'After a tempest, when the winds are laid,The calm sea wonders at the wreck it made.'
'After a tempest, when the winds are laid,The calm sea wonders at the wreck it made.'
So this unhappy and abandoned creature, too much deserving of the fate she met with, having exhausted her whole stock of tears, and wasted all the breath that life could spare in fruitless exclamations, the passions which had raised these commotions in her soul became more weak, and the beguiler Hope once more returned, to lull her wearied spirits into a short-lived ease.
She now saw the folly of venting her rage upon herself—that to give way to grief and despair would avail her nothing, but only serve to render her more miserable—that, instead of sitting tamely down, and meanly lamenting her misfortune in the loss of a lover, on whom she had built so much, she ought rather to exert all the courage, resolution, and artifice, she was mistress of, in contriving some way of preventing it, if possible.
'He is not yet married!' said she—'the irrevocable words are not yet past! I have already broke off his courtship to one woman—why may I not be as successful in doing so with another? He cannot love the present engrosser of his heart more than he did Miss Betsy Thoughtless! It is worth, at least, the pains of an attempt!'
The first step she had to take towards the execution of her design, was to find out the name, condition, and dwelling, of her happy rival;and this, she thought, there would be no great difficulty in doing, as she doubted not but Mr. Trueworth visited her every day, and it would be easy for her to employ a person to watch where he went, and afterwards to make the proper enquiries.
But, in the mean time, it required some consideration how to behave to that gentleman, so as to preserve in him some sort of esteem for her, without which, she rightly judged, it would be impossible for her ever to recover his love, in case she should be so fortunate as to separate him from the present object of his flame.
She knew very well, that all testimonies of despair in a woman no longer loved, only create uneasiness in the man who occasioned it, and but serve to make him more heartily wish to get rid of her; she, therefore, found it best, as it certainly was, to pretend to fall in with Mr. Trueworth's way of thinking—seem to be convinced by his reasons, and ready to submit to whatever suited with his interest or convenience. It was some time before she could bring herself into a fit temper for this sort of dissimulation; but she at last arrived at it, and gave a proof how great a proficient she was in it by the following lines.
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.Dear Sir,I am apt to believe you as little expected as desired an answer to the eclaircissement of yesterday; nor would I have given you the trouble of this, but to assure you it shall be the last of any kind you ever shall receive from me. Yes, I have now done with reproaches and complaints. I have nothing to alledge against you—nothing to accuse you of. Could the fond folly of my tender passion have given me leisure for a moment's reflection, I had forseen that the misfortune which is now fallen upon me was inevitable. I am now convinced that I ought not to have hoped that the unbounded happiness I so lately enjoyed, could be of any long duration—that a man of your fortune and figure in the world must one day marry—names and families must be supported; and yours is too considerable for you to suffer it to be extinct. I must not, I will not, therefore, repine at a thing which, in my cooler moments, I cannot but look upon as essential to your honour and convenience. Had you quitted me on any other score, I cannot answer but I might have been hurried into extravagancies displeasing to you, and unbecoming of myself: but here I must resign; and am determined to do so with the same patience, in shew at least,as if I had never loved. I will not tell you the agonies I have sustained in the cruel conflict between my reason and my passion, in making this resolution: it is sufficient for you to know that the former has the victory. More might too much affect your generous nature; besides, when woes are remediless, they are best borne in silence.Farewel!-Oh, farewel for ever! May you find every thing in the happy she you make your choice of to give you lasting bliss! and, to compleat all, may she love you with the same ardency, tenderness, and disinterestedness, as her who must now only subscribe herself, at an eternal distance, dear, dear Sir, your most faithful friend, and humble servant,F. Mellasin.'
'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.
Dear Sir,
I am apt to believe you as little expected as desired an answer to the eclaircissement of yesterday; nor would I have given you the trouble of this, but to assure you it shall be the last of any kind you ever shall receive from me. Yes, I have now done with reproaches and complaints. I have nothing to alledge against you—nothing to accuse you of. Could the fond folly of my tender passion have given me leisure for a moment's reflection, I had forseen that the misfortune which is now fallen upon me was inevitable. I am now convinced that I ought not to have hoped that the unbounded happiness I so lately enjoyed, could be of any long duration—that a man of your fortune and figure in the world must one day marry—names and families must be supported; and yours is too considerable for you to suffer it to be extinct. I must not, I will not, therefore, repine at a thing which, in my cooler moments, I cannot but look upon as essential to your honour and convenience. Had you quitted me on any other score, I cannot answer but I might have been hurried into extravagancies displeasing to you, and unbecoming of myself: but here I must resign; and am determined to do so with the same patience, in shew at least,as if I had never loved. I will not tell you the agonies I have sustained in the cruel conflict between my reason and my passion, in making this resolution: it is sufficient for you to know that the former has the victory. More might too much affect your generous nature; besides, when woes are remediless, they are best borne in silence.
Farewel!-Oh, farewel for ever! May you find every thing in the happy she you make your choice of to give you lasting bliss! and, to compleat all, may she love you with the same ardency, tenderness, and disinterestedness, as her who must now only subscribe herself, at an eternal distance, dear, dear Sir, your most faithful friend, and humble servant,
F. Mellasin.'
This letter, which, it must be confessed, was wrote artfully enough, had all the effect it was intended for on the mind of Mr. Trueworth. It not only afforded him an infinity of contentment, as he hoped she would soon be enabled to banish all those disturbed emotions which naturally attend the breaking off an acquaintance such as theirs had been, but it also established in him a very high idea of her good understanding, disinterested affection, honour, and sincerity: but how long he continued in this favourable opinion as to the three last-mentioned qualifications, will hereafter be shewn.
In the mean time, something happened which, as he was a man just even to the extremest nicety, gave him, according to his way of thinking, a great deal of reason to reproach himself.
Mr. Trueworth had made so great a progress in his courtship, that the sincerity of Miss Harriot got the better of her bashfulness, even so far as to confess to him, it was with pleasure she yielded to the persuasions of her friends in favour of his love, and that he had infinitely the preference of all mankind in her esteem; in fine, her behaviour was such as left nothing wanting, but the ceremony, to assure him of his happiness.
Sir Bazil also having concluded every thing with the father of his mistress, brought that young lady acquainted with his sisters; who, highly approving their brother's choice, soon treated her, and were treated by her, with the same affection and familiarity as if already united.
There were few hours, excepting those allotted by nature and custom for repose, which this amiable company did not pass together. The old gentleman, who was extremely good-humoured when nothing relating to the parting with his money came on the carpet, would frequently make one among them; and being one day more than ordinarily chearful, told Mr. Trueworth that, as he found the two weddings were to be solemnized in one day, and he should give his daughter's hand to Sir Bazil, desired he might also have the honour of bestowing Miss Harriot's upon him: to which Mr. Trueworth replied, that he should joyfully receive her from any hands, but more particularly from his; and that he took the offer he made as a very great favour. On this, the other grew very gay, and said abundance of merry things, to the no small expence of blushesboth in his daughter and Miss Harriot.
It is impossible for any lover, while waiting for the consummation of his wishes, to enjoy a more uninterrupted felicity than did Sir Bazil and Mr. Trueworth—continually blest with the society of their mistresses, and receiving from them all the marks that a virtuous affection could bestow: yet both of them found it requisite to contrive every day some new party of pleasure or other, in order to beguile the necessary, though to them tedious, time it took up in drawing of writings, and other preparations for the much longed-for nuptials; which Mrs. Wellair did not fail to do all on her part to hasten, being impatient to return to her family, whence she had been absent longer than she had intended.
Sir Bazil and Mr. Trueworth having been taking a little walk in the Park one morning, the former finding himself so near the habitation of Miss Mabel, could not forbear calling on her, though she was to dine that day at his house, and Mr. Trueworth accompanied him. That lady was then at her toilette, but made no scruple of admitting them into her dressing-room, where they had scarce seated themselves, when her woman, who was waiting, was called out by a footman to speak to some people, who, he said, were very importunate to see Miss Mabel, and would take no answer from him.
'Rude guests, indeed,' cried Miss Mabel, 'that will not take an answer from a servant!—Who are they?'—'I never saw them before, Madam,' replied the footman: 'but the one is a woman of a very mean appearance, and the other, I believe, is a soldier. I told them your ladyship had company, and could not be seen; but the man said he only begged one word with you; that he has just come from abroad, and wanted to know where he might see his child, and a deal of such stuff. The woman is almost as impertinent as the man; and I cannot get them from the door.'
'I will lay my life upon it, Madam,' said the waiting maid, 'that this is the father of the child that you and Miss Betsy Thoughtless have been so good to keep ever since the mother's death.'—'I verily believe thou hast hit upon the right!' cried Miss Mabel. 'Pr'ythee go down; and, if it be as thou imaginest, bid them come up—I will see them.'
The maid went as she was ordered, and immediately returned with two persons, such as the footman had described. The woman was the first that advanced, and, after dropping two or three curtseys to eachof the company, addressed herself to Miss Mabel in these words—'I do not know, Madam,' said she, 'whether your ladyship may remember me; but I nursed poor Mrs. Jinks, your ladyship's sempstress and clear-starcher, all the time of her lying-in, when your ladyship and Madam Betsy Thoughtless were so good as to stand godmothers, and afterwards took the child, that it might not go to the parish.'
'I remember you very well,' said Miss Mabel: 'but, pray, what is your business with me now?'—'Why, Madam,' said she, 'your ladyship must know, that Mrs. Jinks's husband has seen his folly at last—has left the army, and is resolved to take up and settle in the world: so, Madam, if your ladyship pleases, he would willingly have his child.'
'O doubtless, he may have his child!' rejoined Miss Mabel.—'But, hark'e, friend,' continued she, turning to the man, 'are you able to keep your child?'—'Yes, Madam,' answered he, coming forward, 'thank God, and good friends. I had an uncle down in Northamptonshire, who died a while ago, and left me a pretty farm there; and so, as my neighbour here was telling you, I would not have my child a burden to any body.'—'If we had thought it a burden,' said Miss Mabel, 'we should not have taken it upon us; however, I am glad you are in circumstances to maintain it yourself. Your wife was a very honest, industrious woman, and suffered a great deal through your neglect; but I hope you will make it up in the care of the child she has left behind.'
'Aye, Madam,' replied he, wiping his eyes, 'I have nothing else to remember her! I did not use her so well as she deserved, that's certain: but I have sowed all my wild oats, as the saying is; and I wish she were alive to have the benefit of it.'
'That cannot be,' interrupted the woman; 'so don't trouble good Madam with your sorrowful stories. If her ladyship will be so good only to give us directions where to find the child; for we have been to Madam Betsy's, and her ladyship was not at home; so we made bold to come here.'—'Yes, Madam,' cried he, 'for my colonel comes to town in a day or two, and I shall get my discharge, and have no more to do with the service; so would willingly have my child to take down with me to the farm.'
Miss Mabel made no other answer to this, than saying it was very well; and immediately gave them the direction they requested to Goody Bushman's, at Denham. 'I cannot tell you exactly where thehouse is,' said she: 'but you will easily find her; the husband is a gardener, and she has been a nurse for many years.'
The fellow seemed extremely pleased, thanked her as well as he could in his homely fashion, and desired she would be so kind as to give his duty to the other lady, and thank her also, for her part of the favours both his wife and child had received; nor had he forgot his manners so far as not to accompany the testimonies of his gratitude with a great many low scrapes, till he got quite out of the room.
After this, Sir Bazil began to grow a little pleasant with Miss Mabel concerning the motherly part she had been playing. 'You do me more honour than I deserve,' said she, laughing; 'for it was but half a child I had to take care of; so, consequently, I could but be half a mother. I am glad, however,' continued she, more seriously, 'that my little goddaughter has found a father.'
While they were talking in this manner, the old gentleman happening to come in, and hearing Sir Bazil was above with his daughter, sent to desire to speak with him in his closet.
Miss Mabel being now alone with Mr. Trueworth, thought she saw something in his countenance which very much surprized her. 'You are pensive, Sir!' said she. 'I hope the mention we have been making of Miss Betsy has given you no alarm.'—'A very great one,' answered he; 'but not on the account you may, perhaps, imagine. I have wronged that lady in the most cruel manner; and, though the injury I have done her went no farther than my own heart, yet I never can forgive myself for harbouring sentiments which, I now find, were so groundless and unjust.'
As it was not possible for Miss Mabel to comprehend the meaning of these words, she intreated him, somewhat hastily, to explain the mystery they seemed to contain: on which he made no scruple of repeating to her the substance of the letter he had received; his going down to Denham, in order to convince himself more fully; and the many circumstances which, according to all appearances, corroborated the truth of that infamous scandal.
Never was astonishment equal to that Miss Mabel was in on hearing the narrative of so monstrous a piece of villainy. 'Good God!' cried she, 'I know Miss Betsy has many enemies, who set all her actions in the worst light, and construe every thing she says and does into meanings she is ignorant of herself: but this is so impudent, so unparalleled a slander, as I could not have thought the malice of either men or devils could have invented!'
'Indeed, Madam,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'should fortune ever discover to me the author of this execrable falsehood, I know no revenge I could take that would be sufficient, both for traducing the innocence of that lady, and the imposition practised upon myself.' Miss Mabel agreed with him, that no punishment could be too bad for the inventors of such cruel aspersions; and, having a little vented her indignation on all who were capable of the like practices, 'I suppose, then,' said she, 'that it was owing to this wicked story that you desisted your visits to Miss Betsy?'
'Not altogether, Madam,' answered he: 'I had long before seen it was not in my power to inspire that lady with any sentiments of the kind that would make me happy in the married state. I loved her; but my reason combated with my passion, and got the better.'
'I understand you, Sir,' replied she; 'and though I hope, nay, believe in my soul, that poor Miss Betsy is innocent as a vestal, yet I cannot but own, that the too great gaiety of her temper, and the pride of attracting as many admirers as to have eyes to behold her, hurries her into errors, which, if persevered in, cannot but be fatal both to the peace and reputation of a husband. Where you are now fixed, you doubtless have a much better prospect of being truly happy. It is, however, a great pity, methinks,' continued this amiable lady, 'that so many rare and excellent qualities as Miss Betsy is possessed of, should all be swallowed up and lost in the nonsensical vanity of being too generally admired.'
They had time for no more; Sir Bazil returned: he had only been sent for to examine the sole copy of the marriage-articles, which the old gentleman had just brought from his lawyer's, on purpose to shew them to him some time that day; and they now took their leave, that the lady might have time to dress; Sir Bazil looking on his watch, said, it was then a quarter past two, and they should dine at three, so begged she would not waste too much time in consulting her glass; 'For,' added he, 'you know you have always charms for me.'—'And I am not ashamed, then,' replied she, with a smile, 'even before Mr. Trueworth, to confess, that I desire to have none for any other.'
He kissed her hand on this obliging speech, and ran hastily down stairs, followed by Mr. Trueworth; whose temper had not quite recovered its accustomed vivacity.
As little as Miss Betsy had accustomed herself to compare and judge of things, she wanted not the power, whenever it pleased her to have the will to do so: the words of Sir Frederick Fineer, on taking leave of her at his last visit, sunk pretty deeply into her mind; nor could she remember them without a mixture of surprize, resentment, and confusion. No man, excepting Mr. Saving, whose reasons for it she could not but allow were justifiable, had hitherto ever presumed to make his addresses to her in a clandestine manner; and Sir Frederick Fineer seemed to her, of all men, to have the least excuse for doing so; and she would not have hesitated one moment to come into her brother Frank's opinion, that he was no other than an impostor, if the dependance she had on the good faith of Mrs. Modely had not prevented her from entertaining such a belief.
Besides, all the pleasure her gay young heart as yet had ever been capable of taking in the conquests she had made, consisted in their being known; and this proceeding in Sir Frederick was too mortifying to that darling propensity, to be easily forgiven, even though he should make it appear, that the motives on which he requested this secrecy were such as could not be dispensed with.
'What can the man mean?' said she: 'I suppose, by his desiring his courtship to me should be a secret, he intends a marriage with me should be so too—that I should live with him only as the slave of his loose pleasures; and, though a lawful wife, pass me in the eyes of the world for a kept mistress. Was ever such insolence! such an unparalleled insult; both on my person and understanding! Heavenbe my witness, that it is only his quality could induce me; nay, I know not as yet whether even that could be sufficient to induce me to become his wife, and can he be so ridiculously vain as to imagine I would accept him on any cheaper terms than that eclat his rank and fortune would bestow upon me?'
She spent all that part of the night which she could spare from sleep, in meditating on this affair; and at last came to a resolution of seeing him no more, whatever he might pretend in justification of his late request.
She also had it in her head to return unopened any letter he should send: but curiosity prevailed above her resentment in this point; and when his servant came in the morning, and presented her with his master's compliments, and a billet at the same time, she had not the power of denying herself the satisfaction of seeing what excuse he would make: the contents of it were as follows.
'To the delight of my eyes, the life of my desires, the only hope and joy of my adoring soul, the divine Miss Betsy Thoughtless.Since last I left your radiant presence, my mind has been all dark and gloomy—my anxieties are unutterable—intolerable—I know not what cruel constructions you may have put upon the petition I made you, of not mentioning me to your brothers—but, sure, you cannot think I apprehend a refusal from that quarter: no, my birth and fortune set me above all doubts of that nature; and I am very certain that both they, and all your kindred, would rather force you, if in their power, to accept the hand I offer; but it is not to them, but to yourself alone, I can submit to yield. Heaven, it is true, is in possessing you; but then I would owe that heaven only to your love; you may think, perhaps, that this is too great a delicacy; but know, fair angel, that there is another motive—a motive which, though derived from the same source, binds me in a different way. Fain would I court you; fain marry you; with all the pomp and splendour your superior beauty merits; but neither my virtue, my honour, nor my religion, will permit it: the mystery is this.Upon examining into the cause why we see so many jarring pairs united in the sacred yoke of matrimony, I found it wholly owing to the want of that true affection which, to make perfect happiness, ought to precede the nuptial ceremony; that sordid interest, the persuasion of friends, or some such selfish view, either on the oneside or the other, had given the hand without the heart, and inclination had no share in beckoning to the altar.Being convinced of this truth by innumerable examples, and resolved to avoid the fate of others, I made a vow, and bound myself by the most solemn imprecations, never to marry any woman, how dear soever she might be to me, that would not assure me of her love, by flying privately with me to the altar, without consulting friends, or asking any advice but of her own soft desires.This, my adorable charmer, being the case, I am certain you have too high a sense of the duty owing to all that's holy, to exact from me a thing which you cannot but be certain, must entail eternal perdition on my perjured soul.Let us haste, then, to tie the blissful knot, and surprize our friends with a marriage they little dreamt of. As Phœbus each night hurries himself into the lap of Thetis, to render his appearance the more welcome the next day, so shall the next morning after our marriage behold us shine forth at once no less gorgeous than the bright ruler of the day, dazzling the eyes of the admiring world.I am fired with the imagination, and am wrapped in extasies unutterable; but will fly this evening to your divine feet, where I hope to persuade you to delay our mutual happiness no longer than to-morrow, and exchange my present appellation of lover into that of husband; assuring yourself, I shall then be, as now, with the most consummate devotion to your all-conquering charms, sweet goddess of my hopes, your passionate adorer, and everlasting slave,F. Fineer.P.S. I beseech you will give necessary orders for preventing any impertinent intruder from breaking in upon our converse, for, exclusive of my vow, I should detest, as the poet says—"With noise and shew, and in a crowd to woo;For true felicity dwells in two."Once more, my dear divinity, adieu.'
'To the delight of my eyes, the life of my desires, the only hope and joy of my adoring soul, the divine Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Since last I left your radiant presence, my mind has been all dark and gloomy—my anxieties are unutterable—intolerable—I know not what cruel constructions you may have put upon the petition I made you, of not mentioning me to your brothers—but, sure, you cannot think I apprehend a refusal from that quarter: no, my birth and fortune set me above all doubts of that nature; and I am very certain that both they, and all your kindred, would rather force you, if in their power, to accept the hand I offer; but it is not to them, but to yourself alone, I can submit to yield. Heaven, it is true, is in possessing you; but then I would owe that heaven only to your love; you may think, perhaps, that this is too great a delicacy; but know, fair angel, that there is another motive—a motive which, though derived from the same source, binds me in a different way. Fain would I court you; fain marry you; with all the pomp and splendour your superior beauty merits; but neither my virtue, my honour, nor my religion, will permit it: the mystery is this.
Upon examining into the cause why we see so many jarring pairs united in the sacred yoke of matrimony, I found it wholly owing to the want of that true affection which, to make perfect happiness, ought to precede the nuptial ceremony; that sordid interest, the persuasion of friends, or some such selfish view, either on the oneside or the other, had given the hand without the heart, and inclination had no share in beckoning to the altar.
Being convinced of this truth by innumerable examples, and resolved to avoid the fate of others, I made a vow, and bound myself by the most solemn imprecations, never to marry any woman, how dear soever she might be to me, that would not assure me of her love, by flying privately with me to the altar, without consulting friends, or asking any advice but of her own soft desires.
This, my adorable charmer, being the case, I am certain you have too high a sense of the duty owing to all that's holy, to exact from me a thing which you cannot but be certain, must entail eternal perdition on my perjured soul.
Let us haste, then, to tie the blissful knot, and surprize our friends with a marriage they little dreamt of. As Phœbus each night hurries himself into the lap of Thetis, to render his appearance the more welcome the next day, so shall the next morning after our marriage behold us shine forth at once no less gorgeous than the bright ruler of the day, dazzling the eyes of the admiring world.
I am fired with the imagination, and am wrapped in extasies unutterable; but will fly this evening to your divine feet, where I hope to persuade you to delay our mutual happiness no longer than to-morrow, and exchange my present appellation of lover into that of husband; assuring yourself, I shall then be, as now, with the most consummate devotion to your all-conquering charms, sweet goddess of my hopes, your passionate adorer, and everlasting slave,
F. Fineer.
P.S. I beseech you will give necessary orders for preventing any impertinent intruder from breaking in upon our converse, for, exclusive of my vow, I should detest, as the poet says—
"With noise and shew, and in a crowd to woo;For true felicity dwells in two."
"With noise and shew, and in a crowd to woo;For true felicity dwells in two."
Once more, my dear divinity, adieu.'
Miss Betsy read this letter over several times, and made herself mistress of the sense, as she thought, of every part of it; she had always found, in every thing he said or did, a great deal of the affected and conceited coxcomb; but in this she imagined she discovered more of the designing knave: the vow he mentioned was an excuse too shallow to pass on a discernment such as hers; but hervanity still suggesting that he was really in love with her, and that if he intended any villainy towards her, it was enforced by the violence of his passion, it came into her head, that there was a possibility of his being already married, or contracted to some lady whom he durst not break with, but being bent on gaining her at all events, he had formed this pretence of a vow, in order to gain her to a clandestine marriage, thinking, that after it was over, and there was no remedy, she would be content to live with him in a private manner, since it would then be impracticable for her to do so in a publick one.
This, indeed, she could not be certain of; but she was so, that it did not become a woman of any family and character to receive the addresses of a man, how superior soever he might be in point of fortune, who either was ashamed, or had any other reasons to hinder him from avowing his passion to her relations.
She had no sooner fixed herself in this determination, than she went to her cabinet, with an intent to pack up all the letters she had received from him, and inclose them in one to Mrs. Modely; but recollecting, she had given one of them to her brother Frank, which he had not yet returned, she thought she would defer, till another opportunity, this testimony of the disregard she had for himself and all that came from him.
To prevent, however, his troubling her with any more visits, messages, or epistles, she sat down to her escrutore, and immediately wrote her presentiments to his agent, in the following terms.
'To Mrs. Modely.Dear Modely,As it is not my custom to write to men, except on business, of which I never reckoned love, nor the professions of it, any part, I desire you will tell Sir Frederick Fineer, that the only way for him to keep his oath inviolated, is to cease entirely all farther prosecutions of his addresses to me; for as my birth and fortune, as well as my humour, set me above encouraging a secret correspondence with any man, on what pretence soever it may be requested, he may expect, nay, assure himself, that on the next visit he attempts to make me, or letter or message he causes to be left for me, I shall directly acquaint my brothers with the whole story of his courtship; the novelty of which may possibly afford us some diversion.I thank you for the good I believe you intended me, in your recommendation of a lover, whose title and estate you might thinkhad some charms in them, and the oddities of whose temper you were perhaps unacquainted with.I desire, however, you will henceforth make no mention of him; but, whenever I send for you, confine your conversation to such matters as befit your vocation; for, as to others, I find you are but little skilled in what will please her who is, notwithstanding this raillery, my dear Modely, your friend and servant,B. Thoughtless.P.S. To shew how much I am in earnest, I should have sent the baronet all the epistles he has been at the pains of writing to me, but I am just going out, and I have not leisure to look them up; I will not fail, however, to let him have them in a day or two; they may serve any other woman as well as me, and save him abundance of trouble in his next courtship. You see I have some good-nature, though nothing of that love I suppose he imagined his merits had inspired me with. Adieu.'
'To Mrs. Modely.
Dear Modely,
As it is not my custom to write to men, except on business, of which I never reckoned love, nor the professions of it, any part, I desire you will tell Sir Frederick Fineer, that the only way for him to keep his oath inviolated, is to cease entirely all farther prosecutions of his addresses to me; for as my birth and fortune, as well as my humour, set me above encouraging a secret correspondence with any man, on what pretence soever it may be requested, he may expect, nay, assure himself, that on the next visit he attempts to make me, or letter or message he causes to be left for me, I shall directly acquaint my brothers with the whole story of his courtship; the novelty of which may possibly afford us some diversion.
I thank you for the good I believe you intended me, in your recommendation of a lover, whose title and estate you might thinkhad some charms in them, and the oddities of whose temper you were perhaps unacquainted with.
I desire, however, you will henceforth make no mention of him; but, whenever I send for you, confine your conversation to such matters as befit your vocation; for, as to others, I find you are but little skilled in what will please her who is, notwithstanding this raillery, my dear Modely, your friend and servant,
B. Thoughtless.
P.S. To shew how much I am in earnest, I should have sent the baronet all the epistles he has been at the pains of writing to me, but I am just going out, and I have not leisure to look them up; I will not fail, however, to let him have them in a day or two; they may serve any other woman as well as me, and save him abundance of trouble in his next courtship. You see I have some good-nature, though nothing of that love I suppose he imagined his merits had inspired me with. Adieu.'
Miss Betsy was highly diverted, after sending this dispatch, to think how silly poor Modely would look on finding herself obliged to deliver such a message to her grand lodger, and how dismally mortified he would be on the receiving it.
Soon after Miss Betsy had sent away what she thought would be a final answer to Sir Frederick, her brother Frank came in; she immediately shewed him the letter she had received that morning, and related to him in what manner she had behaved concerning it, with which he was extremely pleased, and said more tender things to her than any she had heard from him since he came to town.
'This is a way of acting, my dear sister,' said he, 'which, if you persevere in, will infallibly gain you the esteem of all who know you; for while you encourage the addresses of every idle fop, believe me, you will render yourself cheap, and lose all your merit with the sensible part of mankind.'
If she was not quite of his opinion in this point, she offered no arguments in opposition to the remarks he made; and assured him, as she had done once before, that she would never give any man the least grounds to hope she approved his pretensions, till she had first received the sanction of both his and her brother Thoughtless's approbation.
He then told her that they had received intelligence, that the India ship, which they heard was to bring Mr. Edward Goodman, was safely arrived in the Downs; so that, in all likelihood, that gentleman would be in London in two or three days at farthest; 'Which I am very glad of,' said he; 'for, though I believe the lawyer a very honest, diligent man, as any can be of his profession, the presence of the heir will give a life to the cause, and may bring things to a more speedyissue.'
He also told her that a gentleman of her brother's acquaintance had the day before received a letter from Sir Ralph Trusty, intimating that he should be obliged, by the death of Mr. Goodman, there being affairs of consequence between them, to come to town much sooner than he had intended, and that he should bring his lady with him: 'And then, my dear sister,' said he, 'you will be happy, for a time at least, in the conversation and advice of one who, I am certain, in her good wishes for you, deserves to be looked upon by you as a second mother.'
He was going on in some farther commendations of that worthy lady, when Miss Betsy's man came to the dining-room door, and told her that Mr. Munden was below in the parlour, and would wait on her if she was at leisure. Mr. Francis perceiving she was hesitating what answer to make, cried hastily, 'Pray, sister, admit him. This is lucky! now I shall see how much he excels Mr. Trueworth in person and parts.'—'I never told you,' answered she, 'that he did so in either; but perhaps he may in his good opinion and esteem for me: however, I think you promised never to mention Trueworth again to me; I wish you would keep your word.'—'Well, I have done,' said he; 'do not keep the gentleman waiting.' On which she bade the footman desire Mr. Munden to walk up.
That gentleman was a good deal disconcerted in his mind concerning the little progress his courtship had made with Miss Betsy—he had followed her for a considerable time—been at a great expence in treating and making presents to her—he had studied her humour, and done every thing in his power to please her; yet thought himself as far from the completion of his wishes as when he began his addresses to her: he had not for several days had an opportunity of speaking one word to her in private; she was either abroad when he came, or so engaged in company that his presence served only to fill a vacant seat in her dining-room—he therefore determined to know what fate he was to expect from her.
As he had not been told any body was now with her, and had never seen Mr. Francis before, he was a little startled on his coming into the room, to find a young, gay gentleman, seated very near her, and lolling his arm, in a careless posture, over the back of the chair in which she was sitting: on his entrance, they both rose to receive him with a great deal of politeness, which he returned in the same manner; but added to the first compliments, that he hoped he hadbeen guilty of no intrusion.
'Not at all, Sir,' replied the brother of Miss Betsy; 'I was only talking to my sister on some family affairs, which we may resume at any time, when no more agreeable subjects of entertainment fall in our way.'—'Yes, Mr. Munden,' said Miss Betsy, 'this is that brother whose return to town you so often heard me wish for—and this, brother,' continued she, turning to Mr. Francis, 'is a gentleman who sometimes does me the honour of calling upon me; and whose visits to me I believe you will not disapprove.'
She had no sooner ended these words than the two gentleman mutually advanced, embraced, and said they should be proud of each other's acquaintance; after which they entered into a conversation sprightly enough for the time it lasted, which was not long; for Mr. Francis, looking on his watch, said he was extremely mortified to leave such good company, but business of a very urgent nature called him to a different place at that hour.
As much as Mr. Munden was pleased to find himself so obligingly introduced by his mistress to the acquaintance of her brother, he was equally glad to be rid of him at this juncture, when he came prepared to press her so home to an eclaircissement as should deprive her of all possibility of keeping himself any longer in suspense.
It was in vain for her now to have recourse to any of those evasions by which she had hitherto put him off; and she found herself under a necessity, either of entirely discarding him, or giving him some kind of assurance that the continuance of his pretensions would not be in vain.
Never had she been so plunged before—never had any of her lovers insisted in such plain terms her declaring herself; and she was compelled, as it were, to tell him, since he was so impatient for the definition of his fate, it was from her brothers he must receive it, for she was resolved, nay, had solemnly promised, to enter into no engagement without their knowledge and approbation. 'But suppose,' said he, 'I should be so happy as to obtain their consent, may I then assure myself you will be mine?'—'Would you wish me to hate you?' cried she, somewhat peevishly. 'Hate me!' answered he; 'no, Madam, it is your love I would purchase, almost at the expence of life.'
'Persecute me then no more,' said she, 'to give you promise, or assurances, which would only make me see you with confusion; and think of you with regret; it is sufficient I esteem you, and listen to the professions of your love: let that content you, and leave to myself thegrant of more.'—'Yet, Madam—' resumed he; and was going on, but was interrupted by the maid, who came hastily into the room, and said, 'Madam, here is Miss Mabel!'
She had no sooner spoke these words, than the lady she mentioned followed her into the room. Miss Betsy was never more glad to see her than now, when her presence afforded her so seasonable a relief: 'My dear Miss Mabel,' said she, 'this is kind indeed, when I already owe you two visits!'—'I believe you owe me more,' answered she with a smile: 'but I did not come to reproach you; nor can this, indeed, be justly called a visit, since it is only a mere matter of business brings me hither at this time.'
Mr. Munden, on this, thought proper to take his leave; but, in doing so, said to Miss Betsy, with a very grave air, 'I hope, Madam, you will have the goodness to consider seriously on what we have been talking of: I will do myself the honour to wait upon your brothers to-morrow, and afterwards on yourself.' With these words he withdrew, without staying for an answer.
'I know not,' said Miss Mabel, after he was gone, 'whether what I have to say to you will be of sufficient moment to excuse me for depriving you of your company, since I only called to tell you, that we are eased of your little pensioner at Denham, by the father's unexpectedly coming to claim his own.'
Miss Betsy replied, that she guessed as much, for she had heard those people had been at her lodgings when she was not at home, and had said somewhat of their business to her servant. 'I am also to pay you,' resumed the other, 'my quota of the last month's nursing.' In speaking these words she took out of her pocket the little sum she stood indebted for, and laid it on the table.
Though Miss Betsy had the most perfect regard and good wishes for Miss Mabel, and Miss Mabel the same for Miss Betsy, yet neither of them was in the secrets of the other: they visited but seldom; and, when they did, talked only on indifferent affairs. In fine, though they both loved the amiable qualities each found in the other, yet the wide contrariety between their dispositions occasioned a coolness in their behaviour which their hearts were far from feeling.
Miss Mabel stayed but a very few minutes after having dispatched the business she came upon; nor was Miss Betsy at all troubled at her departure, being at present, what she very rarely was, in a humour rather to be alone than in any company whatever.
She no sooner was at liberty than she began to reflect on thetransactions of that morning: she had done two things which seemed pretty extraordinary to her; she had entirely dismissed one lover, a piece of resolution she did not a little value herself upon; but then she was vexed at the too great encouragement, as she thought it, which she had given to another.
'What shall I do with this Munden?' said she to herself. 'If my brothers should take it into their heads to approve of his pretensions, I shall be as much teazed on his account as I was on that of Mr. Trueworth: I have no aversion, indeed, to the man, but I am equally as far from having any love for him; there is nothing in his person, or behaviour, that might make a woman ashamed of being his wife; yet I can see nothing so extraordinary in him as to induce me to become so.
'Why, then,' continued she, 'did I not tell him at once I would not have him; and that, if he was weary of paying his respects to me, he might carry them where they would be more kindly received? It was a very silly thing in me to send him to my brothers: they are in such haste to get me out of the way of what they call temptation, that I believe they would marry me to any man that was of a good family, and had an estate. If I must needs have a husband to please them, I had better have taken Trueworth; I am sure there is no comparison between the men; but it is too late to think of that now; for it is very plain, both by his behaviour to me when last I saw him, and by what he said to my brother Frank, that he has given over all intentions on that score.'
She was in the midst of these cogitations, when a servant belonging to the ladies whom she visited at St. James's, came, and presented her with a letter, containing these lines.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.Dear creature,My sister and self had an invitation to a party of pleasure, where there will be the best company, the best musick, and the best entertainment in the world; but my father having unluckily forced her to pass some days with an old aunt, who lies dangerously sick at Hampstead, I know nobody can so well supply her vacant place as your agreeable self; therefore, if you are not already too deeply engaged this evening, would beg the favour of you to share with me in the proposed diversion: we shall have two young gentlemen of rank for our conductors and protectors; but I flatter myself you will makeno scruple to go any where with her who is, with the most perfect amity, dear Miss Betsy, your most humble, and most obedient servant,A. Airish.P.S. Let me know whether I can be so happy as to have you with me; and if so, I will call on you about five, and drink tea, for we shall not go to the assembly 'till eight.'
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Dear creature,
My sister and self had an invitation to a party of pleasure, where there will be the best company, the best musick, and the best entertainment in the world; but my father having unluckily forced her to pass some days with an old aunt, who lies dangerously sick at Hampstead, I know nobody can so well supply her vacant place as your agreeable self; therefore, if you are not already too deeply engaged this evening, would beg the favour of you to share with me in the proposed diversion: we shall have two young gentlemen of rank for our conductors and protectors; but I flatter myself you will makeno scruple to go any where with her who is, with the most perfect amity, dear Miss Betsy, your most humble, and most obedient servant,
A. Airish.
P.S. Let me know whether I can be so happy as to have you with me; and if so, I will call on you about five, and drink tea, for we shall not go to the assembly 'till eight.'
This proposal put Miss Betsy out of all her serious reflections; and she returned for answer to the lady, that she would not fail to be at home, and ready to attend her at the appointed hour.
Accordingly, as soon as ever dinner was over, she went to dress, and thought of nothing but how to make as brilliant a figure as any she should meet with at the assembly. Miss Airish came somewhat before the hour she had mentioned in her letter, accompanied by two rakes of quality, whom Miss Betsy had seen two or three times before with her and her sister, and by one of whom she had once been treated with some familiarities, which had made her ever since very cautious of giving him any opportunity to attempt the like.
As much, therefore, as she had pleased herself with the idea of this evening's pleasures, she no sooner saw who were to be their conductors, than she resolved not to put herself in their powers; yet knew not how, without affronting Miss Airish, to avoid complying with the promises she had made of accompanying her.
They all came singing and romping into the room; but the perplexity of Miss Betsy's mind made her receive them with a very serious air. The men accosted her with a freedom conformable enough to their own characters, but not very agreeable to one of hers; and she rebuffed, with a good deal of contempt, him with whom she had most reason to be offended.
'Lord! How grave you look!' said Miss Airish, observing her countenance: 'pr'ythee, my dear creature, put on a more chearful aspect; this is to be a night of all spirit, all mirth, all gaiety!'—'I am sorry I cannot be a partaker of it,' said Miss Betsy, who, by this time, had contrived an excuse. 'Lord! What do you mean? not partake of it!' cried Miss Airish hastily; 'sure you would not offer to disappoint us?'—'Not willingly,' replied Miss Betsy; 'but I was just going to send to let you know I have received a message from my elder brother, to come to his house, in order to meet some persons there on very extraordinary business: but, I hope,' added she, 'that my not goingwill be no hindrance to the diversion you propose.'
'It would have been none, Madam,' said one of the gallants, 'if this assembly were like others; but we are only a select company of gay young fellows, who resolve to try how far nature may be exhilarated by regaling every sense at once: to prevent all quarrels, every man is to bring a lady with him, who is to be his partner in singing, dancing, playing, or whatever they two shall agree upon. We two,' continued he, 'pitched upon the two Miss Airishes; but one of them being gone another way, we thought of you; otherwise we could have found ladies who would have obliged us.'
'Very likely,' replied Miss Betsy; 'and I suppose it may not be too late to seek them.'—'But I had rather have you than all the world,' cried he whom Miss Betsy was most apprehensive of: 'you know I have always shewn a particular tendre for you; therefore, pr'ythee,' continued he, catching her in his arms, and eagerly kissing her, 'my dear girl, send some excuse to your brother, and let us have you with us.'
'Unhand me, my lord!' cried she, struggling to get loose; 'what you ask is impossible, for I neither can nor will go!' The resolution with which she spoke these words, and the anger which at the same time sparkled in her eyes, made them see it would be but lost labour to endeavour to persuade her; they looked one at another, and were confounded what to do; till Miss Airish, vexed to the very heart at Miss Betsy's behaviour, hit upon an expedient to solve the matter: 'Well,' said she, 'since Miss Betsy cannot go, I will introduce your lordship to a young lady, who, I am sure, will not refuse us; besides, I know she is at home, for I saw her looking out of her chamber-window as we came by: but we must go directly, that she may have time to dress.'
On this they both cried, with all their hearts; and one of them, taking her hand, skipped down stairs with her in the same wild way they came up: the other followed, only turning his head towards Miss Betsy, crying with a malicious sneer—
'How unregarded now that piece of beauty stands!'
'How unregarded now that piece of beauty stands!'
Miss Betsy, though sufficiently piqued, was very glad to get rid of them; and the more so, that by their happening to call on her, instead of her meeting them at Miss Airish's apartment, she had the better opportunity of excusing herself from going where they desired.
Miss Betsy no sooner found herself alone, than she began to reflect very seriously on the preceding passage: she knew very little of these two young noblemen, yet thought she saw enough in their behaviour to make any woman, who had the least regard for her honour or reputation, fearful to trust herself with them in any place where both might be so much endangered; she was, therefore, very much amazed that Miss Airish should run so great a risque; and, to find that she did so, joined to some other things which she had of late observed in the conduct of both the sisters, contributed to diminish the love and esteem she once had for them.
She found, however, too many objects of satisfaction in the visits she made to those ladies to be willing to break acquaintance with them; and, as she doubted not but that she had highly disobliged the one, by not complying with her invitation, and that this would infallibly occasion a rupture with the other also, if not in time reconciled, she went the next morning to their apartment, in order to make her peace.
On her enquiring for that lady, the footman told her she was but just come home, and, he believed, was going to bed; but he would tell the chamber-maid she was there. 'No, no!' cried Miss Betsy; 'only give my compliments to your lady, and tell her I will wait on her this afternoon.' She was going away with these words, but Miss Airish, lying on the same floor, heard her voice, and called to her to come in.
Miss Betsy did as she was desired, and found her in a much betterhumour than she expected. 'O, my dear!' said she, 'what a night have you lost by not being with us! Such a promiscuous enjoyment of every thing that can afford delight or satisfaction!—Well, after all, there is nothing like playing the rake a little sometimes—it gives such a fill-up to the spirits.'
'Provided it be innocent, I am of your mind,' replied Miss Betsy; 'I suppose every thing was managed with decency among you.'—'O quite so!' cried the other; 'all harmless libertinism: it is true, there were private rooms; but, you know, one might chuse whether one would go into them or not.'—'I am not sure of that,' said Miss Betsy: 'I am glad, however, you were so well pleased with your entertainment; and equally so, that you were not hindered from enjoying it by my not being able to share with you in it.'
'I am obliged to you, my dear,' replied Miss Airish; 'I was a little vexed with you at first, indeed, but knew you could not help it: the lady we called upon went very readily with us; so, as it happened, there was no disappointment in the case.'
'It was only to be convinced of that,' said Miss Betsy, 'that I came hither thus early; but I will now take my leave—repose I am sure is necessary for you, after so many waking hours.' The other did not oppose her departure, being, in effect, desirous of taking that rest which her exhausted spirits wanted.
Never had Miss Betsy felt within herself a greater or more sincere satisfaction than she now did, for having so prudently avoided falling into inconveniences, the least of which, as she very rightly judged, would have been paying too dear a price for all the pleasures she could have received.
Sweet indeed are the reflections which flow from a consciousness of having done what virtue, and the duty owing to the character we bear in life, exact from us! but poor Miss Betsy was not to enjoy, for any long time, so happy a tranquillity; she was rouzed out of this serenity of mind by an adventure of a different kind from all she had ever yet experienced, and which, if she were not properly guarded against, it ought to be imputed rather to the unsuspecting goodness of her heart, than to her vanity, or that inadvertency which had occasioned her former mistakes.
She was sitting near the window, leaning her arms upon the slab, very deep in contemplation, when, hearing a coach stop at the door, she looked out, imagining it might be somebody to her, and saw Mrs. Modely come out: she wondered what business that woman shouldnow come upon, after the letter she had sent her; and resolved to chide her for any impertinent message she should deliver.
Mrs. Modely, whose profession was known to the people of the house, always ran up without any other ceremony than asking if Miss Betsy was at home and alone: being now told she was so, she flew into the room, with a distraction in her countenance which very much surprized Miss Betsy; but before she had time to ask the meaning, the other, throwing herself down in a chair, increased her astonishment by these words.
'O, Madam!' cried she, 'I am come to tell you of the saddest accident—poor Sir Frederick Fineer!—O that he had never seen you!—O that I had never meddled between you!—I am undone, that is to be sure—ruined for ever!—I shall never get another lodger—nay, I believe I shall never recover the fright I am in!'
Here she burst into a violent fit of tears; and her sobs interrupting the passage of her words, gave Miss Betsy opportunity to enquire into the mystery of her behaviour. 'For Heaven's sake, what is the matter?' said that young lady; 'pr'ythee, cease these exclamations, and speak to be understood!'
'Ah, dear Miss Betsy!' resumed the other, 'I scarce know what I say or do; poor Sir Frederick has run himself quite through the body!'—'What! killed himself!' cried Miss Betsy hastily. 'He is not dead yet,' replied Mrs. Modely; 'but there he lies, the most dismal object that ever eyes beheld! the agonies of death in his face—the sword sticking in his breast; for the surgeon says, that the moment that is drawn out, his life comes with it.'
Perceiving Miss Betsy said nothing, and looked a little troubled, she went on in this manner. 'But this is not the worst I have to tell you, Madam,' continued she; 'his death is nothing, but it is his soul—his soul, Miss Betsy! hearing them say he could not live above three hours at most, I sent for a parson; and there the good man sits and talks, and argues with him; but, would you think it, he will not pray, nor be prayed for, nor confess his sins—nor say he is sorry for what he has done—nor do any thing that is right till he has seen you.'
'Me!' said Miss Betsy; 'what would he see me for?'—'Nay, I know not; but it is his whim, and he is obstinate: therefore, my dear Madam, in christian charity, and in compassion to his soul, hear what he has to say.'
'What good can I do him by going, Mrs. Modely?' said Miss Betsy. 'None, as to his share in the world,' answered she: 'but, dear Madam,consider the other, think what a sad thing it is for a man to die without the rites of the church; I'll warrant he has sins enough upon him, as most young gentlemen have; and, sure, you would not be the cause of his being miserable to all eternity!'
'Indeed, Mrs. Modely, I do not care to go,' said Miss Betsy. 'The sight is very terrible, indeed,' cried the other; 'but you need not stay two minutes; if you but just step in and speak to him, I fancy it will be enough: but, Lord! he may be dead while we are talking; and if he should leave the world in this manner, I should not be able to live in my house; and I have a lease of eleven years to come—I should think I saw his ghost in every room—so, dear, dear Miss Betsy! for my sake, if not for his, go with me—I came in a hackney-coach for haste, and it is still at the door.'
'Well, Modely, you shall prevail,' answered Miss Betsy: 'but you shall stay in the room all the time I am there.'—'That you may be sure I will,' returned the other: 'but come, pray Heaven we are not too late!'
They said little more to each other till they came to the house of Mrs. Modely; where the first sound that reached the ears of Miss Betsy were groans, which seemed to issue from the mouth of a person in the pangs of death.
Mrs. Modely led her into Sir Frederick's chamber, which was judiciously darkened, so as to leave light enough to discern objects, yet not so much as to render them too perspicuous. Miss Betsy saw him lying on the bed, as Mrs. Modely described, with a sword sticking upright in his breast, a clergyman, and another person, who appeared to be the surgeon, were sitting near him. 'Miss Betsy is so good,' said Mrs. Modely, 'to come to visit you, Sir Frederick.'—'I am glad of it,' replied he, in a low voice.—'Pray, Madam, approach.'
'I am sorry, Sir Frederick, to find you have been guilty of so rash an action,' said Miss Betsy, drawing towards the bed. 'I could not live without you,' rejoined he; 'nor would die without leaving you as happy as it is in my power to make you: I have settled two thousand pounds a year upon you during your natural life; but, as I would consult your honour in every thing I do, and people might imagine I made you this settlement in consideration of some favours which I had too true a regard for you ever to desire, you must enjoy it as my widow, and with it the title of Lady Fineer.'
Miss Betsy was so much amazed at this proposal that she had not the power to speak; but Mrs. Modely cried out, 'Was ever any thingso generous!'—'Truly noble, indeed!' added the surgeon; 'and worthy of himself and the love he has for this lady.'—'Bless me!' said Miss Betsy, 'would you have me marry a dying man?—You ought, Sir Frederick, to have other thoughts, as you are going out of the world.'
'Aye, Sir Frederick,' cried the parson, 'think of your immortal part.'—'I can think of nothing,' answered he, groaning bitterly, 'of my own happiness till I have fixed that of Miss Betsy.'—'Lord, Madam!' cried Mrs. Modely, softly, 'you would not be so mad to refuse: what! two thousand pounds a year, and a ladyship, with liberty to marry who you will!'
'This is the most generous offer I ever heard of,' said the parson: 'But I wish the lady would resolve soon; for it is high time Sir Frederick should prepare for another world.'—'He cannot live above an hour,' rejoined the surgeon: 'even if the sword is not withdrawn; therefore, good Madam, think what you have to do.'
While they were speaking, Sir Frederick redoubled his groans, and they went on pressing her to accept the terms he offered. 'Do not plunge a man into a sad eternity, merely for his love to you,' said the parson. 'All the world would condemn you, should you refuse,' cried the surgeon. 'A virgin-widow with two thousand pounds a year!' added Mrs. Modely.
In this manner did they urge her; and the parson getting on the one side of her, and the surgeon on the other, plied her so close with arguments, both on the advantages accruing to herself, and the compassion owing from her to a gentleman who had committed this act of desperation on himself, merely through his love for her, that she neither could nor knew how to make any answer; when Sir Frederick, giving two or three great groans, which seemed more deep than before, and the surgeon, pretending to take Miss Betsy's silence for consent, cried out, 'Madam, he is just going—we must be speedy!' And then turning to the parson, 'Doctor,' said he, 'proceed to the ceremony; pass over the prelude, and begin at the most essential part, else my patient won't live to the conclusion.'
The parson knew very well what he had to do, having his book ready, began at—'Sir Frederick Fineer, Baronet, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?' and so on. To which Sir Frederick answered in the same dismal accents he had hitherto spoken, 'I will!' Then the parson, turning to Miss Betsy, said, 'Betsy Thoughtless, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband?' and so forth. Miss Betsy, in the confusion of her mind, not well knowing what shesaid or did, replied in the affirmative; on which he was hurrying over the rest of the ceremony; but she, recollecting herself, cried out, 'Hold, doctor! I cannot be married in this manner.' But he seemed not to regard her words, but read on; and the surgeon taking hold of her hand, and joining it with Sir Frederick's, held it, in spite of her resistance, till the ring was forced upon her finger.
This action so incensed her, that the instant she got her hand at liberty, she plucked off the ring, and threw it on the ground. 'What do you mean?' said she. 'Do you think to compel me to a marriage?—Modely, you have not used me well!' With these words she was turning to go out of the room, but perceived, not till then, that Mrs. Modely had slipped out, and that the door was locked; she then began to call, 'Mrs. Modely, Mrs. Modely!' To which no answer was made.
'Come, come, Madam,' said the surgeon, 'this passion will avail you nothing; you are effectually married, whatever you may imagine to the contrary.'—'Yes, yes,' rejoined the parson, 'the ceremony is good and firm: I will stand to what I have done before any bishop in England.'—'There wants only consummation,' cried the surgeon; 'and that we must leave the bridegroom to compleat before he dies.' With these words they both went out, making the door fast after them.
Miss Betsy made use of her utmost efforts to pass at the same time they did, but they pushed her back with so much violence as almost threw her down; and Sir Frederick at the same time jumping off the bed, and throwing away the sword, which she imagined sheathed in his body, catched her suddenly in his arms.
It is hard to say whether rage for the imposition she now found had been practised on her, or the terror for the danger she was in, was the passion now most predominant in the soul of Miss Betsy; but both together served to inspire her with unusual strength and courage.
'Your resistance is vain,' cried he; 'you are my wife, and as such I shall enjoy you: no matter whether with your will or not.' She made no answer to these words; but, collecting all her force, sprung from him, and catching hold of one of the posts at the bed's foot, clung so fast round it, that all his endeavours to remove her thence were ineffectual for some moments, though the rough means he made use of for that purpose were very near breaking both her arms.
Breathless at last, however, with the continual shrieks she had sentout for help, and the violence she had sustained by the efforts of that abandoned wretch, who had as little regard to the tenderness of her sex, as to any other principle of humanity, she fell almost fainting on the floor; and was on the point of becoming a victim to the most wicked strategem that ever was invented, when on a sudden the door of the chamber was burst open, and a man, with his sword drawn, at that instant rushed in upon them.
'Monster!' cried he that entered, 'what act of villainy are you about to perpetrate?' Miss Betsy rising from the ground, at the same time, said to him, 'Oh, whoever you are, that Heaven has sent to my deliverance, save me, I conjure you, from that horrid wretch!'—'Fear nothing, Madam,' answered he. He had time for no more; the intended ravisher had snatched up his sword, and was advancing towards him with these words, 'That woman is my wife,' said he; 'how dare any one interfere between us?'—'O, it is false! it is false! believe him not!' cried Miss Betsy. Her protector made no reply; but, flying at his antagonist, immediately closed with him, and wrenched the sword out of his hand, which, throwing on the ground, he set his foot upon, and snapped it in pieces.
The obscurity of the room, joined to the excessive agitations Miss Betsy was in, had till now hindered her from discovering, either by the voice or person, who it was to whom she owed her safety: on his drawing back one of the window-curtains to give more light into the place, that he might see with whom he had been engaged, she presently saw, to her great amazement and confusion, that her deliverer was no other than Mr. Trueworth.
But how great soever was her astonishment, that of Mr. Trueworth was not less, when, looking on the face of the pretended Sir Frederick Fineer, he presently knew him to be a fellow who had served in quality of valet de chambre to a gentleman he was acquainted with in France, who had robbed his master, and only through his lenity and compassion had avoided the punishment his crimes deserved.
'Rascal!' cried Mr. Trueworth, 'have you escaped breaking on the wheel at Paris, to attempt deeds more deserving death in England!' The wretch, who hitherto had behaved with a very lofty air, now finding he was discovered, fell at Mr. Trueworth's feet, and begged he would have mercy on him—alledged, that what he had done was occasioned by mere necessity—said, he was told the lady had a great fortune, and might be easily gained, and such like stuff; whichputting Mr. Trueworth beyond all patience, he gave him three or four blows with the flat of his sword, before he sheathed it, saying, at the same time, 'Execrable dog! If thou wert not unworthy of death from any hand but that of the common hangman, thou shouldst not live a moment to boast the least acquaintance with this lady.' Then turning to Miss Betsy, who was half dying with the various emotions she was possessed of, 'Madam,' said he, 'I will not ask by what means you came into this villain's company; only permit me to conduct you hence, and see you safely home.'
Miss Betsy was seized with so violent a fit of trembling through all her frame, that she had neither voice to thank him for the extraordinary assistance she had received from him, nor strength enough to bear her down stairs, if he had not with the greatest politeness, and most tender care, supported her at every step she took.
They found no creature below; the house seemed as if forsaken by all it's inhabitants; but the parlour-door being open, Mr. Trueworth placed his fair charge in an easy chair, while he ran to find somebody to get a coach.
After much knocking and calling, Mrs. Modely came out of a back room, into that where Miss Betsy was. As soon as that young lady saw her, 'Oh, Mrs. Modely!' cried she, 'I could not have believed you would have betrayed me in this cruel manner!'—'Bless me, Madam!' replied she, in a confusion which she in vain endeavoured to conceal, 'I know not what you mean. I betray you! When you were talking with Sir Frederick I was sent for out; when I came back, indeed, I saw the parson and surgeon pass through the entry in a hurry, and at the same time hearing a great noise, was going up as soon as I had pulled off my things: but I hope,' continued she, in a whining tone, 'nothing has happened to my dear Miss Betsy.'—'Whatever has happened,' said Mr. Trueworth, fiercely, 'will be enquired into: in the mean time, all we require of you is to send somebody for a coach.'
Mrs. Modely then ringing a bell, a maid-servant appeared, and what Mr. Trueworth had requested was immediately performed; but, though Miss Betsy now saw herself safe from the mischief which had so lately threatened her, she had still emotions very terrible to sustain, and would have, doubtless, thrown her into a swoon, if not vented in a violent flood of tears.
Being arrived at the house where Miss Betsy lodged, just as Mr. Trueworth was helping her out of the coach, they were met by thetwo Mr. Thoughtlesses coming out of the door: they started back at a sight which, it must be confessed, had something very alarming in it—they beheld their sister all pale and trembling—her eyes half drowned in tears—her garments torn—her hair hanging loosely wild about her neck and face—every token of despair about her—and in this condition conducted by a gentleman, a stranger indeed to the one, but known by the other to have been once passionately in love with her; might well occasion odd sort of apprehensions in both the brothers, especially in the younger.
The sudden sight of her brothers made a fresh attack on the already weakened spirits of Miss Betsy; and she would have sunk on the threshold of the door, as Mr. Trueworth quitted her hand, in order to present it to Mr. Francis, if the elder Mr. Thoughtless, seeing her totter, had not that instant catched her in his arms.
'Confusion!' cried Mr. Francis, 'what does all this mean? Trueworth, is it thus you bring my sister home?'—'I am heartily sorry for the occasion,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'since—' He was going on; but Mr. Francis, fired with a mistaken rage, prevented him, crying out, ''Sdeath, Sir! how came you with my sister?'—Mr. Trueworth, a little provoked to find the service he had done so ill requited, replied, in a disdainful tone, 'She will inform you! after that, if you have any farther demands upon me, you know where I am to be found; I have no leisure now to answer your interrogatories.'
With these words he stepped hastily into the coach, and ordered to be drove to the Two Red Lamps in Golden Square.
Miss Betsy's senses were entirely lost for some moments, so that she knew nothing of what passed. Mr. Francis hearing what directions Mr. Trueworth had given the coachman, was for following him, and forcing him to an explanation; but the elder Mr. Thoughtless prevailed on him to stay till they should hear what their sister would say on this affair.
She was carried into her apartment, rather dead than alive; but being laid on a settee, and proper means applied, she soon returned to a condition capable of satisfying their curiosity.