CHAPTER VIII

"In vain from Fate we strive to fly;For, first or last, as all must die,So, 'tis decreed by those above,That, first or last, we all must love."'

'Poets are not always prophets,' answered she, laughing. 'It depends upon Mr. Trueworth himself,' said Sir Bazil, 'to prevent you from giving the lie to the prediction. If he fails, I shall believe no other man in the world will ever have the power to engage you to fulfil it; he dines here to-day. Sister Wellair and I are obliged to go abroad in the afternoon; so must desire you to make tea, and entertain him, as well as you can, till we come back.'

'I see you are both in the plot against me,' cried she; 'but I shall endeavour to behave so as not to affront your guest; yet, at the same time, be far from making good your oracle.'

A gentleman coming in to Sir Bazil, broke off their discourse, and relieved Miss Harriot from any farther persecution at this time. It wasnot that she disliked either the person or conversation of Mr. Trueworth, or that she was tired with the praises given him by her brother and sister; on the contrary, she found a thousand things which they had not mentioned, to admire in him: in fine, he was, in reality, less indifferent to her than she herself imagined; but there was a certain shyness in her disposition, which mingled some share of pain with the pleasure of hearing him spoke of as her lover.

She was sensible this propensity, which nature had implanted, was a weakness in her; but, though she used her utmost efforts for overcoming it, she found herself unequal to the task. In vain she considered, that the addresses of a man of such perfect honour and politeness as Mr. Trueworth, could not but be accompanied with the most profound respect: in vain she called to mind the example of other ladies, whom she had seen behave in the company of those who professed themselves their lovers, with the greatest ease and sprightliness; the very sight of Mr. Trueworth, as she saw him from her chamber-window, talking with her brother in the garden, threw her heart into palpitations, which all the reason she was mistress of could not enable her to quiet; but, when obliged to go down and sit with him at table, her confusion increased, by being more near the object which occasioned it. She endeavoured to treat him with the same freedom she had been accustomed; but it was not in her power: in fine, never woman suffered more in constraining herself to be silent and demure, than she did in constraining herself to be talkative and gay.

What, then, became of her, when Sir Bazil and Mrs. Wellair, after making a formal excuse for a short absence, went out, and left her exposed to the solicitations of a passion which her timid modesty had made her so much dread.

The moment Mr. Trueworth saw himself alone with her, he approached her with the most tender and respectful air. 'How often, Madam, have I languished for an opportunity, such as this, of telling you how much my soul adores you! My dear friend, Sir Bazil, has assured me he has prepared you to forgive the boldness of my flame, and that, for his sake, you will vouchsafe to listen to my vows; but it is from myself alone you can be convinced of the ardency of the love you have inspired.'

'My brother, Sir,' answered she, blushing, 'has, indeed, informed me that I have obligations to you of a nature which I was as far from expecting as I am far from deserving.' Here Mr. Trueworth began torun into some praises on the charms which had subdued his heart; which, though no more than dictated by his real sentiments, seemed to her too extravagant, and beyond what her modesty would suffer her to endure. 'Hold, Sir!' cried she, interrupting him; 'if you would have me believe your professions are sincere, forbear, I beseech you, to talk to me in this manner. It is an ill-judged policy, methinks, in you men, to idolize the women too much you wish would think well of you. If our sex are, in reality, so vain as you generally represent us, on whom but yourselves can the fault be laid? And if we prove so weak as to imagine ourselves such as either the flattery or the partial affection of the lover paints us, we shall be apt to take every thing as our due, and think little gratitude is owing for the offering he makes us of his heart.'

Mr. Trueworth was perfectly ravished at hearing her speak thus; but durst not express himself with too much warmth on the occasion. 'It must be confessed, Madam,' replied he, 'that the beauties of the person, when not accompanied by those of the mind, afford but a short-lived triumph to the fair possessor; they dazzle at first sight, and take the senses, as it were, by surprize; but the impression soon wears off, and the captivated heart gains it's former liberty: nay, perhaps, wonders at itself for having been enslaved; whereas those darts which fly from the perfections of the mind, penetrate into the soul, and fix a lasting empire there. But when both these charms shall happen to be united, as in the lovely Harriot,' continued he, taking one of her hands and kissing it; 'when in the most enchanting form that nature ever made, is found a soul enriched with every virtue, every grace—how indissoluble is the chain! how glorious the bondage!'

'Love is a theme I have never made my study,' answered she; 'but, according to my notions of the matter, those gentlemen who pretend to be affected by it, give themselves more trouble than they need. As that passion is generally allowed rather to be the child of fancy, than of real merit in the object beloved, I should think it would be sufficient for any man, in his addresses to a lady, to tell her that she happens to hit his taste—that she is what he likes; without dressing her up in qualities which, perhaps, have no existence but in his own imagination.'

'Where love is founded on beauty alone, as I have already said,' resumed Mr. Trueworth, 'the instructions you give, Madam, are certainly very just; for, indeed, no farther could be warranted bysincerity: but where reason directs the lover's choice, and points out those excellences which alone can make him happy in the possession of his wishes, ideas more sublime will naturally arise, and we can never too much admire, or praise, what is immediately from the divine source of perfection! It is not, O charming Harriot!' pursued he, looking on her with the utmost tenderness; 'it is not these radiant eyes, that lovely mouth, nor that sweet majesty that shines through all your air, but it is the heaven within that I adore: to that I pay my present worship, and on that build all my hopes of future bliss!'

Miss Harriot was about to make some reply; but his looks, the vehemence with which he uttered these last words, and the passionate gesture which accompanied them, made her relapse into her former bashfulness, from which she had a little recovered herself, and again deprived her of the power of speech.

'You give up the point, then, my angel!' cried he, perceiving she was silent; 'and I am glad you do; for had you continued to prohibit my expatiating on these matters, which made me your adorer, I must have maintained the argument even against your lovely self, to whom I shall for ever yield in all things else.'

After this he fell, insensibly as it were, into some discourse concerning the divine ordinance of marriage; and then proceeded to give her the most amiable picture that words could form of that state, when two persons of virtue, honour, and good sense, were by love and law united, and found themselves equally bound by duty and inclination to promote each other's happiness.

There are some ladies who listen very contentedly to the most warm and amorous addresses that can be made to them, yet will not suffer the least word of marriage till after a long and tedious preparation is made for a sound which they pretend to think so dreadful. These, no doubt, will say, that Mr. Trueworth went too far for a lover on the first declaration of his passion; but he was emboldened to act in the manner he did by the brother of his mistress, and had the satisfaction to perceive she was not offended at it: she had a great share of solid understanding, was an enemy to all sorts of affectation; and as she knew the end proposed by his courtship was marriage, saw no reason why he should be fearful of mentioning it to her; and though her modesty would not permit her to take much part in a conversation of this nature, yet she was too artless, and indeed, too sincere, to counterfeit a displeasure which she did not feel.

While Mr. Trueworth was thus prosecuting a suit, which every time he saw the lovely Harriot redoubled his impatience to accomplish, Mr. Francis Thoughtless had been twice at his lodgings without finding him at home: but on that gentleman's leaving his name the second time, and saying he would come again the next morning, the other thought himself under an indispensible necessity of staying to receive his visit.

The meeting of these two was extremely civil and polite, but far from that cordial familiarity which used to pass between them, especially on the side of Mr. Francis. After Mr. Trueworth had congratulated him on the recovery of his health, and coming to town, they fell into some discourse on ordinary affairs, without the least mentioning of Miss Betsy, by either party, for a considerable time; till her brother, growing a little impatient that the other should say nothing to him on an affair in which he had made him his confidant, and which he had taken so much pains to forward, said to him, with an air, partly gay, and partly serious, 'I was surprized on my arrival to be told, that a passion so violent as that you pretended for my sister, should all on a sudden vanish, and that a thing which I once thought so near being concluded, was entirely broken off.'

'Things of that nature,' replied Mr. Trueworth, coldly, 'are never concluded till accomplished: accidents sometimes intervene to separate persons who have seemed most likely to be united for ever; which, indeed, never was the case between me and that lady.'

'Yet, Sir,' rejoined the other, a little irritated at his manner ofspeaking, 'I think, that when a gentleman has made his addresses to a young lady of family and character for any length of time, and in the publick manner you did, some cause ought to be assigned for his deserting her.'

'I am under no obligation,' said Mr. Trueworth, very gloomily, 'to give an account of my behaviour to any one whatever; but, in consideration of our friendship, and the love I once had for your sister, I shall make no scruple to tell you, that a woman of her humour would suit but ill with a man of mine: as to any farther eclaircissement of this affair, it is from herself alone you must receive it.'—'She shewed me a letter from you, Sir,' cried Mr. Francis, hastily. 'That might then suffice to inform you,' answered Mr. Trueworth, 'that in what I have done, I but obeyed the dictates of my honour.'—'Honour!' cried the other, fiercely, and laying his hand on his sword, 'What is it you mean, Sir? Did honour oppose your marriage with my sister?'

'No menaces!' said Mr. Trueworth, with a gravity which was pretty near disdain: 'you know me incapable of fear; I have fought for your sister, but will never fight against her. I injure not her reputation; on the contrary, I would defend it, if unjustly attacked, even at the hazard of my life: but as to love or marriage, these are things now out of the question; we both, perhaps, have other views, and the less is said of what is past is the better.'

Mr. Francis naturally took fire on the least suspicion of an indignity offered to him; but when once convinced of his mistake, was no less ready to repent and acknowledge it; he had seen many instances of the honour, generosity, and sincerity of Mr. Trueworth: he had also been witness of some of the levity and inconsiderateness of his sister; and the reflection of a moment served to make him see this change had happened merely through her own ill conduct.

His rage abated even while the other was speaking; but a deep concern remained behind; and, throwing himself down in a chair, 'Into what vexations,' cried he, 'may not a whole family be plunged, through the indiscretion of one woman?'

'Judge not too rashly,' said Mr. Trueworth; 'Miss Betsy may one day see a man so happy as to inspire her with sentiments far different from those she hitherto has entertained; and she also may be more happy herself, with a man who loves her with less delicacy than I did.'

The brother of Miss Betsy seemed not to take any notice of these words; but, rising in some confusion, 'Well, Sir,' said he, 'I shalltrouble you no more upon this subject; and am sorry I have done it now.' Mr. Trueworth then told him, that though the intended alliance between them was broke off, he saw no occasion that their friendship should be so too; that he should be glad of an opportunity to return the favours he had received from him, in relation to his sister, though his endeavours on that score had not met with the desired success; and that he hoped they should not live as strangers while they continued in the same town: to all this Mr. Franics made but very short replies, either taking what he said as words of course, or because the disorder of his own mind would not permit him to prolong the conversation.

It is likely Mr. Trueworth was not much troubled at the hasty leave this young gentleman took; for though he always had a very sincere regard for him, yet the point on which he now had come, was tender, and could not be touched upon without giving him some pain: he had no time, however, to make many reflections on the conversation that had passed between them. A letter was brought him by a porter who, waiting for an answer, he immediately opened it, and found the contents as follows.

'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.Sir,Extraordinary merits seldom fail of having as extraordinary effects: you have made a conquest of a heart without knowing it, which not the utmost endeavours of any other could ever subdue. I am commissioned to acquaint you, that a lady of some consideration in the world, and a large fortune in her own hands, thinks you alone deserve to be the master both of that and of herself: but as she is apprehensive of your being already engaged, begs you will be so generous as to confess the truth; that, if so, she may put a timely stop to the progress of her growing passion; if not, you will, doubtless, hear more from her by the hand of, Sir, your unknown servant.P.S. Please to send this back, with your answer wrote on the other side of the paper, which you may put up under a cover sealed up, but without any direction. Sincerity and secrecy are earnestly requested.'

'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.

Sir,

Extraordinary merits seldom fail of having as extraordinary effects: you have made a conquest of a heart without knowing it, which not the utmost endeavours of any other could ever subdue. I am commissioned to acquaint you, that a lady of some consideration in the world, and a large fortune in her own hands, thinks you alone deserve to be the master both of that and of herself: but as she is apprehensive of your being already engaged, begs you will be so generous as to confess the truth; that, if so, she may put a timely stop to the progress of her growing passion; if not, you will, doubtless, hear more from her by the hand of, Sir, your unknown servant.

P.S. Please to send this back, with your answer wrote on the other side of the paper, which you may put up under a cover sealed up, but without any direction. Sincerity and secrecy are earnestly requested.'

Mr. Trueworth could not avoid looking on this adventure as a very odd one: yet, whether the proposal was real or feigned, the matter was wholly indifferent to him; and he hesitated not a moment in what part he should take in it; but sat down immediately, and wrote,as desired, the following answer.

'To the unknown.Sir, or Madam,Though I know the honour with which you flatter me is more the effect of fortune than desert, it would certainly make me vain and happy, were I not denied the power of accepting. The heart required of me by the lady is already disposed of—irrecoverably disposed of; and I can only repay her goodness by sincerely wishing a return of hers, and with it all those felicities she would so lavishly bestow on her most obliged, and most humble servant,C. Trueworth.P.S. The lady may depend, that my secrecy shall be equal to the sincerity I have shewn in this.'

'To the unknown.

Sir, or Madam,

Though I know the honour with which you flatter me is more the effect of fortune than desert, it would certainly make me vain and happy, were I not denied the power of accepting. The heart required of me by the lady is already disposed of—irrecoverably disposed of; and I can only repay her goodness by sincerely wishing a return of hers, and with it all those felicities she would so lavishly bestow on her most obliged, and most humble servant,

C. Trueworth.

P.S. The lady may depend, that my secrecy shall be equal to the sincerity I have shewn in this.'

He had no sooner dispatched the messenger who brought this, than a second came, and presented him with another, and had orders also to wait for an answer: he presently knew it came from Miss Flora, and expected the contents to be such as he found them on perusing.

'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.Most cruel and ungenerous man!Loth I am to give you epithets like these: my heart shudders, and my trembling hand is scarce able to guide my pen in those reproaches which my reason tells me you deserve: how unkind, how stabbing to the soul, was your behaviour at our last meeting! yet, even then, you promised me to write; I depended on that promise, and hope had not quite forsook me; every knocking at the door I expected was a messenger from you; in vain I expected, in vain I looked, in vain I listened for the welcome mandate; and every disappointment threw me into fresh agonies. I have sent twice to the coffee-house, been there once in person; but could hear nothing of you. O, what secret recess now hides you from me? What can have caused so terrible a reverse in my so lately happy fate? I fear to guess; for madness is in the thought! O do not drive me to extremes!! Many women, with not half my love, or my despair, have ran headlong into actions which, in my cooler moments, I dread to think on. Be assured, I cannot live, will not live, without you! Torture me not any longer with suspense! Pronounce my doom at once! But let it be from your own mouth that I receive it; that you, at least, may be witness of the death you inflict,and be compelled to pity, if you cannot love, the most unfortunate, and most faithful, of her sex,F. Mellasin.P.S. I have charged the man who brings you this, to find you wherever you are, and not to leave you without an answer.'

'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.

Most cruel and ungenerous man!

Loth I am to give you epithets like these: my heart shudders, and my trembling hand is scarce able to guide my pen in those reproaches which my reason tells me you deserve: how unkind, how stabbing to the soul, was your behaviour at our last meeting! yet, even then, you promised me to write; I depended on that promise, and hope had not quite forsook me; every knocking at the door I expected was a messenger from you; in vain I expected, in vain I looked, in vain I listened for the welcome mandate; and every disappointment threw me into fresh agonies. I have sent twice to the coffee-house, been there once in person; but could hear nothing of you. O, what secret recess now hides you from me? What can have caused so terrible a reverse in my so lately happy fate? I fear to guess; for madness is in the thought! O do not drive me to extremes!! Many women, with not half my love, or my despair, have ran headlong into actions which, in my cooler moments, I dread to think on. Be assured, I cannot live, will not live, without you! Torture me not any longer with suspense! Pronounce my doom at once! But let it be from your own mouth that I receive it; that you, at least, may be witness of the death you inflict,and be compelled to pity, if you cannot love, the most unfortunate, and most faithful, of her sex,

F. Mellasin.

P.S. I have charged the man who brings you this, to find you wherever you are, and not to leave you without an answer.'

Mr. Trueworth was in the utmost perplexity of mind on reading this distracted epistle. Of all the hours of his past life he could not recollect any one which gave him so much cause of repentance as that wherein he had commenced an amour with a woman of so violent a temper: he had never loved her; and all the liking he ever had for her being now utterly erased by a more laudable impression, the guilty pleasures he had enjoyed with her were now irksome to his remembrance; and the more she endeavoured to revive the tender folly in him, the more she grew distasteful to him.

It so little becomes a woman, whose characteristick should be modesty, to use any endeavours to force desire, that those who do it are sure to convert love into indifference, and indifference into loathing and contempt: even she who, with the greatest seeming delicacy, labours to rekindle a flame once extinguished, will find the truth of what Morat says in the play—

'To love once pass'd we cannot backward move;Call yesterday again, and we may love.'

Mr. Trueworth, however, had so much pity for that unfortunate creature, that he would have given, perhaps, good part of his estate that she no longer loved him: but how to turn the tide of so extravagant a passion, he could not yet resolve; and it being near the time in which he knew they would expect him at Sir Bazil's, where he now dined every day, and the messenger who brought him the letter also growing impatient to be dispatched, he wrote in haste these few lines.

'To Miss Flora Mellasin.Madam,Business of the greatest consequence now calls upon me, and I have no time to write as I would do; but depend upon it I will send to you to-morrow morning, and either appoint a meeting, or let you know my real sentiments in a letter; till when, I beg you will make yourself more easy, if you desire to oblige him who is, with the most unfeigned good wishes, Madam, your most humble, and mostobedient servant,C. Trueworth.P.S. I shall take it as a favour, Madam, that you will henceforward forbear to make any enquiry concerning me at the coffee-house, or elsewhere.'

'To Miss Flora Mellasin.

Madam,

Business of the greatest consequence now calls upon me, and I have no time to write as I would do; but depend upon it I will send to you to-morrow morning, and either appoint a meeting, or let you know my real sentiments in a letter; till when, I beg you will make yourself more easy, if you desire to oblige him who is, with the most unfeigned good wishes, Madam, your most humble, and mostobedient servant,

C. Trueworth.

P.S. I shall take it as a favour, Madam, that you will henceforward forbear to make any enquiry concerning me at the coffee-house, or elsewhere.'

Having given this to Miss Flora's porter, he hasted away to Sir Bazil's; there to compose his mind, after the embarrassments it had sustained that morning.

Mr. Francis Thoughtless had no sooner left the lodgings of Mr. Trueworth, than he went directly to those of his sister Betsy; where, in the humour he then was, the reader will easily suppose, he could not be very good company. After telling her he had seen Mr. Trueworth, and had had some conversation with him on her account, 'I am now convinced,' said he, 'of what before I doubted not, that by your own ill management, and want of a just sense of what is for your interest and happiness, you have lost an opportunity of establishing both, which can never be retrieved: nor is this all; your manner of behaviour not only ruins yourself, but involves all belonging to you in endless quarrels and perplexities.'

These were reproaches which Miss Betsy had too much spirit to have borne from any one but a brother; and even to him she was far from yielding that she had in any measure deserved them. 'I defy Trueworth himself,' cried she, with all the resentment of a disappointed lover in her heart, 'to accuse me of one action that the strictest virtue could condemn!'

'Ah, sister!' replied he, 'do not let your vanity deceive you on this score: I see very plainly that Mr. Trueworth regards you with too much indifference to retain resentment for any treatment you have given him; that he once loved you, I am well assured; that he no longer does so, is owing to yourself: but I shall mention him no more; the passion he had for you is extinguished, I believe, beyond all possibility of reviving, nor would I wish you to attempt it. I would only have you remember what Mr. Goodman uttered concerning youwith almost his dying breath: for my own part, I have not been a witness of your conduct, since the unhappy brulée I fell into on your account at Oxford, which I then hoped would be a sufficient warning for your future behaviour.'

If Miss Betsy had been less innocent, it is probable she would have replied in a more satisfactory manner to her brother's reproaches; but the real disdain she always had for whatever had the least tendency to dishonour, made her zealous in defending herself only in things of which she was not accused, and silent in regard of those in which she was judged blame-worthy.

'What avails your being virtuous!' said Mr. Francis; 'I hope, and believe, you are so: but your reputation is of more consequence to your family; the loss of the one might be concealed, but a blemish on the other brings certain infamy and disgrace on yourself and all belonging to you.'

On this she assumed the courage to tell him his way of reasoning was neither just nor delicate. 'Would you,' said she, 'be guilty of a base action, rather than have it suspected that you were so?'—'No,' answered he; 'but virtue is a different thing in our sex to what it is in yours: the forfeiture of what is called virtue in a woman is more a folly than a baseness; but the virtue of a man is his courage, his constancy, his probity; which if he loses, he becomes contemptible to himself, as well as to the world.'

'And certainly,' rejoined Miss Betsy, with some warmth, 'the loss of innocence must render a woman contemptible to herself, though she should happen to hide her transgression from the world.'—'That may be,' said Mr. Francis; 'but then her kindred suffer not through her fault: the remorse, and the vexation for what she has done, is all her own. Indeed, sister,' continued he, 'a woman brings less dishonour upon a family by twenty private sins, than by one publick indiscretion.'

'Well,' answered she, 'I hope I shall always take care to avoid both the one and the other, for my own sake. As to indulging myself with the innocent pleasures of the town, I have the example of some ladies of the first quality, and best reputation, to justify me in it.'

Mr. Thoughtless was about to make some reply, which, perhaps, would have been pretty keen, but was prevented by the coming in of her maid, who delivering a letter to her, and saying, 'From Sir Frederick Fineer, Madam!' she hastily broke it open; and having read it, bid the maid let Sir Frederick's servant know she would be athome.

'There, brother,' said she, giving him the letter, 'read that, and be convinced I have not lost every good offer in losing Mr. Trueworth.'—'I wish you have not,' answered he sullenly. He took the paper, however, and read the contents of it, which were these.

'To the divine arbitress of my fate, the omnipotently lovely Miss Betsy Thoughtless.O Goddess! more cruel than the avenging Nemisis, what have I done, that, like Ixion, I must still be tortured on the wheel of everlasting hopes and fears? I hoped yesterday to have approached the shrine of your resplendent charms; but you had quitted the sacred dome which you inhabit, and vouchsafed to bless some happier mansion with your presence—perhaps a rival: oh, forbid it Heaven! forbid it, all ye stars that, under the Supreme, rule all beneath the moon! The thought is terrible, and shocks the inmost cavities of my adoring jealous soul. I kneel while I am writing, and implore you to grant me permission to sip a cup of nectar and ambrosia at your tea-table this afternoon; and if you can, without injustice to superior merit, debar all other intruders thence, that I may have liberty to pour forth my ejaculations at your feet. I am, with the most ardent devotion, brightest refulgency of beauty, your most adoring, and everlasting slave,F. Fineer.'

'To the divine arbitress of my fate, the omnipotently lovely Miss Betsy Thoughtless.

O Goddess! more cruel than the avenging Nemisis, what have I done, that, like Ixion, I must still be tortured on the wheel of everlasting hopes and fears? I hoped yesterday to have approached the shrine of your resplendent charms; but you had quitted the sacred dome which you inhabit, and vouchsafed to bless some happier mansion with your presence—perhaps a rival: oh, forbid it Heaven! forbid it, all ye stars that, under the Supreme, rule all beneath the moon! The thought is terrible, and shocks the inmost cavities of my adoring jealous soul. I kneel while I am writing, and implore you to grant me permission to sip a cup of nectar and ambrosia at your tea-table this afternoon; and if you can, without injustice to superior merit, debar all other intruders thence, that I may have liberty to pour forth my ejaculations at your feet. I am, with the most ardent devotion, brightest refulgency of beauty, your most adoring, and everlasting slave,

F. Fineer.'

As little as Mr. Francis at this time was disposed to mirth, he could not, in spite of his ill-humour, refrain laughing on reading some expressions in this heroically-learned epistle: 'I need not ask,' said he, throwing the letter contemptuously on the table, 'who, or what, this new adorer of yours is; it is easy to see he is either mad or a fool, or thinks to make you so.'

'I have as bad an opinion of his intellects as you have,' replied she; 'but I assure you he is a baronet, and the presumptive heir of a much greater title; and has an estate large enough to keep me a coach and twelve, if the custom of the country permitted.'

Mr. Francis paused for a few moments; and, after looking over the letter again, 'I wish,' said he, 'instead of a fool of fashion, he is not a knave in the disguise of a coxcomb: his stupidity seems to me to be too egregious to be natural; all his expressions have more the appearance of a studied affectation, than of a real folly. Take care, sister; I have heard there are many impostors in this town, who arecontinually on the watch for young ladies who have lost their parents, and live in the unguarded manner you do.'

Miss Betsy seemed to treat her brother's suspicions on this head with a good deal of contempt: she told him, that the person at whose house she became acquainted with Sir Frederick, knew his circumstances perfectly well; that he had a prodigious estate, was of a very ancient and honourable family, and conversed with several people of the first quality in England: 'However,' added she, 'you may call here this afternoon, and see him yourself, if you please; for, according to my judgment, he has not wit enough to be an impostor.'

Mr. Francis replied, that he would be glad to see so extraordinary a person if he were not obliged to go upon some business relating to the commission he was soliciting, which he feared would detain him beyond the hour: 'But, with your leave,' said he, 'I will take this letter with me, and hear what my brother thinks of it.'

To this Miss Betsy readily agreed; and he went away in somewhat of a better humour than he had entered, or that he had put her into by the severe reprimands he had given her.

She had a very tender regard for her brothers, but did not think it their province to prescribe rules for her behaviour; she looked upon herself as a better judge in what manner it would become her to act, than they could possibly be, as having lived more years in London than either of them had done months; and, if she was willing to be advised, would not submit to be directed by them.

Thus did her pride a while support her spirits: but when she reflected on the affair of Mr. Trueworth, and the reasons she had given him for speaking and thinking of her in that cool manner she found he now did, she began to be somewhat less tenacious; and acknowledged within herself, that her brother Frank, exclusive of his friendship for that gentleman, had sufficient cause to blame her conduct in that point; and the heat of passion which had been raised by some expressions he had uttered being over, she ceased to take unkindly what she was now sensible had only been occasioned by his zeal for her welfare.

She now saw in their true light all the mistakes she had been guilty of; all her dangers, all her escapes; and blushed to remember, how she had been plunged into the one, merely by her own inadvertency; and been blessed with the other, only by the interposition of some accident, altogether unforeseen, and even unhoped for, by her.

She had also a more just and lively idea of the merits of Mr.Trueworth than ever she had been capable of entertaining while he professed himself her lover: the amiableness of his person—his fine understanding—his generosity—his bravery—his wit—and the delicacy and elegance of his conversation—seemed to her impossible to be equalled; she considered, too, that his estate was much beyond what her fortune could expect, and that even his family was superior to hers; and could not help being very sensibly affected that she had so rashly thrown away her pretensions to the heart of so valuable a man.

'It is true,' said she, 'that if I had an inclination to marry, I have other offers: Mr. Munden, by his way of living, must have a good estate, perhaps not inferior to that of Mr. Trueworth; the man has good sense, and wants neither personal nor acquired endowments; and I have tried both his love and his constancy; besides, he lives always in town, has a taste for the pleasures of it—a woman could not be very unhappy in being his wife. Then there is Sir Frederick Fineer—he is a fool, indeed; but he is a man of quality: and I know several ladies, who are the envy of their own sex, and the toast of the other, and yet have fools for their husbands.'

In this manner did she continue reasoning within herself, till her head began to ache, and she was luckily relieved from it by the last-mentioned subject of her meditations.

He approached her with his accustomed formalities; first saluting the hem of her garment, then her hand, and lastly her lips, which she receiving with an air more than ordinarily serious, and also making very short replies to the fine speeches he had prepared to entertain her with—'What invidious cloud,' said he, 'obscures the lightning of your eyes, and hides half the divinity from my ravished sight?'—'People cannot always be in the same humour, Sir Frederick,' answered she. 'Yours should be always gay,' rejoined he, 'if once you were mine, you should do nothing but love, and laugh, and dress, and eat, and drink, and be adored. Speak, then, my angel,' continued he; 'when shall be the happy day? Say, it shall be to-morrow?'

Here it was not in her power to retain any part of her former gravity. 'Bless me!' cried she, 'to-morrow!—What, marry to-morrow? Sure, Sir Frederick, you cannot think of such a thing! Why, I have not so much as dreamt of it!'—'No matter,' answered he; 'you will have golden dreams enough in my embraces; defer, then, the mutual bliss no longer—let it be to-morrow.'—'You are certainly mad, Sir Frederick!' said she; 'but if I were enough so too, as reallyto consent to such a hasty nuptial, where, pray, are the preparations for it?'

'Oh, Madam, as to that,' resumed he, 'people of quality always marry in a deshabille; a new coach—chariot—servants—liveries—and rich cloaths for ourselves—may all be got ready before we make our publick appearance at court, or at church.'—'But there are other things to be considered,' said Miss Betsy, laughing outright. 'None of any importance,' replied he: 'I will jointure you in my whole estate; the writings shall be drawn to-night, and presented to you with the wedding-ring.'

'This would be wonderful dispatch indeed!' said she; 'but, Sir, I have two brothers whom I must first consult on the affair.' Sir Frederick seemed extremely struck at these words; but recovering himself as soon as he was able, 'I thought, Madam,' cried he, 'you were entirely at your own disposal.'—'I am so, Sir,' answered she; 'but I love my brothers, and will do nothing without their approbation.'—'Ah, cruel fair!' cried he, 'little do you know the delicacy of my passion; I must owe you wholly to yourself: your brothers, no doubt, will favour my desires, but it is your own free-will alone can make me blessed. Tell me not, then, of brothers,' continued he, 'but generously say you will be mine.'

Miss Betsy was about to make some reply, when word was brought that a servant of the elder Mr. Thoughtless desired to speak with her: on which she arose hastily, and went to the top of the stair-case, to hear what message he had to deliver to her; and was pleasingly surprized when he told her that his master desired the favour of her company to supper immediately at his house. As she never had an invitation there before, she was at a loss to guess what could have caused so sudden an alteration: she asked the fellow what company was there; he told her, only Mr. Francis and another gentleman, whose name he knew not, but believed they wanted her on some affairs concerning the late Mr. Goodman, because, as he was waiting, he heard them often mention that gentleman and Lady Mellasin.

Though she could not conceive on what purpose she was to be consulted on any thing relating to Mr. Goodman, yet she was extremely glad that any occasion had happened to induce her brother to send for her to his house; and ordered the man to acquaint his master that she would not fail to wait upon him with as much expedition as a chair could bring her.

On her return to Sir Frederick, she told him she had received asummons from her elder brother, which she was under an indispensable necessity of complying with; so desired he would defer, till another opportunity, any farther discourse on the subject they had been talking of. Having said this, she called hastily for her fan and gloves, and at the same time gave orders for a chair. Sir Frederick seemed very much confounded; but, finding that any attempt to detain her would be impracticable, took his leave, saying, 'You are going to your brother's, Madam?' To which she answering, she was so, 'I beg then, Madam,' rejoined he, 'that you will not mention any thing concerning me, or the passion I have for you, till I have the honour of seeing you again. Be assured,' continued he, 'I have mighty reasons for this request; and such as, I flatter myself, you will allow to be just.' He said no more; but, perceiving she was ready, led her down stairs; and having put her into a chair, went into that which waited for himself, little satisfied with the success of his visit.

Though the motives on which Miss Betsy's company was desired in so much hurry, by a brother who had never before once invited her, may seem strange, yet as that incident was but the consequence of other matters which yet remain untold, regularity requires they should first be discussed.

As Lady Mellasin has made so considerable a figure in the former parts of this history, the reader may, perhaps, now begin to think she has been too long neglected; it is, therefore, proper to proceed directly to some account how that guilty and unfortunate woman behaved, after being driven in the manner already related from the house of her much-injured husband. Mr. Goodman was advised by his lawyers to be extremely private in the prosecution he was going to commence against her, and by no means to let her know the secret of her criminal conversation with Marplus had been discovered to him: this seemed a caution necessary to be observed, in order to prevent her from taking any measures, either to invalidate the evidence of the witnesses, or prevail upon them to abscond when the proof of what they had sworn against her should be expected. The whole detection of her guilt was designed to come at once upon her like a thunderclap, and thereby all the little efforts of artifice and chicanery to which she, doubtless, would otherwise have had recourse, be rendered of no use, nor give the least impediment to justice.

Accordingly, this zealous assertor of his client's cause went to visit her, as of his own good-will; flattered her with the hope that her husband would soon be prevailed upon to take her home again, and lent her several small sums of money to supply her necessities; saying, at the same time, that when matters were made up between them, and all was over, he very well knew that Mr. Goodman would return it to him with thanks.

This strategem had the effect it was intended for; it not only kept her from attempting any thing of the nature above-mentioned, but also from running Mr. Goodman into debt; which certainly she might have done, on some pretence or other, in spite of all the care and means that could have been taken to destroy her credit.

It must be acknowledged, indeed, that acting in this manner was a prodigious piece of dissimulation; but, at the same time, it must be acknowledged also, that it was abundantly justified by the cause, and practised for the most laudable end, to serve an honest, worthy, gentleman, his friend and client, against a woman who had wronged him in the tenderest point, and who was capable of making use of the vilest methods to elude the punishment her crimes deserved; and, as a great author tells us—

'It is a kind of stupid honesty,Among known knaves, to play upon the square.'

Lady Mellasin, however, was lulled into so perfect a security by her dependance on the good-nature of her husband, and the tender affection he had always shewn to her, as well as by the high character she had always heard of the lawyer's veracity, that she was more easy than could have been expected in a woman of her situation, even though it had been as she was made to believe.

She received, and returned, with her usual politeness and gaiety, the visits that were made her by all those who thought proper to continue an acquaintance with her: she pretended that it was only a little family contest that had separated her from Mr. Goodman for a short time; and always mentioned him with so much kindness and respect, as made every one believe there was nothing between them but what would be easily made up.

This was, indeed, the most prudent method she could take; not only to preserve her own reputation to the world, but also to give Mr. Goodman a high idea of her conduct, if what she said should happen to be repeated to him.

She was every day in expectation that, through her own good management, and the intercession of the lawyer, whom she now took to be her staunch friend, all would be over, and she should be recalled home; when a citation to appear before the doctors of the civil law was delivered to her by an officer belonging to that court.

It is more easy to conceive than describe her distraction at so unlooked-for a turn; she now found that her intrigue with Marpluswas discovered, and that all she had to dread was like to fall upon her by that event; her perplexity was also greatly increased by her not being able to find out by whom, or by what means, she had been betrayed: she sent immediately in search of Marplus, whom, since his arresting Mr. Goodman, she had never once seen nor heard any thing of; but all the information she could get of him was, that he had been thrown into prison by Mr. Goodman, and, after confinement of a few days, had been released, and was gone nobody knew where, but, as it was supposed, out of England; that his wife had likewise removed from her lodgings, but whether with an intention to follow him or not, no certain intelligence could be given.

As this unhappy woman, therefore, neither knew on what foundation the accusation against her was built, nor what evidences could be produced to prove it, she might very well be bewildered in her thoughts, and not know what course to take; yet, amidst all these matters of astonishment, oppressed with grief, and struck with horror at the near prospect of approaching infamy, she had courage, and presence enough of mind, to enable her to do every thing that was necessary for her defence in so bad a cause.

Mr. Goodman's indisposition putting a stop to the process, she had time to consult with those whom she found most qualified for the purpose. Her chief agent was a pettifogger, or understrapper in the law, one who knew all those quirks and evasions, which are called the knavish part of it; and as the extreme indigence of his circumstances made him ready to undertake any thing, though ever so desperate, provided it afforded a prospect of advantage, so he had impudence and cunning enough to go through with it, even to the hazard of his ears.

This man kept up her spirits, by assuring her, he would find ways and means so to puzzle the cause, that nothing should be clearly proved against her: but there was no opportunity for him to exercise his abilities in this way, for Mr. Goodman's death soon after furnished him with another. Lady Mellasin was no sooner informed, by spies she kept continually about Mr. Goodman's house, that his life was despaired of, than they set about making his will, the first article of which, after the prelude usual in such writings, was this.

'Imprimis, I give and bequeathe to my dear and well-beloved wife, Margaret, Lady Mellasin Goodman, the full sum of thirty thousand pounds of lawful money of Great Britain, over and above whatotherwise she might lay claim to as my widow, in consideration of the great wrong I have done her, through the insinuations of malicious and evil-minded persons; which I now heartily repent me of, and hope that God and she will forgive me for it.'

Then followed some other legacies to several of his kindred, and those of his friends, whom he had been known to have been the most intimate with; but the sums to each were very trifling, and did not amount, in the whole, to above seven or eight hundred pounds. As everyone who had the least acquaintance with Mr. Goodman, was very well convinced that he had always intended his nephew for his heir, the pretended will went on in this manner.

'Item, I give and bequeathe to my dear nephew, Edward Goodman, the son of Nathanial Goodman, and of Catherine his wife, late of Bengal in the East Indies, the whole residue of my effects, whatsoever and wheresoever they shall be found at my demise; provided that he, the said Edward Goodman, shall take to be his lawful wife, Flora Mellasin, only daughter and remaining issue of Sir Thomas Mellasin, and of the above-mentioned Margaret his wife: but in case that either party shall refuse to enter into such marriage, then that he, the said Edward Goodman, shall be obliged to pay to the said Flora Mellasin the full sum of five thousand pounds of lawful money of Great Britain, in consideration of the misfortunes she has suffered by the injury I have done her mother.'

This impudent piece of forgery was signed Samuel Goodman, in a character so like that gentleman's, that, when compared with other papers of his own hand-writing, the difference could not be distinguished by those who were best acquainted with it: two persons also, of the lawyer's procuring, set their names as witnesses.

Notwithstanding the flagrancy of this attempt, Lady Mellasin flattered herself with the hopes of it's success; and, on Mr. Goodman's death, threw in a caveat against the real will, and set up this pretended one.

On the other hand, though one would imagine there needed but little skill for the detection of so gross an imposition, yet Mr. Goodman's lawyer thought proper to get all the help he could to corroborate the truth. This piece of forgery was dated about ten days before Mr. Goodman died; he knew that the elder Mr. Thoughtless came every day to visit him during the whole time of his sickness; andthat Miss Betsy, at the time this will was supposed to be made, actually lived in the house, and that neither of these two could be totally ignorant of such a transaction, in case any such had been.

It was therefore at the lawyer's request, that Miss Betsy was sent for to her brother's house; she answered, with a great deal of readiness, to all the questions he put to her, according to the best of her knowledge; particularly as to that concerning the making the will: she said, that she had never heard the least mention of any lawyer but himself coming to Mr. Goodman's during the whole time of his sickness; and that she verily believed no will but that drawn up by him, and which all the family knew of, could possibly be made by Mr. Goodman's orders, or in his house; and as to the article in the pretended will, relating to Miss Flora, nothing could be a more palpable forgery, because Mr. Goodman had offered five hundred pounds with her in marriage to a linen-draper, not above six weeks before his parting with Lady Mellasin; 'Which,' added she, 'is a very plain proof that he never intended her for his nephew.'

All the time Miss Betsy staid, the whole discourse was on this affair; and she had no opportunity, as the lawyer was present, to acquaint her brothers with any thing concerning Sir Frederick Fineer, as otherwise it was her full intention to have done, after the surprizing injunction he had laid upon her of secrecy, in regard of his passion, and every thing relating to him.

While Miss Flora was buoyed up with the expectation that her mother would soon be reconciled with Mr. Goodman, she abated not of her former gaiety, and thought of nothing but indulging her amorous inclinations with the man she liked: but when once those expectations ceased, her spirits began to fail; she now found it necessary, for her interest as well as pleasure, to preserve, if possible, the affection of her lover; she knew not what dreadful consequences the prosecution Mr. Goodman was about to exhibit against her mother, might be attended with, and trembled to think she must share with her the double load of infamy and penury; and rightly judged, that a man of Mr. Trueworth's fortune, honour, and good-nature, would not suffer a woman, with whom he continued a tender communication, to be oppressed with any ills his purse could relieve her from. The apprehensions, therefore, that she might one day be reduced to stand in need of his support, assisted the real passion she had for him, and made her feel, on the first appearance of his growing coldness towards her, all those horrors, those distractions, which her letters to him had so lively represented.

On his ceasing to make any fixed appointment with her, and from seeing her every day, to seeing her once in three or four days, gave her, with reason, the most terrible alarms; but when, after an absence of near a week, she had followed him to the coffee-house, the cool and indifferent reception she there met with, gave, indeed, a mortal stab to all her hopes; and she longer hesitated to pronounce her own doom, and cry out, she was undone.

The excuse he made of business was too weak—too trite—too common-place—to gain any credit with her, or alleviate her sorrows; she knew the world too well to imagine a gay young gentleman, like him, would forego whatever he thought a pleasure for any business he could possibly have: she doubted not but there was a woman in the case; and the thoughts that, while she was in vain expecting him, he was soliciting those favours from a rival she had so lavishly bestowed and languished to repeat, fired her jealous brain, even to a degree of frenzy.

Awhile she raved with all the wild despair of ill-requited burning love: but other emotions soon rose in her distracted bosom, not to control, but add fresh fuel to the flame already kindled there. 'My circumstances!' cried she, 'my wretched circumstances!—What will become of me? Involved in my mother's shame, he will, perhaps, make that a pretence for abandoning me to those misfortunes I thought I might have depended on him to relieve.'

However, as the little billet, in answer to her last letter to him, contained a promise that he would write to her the next day, she endeavoured, as much as she was able, to compose herself till that time, though she was far from hoping the explanation she expected to receive in it would afford any consolation to her tormented mind.

Mr. Trueworth also, in the mean time, was not without his own anxieties: a man of honour frequently finds more difficulty in getting rid of a woman he is weary of, and loves him, than obtaining a woman he loves and is in pursuit of; but this gentleman had a more than ordinary perplexity to struggle through. Few women would go the lengths Miss Flora had done for the accomplishment of her desires; and he easily saw, by the whole tenor of her behaviour, she would go as great, and even more, to continue the enjoyment of them.

Glad would he have been to have brought her by degrees to an indifference for him; to have prevailed on her to submit her passion to the government of her reason, and to be convinced that an amour, such as theirs had been, ought to be looked upon only as a transient pleasure; to be continued while mutual inclination and convenience permitted, and, when broke off, remembered but as a dream.

But this he found was not to be done with a woman of Miss Flora's temper; he therefore thought it best not to keep her any longer in suspense, but let her know at once the revolution in her fate, as to that point which regarded him, and the true motive which hadoccasioned it; which he accordingly did in these terms.

'To Miss Flora Mellasin.Madam,It is with very great difficulty I employ my pen to tell you it is wholly inconvenient for us ever to meet again in the manner we have lately done; but I flatter myself you have too much good-sense, and too much honour, not to forgive what all laws, both human and divine, oblige me to. I am entering into a state which utterly forbids the continuance of those gallantries which before pleaded their excuse: in fine, I am going to be married; and it would be the highest injustice in me to expect that fidelity which alone can make me happy in a wife, if my own conduct did not set her an example.Though I must cease to languish for a repetition of those favours you blessed me with, yet be assured I shall always remember them with gratitude, and the best good wishes for the prosperity of the fair bestower.I send you back all the testimonies I have received of your tenderness that are in my power to return: it belongs to yourself to make use of your utmost endeavours for the recovery of the heart which dictated them. This I earnestly intreat of you; and in the hope that you will soon accomplish a work so absolutely necessary for your peace and reputation, I remain, as far as honour will permit, Madam, your most obliged, and most humble servant,C. Trueworth.'

'To Miss Flora Mellasin.

Madam,

It is with very great difficulty I employ my pen to tell you it is wholly inconvenient for us ever to meet again in the manner we have lately done; but I flatter myself you have too much good-sense, and too much honour, not to forgive what all laws, both human and divine, oblige me to. I am entering into a state which utterly forbids the continuance of those gallantries which before pleaded their excuse: in fine, I am going to be married; and it would be the highest injustice in me to expect that fidelity which alone can make me happy in a wife, if my own conduct did not set her an example.

Though I must cease to languish for a repetition of those favours you blessed me with, yet be assured I shall always remember them with gratitude, and the best good wishes for the prosperity of the fair bestower.

I send you back all the testimonies I have received of your tenderness that are in my power to return: it belongs to yourself to make use of your utmost endeavours for the recovery of the heart which dictated them. This I earnestly intreat of you; and in the hope that you will soon accomplish a work so absolutely necessary for your peace and reputation, I remain, as far as honour will permit, Madam, your most obliged, and most humble servant,

C. Trueworth.'

Mr. Trueworth flattered himself that so plain a declaration of his sentiments and intentions would put a total end to all future correspondence between them; and, having looked it over, after he had finished, and found it such as he thought proper for the purpose, put it under a cover, with all the letters he had received from Miss Flora, not excepting the first invitation she had made him, under the tide of the 'Incognita,' and sent away the packet by a porter; for he had never intrusted the servants with the conveyance of any epistle from him to that lady.

Miss Flora, from the moment her eyes were open in the morning, (if it can be supposed she had any sleep that night) had been watching, with the most racking impatience, for the arrival of Mr. Trueworth's messenger. She wished, but dreaded more, the eclaircissement which she expected would be contained in themandate he had promised to send; yet was distracted for the certainty, how cruel soever it might prove.

At length it came, and with it a confirmation of even worse than the most terrible of her apprehensions had suggested. The sight of her own letters, on her opening it, almost threw her into a swoon; but, when her streaming eyes had greedily devoured the contents of the billet that accompanied them, excess of desperation struck her for some moments stupid, and rendered her mind inactive as her frame.

But, when awakened from this lethargy of silent grief, she felt all the horrors of a fate she had so much dreaded. Frustrated at once in every hope that love or interest had presented to her, words cannot paint the wildness of her fancy; she tore her hair and garments, and scarce spared that face she had taken so much pains to ornament, for wanting charms to secure the conquest it had gained.

But with the more violence these tourbillions of the mind rage for a while, the sooner they subside, and all is hushed again; as I remember to have somewhere read—

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