'With an air and a face,And a shape and a grace,
'With an air and a face,And a shape and a grace,
Oh, how will the prudent, reserved part of the sex lament, that a young lady, endued with so many perfections, so many amiable qualities, should thus persevere in a vanity of which she had already experienced such vexatious consequences!
Lord —— received them in a fashion which fully gratified the ambition of Mr. Munden, and the yet less warrantable expectations of his wife; the lady mentioned in the letter was already with him; who, on his lordship's presenting Mrs. Munden to her, saluted her with abundance of sweetness and good-breeding: she was a person of about thirty years of age; had been extremely handsome, and still retained the remains of charms which must have been very powerful in their bloom; nor was her conversation less agreeable than her person; she said little, indeed, but what she said was extremely to the purpose, and very entertaining; there was, notwithstanding, a certain air of melancholy about her, which she in vain attempted to conceal, though it was easy to perceive she made use of her utmost efforts for that purpose.
His lordship was extremely gay and spiritous, as, indeed, were all the company, during the whole time at dinner: but it was no sooner over, than he said to Mr. Munden, 'Dear Munden, I have a business to communicate to you which these ladies must forgive me if I make a secret of to them.' With these words he took Mr. Munden into another room, and spoke to him in the following manner.
'A person,' said he, 'has been guilty of an action in regard to me, which it is neither consistent with my honour or my humour to put up with: I will shew you,' continued he, giving him an unsealed letter,'what I have wrote to him upon the occasion; and that will instruct you how I intend to proceed, and, at the same time, convince you of the confidence I repose in your friendship.'
Mr. Munden took the letter out of his lordship's hands, and found the contents as follows.
'To William W——, Esq.Sir,Though the affront you have offered me deserves the severest treatment, yet, in consideration of our former intimacy, I shall wave my peerage, and require no other satisfaction from you than what any private gentleman has a right to demand of another, in a case of the like nature.I shall be in the Green Park to-morrow about eight in the morning, where I believe you have honour enough to meet me: bring with you any one person you think fit; the gentleman who puts this into your hands will accompany me.Not that I mean our friends should be engaged in the quarrel; but think it proper that there should be some witnesses that no foul play is attempted on either side. I am, expecting your ready compliance, Sir, yours, &c.——.'
'To William W——, Esq.
Sir,
Though the affront you have offered me deserves the severest treatment, yet, in consideration of our former intimacy, I shall wave my peerage, and require no other satisfaction from you than what any private gentleman has a right to demand of another, in a case of the like nature.
I shall be in the Green Park to-morrow about eight in the morning, where I believe you have honour enough to meet me: bring with you any one person you think fit; the gentleman who puts this into your hands will accompany me.
Not that I mean our friends should be engaged in the quarrel; but think it proper that there should be some witnesses that no foul play is attempted on either side. I am, expecting your ready compliance, Sir, yours, &c.
——.'
'You see, Munden,' said he, perceiving he had done reading, 'the assurance I build on the sincerity of your attachment to me.'—'Your lordship does me an infinity of honour,' replied the other with a low bow, 'and I have nothing to regret, but that my sword must lie idle while your lordship's is employed.'
'As for that,' resumed the peer, 'I always thought it the utmost folly and injustice to set two people on cutting one another's throats, merely in compliment to their friends: but, my dear Munden,' pursued he, looking on his watch, 'I would have you go immediately; I believe you will find him at the Cocoa Tree; he is generally there about this hour—but if not, they will direct you where to find him.'
He sealed the letter while he was speaking; which being again delivered to Mr. Munden, they both returned into the room where the ladies were. Mr. Munden stayed no longer than while his footman called a hackney-coach to the door; as he was going out, the nobleman said to him, 'I doubt not but you will be back as soon as possible; in the mean time we three will amuse ourselves with a gameat ombre.'
Mrs. Munden was a good deal surprized at her husband's departure; but had much more reason to be so, as well as alarmed, in a moment or two after.
Cards were but just laid upon the table, when a servant came hastily, and told the lady a messenger had brought word that her mother was suddenly seized with an apoplectic fit; that it was not yet known whether the old lady would recover, and that she must come home that instant.
On this she started up, seemed in a most terrible fright, and took her leave with a precipitation natural enough to the occasion, in a daughter possessed of any share of duty or affection.
This part of the history must be very unintelligible indeed, if the reader has not by this time seen, that all this was but a feint contrivance by the amorous nobleman, in order to get an opportunity of employing the whole battery of his rhetorick against the virtue he was impatient to triumph over.
This pretended kinswoman was, in fact, no more than a cast-off mistress of his lordship's; but, having her dependance entirely upon him, was obliged to submit in every thing to his will, and become an assistant to those pleasures with others which she could no longer afford him in her own person.
She was brought to his house that day for two reasons; first, as he knew not what fears, and what apprehensions, the beauty of Mrs. Munden might raise in her husband, and render him suspicious of the true motive of his being sent away, had no other company been there; and, secondly, to prevent that fair-intended victim of his unwarrantable flame from being too suddenly alarmed at finding herself alone with him.
Mrs. Munden, however, had no time to examine into the meaning of what she saw; and all she could recollect in that instant was, that she was in the house, and wholly in the power, of a person who had designs upon her, to which neither her honour, nor her inclinations, would permit her to acquiesce, and trembled for the event: but concealing the disorders of her mind as much as possible, 'Well, my lord,' said she, taking up the cards, and beginning to shuffle them, 'since we are deprived of a third person by this melancholy accident, what thinks your lordship of a game at picquet?'
'I think,' answered he, looking upon her with eyes which redoubled all her terrors, 'that to waste the precious time in cards, and throwaway the golden opportunity of telling you how much my soul adores you, would be a stupidity which neither love nor fortune could forgive me for.'
In speaking these words he snatched one of her hands; and, in spite of her endeavours to withdraw it, pressed it to his mouth with an eagerness which would have convinced her, if she had not been so before, of the vehemence of those desires with which he was inflamed.
'Fie, my lord!' cried she, with an air as haughty and reserved as it was in the power of any woman to assume, 'this is not language with which the wife of him you are pleased to call your friend, could expect to be entertained.'
'Unreasonably urged!' cried he: 'ought my friendship for the husband to render me insensible to the beauties of the wife? or would your generous consenting to reward my passion, dissolve the union between us? No; on the contrary, it would rather be cemented; I should then love him not only for his own, but for your sake also, and should think myself bound to stretch my power to it's extremest limits to do him service: be assured, my angel, that in blessing me, you fix the happiness of your husband, and establish his future fortune in the world.'
These words, joined to Mr. Munden's being gone away, she knew not on what errand, made her shudder with the apprehensions that he might have been tempted, by the hopes of interest, to become yielding to the dishonourable intentions of his patron: but, willing to be more confirmed, 'I hope, my lord,' answered she, 'that you cannot think Mr. Munden has so mean a soul to accept of an establishment on such condition.'
'I could name some husbands, and those of the first rank, too,' said he, 'who, to oblige a friend, and for particular reasons, have consented to the complaisance of their wives in this point; but I desire no such sacrifice from Mr. Munden; there is no necessity for it; I have now sent him on a pretence too plausible for him to suspect the real motive of my wanting to get rid of him: I had a lady here also for no other end than to prevent him from feeling any disquiet on leaving us alone together—I shall always take the same precautions—all our interviews shall be as private as your own wishes, and my happiness be an eternal secret to the whole world as well as to your husband.
'Come, then, my charmer,' added he, attempting to take her in hisarms, 'we have no time to lose—away, then, with all idle scruples—yield to my embraces—assist my raptures—and be assured that my whole soul, my fortune, and all my power can give, shall be at your disposal!'
It was the discomposure of Mrs. Munden's mind which alone hindered her from interrupting him during the former part of his speech; but the close of it, joined with the action which accompanied it, obliged her to collect all her scattered spirits; and flying to the other end of the room, in order to avoid his grasp, 'Forbear, my lord!' said she: 'know, I despise your offers; and set my virtue at a much higher rate than all the advantages you, or the whole world, would give in exchange.'
Lord —— finding he had to do with a mistress of uncommon spirit, thought best to alter the manner of his addresses to her; and approaching her with an air much more humble and submissive than he had hitherto done, 'How I adore,' cried he, 'this noble disinterestedness in you! you will grant nothing but to love alone—be it so: your beauty is, indeed, above all other price. Let your husband reap all the advantages, and let it be yours to have the pleasure, like Heaven, to save from despair the man who cannot live without you.'
Perceiving, or at least imagining he perceived, some abatement in the fierceness of her eyes, on the change of his deportment, he persisted in it—he even threw himself on his knees before her; took hold of her hands, bathed them alternately with tears, then dried them with his kisses: in a word, he omitted nothing that the most passionate love, resolute to accomplish it's gratification, could suggest to soften her into compliance.
At another time, how would the vanity of this lady have been elated to see a person of such high consideration in the world thus prostrate at her feet! but at this, the reflection how much she was in his power, and the uncertainty how far he might exert that power, put to silence all the dictates of her pride, and rendered her, in reality, much more in awe of him, than he affected to be of her: she turned her eyes continually towards the door, in hopes of seeing Mr. Munden enter; and never had she wished for his presence with the impatience she now did.
The noble lord equally dreaded his return; and finding the replies she made to his pressures somewhat more moderate than they had been on the first opening his suit, flattered himself that a very little compulsion would compleat the work: he therefore resolved todally no longer; and having ushered in his design with a prelude of some warm kisses and embraces, was about to draw her into another room.
She struggled with all her might; but her efforts that way being in vain, she shrieked, and called aloud for help. This a little shocked him; he let her go: 'What do you mean, Madam?' said he. 'Would you expose yourself and me to the ridicule of my servants?'—'I will expose myself to any thing,' answered she, 'rather than to the ruin and everlasting infamy your lordship is preparing for me!'
'Call not by so harsh a name,' cried he, 'the effects of the most tender passion that ever was: by heavens, I love you more than life! nay, life without you is not worth the keeping.' Speaking these words, he was about to lay hold of her again; and her cries having brought no body to her assistance, she must infallibly have been lost, if her better angel had not in that instant directed her eyes to a bell which hung in the pannel of the wainscot just behind the door of the room into which he was forcing her; she snatched the handle, and rung it with such vehemence that it resounded through the house.
This action made him release her with a kind of indignant fling; and a servant immediately coming up, 'I believe,' said she to him, 'my servant is below; pray order him to call me a chair this moment.' The peer, not often accustomed to such rebuffs, was so much confounded at the strength of her resolution, that he had not power to utter one word; and she, fearing another assault, ran to the door, which the footman hastily shut after him; and having opened it, 'Your lordship,' said she, 'has used me in a manner neither worthy of yourself nor me; I leave you to blush at the remembrance.'
She waited not to hear what reply he would have made, but flew down stairs into the hall; where a chair being presently brought, she threw herself into it, extremely disconcerted in her dress as well as mind.
Mr. Munden, who was no less pleased and vain on the confidence his noble patron seemed to repose in him, than he was ambitious of the favours he hoped to receive from him, had been extremely diligent in the execution of that commission he had been entrusted with; but found much more difficulty in it than he could have imagined.
He was told at the bar of the Cocoa Tree, that the gentleman he inquired for had not been there since morning; that Sir John F—— had taken him home with him to dinner, and that in all probability they were still together.
Mr. Munden, on this, ordered the coachman to drive to Mark Lane, with all the speed he could; but had, on his coming there, the mortification to hear that Mr. W—— had left Sir John about a quarter of an hour before, and was gone to the other end of the town: on which he drove back to the Cocoa Tree, thinking he might now meet him there; but was again disappointed.
They informed him, however, that Mr. W—— had just called in, but staid no longer than to tell them he would be there again in half an hour. Mr. Munden was impatient at this delay, but could not think of returning to Lord —— without having done the business he was sent upon: he therefore sat down, and waited till the other came, which was somewhat sooner than the time he had been made to hope.
These gentlemen, though far from being intimately acquainted,were not altogether strangers, having frequently met at the levee of Lord ——. They now saluted each other with the utmost politeness; after which, Mr. Munden drawing him to the most retired part of the room, 'I have had a chase after you, Sir,' said he, 'for a good part of this afternoon, and which would have been impertinent in me, if not excuseable by my being under an indispensable obligation of seeing you.'
'Then, Sir,' replied the other, 'whatever the business be, I shall think myself happy in being found.'—'This, Sir, will inform you,' said Mr. Munden, giving him the letter. 'From Lord ——!' cried Mr. W——, as soon as he saw the superscription. 'It is so,' answered Mr. Munden; 'and I am heartily sorry for the occasion.'
Mr. W—— made no reply to what Mr. Munden said, till he had examined the contents of the letter; and then, after putting it into his pocket with a careless air, 'I see into the meaning of this,' said he: 'an ugly accident, which I have but lately discovered, has, I believe, misrepresented me to his lordship. Could I be capable of what he at present thinks I am, I should be utterly unworthy of the condescension he vouchsafes me by this invitation: but, Sir, all this is founded on a mistake, which may easily be rectified; I will not give his lordship the trouble of going to the Green Park; I will wait on him at his own house at the hour he mentions; and if what I have to say to him does not fully convince him of my innocence, will follow either to that, or any other place he pleases; though no consideration in the world, except his own commands, should compel me to draw my sword against a breast I so much love and reverence.'
Mr. Munden replied, that he should be extremely glad to find an affair, which at present seemed to threaten such fatal consequences, was amicably made up; and, after having assured him that he would deliver what he had said to his lordship in the most exact manner, was about to take his leave; but could not do it so soon as he desired, the other still detaining him by beginning some subject or other of conversation, which, how frivolous soever, Mr. Munden could not break off too suddenly, without incurring the censure of abruptness and ill-manners.
Lord —— in the mean time was in the utmost agitation; not for the return of Mr. Munden, for he very well knew the message he would bring, but that he had taken a great deal of pains to no purpose: the beauty of Mrs. Munden had inspired him with the most eager desire of enjoying her; the gaiety of her temper, joined to the temptations inhis power to offer, had given him an almost assured hope of gaining her—and now, to find himself thus repulsed—repulsed with such disdain—left a surprize upon him which very much increased the shock of his disappointment.
Besides, as he doubted not but she would inform her husband of all that had passed between them, it gave the most mortal stab to that haughtiness too incident to opulence and grandeur, to reflect he had given a man, so much beneath him, an opportunity of triumphing over him in his mind.
He had not recovered his confusion, and was walking backwards and forwards in his drawing-room, with a disordered motion, when Mr. Munden returned; to whom he never spoke, nor looked upon. The satisfaction this gentleman had felt on finding the business of his embassy was like to terminate so happily, was very much damped at seeing himself received in this manner.
'I did not expect to find your lordship alone,' said Mr. Munden. 'I believe not,' replied he: 'but an unlucky accident at home deprived me of my cousin's company; and your wife, it seems, did not think herself safe with me.'
These last words, and the contemptuous tone in which they were expressed, put him into the extremest consternation: 'I hope, my lord,' cried he, 'that Mrs. Munden cannot have so far forgot herself as to have acted in any manner unbecoming of the respect due to your lordship.'—'Fine women will have their caprices,' resumed the peer: 'but no matter; let no more be said of it.'
Mr. Munden then proceeded to repeat what Mr. W—— had said to him; but his lordship took no notice, and seemed entirely unconcerned all the time he was speaking; till the other adding, that, if his lordship thought proper, he would attend him in the morning, in order to be at hand in case the event should require his presence, the peer replied peevishly, 'No, no; you need not come—I believe there will be no occasion; if there be, I can send for you.'
After this, Mr. Munden, easily perceiving his company was rather troublesome than agreeable, made a low obeisance, and withdrew, almost distracted in his mind at this sudden turn of temper in his patron, and no less impatient to hear what his wife had to say on that account.
It was not in one of the best of humours, as the reader may easily imagine, that he now came home; nor did he find Mrs. Munden in one very proper to alleviate his vexation. She was extremely pensive;and when he asked her, in somewhat of an imperious voice, the reason of having left Lord —— in so abrupt a manner—'When you,' said she, 'forsook the guardianship of my honour, it was time for me to take the defence of it upon myself; which I could do no other way than by flight.'
'What is it you mean?' cried he. 'I am certain my lord has too much friendship for me to offer any rudeness to you.'—'Be not too certain,' answered she, 'of the friendship of that base great man.' She then began to repeat the discourse with which his lordship had entertained her, after being left alone with him; but had gone through a very small part of it before her husband interrupted her, saying, with a kind of malicious sneer, that he was positive there was nothing at all in what she apprehended—that it was impossible for the noble lord to be in earnest when he talked to her in such terms—that she had been deceived by her own vanity, to mistake for a serious design upon her virtue what was only meant for mere gallantry; and then added, with more passion, that he feared her idle resentment had lost him all his interest with the best of friends.
'Good Heavens!' cried she, 'defend me, and all virtuous women, from such gallantries! But know, Sir,' continued she, with a great deal of vehemence, 'that, but for that idle resentment, as you are pleased to call it, my ruin and your dishonour would have been compleated by this best of friends.'
'How!' said Mr. Munden, eagerly; 'he did not, sure, proceed to action?' Perceiving he was now in a disposition to listen with more attention to what she said, than hitherto he had done, she hesitated not to acquaint him with every particular of his lordship's behaviour to her, and the means by which she had defended herself.
During this recital, Mr. Munden bit his lips, and appeared in very great emotions. He spoke not a word, however, till his fair wife, pitying the anxieties she saw him under, desired him to think no more of this accident, since it was so happily got over. 'It may be so in your opinion,' answered he fiercely; 'but not in mine. I foresee the consequences; though you, perhaps, think not of them. It is true, my lord's behaviour is not to be justified; nor can yours in regard to me be so: you ought to have considered the dependence I had on him, and not have carried things with so high an hand. You might have doubtless evaded this attempt by more gentle and less affrontive methods: but that cursed pride of yours must be gratified, though at the expence of all my expectations.' With these words he flung out ofthe room; and this was all the return she met with from her ungrateful husband, for having resisted, with such courage and resolution, temptations which some women would have thought themselves absolved for yielding to the force of.
Ill-natured and perverse as Mr. Munden was, it must be confessed that his present situation, nevertheless, merited some compassion: he had a great share of ambition—loved both pleasure and grandeur to an excess; and, though far from being of a generous disposition, the pride and vanity of his humour made him do many things, through ostentation, which his estate would not well support. He kept company with persons of rank and fortune much superior to his own; and, as he bore an equal part in their expences whenever he was with them, he stood in need of some addition to his revenue: well, therefore, might he be chagrined at an accident that cast so dark a cloud over that prospect of interest and preferment he had flattered himself with from Lord ——.
But though this was the main point, it was not the sole subject of his discontent. The motives for his being sent by Lord —— to Mr. W——, the pretended quarrel between them, and the trifling excuses made by the latter to detain him from making too quick a return, were all too obvious for him not to be assured that gentleman was privy to, and agreed to be an assistant in, the design his lordship had upon his wife.
Mr. W——, though the representative of a borough in C——, was, indeed, no more than a creature of Lord ——; to whose interest alone he was indebted for his seat in parliament: but it was not because Mr. Munden knew him to be obliged to do everything enjoined by his lordship, that restrained the resentment he conceived against him from breaking out, but because he considered that a quarrel between them on this score might occasion the affair to become publick, and expose both himself and wife to the ridicule of as many as should hear it.
Wrath, when enervate, especially if inflamed by any just provocation, is certainly very dreadful to be borne; and what this injured husband sustained in the first emotions of it, must have excited the pity of every reader of this history, if he had not afterwards meanly vented it where he had not the least occasion for disgust, but rather of the highest tenderness and admiration.
In the midst of these perplexities, however, let us leave him for a while, and return to her whose beauty had been the innocent cause ofall this trouble to him, and danger to herself.
Wonderful, indeed, were the effects this last adventure produced in her. Many times before she had been on the very verge of ruin, and as often indebted merely to fortune for her preservation from the mischiefs into which her inadvertency had almost plunged her: but none of those dangers, those escapes, had ever been capable of making any lasting impression on her mind, or fixing her resolution to avoid running again into the same mistakes.
The cruel reproaches and reflections cast on her by Mr. Munden, filled her not now with the least resentment; for though she deserved them not upon the score he made them, yet she was conscious that she did so for going to the house of Lord ——, after having the strongest reasons to believe he had dishonourable intentions upon her.
She blushed to remember, that she had given herself leave to be pleased at the thoughts of appearing amiable in the eyes of that great man. 'Good God!' cried she, 'what infatuation possessed me! Am I not married? Is not all I am the property of Mr. Munden? Is it not highly criminal in any one to offer to invade his right? And can I be so wicked to take delight in the guilt to which I am in a manner accessary?
'The vanities of my virgin state,' continued she, 'might plead some excuse; but nothing now can be urged in my defence for persevering in them. The pride of subduing hearts is mine no more: no man can now pretend to love me but with the basest and most shameful views. The man who dares to tell me he adores me, contradicts himself by that very declaration; and while he would persuade me he has the highest opinion of me, discovers he has in reality the meanest.'
In fine, she now saw herself, and the errors of her past conduct, in their true light. 'How strange a creature have I been!' cried she; 'how inconsiderate with myself! I knew the character of a coquette both silly and insignificant; yet did every thing in my power to acquire it. I aimed to inspire awe and reverence in the men; yet, by my imprudence, emboldened them to the most unbecoming freedoms with me. I have sense enough to discern real merit in those who professed themselves my lovers; yet affected to treat most ill those in whom I found the greatest share of it. Nature has made me no fool; yet not one action of my life has given any proof of common reason.
'Even in the greatest and most serious affair of life—that of marriage,' added she with a deep sigh, 'have I not been governedwholly by caprice? I rejected Mr. Trueworth only because I thought I did not love him enough; yet gave my hand to Mr. Munden, whom, at that time, I did not love at all; and who has since, alas! taken little care to cultivate that affection I have laboured to feel for him.'
In summing up this charge against herself, she found that all her faults and her misfortunes had been owing either to an excess of vanity, a mistaken pride, or a false delicacy. The two former appeared now too contemptible in her eyes for her not to determine utterly to extirpate; but the latter she found less reason to correct, since it happened only in regard to Mr. Trueworth, and could never happen again, as both their marriages had put a total end to all tender communication between them.
This change in Mrs. Munden's humour, great and sudden as it was, did not, however, prove a transient one—every day, every hour, confirmed her in it; and if at any time her natural vivacity made her seem a little pleased on hearing her wit, her beauty, or any other perfection or accomplishment, too lavishly extolled, she presently checked herself for it; and assumed a look of reserve, which, though less haughty than she had sometimes put on upon different occasions, had not the less effect, and seldom failed to awe the flatterer into silence—a proof of which the reader will be immediately presented with.
Nothing so much encourages an unwarrantable passion for a married woman, as to know she has a husband regardless of her charms. A young gay gentleman, a companion of Mr. Munden's, privy to most of his secrets, and partner with him in many a debauch, had seen Mrs. Munden at Miss Airish's, where she still continued to visit. He had entertained a kind of roving flame for her, which his friendship for her husband could not prevent him from wishing to gratify; but, though they often met, he never could get an opportunity of declaring himself: all he could do was sometimes to whisper in her ear that she was divinely handsome—that he adored her—and that he died for her—and such like stuff; which she was too often accustomed to hear to take much notice of.
The indifferent opinion which most men of pleasure, or, in other words, genteel rakes of the town, have of women in general, joined to the too great gaiety he had observed in Mrs. Munden's behaviour, made him imagine there required little more for the gaining her than the making his addresses to her. The means of speaking to her in private seemed to him the sole difficulty he had to get over: and, in order to do so, he wrote to her in the following terms.
'To Mrs. Munden.Madam,A fine woman would reap little advantage from the charms she is mistress of, if confined to the languid embraces of a single possesser.Marriage takes off the poignancy of desire: a man has no relish for beauties that are always the same, and always in his power; those endearments generally make his happiness become disgustful to him by being his duty; and he naturally flies to seek joys yet untasted, in the arms of others. This, fair angel, is the case with us all—you have too much good-sense not to know it, or to expect your husband should vary from his sex in this particular.Let those unhappy women, therefore, to whom nature has been niggard of her bounties, pine in an abandoned bed. You are formed to give and to receive the most unbounded joys of love—to bless and to be blest with the utmost profusion of extasies unspeakable.To tell you how infinitely I adore you, and how much I have languished for an opportunity of declaring my passion, would require a volume instead of a letter: besides, my pen would but faintly express the sentiments of my soul—they will have more energy when whispered in your ear. I know such a thing is impossible at your own house, or at any of those where you visit. Favour me, then, I beseech you, with taking a little walk in the Privy Garden near the water-side, to-morrow about eleven; from which place, if my person and passion be not altogether disagreeable to you, we may adjourn to some other, where I may give you more substantial demonstrations how much I am, with the utmost sincerity, dear Madam, your eternally devoted, and most faithful admirer.P.S. I do not sign my name for fear of accidents; but flatter myself my eyes have already said enough to inform you who I am.'
'To Mrs. Munden.
Madam,
A fine woman would reap little advantage from the charms she is mistress of, if confined to the languid embraces of a single possesser.Marriage takes off the poignancy of desire: a man has no relish for beauties that are always the same, and always in his power; those endearments generally make his happiness become disgustful to him by being his duty; and he naturally flies to seek joys yet untasted, in the arms of others. This, fair angel, is the case with us all—you have too much good-sense not to know it, or to expect your husband should vary from his sex in this particular.
Let those unhappy women, therefore, to whom nature has been niggard of her bounties, pine in an abandoned bed. You are formed to give and to receive the most unbounded joys of love—to bless and to be blest with the utmost profusion of extasies unspeakable.
To tell you how infinitely I adore you, and how much I have languished for an opportunity of declaring my passion, would require a volume instead of a letter: besides, my pen would but faintly express the sentiments of my soul—they will have more energy when whispered in your ear. I know such a thing is impossible at your own house, or at any of those where you visit. Favour me, then, I beseech you, with taking a little walk in the Privy Garden near the water-side, to-morrow about eleven; from which place, if my person and passion be not altogether disagreeable to you, we may adjourn to some other, where I may give you more substantial demonstrations how much I am, with the utmost sincerity, dear Madam, your eternally devoted, and most faithful admirer.
P.S. I do not sign my name for fear of accidents; but flatter myself my eyes have already said enough to inform you who I am.'
If this letter had come but a very small time before it did, it is possible that, though Mrs. Munden would even then have been highly offended at the presumption, yet her vanity and curiosity might have excited her to give the meeting required in it by the author; though it had only been, as she would then have imagined, merely to see who he was, and laugh at his stupidity for addressing her in that manner.
Not but she had some distant guess at the person; but whether it was him, or any other, who had taken this liberty, she now gave herself not the least concern: she was only desirous to put an entire stop to those audacious hopes she found he had entertained, and to keep herself from receiving any future solicitations, from the same quarter at least.
To send back his letter without any other token of her resentmentand disdain at the contents, she thought would not be sufficient; and her ready wit, after a little pause, presented her with a method more efficacious. It was this.
She folded up the epistle in the same fashion it was when she received it, and inclosed it in another piece of paper; in which she wrote these lines.
'Sir,As I cannot think any man would be weak enough to dictate an epistle of this nature to the wife of Mr. Munden, I must suppose you made some mistake in the direction, and sent that to me which was intended for some other woman, whose character it might better agree with.I must intreat you, however, to be more careful for the future; for if any such impertinence should a second time arise, I shall think myself obliged to make a confidante of my husband, whose good-sense and penetration will, doubtless, enable him to discover the author, and his spirit and courage instruct him in what manner to resent the affront offered to his ever-faithful, and most affectionate wife,B. Munden.'
'Sir,
As I cannot think any man would be weak enough to dictate an epistle of this nature to the wife of Mr. Munden, I must suppose you made some mistake in the direction, and sent that to me which was intended for some other woman, whose character it might better agree with.
I must intreat you, however, to be more careful for the future; for if any such impertinence should a second time arise, I shall think myself obliged to make a confidante of my husband, whose good-sense and penetration will, doubtless, enable him to discover the author, and his spirit and courage instruct him in what manner to resent the affront offered to his ever-faithful, and most affectionate wife,
B. Munden.'
This had all the effect she wished it should have—the beau was ashamed of the fruitless attack he had made—wrote to her no more—avoided her sight as much as possible—and, whenever chance brought him into her company, behaved towards her with all the distance and respect imaginable.
This lady, now fully convinced how dangerous it was to be too much admired for her external charms, ceased even to wish they should be taken notice of; and set herself seriously about improving those perfections of the mind which she was sensible could alone entitle her to the esteem of the virtuous and the wife.
Mr. Munden, who had never been disquieted at the former part of his wife's behaviour, was equally insensible of this alteration in her: his cares, indeed, were too much taken up for re-establishing himself with his right honourable patron, to give any attention to what passed at home.
After much debating with himself, he thought it best to proceed so as not to let the noble lord imagine he was acquainted with any part of the attempt made upon his wife; but, though he attended his levee as usual, and seemed rather more obsequious than ever, he had themortification to find himself very coolly received. He stood undistinguished in the circle which constantly waited the motions of that great man—was scarcely spoken to by him, and then with a kind of indrawn reserve, which made him justly enough apprehensive that he had little now to hope for from him.
The truth is, he saw through the policy of this dependant—he could not doubt but Mrs. Munden had told him of the violence he had offered to her—he was conscious of the baseness of it; but he was not angry with himself for it, though with the person he would have injured; and could not forgive him for the knowledge of his crime, though the other was willing to forgive the crime itself.
The treatment he received at Lord ——'s made him extremely churlish to his wife; he looked upon her as the primary cause of his misfortune, cursed his marriage with her, and even hated her for the beauties and good qualities which should have endeared her to him. Nothing she could say or do had the power of pleasing him; so that she stood in need of all her courage and fortitude to enable her to support, with any tolerable degree of patience, the usage she received.
To heighten her misfortune, the late levity of her temper had hindered her from cultivating an acquaintance with any one person, on whose secrecy, sincerity, and sedateness, she could enough depend for the disburdening her mind of those vexations with which it was sometimes overwhelmed.
But this was a matter of disquiet to her which she had not long to complain of. Heaven sent her a consolation of which she had not the least distant expectation, and restored her to a friend, by whom she had thought herself utterly forsaken, and whom she had not herself scarce thought of for a long time.
Lady Loveit was now but just returned from the country, where she had continued ever since her marriage to Sir Bazil. A famous French milliner being lately arrived from Paris with abundance of curiosities, her ladyship went to see if there was any thing she should think worth the purchasing. Mrs. Munden was led by the same curiosity; and it was at this woman's house that these ladies happened to meet after so long an absence from each other.
Mrs. Munden was a little confused at first sight of her, as bringing to her mind some passages which it was never in her power to think on with the indifference she wished to do. They embraced, however, with a great deal of affection—made each other the usualcompliments on the mutual change of their condition; for Lady Loveit, by some accident, had heard of Mrs. Munden's marriage.
Though both these ladies were much more taken up with each other than with examining the trifles they came to see, yet neither of them would quit the shop without becoming customers. Lady Loveit perceiving that Mrs. Munden had neither coach nor chair at the door, after having asked what part of town she lived in, and finding it was not too much out of her way, desired she would give her leave to set her down in her chariot.
Mrs. Munden readily accepted the offer; and, being come to the door of her house, would have persuaded Lady Loveit to alight and come in: but she excused herself; and, at the same time, gave her a pressing invitation to her house as soon as an opportunity permitted. 'I know, Madam,' said she, smiling, 'that it is my duty to pay the first visit to your ladyship—yet, as you are here—' 'I should not stand on that punctilio with you,' interrupted Lady Loveit, with the same good-humour; 'but I expect company at home; and I know not but that they already wait for me.' The other then told her she would do herself the favour to attend her ladyship in a day or two: and this was all that passed at this first interview.
Mrs. Munden was extremely rejoiced at the opportunity of renewing her acquaintance with this lady; in which she had not the least room to doubt but that she should find what she so much wanted, a faithful adviser and an agreeable companion. They had always loved each other—there was a great parity of sentiment and principle between them; and as nothing but their different ways of thinking, in point of conduct towards the men, had hindered them from becoming inseparable friends, that bar being removed by Mrs. Munden's change of temper, and her being now what Lady Loveit always was, no other remained to keep them from communicating their thoughts with the utmost freedom to each other.
The visit promised by Mrs. Munden was not delayed beyond the time she mentioned. Lady Loveit received her without the least reserve; and they soon entered into conversation with the same sprightliness as before the change of their conditions.
Mrs. Munden had resolved within her self not to make the least mention of Mr. Trueworth's name; but feeling, notwithstanding, a good deal of impatience to hear something of him, artfully entered into a discourse which she knew must draw the other in to say something concerning him.
'I need not ask,' said she, 'how you liked the country; it is pretty plain, from your continuing there such a length of time, that you found more pleasures at Sir Bazil's seat than any you had left behind.'—'The house is well situated, indeed,' replied Lady Loveit; 'yet I have passed the least part of my time there since I left London; nor have we staid away so long entirely through choice, but have in a manner been detained by a succession of accidents altogether unforeseen.
'It took up six weeks,' continued she, 'to receive the visits which were every day crowded upon us from all parts of the country. This hurry being over, we could do no less than accompany Mr. Wellair and his lady, who had been with us all this while, to their house, where we staid about a fortnight; after which, Sir Bazil having promised my brother and sister Trueworth to pass some time with them in Oxfordshire, we crossed the country to that gentleman's fine seat; where, you may suppose, his arrival was welcomed in much the same manner Sir Bazil's had been in Staffordshire. Besides all his relations, intimate friends, tenants, and dependants, I believe there was scarce a gentleman or lady, twenty miles round, who did not come to congratulate him on his marriage and return.
'For the reception of those guests,' went she still on, 'the generous Mr. Trueworth omitted nothing that might testify his joy on the occasion of their coming. Feasting employed their days, and balls their nights. But, alas! in the midst of these variegated scenes of pleasure, death, sudden death! snatched away the source of all our joys, and turned the face of gladness into the most poignant grief.'
'Death! did your ladyship say?' cried Mrs. Munden, with an extraordinary emotion. 'Is, then, Mr. Trueworth dead?'—'No, Madam,' replied the other, wiping away some tears which the memory of this fatal accident drew from her eyes; 'Mr. Trueworth lives; and, I hope, will long do so, to be an honour to his country, and a comfort to all those who are so happy as to know him; for certainly there never was a man more endued with qualities for universal good: but it was his wife, his amiable wife, that died!'
'His wife!' cried Mrs. Munden, interrupting her a second time: 'is he already a widower?'—'Too soon, indeed, he became so!' answered Lady Loveit. 'Scarce three months were elapsed from that day which made her a bride to that which made her a lifeless corpse: we were all together, with some other company, one evening in the turret, which, by the help of some large telescopes Mr. Trueworth had placedthere, commands the prospect of three counties at once, when my poor sister was seized suddenly ill. As she was supposed to be pregnant, her complaint at first was taken no other notice of than to occasion some pleasantries which new-married women must expect to bear: but she soon grew visibly worse—was obliged to be carried down stairs, and put directly into bed. The next morning she discovered some symptoms of a fever; but it proved no more than the forerunner of the small pox, of which distemper she died before her danger was apprehended, even by the physician.'
'How I pity both the living and the dead!' said Mrs. Munden. 'Mr. Trueworth, certainly, could not support so great a loss with any degree of moderation?'—'The shock at first,' replied Lady Loveit, 'was as much as all his philosophy and strength of reason could enable him to combat with. Sir Bazil, though deeply affected for the loss of so amiable a sister, was obliged to conceal his own sorrows, the better to allieviate those he saw him in; and this kept us for two whole months at his house after the ceremony of the funeral was over. We had then prevailed on him to return with us to London; every thing was prepared for our departure, when an unlucky accident happened to myself, which detained us for yet a considerable time longer.
'We were diverting ourselves one day with angling,' continued she; 'when, in endeavouring to cast my rod at too great a distance, I stooped so far over the bank, that I plunged all at once, head foremost, into the water. The pond, it seems, was pretty deep; and I was in some danger. Sir Bazil and Mr. Trueworth, seeing me fall, jumped in at the same instant; and, by their assistance I was brought safe to shore. I was immediately carried into the house, stripped of my wet garments, and put into a warm bed: but the fright had so great an effect upon me, that it caused an abortion, which, as I was then in the fifth month of my pregnancy, had like to have proved fatal to me. I was close prisoner in my chamber for several weeks; and, on my being just able to leave it, was advised to have recourse first to the Bristol and then to the Bath waters, for the better establishment of my health. Accordingly, we went to both those places—staid as long at each as I found needful for the purpose that brought me thither; and on my perfect recovery, Sir Bazil having some business at his estate, returned to Staffordshire—made a short excursion to Mrs. Wellair's, and then we bowled up to London.
'This,' added she, 'is the whole history of my eleven month'sabsence. I should also have told you that we had not Mr. Trueworth's company in our last ramble. One of the members for his county having vacated his seat by accepting an employment, Mr. Trueworth was prevailed upon, by a great number of gentlemen and freeholders, to oppose his being rechosen by setting up for a candidate himself. The election was to come on in a few days after our departure; and we have since heard that he succeeded in his attempt.'
Lady Loveit having finished her long narrative, and received the compliments of Mrs. Munden for the trouble she had given her, was beginning to ask some questions concerning her own affairs; but some ladies coming in, broke off, for the present, all conversation on this head; and Mrs. Munden soon after took leave, though not without receiving an assurance from the other of having her visit returned in a short time.
Mrs. Munden carried enough home with her from Lady Loveit's to employ her mind, for that whole night at least. What she had been told in relation to the death of Mrs. Trueworth, raised a strange contrariety of ideas in her, which it was impossible for her either to reconcile, or oblige either the one or the other totally to subside.
She thought it great pity that so virtuous, so beautiful, and so accomplished, a young lady, as she had been told Mrs. Trueworth was, should thus early be snatched away from all the joys of love and life; but could not lament so melancholy an accident in a manner she was sensible it deserved: envy had ever been a stranger to her breast; yet, since her own marriage, and that of Mr. Trueworth with his lady, she had sometimes been tempted to accuse Heaven of partiality, in making so wide a difference in their fate; and, though the blame of her misfortunes lay wholly on herself, had been apt to imagine that she had only been impelled, by an unavoidable impulse, to act as she had done, and was fated, by an invincible necessity, to be the enemy of her own happiness.
Thus did this fair predestinarian reason within herself whenever the ill-usage of Mr. Munden made her reflect on the generosity of Mr. Trueworth. She repined not at the felicities she supposed were enjoyed by Mrs. Trueworth, but regretted that her own lot had been cast so vastly different.
But though all these little heart-burnings now ceased by the deathof that so late happy lady, and even common humanity demanded the tribute of compassion for her destiny, of which none had a greater share, on other occasions, than Mrs. Munden, yet could she not on this pay it without some interruptions from a contrary emotion: in these moments, if it may be said she grieved at all, it was more because she knew that Mr. Trueworth was grieved, than for the cause that made him so.
Her good-sense, her justice, and her good-nature, however, gave an immediate check to such sentiments whenever she found them rising in her; but her utmost efforts could not wholly subdue them: there was a secret something in her heart which she would never allow herself to think she was possessed of, that, in spite of all she could do, diffused an involuntary satisfaction at the knowledge that Mr. Trueworth was a widower.
If Lady Loveit could have foreseen the commotions her discourse raised in the breast of her fair friend, she would certainly never have entertained her with it; but she so little expected her having any tenderness for Mr. Trueworth, that she observed not the changes in her countenance when she mentioned that gentleman, as she afterwards frequently did, on many occasions, in the course of the visits to each other: nor could Mrs. Munden, being ignorant herself of the real cause of the agitation she was in, make her ladyship a confidante in this, as she did in all her other affairs, the little happiness she enjoyed in marriage not excepted.
Lady Loveit had, indeed, a pretty right idea of her misfortune in this point, before she heard it from herself: Sir Bazil, though not at all conversant with Mr. Munden, was well acquainted with his character and manner of behaviour; and the account he gave of both to her on being told to whom he was married, left her no room to doubt how disagreeable a situation the wife of such a husband must be in. She heartily commiserated her hard fate; yet, as Lady Trusty had done, said every thing to persuade her to bear it with a becoming patience.
Perceiving she had lost some part of her vivacity, and would frequently fall into very melancholy musings, Sir Bazil himself, now fully convinced of her merit and good qualities, added his endeavours to those of his amiable consort, for the exhilarating her spirits: they would needs have her make one in every party of pleasure, either formed by themselves, or wherein they had a share; and obliged her to come as often to their house as she could do without givingoffence to her domestick tyrant.
An excess of gaiety, when curbed, is apt to degenerate into its contrary extreme: it must, therefore, be confessed, that few things could have been more lucky for Mrs. Munden than this event; she had lost all relish for the conversation of the Miss Airishes, and those other giddy creatures which had composed the greatest part of her acquaintance; and too much solitude might have brought on a gloominess of temper equally uneasy to herself and to those about her; but the society of these worthy friends, the diversions they prepared for her, and the company to which they introduced her, kept up her native liveliness of mind, and at the same time convinced her that pleasure was no enemy to virtue or to reputation, when partook with persons of honour and discretion.
She had been with them one evening, when the satisfaction she took in their conversation, the pressures they made to detain her, joined to the knowledge that there was no danger of Mr. Munden's being uneasy at her absence, (he seldom coming home till towards daybreak) engaged her to stay till the night was pretty far advanced; yet, late as it was, she was presented with an adventure of as odd a kind as ever she had been surprized with.
She was undressing, in order to go to bed, when she heard a very loud knocking at the street-door; after which her footman came up, and told her that a woman was below, who said she must speak with her immediately. 'I shall speak to nobody at this time of the night,' said Mrs. Munden; 'therefore go down and tell her so.' The fellow went; but returned in a moment or two, and told her that the person would take no denial, nor would go out of the house without seeing her. 'Some very impudent creature, sure!' said Mrs. Munden—'but do you go,' added she in the same breath, to the maid that waited on her, 'and ask her name and business: if she will tell neither, let her be turned out of the house.'
She was in a good deal of perplexity to think who should enquire for her at that late hour; when the servant she had sent to examine into the matter, came back, and, before she had well entered the chamber, cried out, 'Lord, Madam! I never was so astonished in my life! I wonder Tom could speak in such a rude manner; the woman, as he called her, is a very fine lady, I am sure, though she has no hoop nor stays on—nothing but a fine rich brocade wrapping-gown upon her: she looks as if she was just going to bed, or rather coming out of bed, for her head-cloaths are in great disorder, and her hair allabout her ears.'
'Well, but her name and business,' demanded Mrs. Munden hastily. 'Nay, Madam,' replied the maid, 'she will tell neither but to yourself; so, pray, dear Madam, either come down stairs, or let her be brought up: I am sure she does not look as if she would do you any hurt.'
Mrs. Munden paused a little on what she had heard; and believing there must be something very extraordinary indeed, both in the person and the visit, resolved to be convinced of the truth; therefore, having given a strict charge that both the footmen should be ready at her call in case there should be any occasion for them, went into the dining-room, and ordered that the person who enquired for her should be introduced.
Her whole appearance answered exactly to the description that had been given of her by the maid; but it was her face which most alarmed Mrs. Munden, as being positive she had seen it before, though when or where she could not at that instant recollect.
But the stranger soon eased her of the suspense she was in; when, throwing herself at her feet, and bursting into a flood of tears, 'You once offered me your friendship, Madam,' said she: 'a consciousness of my own unworthiness made me refuse that honour; but I now come to implore your compassion and charitable protection. I have no hope of safety, or of shelter, but in your goodness and generosity.'
The accents of her voice now discovered her to be no other than the lady Mrs. Munden had seen at the mercer's: she was strangely confounded, but not so much as to hinder her from raising the distressed fair-one with the greatest civility, and seating her in a chair, 'Though I cannot comprehend, Madam,' answered she, 'by what accident you are reduced to address me in these terms, yet you may rely upon my readiness to assist the unfortunate, especially a person, whom I cannot but look upon as far from deserving to be so.'
'Oh! would to God,' cried the other, very emphatically, 'that my history could preserve that kind opinion in you! but, alas! though I find myself obliged to relate it to you, in order to obtain the protection I intreat, I tremble lest, by doing so, I should forfeit those pretensions to your mercy, which otherwise my sex, and my distress, might justly claim.'
These words were sufficient to have aroused the curiosity of a woman who had less of that propensity in her nature than Mrs. Munden; she told her that, by being made the confidante of heraffairs, she should think herself obliged to excuse whatever she found not worthy of her approbation.
'Prepare yourself, then, Madam,' said her still weeping guest; 'summon all your goodness to forgive the frailties of youth and inadvertency, and to pity the sad consequences which sometimes attend the pride of flattered beauty and vain desire of ambition.'
This expression sunk more deeply in the mind of Mrs. Munden than the person who uttered it imagined: she made no reply, however; and the other began the narrative she had promised in these or the like terms.
The history of Mademoiselle de Roquelair.
'I need not tell you, Madam,' said she, 'that I am not a native of this kingdom; my bad pronunciation of the language speaks it for me: I am, indeed, by birth a Parisian, and daughter of the Sieur de Roquelair, a man of some estimation in the world.
'The great hopes conceived of me in my infancy, encouraged him to be almost profuse in the expences of my education; no accomplishment befitting of my sex and rank was denied me: in fine, it was easy to see he had an affection for me above all his other children; and that the partial opinion he had of my person and understanding, made him build the highest expectations on my future fortune.
'But, alas! what he intended for my happiness proved my undoing; I had but just attained my fifteenth year of age, when the little beauty I was mistress of was taken notice of by the Duke de M——, as I was walking one evening in the Thuilleries, with a young companion of my own sex: he passed us twice without speaking, but at the third turn accosted us with a gallantry natural to persons of his high rank; the praises he bestowed on me were such as might excuse some vanity in a heart so young and inexperienced as mine then was.
'On our leaving the walks, a gentleman of his retinue followed; and, as I afterwards was informed, enquired who I was, and many other particulars concerning me: the next morning, being at mass in the church of St. Sulpice, I saw the duke again; and, on my coming out, had a letter put into my hands, which, as soon as I got to a convenient place, I opened, and found it, as I before imagined, from the duke.
'After magnifying the power of my wit, my beauty, my fine shape, and a thousand charms with which his amorous fancy painted me,and protesting, with the most solemn imprecations words could form, his everlasting adoration of me, he intreated I would meet him at the same place where he had first seen me, and appointed an hour in which he knew least company would be there.
'I was imprudent enough to comply with this request: my illustrious lover was there before me—he saluted me with the utmost transport in his voice and eyes—led me to a retired part of the walk—made me the most splendid offers—and endeavoured to persuade me, that being his mistress was a station more respectable than being the wife of a private gentleman, or even of a little marquis.
I was unprepared to confute the arguments he urged; and, to confess the truth, felt but too much satisfaction in hearing him speak: my tongue obeyed the dictates of my heart, and told him that I would be his, though I cannot say that I was tempted by any extraordinary liking of his person, but merely by my ambition of pleasing a prince of the blood-royal.
'It was agreed between us, that a proper place should be provided for my reception, and I should quit my father's house entirely; and this was to be accomplished at the end of three days: but, before the expiration of that time, a person who had seen me in the Thuilleries carried home intelligence with what company I had been, and my father, who preferred virtue above grandeur, took all imaginable precautions to prevent my continuing so dangerous an intercourse.
But what cannot the power of gold effect? Though I was locked up in my chamber, no letters or messages permitted to be delivered to me, an agent of the duke's, by a large bribe, corrupted one of the servants, by whose assistance I got out of the house when all the rest of the family were asleep; and a chariot, waiting for me at the end of the street, carried me to a magnificent hotel; where I found my noble lover, and every thing I could wish, ready to receive me.
'Here I lived, for near two whole years, in a pomp which excited the envy, and set me above the scandal, of the censorious: but, at length, malice overtook me; the baseness of those about me accused me to my prince of having wronged his bed; he too easily gave credit to their aspersions; and not only withdrew his affection and his favours from me, but cruelly discarded me without the least provision for my future support.
'My father, who would never see me in my exalted state, equally shunned me in my fallen one; but, at last, through the intercession of some friends, he was prevailed upon to forgive what was past,provided I would leave Paris for ever, and spend the remainder of my days in a monastery: to this, in the distracted condition I then was, I yielded; and a convent at Roan was made choice of for my retreat; the abbess was wrote to concerning me; and every thing was prepared for my departure; when chance brought me acquainted with Mr. Thoughtless.
'You start, Madam,' continued she, perceiving Mrs. Munden looked very much confused; 'but know, at once, that I am that very unfortunate woman your brother brought with him from Paris, who has ever since lived with him, and whom you must have heard of.'
The amazement Mrs. Munden was in, on finding her the mistress of her brothers, was such as would not permit her to make any other reply than to desire she would go on with what she had farther to relate: on which Mademoiselle de Roquelair resumed her discourse in this manner.
'This gentleman,' said she, 'was very well acquainted with my story; but it did not hinder him from entertaining a passion for me—he declared it to me; the aversion I had to a recluse life, the allurements of the world, and his more persuasive rhetorick, soon won me to yield to his desires; I made a second elopement—we embarked together, and came to England; where I have had the command of his family, and lived with him in all things like a wife, except the name. But fortune, always my enemy, conjured up a spirit of jealousy in him, for my torment at first, and, at last, for my utter ruin. His fears of losing me, as he pretended, secluded me from all society; denied me all the publick diversions of the town; and though I lived amidst the very seat of pleasures, kept me as much a stranger to them as if I had been a thousand leagues removed: but, oh! this night, this night, Madam, has compleated all his too suspicious temper long since threatened! The poor mercer, at whose house you saw me, came this night to bring a piece of silk I had bespoke of him: Mr. Thoughtless came home immediately after; and being told who was above with me, flew up stairs, burst open the door, which by some accident was locked, rushed in with his drawn sword, swearing he would sacrifice us both: the man, to avoid his fury, jumped out of the window into the yard; Mr. Thoughtless ran down the back stairs, in order, I suppose, to make him in that place the victim of his rage: whether he has effected it, I know not; for, trembling at my own danger, I took that opportunity of running directly out of the house; though where to go I knew not—I had no friend—no acquaintanceto whom I could apply; I found myself all alone in the street, and exposed to insults, even worse than those from which I fled. My good genius, (for so I hope it was) in that dreadful instant, reminded me of you; I had heard a high character of your goodness; and was assured of it, even by the little I had seen of you, when you were pleased to think me worthy of your notice.
'This, Madam,' added she, 'has brought me to you; and I once more beseech shelter and protection under your roof for this night at least, till I can recollect in what manner I can dispose of my wretched self.'
Though Mrs. Munden was apprehensive this lady had favoured herself too much in the recital she had made, yet she could not think of refusing what she asked: she ordered a bed to be instantly prepared for her; and having conducted her to the chamber where she was to lie, told her she would defer, till the next morning, any farther discourse on the subject they had been talking of, as it was very late, and she expected Mr. Munden home; so wishing her a good repose, returned to her own apartment, to reflect at more leisure on this strange adventure.