hate the beautiful Arabella.
Saying this, without giving her time to answer, she took hold of her confidante by the arm, and went away with so much swiftness, that she was out of sight before Arabella was enough recovered from her astonishment to be able to entreat her stay.
Our charming heroine, ignorant till now of the true state of her heart, was surprised to find it assaulted at once by all the passions which attend disappointed love. Grief, rage, jealousy, and despair made so cruel a war in her gentle bosom, that, unable either to express or to conceal the strong emotions with which she was agitated, she gave way to a violent burst of tears, leaning her head upon Lucy's shoulder, who wept as heartily as her lady, though ignorant of the cause of her affliction.
Mr. Glanville, who was now near enough to take notice of her posture, came running with eager haste to see what was the matter; when Arabella, roused from her ecstasy of grief by the sound of his steps, lifted up her head, and seeing him approach—
Lucy, cried she, trembling with the violence of her resentment, tell that traitor to keep out of my sight. Tell him, I forbid him ever to appear before me again. And, tell him, added she, with a sigh that shook her whole tender frame, all the blood in his body is too little to wash away his guilt, or to pacify my indignation.
Then hastily turning away, she ran towards her other attendants, who were at some distance; and joining her women, proceeded directly home.
Mr. Glanville, amazed at this action, was making after her as fast as he could, when Lucy, crossing in his way, cried out to him to stop.
My lady, said she, bid me tell you, traitor——
Hey-day! interrupted Glanville, what the devil does the girl mean?
Pray, sir, said she, let me deliver my message: I shall forget, if you speak to me till I have said it all—Stay, let me see, what comes next?
No more traitor, I hope, said Glanville.
No, sir, said Lucy; but there was something about washing in blood, and you must keep out of her sight, and not appear before the nation——Oh dear! I have forgot it half: my lady was in such a piteous taking, I forgot it, I believe, as soon as she said it. What shall I do?——
No matter, said Glanville, I'll overtake her, and ask——
No, no, sir, said Lucy, pray don't do that, sir, my lady will be very angry: I'll venture to ask her to tell me over again, and come back and let you know it.
But tell me, replied Glanville, was any thing the matter with your lady? She was in a piteous taking, you say?