O.F.

_December 7_

Was there ever such a piece of knight-errantry? What a mad-cap is this!

Pray, my dear, are you not astonished at him? I am sure I am. I had not

an opportunity to finish the copying of this very long letter, which I

began yesterday morning, till very late this night. My poor mother has

been so restless, and so much out of order, these two days, I desired

her leave to read to her Mr Faulkland's history (for I can call it by no

other name) as I sat by her bed-side. She told me, I might let her know

the substance of what he said, as it would fatigue her too much to

attend to so long an epistle.

You would have smiled, my Cecilia, at my good parent's amazement, when I

told her Mr Faulkland's proceedings, and his reasons for them. She would

scarce give credit to it at first, and I was obliged to repeat several

circumstances to her over again. And so, said she, this was all on

_your_ account, and he had _really_ no ill design on Mrs Gerrarde. I am

glad of this for Miss Burchell's sake, and shall be impatient to tell

her of it. I begged of my mother to wait a while for the result of Mr

Faulkland's adventure, before she mentioned any thing of the matter to

Miss Burchell. We do not yet know, said I, how this matter may turn out;

Mr Faulkland, to be sure, will make haste to communicate to my brother

the issue of this odd affair, and it will then be time enough to inform

the young lady.

My mother unwillingly consented to postpone a discovery which she knew

would be so agreeable to Miss Burchell. I applaud her humanity; but

think that, good and prudent as she is, she is too unreserved in her

confidences. This strange business is, I think, at present in too

critical a suspence to trust the knowledge of it to anybody. If Mr

Faulkland fails in his design, his avowal of it will be far from serving

me. Sir George was with us for a few minutes to-day, only to exult in Mr

Faulkland's recovered credit. Has he not well explained himself, said

he? Oh! I knew there must have been some mystery at the bottom of that

conduct which surprized us all so much. _There's_ a man for you! Shew me

another who would carry his noble disinterested love to such lengths!

My mother did not like that he should run on in that strain, and

therefore stopped him. The end crowns all, Sir George: let us see how

your friend will conduct himself _through_ this ticklish affair. Let him

get through it how he will, answered my brother a little bluntly, I

think Sidney has obligations to him she ought never to forget.

_December 16_

More intelligence, my dear; stranger and stranger still! I am sorry I

sent off my last packet, as I am sure you must be impatient for the

conclusion of Mr Faulkland's adventure; and then what sorry stuff has

the interval been filled up with! but I will now make you amends. My

mother is better too, thank God! and every thing promises well.

Sir George has had a second packet from Boulogne. Take the continuation

of Mrs Gerrarde's history as follows:

How rude is the hand of sickness, my Bidulph! it had like to have

spoiled one of the best projects that ever was undertaken, and

consigned to oblivion an action worthy of immortality. I have been

very ill since I last wrote to you; the disorder, which I then

complained of, turned out to be an ugly fever; and I was for three

days in extreme danger. Mrs Gerrarde was, during that time, closely

attended by Pivet, whose services I dispensed with on that account.

He told me she appeared uneasy at my situation, and enquired

constantly, and _kindly_ too, after my health. When I grew well

enough to sit up, I begged the favour of seeing her in my chamber.

She came very readily, and seemed downright anxious for my recovery.

I told her I hoped she had been treated with proper care and respect

during my sickness. She said Mr Pivet was a very obliging,

good-natured man, and had endeavoured to make her confinement as

easy to her as possible.

The plan she had formed of turning to the most lasting advantage the

inclination she supposed I had for her, inclined her to assume a

very different behaviour from what was natural to her. The weakness

of my condition, while it afforded me a pretence for a more cold and

languid behaviour than I could with any colour have put on at

another time, gave her an opportunity of playing off her arts, and

facilitated my design beyond my hopes.

She was seated at my bed-side: our first conversation consisted of

nothing but complaints on my side, and condolements on her's. I

sighed several times, and she sighed in return. Mrs Gerrarde, said

I, you are afflicted; but my illness has no share in your concern.

Something else oppresses you; you regret the being separated from Mr

Arnold, and I am always the object of your hatred. Neither one nor

t'other, answered she, in a kind voice. 'Tis impossible to hate you;

you know it is not in nature for a _woman_ to hate such a man as Mr

Faulkland. As for Mr Arnold, though I _own_ my former weakness in

regard to him, yet I hope I have something to plead in my excuse. I

was married very early to an old man, and had never experienced the

happiness of reciprocal love: he died, and left me destitute. Mr

Arnold's generous, though I must confess unwarrantable passion,

rescued me from distress. I did not know he was married when I first

unwarily accepted of his addresses, and it was too late to retreat

before I found it out; otherwise the universe should not have

tempted me to have listened to him.

In the midst of the affluence I obtained from him, it often grieved

me to think of the injury I did his wife. There is nothing, Mr

Faulkland, so grating to a generous mind, and I think I may venture

to assert that _mine_ is one, as to live in a state of dependence,

and, at the same time, owe that very dependence to a vice that you

disdain.

I was delighted to find that she had got into this strain; it was

the thing I wished, but durst hardly hope for without abundance of

trouble on my part, and a dissimulation that was irksome to me. I

knew she had studied this speech, and got it by rote to answer her

own purpose; but in this, as is generally the case of designing

people, she overshot herself, and became the dupe to her own

artifice. I laid hold of the cue she gave: Oh! madam, you charm me!

go on, go on; now indeed you shew a generous mind: happy would it be

for all your sex, after having deviated from the paths of virtue, if

they could return to them with so good a grace, so just a sense of

their errors! To _you_, Sir, said she with a solemn air, I am

indebted for my present resolutions: I hope from this time forward

that my life will be irreproachable. _I_ hope so too, madam. I

guessed she understood these words as favouring her design: it was

not meet to undeceive her (a little mental reservation, you know,

Bidulph): she went on, little thinking she was forwarding _my_ plan,

when she only meant to promote her _own_. I hope Mr Arnold will be

as sensible of his fault as I am of _mine_, and that he will never

fall into the like indiscretion again. I believe there can be no

true happiness but between a _married_ pair, who sincerely love each

other.

Good! Good! thought I; sure my better genius prompts the woman to

speak thus. Ah! Mrs Gerrarde, how exactly do your thoughts

correspond with mine! How just are all your sentiments! What a true

relish have you for virtue! Yes, I hope with you that Mr Arnold will

be able to tread in your steps: it is a pity he has not your noble

example before him. Mrs Arnold is a good woman, and he might still

live with her in tolerable contentment, if he can get the better of

his irregular passion for you. What a noble triumph of virtuous

resolution would this be, if you yourself were the instrument to

bring this about. For Mrs Arnold's and her brother's sake, as well

as your own, I wish this were feasible.

I would do any thing in my power, said she (thinking she obliged me

by the declaration); but I know not by what means such an event can

be brought to pass.

I was afraid to urge the matter farther: I was within an hair's

breadth of gaining my point, but did not think it prudent to press

too forward. We'll think of it another time, said I, and groaned

heavily, as if my spirits were fatigued with talking. She took the

hint. I am afraid I have tired you; you have talked too much. I

answered her faintly, You are very good! She curtesied to me, and

retired with a majestic step. I saw her no more that day: she had

got upon stilts, and it was not yet time to take her down. To-morrow

may produce a wonder: I will wait for it. I am really weak, but

begin to recover my spirits.

_Boulogne, December 6._

Nothing is so conducive to the body's health, as the mind's being at

ease. I have proved the truth of this observation: my soul had been

racked with suspence and uncertainty during my illness; the uneasy

state of my mind increased my disorder; the disorder itself had

chiefly given rise to my apprehensions, as pain and sickness are

naturally accompanied with a gloominess of thought. Thus the cause

and its effects were united in mutual league against me, and

reciprocally assisted each other to plague and torment me.

My fears were intirely on Mrs Arnold's account. What, thought I,

would be the consequence of my project, in case of my death? Mrs

Gerrarde will return back to England; and, upon telling her story,

will be received again by Arnold; their union perhaps established as

firmly as before, and poor Mrs Arnold's hopes ruined for ever. Then

I thought what a wretch I must appear in her eyes, doubtful, may be,

of my sincerity as to the motives I urged to you for my conduct. On

the other hand, if these motives should by any means happen to be

suspected by Mrs Gerrarde, it might be the means of producing the

direct contrary effect from what I intended; and instead of

banishing Arnold's cruel suspicions of his lady, only serve to

strengthen them; for I knew Mrs Gerrarde would leave nothing unsaid

or undone for this horrid purpose; and it is not every one, Sir

George, whose hearts are enlarged enough to suppose a man may now

and then take a little pains from disinterested principles. This

last suggestion of my thoughts made me almost mad, and actually

brought on a delirium; and what may seem a paradox, though it is

literally true, the total deprivation of my senses for two days was

the means of my recovering them afterwards; for I am sure, had I

retained enough of them to have ruminated longer on this fatal

supposition, and my disorder had still threatened me with death,

I should have run mad. The care of a skilful physician recalled

me from the precincts of the grave; the strength of a constitution,

naturally good, joined to all the resolution I could muster, did the

rest.

The first use I made of my recovered reason, was to consult with

myself in what manner, or by what means, I should prevail on Mrs

Gerrarde to lend a helping hand to my design. Her leaving Arnold to

go off with me, and to all human appearance with her own consent,

was a material point gained; but the most important of all, and

without which every thing else would be fruitless, was to get her to

acknowlege, under her own hand, the injury she had done Mrs Arnold

by her vile insinuations to her husband. This was the grand object

of all my wishes. This, you will say, was difficult: I confess it

did then appear so to me. I had not at first weighed all the

consequences of my enterprize with that deliberation that I ought.

The principal object I had in view, was the separating Mrs Gerrarde

and Mr Arnold, and raising his indignation against her, on account

of the apparent infidelity on her side. To say the truth, I had not

considered what I was to do with her when I had her. Two things I

had resolved on; the one was, not to let her return to England; the

other, to provide for her in whatever way she would put it in my

power (the devoting myself to her excepted), in such a manner as

should leave her no room to reproach me with having injured her

temporal welfare.

During my illness, I had resolved all these things in my mind; the

last, viz. the providing for Mrs Gerrarde, was not a matter in which

I expected to meet many difficulties; the other appeared very

formidable. Several methods presented themselves, but none of them

pleased me, and I rejected them one after the other; and, to tell

you my mind honestly, I was almost resolved on using compulsion, and

frightening the poor woman into compliance; for I preferred even

this to artificial dealings. I had already used more than I could

have possibly brought myself to on any other occasion in the world;

and I think I should have threatened her with a nunnery, the

bastile, or even an inquisition, sooner than have failed, if she

herself had not beyond expectation, beyond hope, almost beyond the

evidence of my senses, led me as it were to request the thing of

her, which of all others I most despaired of her consenting to, or

even hearing proposed with patience. And yet, notwithstanding the

seeming strangeness of this, it was nothing but what was very

natural, and most consonant to her own designs. Blinded, and, as I

may say, infatuated by vanity, she imagined, that as I had taken

such uncommon pains to obtain her, I must love her with an uncommon

degree of passion; and that her steadily refusing any dishonourable

proposals, might induce me, rather than lose her, to make her my

wife.

In order to prepare me the better for this, no means were more

natural, than for her to assume the air of a penitent, to seem sorry

and ashamed of her past sins, and resolve on a virtuous course for

the future. At the worst, that is, if she found _I_ was not disposed

to be as virtuous as herself, she knew she might play an after-game;

and could easily relax by degrees from the severity of her chastity,

accordingly as I made it worth her while.

This was the master-key to her behaviour, and once I had got it,

which I soon did, it was easy to unlock her breast.

She came into my room the next morning without an invitation, and

only the previous ceremony of sending Rachael to enquire how I did,

and to tell me, if I were well enough to _rise_ (observe her

nicety), she would sit half an hour with me. I had enjoyed such

tranquility of heart since my last conference with her, and had

rested so well the preceding night, that I found myself quite

another thing from what I was the day before; and, excepting a

little weakness, I was as well as ever I was in my life. I was up

and dressed, and you may be sure sent a suitable answer to her kind

message, which soon brought the lady, sailing with an imperial port,

into my chamber. After some civilities past on both sides, she, by

way of bringing her own interests on the tapis, re-assumed the topic

of our yesterday's conversation.

You can't imagine, Mr Faulkland, said she, how easy I am in my

mind, since I have reconciled myself to the loss of Mr Arnold. I own

I had a regard for him; but I think it had more of gratitude than

love in it; for though he is an agreeable man, to say the truth, he

never was quite to my taste: he always had something too formal

about him.

I took the liberty to ask her, how she first came acquainted with Mr

Arnold; and, as you may not know it, I will give you the story. She

answered, with a profound sigh, It was by mere accident I first saw

him. After the death of Captain Gerrarde, which happened in a little

more than a year after we left Bath, for the gout, poor man, got

into his stomach not long after we returned home (and the crocodile

pretended to drop a tear), I went to London, in order to sollicit

for my pension. As I had formerly been a Roman Catholic, and had not

publickly renounced that persuasion, some difficulties arose in the

business; and a friend of my deceased husband, who had undertaken

the affair for me, happening to be an intimate of Mr Arnold's, and

knowing he had an influence with the secretary at war, endeavoured

to interest him in my favour, by representing my situation in the

most affecting light he could to him. He kindly undertook to

interfere for me, and was as good as his word; but could not

surmount the difficulty of the objection which was made to my claim.

He happened one morning, unluckily for me, to call in at my friend's

lodgings, to tell him of his ill success: I, impatient to know how

my affair went on, had dropped in to inquire about it a few minutes

before him, and was sitting in the dining-room when Mr Arnold

entered. I was in my weeds, and my melancholy looks I believe made

Mr Arnold conjecture I was the person for whom he had so kindly

concerned himself. He told my friend he was sorry to inform him,

that though he had used all means in his power, with regard to the

affair in which he had employed him, he found it was impossible to

effect the business; and I am the more concerned, said he, turning

towards me, as I am afraid this lady is to be the sufferer. My

relation said I was the person for whom he had been so good as to

intercede. I returned Mr Arnold thanks, not without tears, at the

uncomfortable prospect I had before me; for I had then nothing to

depend on, but my small jointure in Kent. I was about to take my

leave; but observing it rained, desired my friend to give his

servant leave to call me a chair. Mr Arnold very politely desired I

would permit him to set me down, as his chariot waited at the door.

I would have excused myself; but my relation said, 'Tis in his way,

child; and since you have no hopes of a pension, you ought to be

sparing of chair-hire. Mr Arnold very obligingly offered me his

hand, and led me to his chariot. He set me down at my lodgings, and

at parting desired permission to wait on me. The fatal consequence

of our acquaintance it was impossible for me to foresee; for I never

had the least hint given me, either from my own relation or Mr

Arnold himself, that he was a married man, till he had so far

secured my gratitude, by repeated acts of generosity, that it was

impossible for me to refuse him the return he demanded.

Too-grateful heart, said I (pretending to believe her cant), what a

pity thou wert not destined to reward a purer love! But I thought,

madam, you really had enjoyed a pension?

It was not necessary, she answered, that I should let the world

suppose otherwise. I was not at all known when I first came to town.

Mr Arnold's excessive profuseness (quiet against my inclination)

threw me into a more expensive way of living than before. I found

myself obliged to account for it, to the few acquaintance I had, by

all the probable means I could devise. For this purpose, I pretended

that I had not only obtained a pension, but had also a fortune left

me by the death of a relation. This was believed, as nobody troubled

their heads to enquire whether it was true or not.

Mr Arnold was passionately fond of the country, and always passed

his summers there; but as he could not think of parting with me, he

was sadly at a loss how to have me near him, without bringing on us

both the observation of an inquisitive neighbourhood (such as all

country places abound in), if I went down, quite a stranger as I

was, into Essex; particularly as he told me there were two families

near Arnold-abbey, who made it their business to pry into other

people's affairs. These were, a Lady Grimston, a censorious old

woman, and the parson of the parish, who was a mighty strict man, of

whom Mr Arnold seemed to stand in some awe. He therefore determined

against my going to that part of the world: but having casually

heard me speak of my little cottage in Kent, where poor Captain

Gerrarde and I had lived for two or three years, he asked me

whereabouts it was, and was delighted to find it joined his own

estate at South Park, and was within a mile of his house. He begged

of me to go down to my own house, which he insisted on furnishing

elegantly for me, and obliged me also to keep a chariot. I (tho'

unwillingly) found myself under a necessity of complying. About a

fortnight after I was settled at Ashby, Mr Arnold and his family

came down: then it was that, for the first time, I saw his lady. I

went to pay my compliments to her, as every genteel family in the

neighbourhood did; and I own I never saw her without feeling myself

shocked to death at the thoughts of the injury I did her; for I

really believe Mrs Arnold is a very well-meaning woman.

Oh! thou scorpion, muttered I to myself, and yet thou hast pursued

her to affliction and ruin!

That Mrs Arnold is a well-meaning woman, said I coldly, I have no

doubt; yet you see Mr Arnold's opinion of her virtue was not strong

enough to be proof against suspicions; for it is most certain, that,

if he had not given credit to your representations of his wife's

conduct, he would not have gone such lengths as to have parted with

her; for Arnold had always some regard to appearances.

_My_ representations, Sir! with a look of astonishment; pray do not

lay more to my charge than I deserve: what the particular reasons

were, which induced Mr Arnold to part with his wife, I will not say;

but whatever his suspicions were, they never took their rise from

me.

I found she intended to brazen this denial out; but as it was

absolutely necessary to my design to bring her to a confession of

this particular act of perfidy, I resolved to lead her into it in

such a way as should be least mortifying to her pride.

Come, come, my dear Mrs Gerrarde, said I, I know you are above

concealing any past failings that you are resolved to mend. I know

very well that it was _your_ insinuations, and your's only, that

kindled the fire of jealousy in Arnold's breast. Such arts are not

uncommon in lovers. You loved him then, and wished to have him

intirely to yourself; and a wife, though a forsaken one, is still

intitled to so much attention from her husband, as a fond mistress

may think robs her of too much. I know this was the case, and it is

natural: but were you not an unmerciful little tyrant to involve

_me_ in the mischief, and put it into the man's noddle, that _I_ had

designs upon his wife?

The easy manner in which I affected to speak of this affair, seemed

to reconcile her a little to the charge; but the last part of it,

which regarded myself, struck her all of a heap. She had no notion

that I knew it. She was going to speak, to deny the accusation I

suppose, and therefore I prevented her; and taking her by the hand,

Come now, said I, deal with me ingenuously; and if you persuade me

that you are really in earnest, and mean to repair those little

lapses which you have inconsiderately been led into, tell me truly,

did you really believe that I ever had any thoughts of an amour with

Mrs Arnold?

I chose to give my inquiry this turn, that she might, with less

shame to herself, by laying hold on the hint, acknowlege her guilt.

She hesitated for an answer, and I guessed she was considering

whether to persist in denying the whole charge against her, or avail

herself of the handle I had given her, and make a sort of merit of

her sincerity, by pretending to believe what she was thoroughly

convinced there was not the least foundation even to suspect, but

what her own wicked suggestions had encouraged in the unfortunate

Arnold. Her silence, thus rightly interpreted by me, made me go on:

You see I know all your secrets; and you are not the woman I take

you for, if you conceal your real sentiments in this particular:

more of my quiet depends on it than you are aware of, and I withdrew

my hand from her's with a serious and almost resenting air.

She appeared disturbed, and in a good deal of confusion; but

recovering herself, Why really, Mr Faulkland, I can't say but I

_had_ some suspicion of what you mention. I was no stranger to your

fondness for Mrs Arnold before she was married, and there was

nothing very surprising in a disappointed lover's renewing his

hopes, when he thought the neglect which a lady met with from her

husband, might incline her to be less obdurate to a man she was once

known to favour so much.

This was enough: I did not think it by any means necessary to press

her to a farther explanation; what she said was a sufficient

acknowlegement of her fault, though the cunning sorceress had turned

the hint (which I had thrown out on purpose) to her own advantage;

and had the affrontery to avow an opinion which had never before

entered into her imagination.

I found it necessary now to carry on the farce, by assuring her, I

had never entertained a thought to Mrs Arnold's dishonour; and that

though I made no great scruple of robbing a man of his mistress, yet

I thought it a crime of the blackest dye to deprive him of the

affection or fidelity of his wife.

The serious manner in which I spoke this a little disconcerted Mrs

Gerrarde. Well, said she, I can only say, that I am very sorry I

entertained so false a suspicion; and more so, as it has produced

such unhappy consequences: but I hope Mr Faulkland will not believe

that I meant _him_ any injury?

That I am sure you did not, said I; and yet this very affair has

given me more uneasiness than you can imagine; for as Mrs Arnold's

brother is my most particular friend, he must think me the greatest

of villains, if I could entertain a thought of dishonouring his

family: the fear of losing his friendship, I own, gives me more pain

than I can express, and there is nothing I would not do to

exculpate myself to him.

I am very unfortunate, cried Mrs Gerrarde (pretending to wipe her

eyes), to have been the occasion of so much uneasiness in any-body's

family. I wish I had died before I was so unhappy as to meet with Mr

Arnold: if it had not been for him, I might now have been an

innocent and a contented woman; and she _really_ squeezed out a

tear, though not of contrition.

Dear madam (again taking her hand), do not afflict yourself for what

is past recalling; contentment, nay happiness, I hope, is yet within

your reach; it will be your own fault if you do not lay hold of it:

as for the unhappy family that _I_, as well as _you_, have

contributed to distress, I wish from my heart there could be a

reunion amongst them. Mr Arnold's having lost you might perhaps

incline him to turn his thoughts towards his wife, if he were not

prejudiced against her by the suspicions he has entertained of her

virtue. This I am afraid will be an insuperable bar to their ever

living together, unless your influence, which first gave birth to

his jealousy, is still forcible enough to remove it.

I wish it were in my power, said Mrs Gerrarde; there is nothing I

would not do to effect it: but what influence can I have on Mr

Arnold, after what has happened?

Suppose you were to write to him, said I: you and he probably may

never meet again; and it would be an effort worthy indeed of a noble

mind, to repair the wrongs we have done to others, by a candid

acknowlegement of our own faults. Putting Mrs Arnold out of the

question, 'tis a reparation you owe _my_ character; for however

light the world may make of a piece of gallantry with a married

woman, it is a matter of serious moment to me to acquit myself of

the supposed crime to Sir George Bidulph.

If you think, said she, that my writing to Mr Arnold could produce

such good effects, I am ready to do it; though I confess I hardly

know how to address him; for he must, to be sure, look upon me as

the very reverse of what I _really_ am, and thinks me without

dispute an ungrateful woman.

We can but try, said I: if it does not produce the desired effect,

it will not be your fault; and you will have the satisfaction to

reflect, that you have done your duty. I stepped to my escruitore

while I was speaking; and resolving not to give her time to cool,

took out pen, ink, and paper, and laid them on a little

writing-table before her. If this unlucky breach, said I, were once

made up, my mind would then be easy.

She took the pen in her hand, but seemed irresolute, and at a loss

how to begin. Come, madam, said I, and confute, by your own example,

the received erroneous opinion, that if a woman once strays from the

paths of virtue, she never returns to them.

A false and ill-grounded opinion indeed, said she, lifting up her

prophane eyes as in penitence. What am I to say?

[You are to observe, that my notes, as she went along while I

dictated, are put between hooks.]

[Begin] 'Dear Sir' [for I would neither be too familiar nor too

cold], 'The terms on which you and I have lived, intitles you to an

explanation of my reasons for leaving you so abruptly; and I hope

the generosity of my motive will incline you to overlook the seeming

unkindness of the action.' [This you may assure yourself it will,

when he comes to consider coolly]. 'The unhappiness that I

occasioned in your family, by causing the separation of you and your

wife, has, for a long time, been a thorn in my heart; and the more

so, as besides the robbing her of your affections, I own, and take

shame to myself in the confession' [how noble must he think this

confession!], 'that those aspersions, which I threw on her, had not

the least foundation in truth.' [This is truly great]. 'I always

believed her perfectly innocent; but, if I could have had the least

possible doubt of it before, I must now be confirmed in that opinion

by Mr Faulkland, who can have no reason for excusing or concealing

facts of this nature from me at present.' [Here she added of

herself, repeating it first aloud to me], 'and I think the

preference he has given me to her, now in her state of separation,

is a convincing proof of this.' [An admirable argument] (her vanity

would not let her slip this observation). [Proceed, madam]. 'The

true reasons of my insinuations against her, were no other than that

I could not bear to share your affections with any-body' [and a very

sufficient reason too, which a man that loves can easily forgive].

'I knew, that so long as she gave you no cause of complaint, you

were too just to withdraw your whole heart from her, and nothing

_but_ the whole would content me.' [Still you see you shew a great

mind]. True, said she, going on; but my reason for leaving him

without apprizing him of it, what are we to say for that? [Oh!

nothing more _easy_ to execute: he will admire you the more for the

reason _I_ shall give. Come]. 'My departing without first making you

acquainted with my design, and going off with another person, may,

at first sight, seem very strange; but, to tell you the real state

of my heart, I found I could not trust to its firmness on the

subject of parting with you. I loved you so, that it was with pain

and grief I made the resolution; and I knew too well, that had you

used any arguments, which to be sure you would have done, to

dissuade me, I, like an easy fool, would have given up all my good

designs.' [I am only afraid this will make him love you more than

ever]. (She smiled as she continued to write). 'As for the other

article'--(This I was more puzzled to excuse than the first; but,

putting on a bold face, I said, Madam, I hope you will not condemn

me here, while you excuse yourself: the saying you were _run away_

with, will knock all the rest on the head, and he may chuse whether

he will believe that you really intended to break off with him or

not; therefore that particular had better not be touched upon. Well,

said she, get me out of this scrape as cleverly as you have brought

me into it. Fear not, said I; go on). 'As for the other article,

though I shall never love Mr Faulkland as I have done you, yet in

him I have found a protector; and through his means, I hope to pass

the remainder of my life, in a manner more suitable to a woman of a

generous way of thinking, than that wherein she considered herself

as encroaching on the rights of another. I hope, by this sacrifice

which I have made of my love to a more heroic principle, that I

shall expiate my former offence; and that you will follow my example

so far as to make what reparation you can to the woman we have both

injured.' [How this must raise, how exalt you in his opinion! I

think it must, cried she, bridling up her head, as if they were

really her own sentiments].

I believe, said I, this is all that is necessary to be said: you may

add, in a postscript, that, as he furnished the house for you at

Ashby, every thing in it is at his service; together with your

chariot and horses, which were also his gifts.

She demurred to this; and in the midst of her heroics, said, I wish

I could get somebody to sell them for me privately, and remit the

money to me; for, since I _am_ here, I should like to see a little

more of France before I return.

I told her that would look mean, and below a _great mind_. Well,

said she, let them go. I owe all my servants a year's wages, and

another person about fifty pounds for a little temple he had just

built in my garden, but not quite finished when I came away. I think

I had better desire those debts to be discharged: I have always been

very punctual in my dealings, and would not for the world _wrong_

anybody.

You are in the right, said I: it will look honourable in you to

desire those debts to be paid.

She now proceeded to conclude her letter in the same stile she had

begun it, and added a postscript to the purport I mentioned. I

hastened to make her seal it up, and direct it to Mr Arnold, at his

house in London, who, I suppose, has had the pleasure of receiving

it before now; for I dispatched it off directly. I flatter myself

with the hope that it will have the desired effect on him.

You will think perhaps, that, as I have managed it, I have really

given her a sort of merit with him in the acknowlegement of her

fault, and the pretended reason she gives for leaving him. No such

thing, Sir George. Arnold is a man of too much sense, and knows the

world too well, to be so deceived. I have been told by my Lord

V----, knows him perfectly, that nobody judges better when he is not

blinded by his passions. All her professions must go for nothing

when _facts_ are against her. 'Tis plain she went off with another

man, and to all appearances premeditately, as her maid and her

riches bore her company. 'Tis also plain, by her own confession,

that this man stands well with her. As for her recanting her

injurious aspersions on poor Mrs Arnold, 'tis the only circumstance

in her letter likely to gain belief, as she could have no temptation

to that but real compunction, with which people of that kind are

sometimes visited; and for the rest of her letter, to any one of

common understanding, that lays circumstances together, it will

appear, as I intended it should, the contrivance of an artful jilt,

who, having almost ruined the wretch she has had in her power, would

afterwards make a _merit_ of deserting him; for they must be

hardened reprobates indeed, that would not, if they could, at least

_try_ to palliate their evil deeds. This is the light I expect

Arnold will consider her in. I know he is hurt deeply in his fortune

by this vile harpy. I hope the remnant may be sufficient to support

your excellent sister, if not in affluence, at least with comfort,

should she regain her influence over him, and submit to live with

him again. This, I am sure, will be the consequence, if he is not

blind to his own happiness.

I shall be impatient to know how the letter operates on him; but

this you are not likely to be let into; and perhaps his pride may

make him endeavour to conceal it from every-body. My Lord V----, I

am sure, will pick up some intelligence, and send it to me.

I think Mrs Gerrarde's confession, in regard to Mrs Arnold (to which

she could have no interested motive), with the corroborating

circumstance of _my_ going off with her at a time when Mrs Arnold

was from under her husband's protection, injured by him in the

tenderest point, and aspersed by a barbarous and invidious world;

all this, I say, must surely clear from all suspicion that admirable

creature: for who, that knows Mrs Arnold, would think that any man

(except her husband) would prefer any woman upon earth to her? If

this does not remove all doubt of her conduct in Arnold, as well as

in the rest of the world, my pains have been to little purpose; and

I know no other human means that can be used to disabuse the mad

credulity of that man. I pity him from my heart in his present

situation; for it will be some time before he will be sensible of

the good I have done him; and, I dare swear, the man is at this time

so ungrateful, that, if he could, he would cut my throat. I do not

want to have him know the extent of his obligation to me: I shall be

satisfied to sit down in the contemplation of my meritorious

actions, without enjoying the fame of them. This greatness of mind I

learnt of Mrs Gerrarde. But to return:

The having gained my material point put me into such spirits, that I

could have kissed Mrs Gerrarde; a liberty which, I assure you,

however I never presumed to take. She, for her part, seemed as well

pleased with what she had done as I was. I praised her for the part

she had acted, though I very much feared she would repent of it when

we came to explanations, which I resolved should be on that very

day. I told her, I hoped she would oblige me with her company at

dinner. She consented with a bow. I had ordered one to be got ready

earlier than usual, and directed that it should be in her apartment.

We were told it was on table. I never saw Mrs Gerrarde so agreeable

as she was during dinner; she was in high spirits and good-humour: I

almost thought it a pity to let her down that day; but I considered

the longer her expectations were kept up, the greater would be her

disappointment; and, out of pure charity, I determined to put her

out of doubt.

I had been told Mrs Gerrarde was no enemy to a chearful glass; but

the designs she had formed upon me put her on her guard, and I

observed she drank nothing but wine and water, made very small.

This, I was afraid, would not be sufficient to keep up her courage

under what I intended to say to her. I pretended to be disposed to

drink, and insisted on her helping me out with a flask of burgundy.

With affected coyness she suffered me to fill her glass; the second

offer I made, her resistance was less; the third she made no

objection to at all; and the fourth she filled for herself. The

wine was excellent; not that poor sort which is commonly drunk in

France. In short, we finished our bottle. I thought her now a match

for what I had to say. I had made the glass pass briskly, and had

filled up the intervals with singing catches, and rattling on any

subject that came into my head.

Mrs Gerrarde, who no doubt expected I should make an advance of some

kind or other, seemed to grow a little out of humour at my levity. I

found the burgundy had been quite thrown away upon her, and had had

very little effect: she was silent for a few minutes, and seemed to

be considering of something: at last she opened, and I will give you

the conversation that passed between us, by way of dialogue.

_Mrs G_ Mr Faulkland, it is time that you and I should understand

one another's meaning a little better than we do at present: you

know very well that you have put an end to all my expectations in

England: indeed, if I were at liberty, I could not have the face to

return there again in any character but that of your wife. (I was

glad she began first, and that, though I guessed at her views, she

had used so little caution in discovering them, as it at once roused

in me an indignation which I could not suppress, and without which I

could not have brought myself to mortify her as she deserved).

_Mr F_ My _wife_, madam! (stopping her at that tremendous word) be

pleased to tell me if I heard you right?

_Mrs G_ Yes, Sir, it was as your wife I said: if you think you and I

are to live together on any other terms, you will find yourself

exceedingly mistaken. (I smiled, and suffered her to go on). I

thought, Sir (stifling the anger that I saw rising), that the words

which you yourself dictated in the letter which I just now wrote,

where you say, _I had in you found a protector, and one by whose

means I should be able to pass the rest of my life in a manner more

suitable to a woman of a generous way of thinking, than that wherein

she considered herself as incroaching on the rights of

another_--Were not these your own words, Sir?

_Mr F_ They were, Madam. (To say the truth, there was something

equivocal in the paragraph, though, when I desired her to write it,

this construction never entered into my head).

_Mrs G_ Then, Sir, how am I to understand them?

_Mr F_ I protest, Madam, you have forced a construction that I never

once so much as dreamed of.

_Mrs G_ Why, Mr Faulkland (with a very brisk tone), do you fancy

that by changing Mr Arnold for _you_ on any other conditions, that I

am such a mighty gainer by the bargain?

_Mr F_ Why really, Madam, if that _were_ to be the case, I don't

think you would be a very great loser: you have got as much from

poor Arnold as you could expect: I am able to do better for you;

and, as I am nobody's property, it would certainly, in _that_

respect, be rather a more eligible course.

_Mrs G_ Sir, you use me very ill! I did not expect such treatment.

_Mr F_ How, pray Madam? Did I ever say I would marry you?

_Mrs G_ No, Sir; but your behaviour has given me room to suppose

that such a thing was in your thoughts.

_Mr F_ Are you not then the more obliged to me for treating you with

such respect as made you fancy so?

_Mrs G_ Respect! respect (muttering between her teeth), Mr

Faulkland! (and she stood up) there is not a man in England but

yourself, after what I have declared, that would refuse making me

his wife.

_Mr F_ What have you declared, Mrs Gerrarde?

_Mrs G_ Why, have I not ingenuously owned my failings, shewed myself

sorry for them, quitted them, and made all the reparation in my

power?

(I was amazed to see how audaciously she had adopted as her own, the

sentiments which I had suggested to her: it was so like her, that I

could have laughed in her face).

_Mr F_ Your behaviour, on this occasion, has really been worthy of

the imitation of all your own sex, and the praise of ours: for a

woman _voluntarily_ to quit an irregular life, and that too from

mere motives of _conscience_--(I was stopped by a knavish sneer,

which I could not subdue. She saw it, and fired immediately; but

strutted about the room to cool herself: at last, for I sat very

silent, looking at her, and playing with one of the glasses)--

_Mrs G_ Mr Faulkland, if you are disposed to have done trifling, and

will vouchsafe me a serious answer, pray tell me, Are you absolutely

determined not to marry me?

_Mr F_ Absolutely.

_Mrs G_ You are not serious, sure!

_Mr F_ My dear creature, why sure _thou_ canst not be serious in

asking me the question!

_Mrs G_ Sir, I _am_ serious, and expect a serious answer.

_Mr F_ Why then,--seriously, I have no more thoughts of marrying

thee, than I have of marrying the first sultana in the grand

seignior's seraglio.

_Mrs G_ Very well, Sir; very well; I am answered; (and she walked

quicker about the room than before).

We were both silent. She, I suppose, expected that I should propose

other terms, and a settlement; and waited, to try if I would speak.

I had a mind to teaze her a little, and hummed a tune.

_Mrs G_ (Advancing to me, and making a low curt'sey, with a most

scornful and sarcastical air) May I presume to enquire what your

mightiness's pleasure is in regard to me? Do you intend to keep me

for your nurse against your next illness, or to send me to the grand

seignior's seraglio to wait upon the first sultana?

_Mr F_ Neither (carelessly, and looking another way). I have not yet

determined which way I shall dispose of you.

_Mrs G_ _Dispose_ of me! _dispose_ of me! why sure the man has lost

his senses!

_Mr F_ Look you, Mrs Gerrarde; we will no longer play at

cross-purposes: sit down, and be calm for a few minutes, till you

hear what I have to say.

(She did so, with a kind of impatience in her looks, that informed

me I might have made a very free proposal, without any great danger

of her resentment).

_Mr F_ How long have you and I been acquainted?

_Mrs G_ Lord! what is that question to the purpose?

_Mr F_ 'Tis only in order to my desiring you would look back, and,

upon recollection, ask yourself, if you ever had any reason to look

upon me as your lover.

_Mrs G_ I made that observation to you when we were travelling

together: what is the use of it now?

_Mr F_ Did I, in the course of our journey, declare myself to be

such, or drop the least hint of devoting myself to you on any

condition?

_Mrs G_ We did not talk on the subject at all.

_Mr F_ Did I ever presume, on the advantage of having you in my

power, to venture on the smallest liberty with you; or ever deviate

from that respect in my behaviour, that I was used, at all other

times, to treat you with?

_Mrs G_ I do not say you did; and it was that very behaviour that

inclined me to imagine you had other thoughts than those I find you

have.

_Mr F_ You drew a wrong conclusion, though it is to be confessed

not a very unnatural one. Such a behaviour might have been so

construed by a lady otherwise circumstanced than you were; but I

think a woman of your sagacity might have concluded, that, with Mrs

Gerrarde, a man would first have tried his fortune upon gentler

terms than those of matrimony.

_Mrs G_ Well, well (peevishly); I do not understand your riddles: to

the point.

_Mr F_ Why, the point, in short, is this; that, without any

particular designs on your person, my whole view, in carrying you

out of England, was to break off your intercourse with Mr Arnold.

(She seemed thunder-struck; but recovering herself, And is _this_

what I am to hear calmly? And she flounced off the chair to the

other end of the room.

I followed her; and, taking her hand, begged she would sit down

again, and hear me out. I drew her to a chair, and gently set her

down in it).

_Mr F_ Now, for your own sake, hear me with patience; violence or

perverseness will be of no use to you.

_Mrs G_ Very well, Sir; I am your prisoner; your _slave_ at present:

say what you please; 'tis _your_ turn _now_.

_Mr F_ Well then, Madam, as I said before, I really never had any

designs upon you merely on your own account. I allow you to be a

very fine woman, and capable of inspiring love in any man that sees

you; but I must tell you plainly, that _love_ has had no share in my

conduct. (I saw stifled rage in her face; but I proceeded). I have

already told you the real motive of my carrying you off: it was, as

I said, to dissolve the union between you and Mr Arnold, and my

reasons for wishing to do so are these: Mr Arnold is married to one

of the best women living, for whom I have the highest respect and

esteem, and whom I once adored: That lady has, by your influence

over her husband, not only been thrown out from his heart, but even

thrust out from his house. But the calamity stops not there; she is

cruelly aspersed by the world through your suggestions, and I am the

person pointed at for the injurer of Mr Arnold's honour, and the

destroyer of his wife's innocence. You have brought shame and grief

into a worthy family. Lady Bidulph (an excellent woman) has not been

able to overcome the shock of the barbarous treatment her daughter

has met with. Her brother, the beloved friend of my heart, suffers

equal distress; for, though he is conscious of his sister's

innocence, he feels the wounds that her reputation has received;

nor can he possibly redress the mischief, as his sister's injuries

spring from a cause which her delicacy will not permit to be

scrutinized. Her two poor children are left without a mother; she

herself almost without a friend, and sinking every day under the

weight of such complicated misery. As for Mr Arnold himself, I

profess no personal regard for him: I scarce know him; but, for his

family's sake, I would, on any _other_ occasion, risque my life to

save him from ruin; for ruin you have almost brought on him. I am no

stranger to the sums he has lavished on you; his purchasing an

employment for _one_ of your brothers, and redeeming another from a

prison. You have lost nothing by my proceedings but what I shall

make up ten-fold to you, if you behave so as to deserve my kindness.

I have now laid before you the true reasons for my conduct. I hope,

that by breaking the inchantment that tied Mr Arnold's heart, and

blinded his understanding, he may be induced to do justice to his

injured lady and her family. If this comes to pass, as I have strong

reason to hope, I have no doubt of the lady's character being

retrieved. _Groundless_ calumnies generally die of themselves,

unless industriously kept alive by malice. Mrs Arnold's blameless

conduct, the friendship her brother has all along continued to

favour me with, joined to this last apparent proof of my attachment

to you, will, I am certain, in the eyes of the world, acquit her of

all suspicion of guilt. Your letter to Mr Arnold will, as far as

relates to your own opinion of her, give unquestionable evidence of

her innocence.

Now, Mrs Gerrarde, lay your hand on your heart, and answer me if I

have not given you reasons, which, though they may not be

satisfactory to you, are in themselves of weight sufficient to

justify my conduct.

I had watched her countenance narrowly during my discourse, which

she had listened to without once looking at me. I saw I had shocked

and even confounded her; but I saw no remorse, no contrition in her

looks. All artifice was now at an end, and she unmasked the fiend

directly. She started off her chair with the looks and gesture of a

fury; and fixing her eyes (which had really something diabolical in

them at that instant) steadily on me, You wretch! she cried, with a

voice answerable to her looks, you are such a false, dissembling,

mean-spirited reptile, that if you had a kingdom to offer me, and

would lay yourself at my feet to beg my acceptance of you, I would

trample on you like dirt! and she stamped on the floor with the air

of an amazon. Do you think you shall carry on this fine-contrived

enterprize? No, if I perish for it, I will have vengeance: Mr Arnold

shall know how I have been deceived and betrayed, and I will at

least have the satisfaction of getting your life, if I lose every

thing besides.

A burst of malignant tears now gushed from her eyes; but she robbed

them of their efficacy, by mixing with them the bitterest

imprecations against me. She curst even the innocent Mrs Arnold,

you, and the whole family; and her own folly, in being blinded by

the arts of such a worthless milk-sop as myself.

I let her give vent to her passion, calmly walking about the room

all the time; only now and then casting an eye on her, for fear she

should have rushed on me with a penknife; for I have not the least

doubt, if she had had such an instrument about her, she would have

made an attempt that might have given a very tragical turn to my

adventures.

When she had done sobbing, I addressed her in a very stern voice;

for I found I had no baby to deal with, and therefore resolved to

frighten her into submission.

I told you before, Madam, that violence would be of no use to you:

your menaces I laugh at; you are in my power intirely, and

absolutely at my disposal: to think of getting out of my hands would

be vain; for it is as impracticable as flying. No mortal knows where

you are but the people of this house, who are strangers to your name

and circumstances; and if they knew both, they are so totally at my

devotion, that it would not avail you. I shall cut off all

possibility of a correspondence to England. What then must be your

resource? I am prepared against all events; and I would carry you

about locked up in an iron cage, like the Turkish tyrant, till I had

subdued that termagant spirit, sooner than you should have your

liberty to do more mischief. If you have any regard to your own

interest, you will endeavour to make me your friend: I have the

power and the will to serve you; I have done you no injury; I said I

would be your protector; and so I will, if you will suffer me to be

so. I said I would be the means of your passing your days in a state

more eligible to a woman of either spirit, discretion, or a grain of

honour, than you have hitherto done. This I am ready to make good,

if you will not be wanting on your part to your own happiness. You

have acknowleged that you are conscious of your own errors, are

sorry for them, and are willing to quit them (This was turning her

own weapons against herself); if you are in earnest in this

declaration, I will give you the means of quitting them. The money

you have now in your possession, even with the addition of your

little jointure, is not sufficient to promise you such a support as

would make you easy, if you were to return to England to-morrow; and

your story known (as it would be), what could you expect? Do you

think Arnold could be so besotted as to receive you again? What must

be your resource? Why, to continue, while your beauty lasts, in a

wretched, abandoned course. Ten thousand to one you might never

light on another whose love would be prodigal enough to enrich you.

The only choice left you, is to stay where you are not known, and

where, if you behave well, you may gain the respect and esteem which

you could never hope for in a place where your history is known. If

you will content yourself with an easy fortune, joined to a life of

virtue and tranquillity, I will provide you with a husband that many

a woman in your circumstances would bless her stars for: I will

double the portion you have already, and get it settled on you; and

will, on certain conditions, add a handsome yearly income. If you do

not like this proposal, I have no other alternative to offer but a

nunnery. I know you were bred a Roman Catholic: I am sure therefore

I shall do no violence to your religious scruples, if you have any.

I can get you admitted with ease: the religious here will think it a

meritorious act in me, especially on the terms I shall propose; for

I will make it worth their while to receive and treat you as a lady

of the first family in France: but remember there is a final period

to all intercourse with this world. If you think you can bring

yourself to submit to such a life, I would really recommend it to

you; for I am sollicitous for your happiness both here and

hereafter: if not, you have the other choice to make; and so, Madam,

a husband or a convent; take which you like best: I give you three

days to consider of it.

I kept up a severe countenance, and a resolute tone. I rang the bell

as soon as I had done speaking. Rachael came in before Mrs Gerrarde

could answer me. Take care of your mistress, said I, and left the

room, without even the ceremony of a bow, or deigning to look at

her. I locked the chamber door, which I took care to clap after me;

and, putting the key in my pocket, left the lady and her maid to

consult at their leisure.

You know, Bidulph, I am not naturally morose; and that I am not very

apt to be wanting in that complaisance which all women expect, and

which I really think due to _almost_ all women: but this one had, in

the preceding scene, so intirely thrown off her sex, that I could

hardly consider her as a female. I had known many of her ill

qualities before; but those she now discovered, if they did not

shew her more wicked, certainly rendered her more disgustful to me

than the others. In short, I found that all decorum was to be laid

aside: I had gone too far not to put the finishing hand to my work;

and I had no other measures to observe, but to finish, by dint of

force, what I had begun by stratagem. When I mentioned the nunnery

to you in a former letter, it was in mere gaiety of heart: I had no

serious thoughts of that kind, nor did I now propose it as a

practicable scheme. I knew the woman too well to suppose she would

acquiesce; though, to confess the truth to you honestly, I think, if

she refuses my other plan of accommodation, I must compel her to

accept of this: nor ought it to be considered in any other light

than that of confining a wild beast, who, having already done a

great deal of mischief, would still do more, if left at liberty: but

I think I shall not be driven to this. I believe she will accept of

a husband with a good settlement, sooner than resign her liberty.

And now who do you think the husband is whom I have under

contemplation for her? Why, no less a man than my valet de chambre

Monsieur Pivet. He is young and handsome, of good parts, and a man

of birth. He tells me he has an uncle that is a marquis, and three

or four cousins that are in the high court of parliament. Without a

joke, the fellow is of a pretty good family: he was bred a mercer,

and in a frolic had run away from his business, when I picked him up

at Paris, at the time you and I were there together. He then told

me, that he only hired with me for an opportunity of seeing a little

of the world, and that he would one time or other sit down and

settle to his trade. I have sounded him on the point, and find him

very ready to accept of the lady with all her faults.

I told you I introduced him to Mrs Gerrarde, to serve as her

interpreter in the house, at the time I was ill. I did not then tell

her who he was; and both she and her maid take him for no other than

an acquaintance of mine, who happens to lodge in the same house with

us. The vain rogue has encouraged this opinion, and I suppose passes

for a very pretty fellow with them; for you know Pivet is a Beau,

and is really not ungenteel. But do not fancy that I intend to

impose him on the lady for any other than what he really is. All

disguise is now laid aside, and I shall proceed with the utmost

plainness and sincerity, as soon as I know the lady's mind in regard

to her choice.

Here, my dear Sir George, I must take breath a little: it has been a

busy day. I undertook a difficult voyage without the certainty of a

landing-place; a few storms I expected to encounter; I hope I have

weathered the worst, and have come at length to some prospect of an

harbour. I expect my next greeting to you will be from a fairer

shore.--Upon second thoughts, I will not send this off, till I can

put both you and myself out of the reach of suspence....

Congratulate me, Sir George, honour me, as the first of politicians,

the greatest of negotiators! Let no hero of romance compare himself

to me, for first making difficulties, and then extricating myself

out of them; let no giant pretend to equal me in the management of

captive beauties in inchanted castles; let no necromancer presume to

vie with me in skill for metamorphosing tigresses into doves, and

changing imperious princesses into plain country nymphs. _All_ this

I have brought to pass, without the assistance of enchanted sword or

dwarf, in the compass of a few days; but take the circumstances in

the order they occurred.

I left the lady, as I told you, to utter her complaints to her

confidante. Rachael, a simple girl, who had just sense enough to

regard her own interest, was not likely to give her mistress much

consolation; for she was at least as much _my_ friend as her's. How

_they_ passed the night I know not; for my own part, I slept in

perfect tranquillity. I desired Pivet in the morning to go and

inquire, as from himself, how the lady rested. Mrs Gerrarde, who was

still in bed, no sooner heard his voice in the outer room, as he was

speaking to her maid, than she called out to Monsieur Pivet, and

desired he would be so good as to step into her chamber. Pivet, not

much abashed at being admitted to a lady's _ruèlle_, obeyed her

summons, and placed himself in an armed chair by her. He said he

hoped it was not owing to illness that he saw her in bed. Yes, Sir,

said she, I am exceedingly ill: I have not slept the whole night,

and am now in a high fever. Has Mr Faulkland told you any thing in

relation to me? I had prepared Pivet, and he had his answers ready.

Madam, said he, I am not a stranger to your situation, and am

exceedingly sorry for it: I wish the little influence _I_ have over

Mr Faulkland could be employed for your service; but he is a

positive man, very enterprising, and not to be controlled by

any-body. Do you know my story, Sir, cried Mrs Gerrarde? He bowed,

and looked down. Mrs Gerrarde understanding this as an affirmative,

and raising herself up a little, cried out, A base, ungenerous man!

Does he intend to expose me wherever he goes? By no means, Madam,

answered Pivet: there is nothing in your story that would do you the

least injury in any-body's opinion here: the ladies in France do

not think it any disgrace to have lovers.

You are very obliging, Sir, she replied; and perhaps I have as much

to say in my vindication as any woman: but sure never was mortal

used in the barbarous manner I am. Do you know the proposal he had

the insolence to make me last night? Either to take a husband of

_his_ chusing (_any_ low fellow, I suppose, he thinks good enough

for me), or immediately to go into a nunnery. Oh! Sir, and she

catched hold of his hand, as you are a gentleman, if you have

compassion, any humanity towards an unfortunate woman, try to

deliver me out of his hands. I have a pretty good sum of money in my

possession; contrive the means of my escape; my gratitude to you

shall be unbounded! and she wrung his hand.

Ah! Madam, said Pivet, looking tenderly at her, I would it were in

my power; I should think myself but too happy if it were possible

for me to accomplish what you request; but I fear it will be

impracticable: I declare to you, if I were at my own disposal, I

would fly with you to the remotest part of the world; but I am a

young man, who have my fortune to make: I am under particular ties

here, and have besides such obligations to Mr Faulkland, as makes it

impossible for me, consistently with _honour_, to interfere in this

business.

Sir, said she eagerly, can't you write a letter for me, or furnish

me with the means of informing my friends in England of my

situation?

Madam, said he, before Mr Faulkland permitted me the honour of

seeing you, he engaged my solemn promise that I would not

intermeddle in your affairs.

Lord, what will become of me! What would you, Sir, advise me to do?

For as for that wretch (meaning me), I am determined, if I can help

it, not to suffer him to come near me.

'Tis a very nice point, Madam: I really do not well know how to

advise: but, to be sure, a nunnery is a choice not to be recommended

to a lady of your youth and beauty, unless your inclinations lead

you that way; then indeed--

She interrupted him. Don't name it to me, Sir; don't name it: I am

determined to keep out of _that_ snare, if it be for nothing but an

opportunity to be revenged on that tyrant: I would marry a beggar

sooner than give up that hope.

As for that, Madam, said Pivet, I suppose Mr Faulkland would not be

so ungenerous as to compel you to marry one beneath you: there are

many young men of good families who would think themselves honoured

by your acceptance of them: your personal accomplishments alone are

a sufficient recommendation; but Mr Faulkland mentioned to me the

additional advantage of fortune. I dare answer for him he will not

think of bestowing you unworthily.

I had charged Pivet not to go too far: he thought it time to break

off the conversation; and, rising up, he told Mrs Gerrarde he was

going into my apartment, and desired to know if she would honour him

with any commands.

Sir, said she, I shall only beg you will tell Mr Faulkland, that I

never _can_ think of his proposal; that I am very ill, and beg to be

left in quiet for a few days; but shall be very glad to see _you_

whenever you are at leisure.

He bowed, and left her; then came directly to me, and repeated the

conversation he had with her word for word. I am glad, said I, to

find you are so much in her good graces: it will accelerate my plot;

but we must not make you too cheap: if we manage discreetly, she may

possibly think herself very well to get off with you.

At present I stand pretty well with her, Sir, said Pivet: she does

not suspect that I am your servant: I fear if she did, as the lady

seems to have a high spirit, she would forbid me her presence.

I found Pivet had no mind to have this part of his situation

explained: his vanity had been highly tickled at passing upon her

for a gentleman, and _my_ friend.--He had, in obedience to my

orders, spent much of his time with her during the few days that I

had been too ill to see her. I had, at my first introduction of him

to her, cautioned him against letting her know in what capacity he

was with me: I did not then give him my reasons for this, and he

supposed they were no other, than that, finding it necessary to have

him pretty much with her in her confinement, I did not chuse to

alarm her pride by the knowlege of his station. I did not hint at my

design till the day before I had prevailed on her to write the

letter to Mr Arnold. Pivet did not at all disrelish the proposal: he

had not been blind to Mrs Gerrarde's charms: he only seemed

surprized at my being willing to part with her so soon; for he had

not the least conception of my reasons for carrying her off, and

very naturally concluded I was deeply engaged in an amour. It was

not difficult to guess his thoughts on this occasion.

Pivet, said I, I must premise one thing to you: I assure you there

is not, nor ever was, any intrigue between Mrs Gerrarde and me. I do

not, however, pretend to vouch for her chastity. It was no secret at

V---- hall that she had occasioned an unhappy breach in Mr Arnold's

family; and that, and that _only_ (as I have a most particular value

and affection for that family), was my motive to the carrying this

lady away. As I hope the disunion (now the cause of it is removed)

will no longer subsist, I find it necessary to provide for Mrs

Gerrarde some way or other. A good husband I would wish to bestow on

her. I do not yet know whether I shall be able to bring her into any

measures; but if she should be prevailed on to accept of you, and I

should make it worth your while to accept of her, can you overlook

the levity she has been guilty of, and resolve to use her kindly?

He promised he would make the best husband in the universe. I bid

him not be too sure of success, as I did not yet know Mrs Gerrarde's

mind, and feared I should find it hard to bring her into terms;

adding, that though I intended to threaten her, I should be very

unwilling to make use of compulsion; but if she should happen to

like him, without suspecting my design, I might accomplish my

purpose with less reluctance on her side, and much more satisfaction

to myself.

The conversation he had just had with her elated him highly: she had

made him her confidant; she had implored his assistance; she had

promised an _unbounded_ gratitude; she had prohibited _my_ visits,

and invited _his_. All this facilitated my work, and I at one time

thought of letting her e'en work out her fate, and run blindfold

into my trap; for it is plain, if Pivet had given in to it, she

would have marched off with him, and even married him, to get out of

my clutches; and then, you know, she could have blamed nobody but

herself for the consequences. But I resolved not to impose on the

gypsey any farther; but let her know what she was to expect before

the bargain was concluded, and at least give her her option of

having the power of continuing a jilt, or being canonized for a

saint.

I found things were now likely to take such a turn as I wished; but

it still required management. Pivet, said I, you must let her see

you no more to-day; it will make her prize your company the more:

keep out of the way, that you may not be seen by Rachael; and give

such orders in the house, as that there may be proper attendance for

the lady. One of my footmen spoke a little French, and he had been

directed to receive and communicate Mrs Rachael's orders in the

family.

Tho' Pivet assured me that he thought Mrs Gerrarde was not so ill as

she said she was, I yet thought it incumbent on me to have the

advice of a physician. The people with whom I lodged said I could

not have a better than the doctor who had attended me, as he was

reckoned very skilful. I told them, in the present case, I believed

honesty was more requisite than skill. They said he was very honest

too; so I desired he might be sent for.

Mrs Gerrarde, being determined to carry on the farce of sickness,

pretended she was not able to rise; and the doctor was introduced to

her bedside. As he could neither understand his patient, nor make

himself understood by her, I had ordered the footman, whom I

mentioned to you before, as knowing a little French, to wait at the

chamber door; for I was resolved so far to keep up my resentment and

my importance, as not to vouch-safe assisting at the conference;

which, by this means, became the most ridiculous scene you can

imagine. The doctor, having felt Mrs Gerrarde's pulse, proposed his

questions by the footman, who just peeped his nose in at the door.

He explained them (very ill I suppose) to Rachael in English, who

re-repeated them to her lady within her curtains; for she would not

suffer them to be drawn back. Mrs Gerrarde's answers travelled the

same round-about way back to the doctor, who got them mangled in

very bad French from his interpreter.

Mrs Gerrarde, provoked, I believe, at the doctor's visit, and very

much tired of his questions, asked peevishly where Monsieur Pivet

was? This inquiry I expected; and the fellow who told me of it, had

been ordered to inform her that Monsieur Pivet was not at home.

The doctor, after leaving his patient, came to me, and confirmed the

character I had received of him, both for skill in his profession,

and integrity in his practice; for he told me very honestly, that he

thought the lady was in perfect health. I thought the doctor

deserved a double fee, and accordingly gave it to him; requesting

him, however, to continue his visits: for I told him, that, though

the lady might really be very well, she was, however, a little

vapourish.

I left her to her reflections the whole day. Rachael inquired three

or four times of the footman if Mr Pivet was come in, but was always

answered in the negative. I was pleased at her sollicitude about

him.

I desired him to wait on her the next day, at the time the doctor

paid his visit; and instructed Pivet to ask the doctor, in her

presence, what he thought of her case, and to report his answer

fairly to her; for I was resolved not to let her imagine that she

imposed on me.

The doctor, by Pivet's means, discoursed with her more readily than

he had done the day before. Pivet asked his opinion of her disorder,

and the physician declared it as freely as he had done to me;

adding, he should not have repeated his visit, if I had not insisted

on it.

Pivet could not help smiling. Mrs Gerrarde observed it; for, I

suppose, she watched his countenance, and asked him what the doctor

had said. He says, Madam, what gives me a vast deal of pleasure;

which is, that your disorder is intirely imaginary. He is an

ignorant fellow, said Mrs Gerrarde; and you may tell him I desire to

see him no more. The poor doctor, who knew not what she said, made

her half a dozen scrapes, and withdrew.

She then threw back her curtain; and re-assuming the subject she had

been upon the day before with Pivet, asked him if he had had any

conversation with me about her? and what resolution I had come to?

Pivet (who had begged I would leave this conference intirely to his

management) seemed to hesitate a little, and appeared melancholy. We

have had some talk about you, Madam, said he; and Mr Faulkland tells

me, if you reject the nunnery scheme (which I think _he_ seems to be

fondest of), that he has a person in his thoughts, who, he believes,

will be a suitable match for you, if you are willing to accept of

him; if not--here he stop'd. What if I should not, Sir? Pray speak.

I hope, Madam, he will not carry matters to an extremity. Extremity,

Sir! Do you think he can be brutal enough to force me into a

nunnery? Are there no laws in France? I _hope_ he will not, Madam;

but I can't pretend to answer for him: he is a strange man: he seems

out of temper too: the doctor told him nothing ailed you; he

believes him, and spoke harshly on the occasion. And what, said she,

is the match that he calls _suitable_? One of his footmen perhaps,

or his barber?

Pivet affected to look concerned. He tells me, Madam, he has cast

his eyes on a young man, well born, and genteelly educated; not

contemptible in his personal accomplishments, and one who he is sure

will make you a fond and obliging husband.

Pivet sighed deeply, and cast his eyes languishingly on her. You

seem concerned, Sir, said she. Do you know the person? It is my

doubts on that occasion, Madam, that is the cause of my uneasiness.

Pray explain yourself, Mr Pivet. Madam, I dare not, he replied, with

great solemnity. I will only assure you, that whoever the person be,

whom Mr Faulkland has not yet named to me, I think him the happiest

man in the world. What can be his meaning, asked Mrs Gerrarde, for

telling you _so_ much, and yet concealing the person's name? He

says, he has not proposed it yet to the gentleman, Madam; and as,

he tells me, he can't in honour conceal any part of your story, he

is fearful--I beg your pardon, Madam; you will excuse me if I do not

repeat his scruples on this occasion. I understand you, Sir. He

supposes his friend will reject me. Some such insinuation he threw

out, Madam, said Pivet. I told him, that he need only permit the

gentleman to _see_ you; and if he then made any objection, he must

be the blindest and most insensible man alive. He spoke this with a

warmth that seemed highly pleasing to the lady. She bowed, and

answered, _All_ men, Sir, are not as generous as you. But what did

Mr Faulkland say to this? He only smiled, and said he wished his

friend might think as I did; that he would tell me his name another

time; and that, in the mean time, it would oblige him if my visits

to you were less frequent. Inhuman monster, said she; would he debar

me of the only satisfaction I have? Let me but live to get out of

his hands! if I can escape him by any means, I will find ways to

reckon with him for this. Be so good, Mr Pivet to tell him, that I

am content to take the person he offers, let him be who he will: I

shall expect nothing from him but insults; therefore shall not be

surprized if I see myself sacrificed to some despicable wretch: but

any, _any_ thing is better than to be in the power of such a tyrant!

Madam, answered Pivet, you need not fear the being compelled to

accept of an unworthy object: Mr Faulkland declares, that if you

should absolutely dislike the gentleman, when you see him, he will

be far from constraining you to take him for your husband. The other

choice is still open to you, and, by what I can judge, Mr Faulkland

seems to wish you would give that the preference. I would die first,

cried Mrs Gerrarde--The fool, does he think I can be so entrapped?

No, no; the authority of a husband, even of Faulkland's chusing,

cannot be such a bar to my revenge as the walls of a nunnery would

be.--Sir, I think myself obliged to you, and flatter myself you

would have served me if you could. I may yet have it in my power to

make you a return for your kind intentions towards me. I presume,

when Mr Faulkland has disposed of his property, you will then be

absolved of your promise to him in regard to me, and will still have

charity enough to befriend an unfortunate woman. She wept, and Pivet

owned he was ready to do so too; but constraining himself, protested

she should command his life; and withdrew full of seeming

uneasiness.

He told me what had passed between him and the lady, and I could not

help approving his management of the scene, though the rogue had

stretched beyond the truth; but stratagems, you know, are allowable

in love, and a lover he was now become in good earnest.

He had taken care to alarm Mrs Gerrarde's apprehensions at every

passage of access. He had informed her, that I had a husband for her

in my thoughts; and at the same time, that he avoided the most

distant hint of its being himself, he engaged her favour by seeming

to wish it _were_. Then he took care to insinuate, at least, a

possibility of her being refused by the person designed for her, and

this he very naturally supposed would raise his own consequence with

her, in case any suspicion should fall on him, of his being the

intended husband. He pretended I had taken umbrage at his visiting

her, still more to inflame her resentment against me, and increase

her impatience to deliver herself out of my hands; at the same time

he artfully hinted that he was not the man destined to be happy.

This, as he saw already he was not unacceptable to her, he thought

would make him doubly welcome, when she should find herself no worse

off. Then the nunnery was mentioned, in terrorem, with broad hints

of my resolution. In short, Pivet played his part so cunningly, that

it had all the effect he could have wished; and Mrs Gerrarde,

finding her spirit matched, was obliged to surrender at discretion.

I own I did not expect to have succeeded so soon; and without Pivet,

who had now a feeling in the affair, I certainly should not. I

resolved directly to make the best use of the advantage I had

gained. I told Pivet that he should be married the next day. He was

so transported at the thought, that he begged I would give him leave

to go to Mrs Gerrarde, to declare his love and his good fortune

together; for Sir, said he, you know she promises to accept of

whomsoever you propose, and I hope she will not dispise your choice

so much as she thinks she shall. Softly, softly, good Monsieur

Pivet, your violent hurry will spoil all. I do not mean that you

shall see her till to-morrow. Not till to-morrow! Ah Sir! do, I

beseech you, Sir, allow me; she will think it very cruel. (Poor

Pivet, thought I, thou wilt have enough of her). Simpleton (to him),

this day's suspence will forward your business more than all you

could say to her in seven hours: is it not enough you are sure of

her? We have other things now to mind. What plan of life do you

purpose to pursue? You know I have promised to do handsomely for

you.

Sir, said he, I always intended to follow the business I was bred

to; and if this piece of extraordinary good fortune had _not_

happened to me, I did purpose, tho' you have been the best of

masters to me, to have asked your permission to return to my

friends, in order to settle in my trade, as I have some capital of

my own. But to be sure, Sir, I shall be directed in this, as in

every thing else, by your will and pleasure. I approve of your

design intirely, said I; but there are certain conditions that must

be previously settled between you and me. In the first place, tell

me honestly, what is the capital you say you are worth.

He answered, his father had left him about eight thousand livres,

which were in the hands of a banker in Paris, whom he named to me,

and referred me to him for confirmation of the truth of what he told

me.

Well, said I, this will go a good way towards setting you up in your

own business. Where do you think of settling?

He answered, Paris was the best place for his trade.

On that I put an absolute negative; I said Paris was too much

frequented by my countrymen, to be a proper place for Mrs Gerrarde

to make her appearance in, as she was likely to meet there with more

of her acquaintance than might be convenient: I told him I had no

objection to any other large provincial town.

He said he was born at Dijon, and should like to go thither, as he

had many friends there.

Be it so, said I: What I purpose doing for you is this. Mrs Gerrarde

has eight hundred pounds of her own; I will add as much more to it,

for which I will give you my bond, till I can have the money

remitted from England; and this you shall settle on her, that she

may be sure of a support in case of your death, and the interest you

shall allow her for her own separate use, but without her knowing

that you are tied down to it, that you may have it in your power to

oblige her.

He made no reply, but acquiesced with a low bow.

I laughed at the simplicity of his countenance. Pivet, said I,

though I have taken care of Mrs Gerrarde's interest, I do not intend

to neglect yours, provided you make no demur to the terms. You

already know my reasons for proceeding as I have done in this

affair. I have great cause to apprehend Mrs Gerrarde's vindictive

spirit, if she should find means, which I know she will endeavour

at, to lay open the real state of this transaction to some people in

England. This might frustrate all that I have been at so much pains

to accomplish; be it your care then to prevent it. I cannot wish you

to use harsh measures with your wife; but if you have address enough

to prevent a correspondence with any one in England, (an elopement,

for both your sakes, I am not willing to suppose; though I think,

for some time at least, you must keep a strict eye over her) if, as

I said, you can prevent a correspondence, I think it will answer my

purpose; and that I may make it your interest to do this, I will

bind myself, by as strong an obligation as the law can make, to pay

you two hundred pounds a year English, so long as you keep your wife

within the bounds prescribed; provided, if, after three years, I

find those terms no longer necessary, they shall, if I then chuse

it, become void. I shall also add something to enable you to fit up

a house and a shop, that you need not be under a necessity of

breaking in upon your capital.

Pivet's gratitude overflowed at his lips for this (as he called it)

noble provision. He said, he made no doubt of gaining so far upon

Mrs Gerrarde's affections, as to be able effectually to fulfil his

covenant, without using violent methods; but, said he, at all

events, I warrant you shall hear no more of her.

Preliminaries thus adjusted, I sent for a notary of reputation, to

whom I gave instructions to draw up two separate articles for the

purposes mentioned; the latter was to be a secret between Pivet and

me, as it was by no means proper for Mrs Gerrarde to be let into it.

The other, which regarded her own particular settlement, was

intended for her perusal and approbation. I charged the notary to

use dispatch, and he promised to have both the papers ready by next

morning, as also the bond which I was to give Pivet for the payment

of eight hundred pounds.

The lawyer brought the papers according to his promise, and they

were signed, sealed, and delivered in due form. That which was to be

the private agreement between Pivet and me, was worded in

consequence of an article which I drew up myself, and made Pivet

sign; wherein I set forth particulars at large.

Pivet was very impatient to see his beloved, but a little uneasy

lest she should be disgusted with him, when she should come to know

the situation he had been in. I bid him not be discouraged, telling

him I should set off that circumstance of his having been my

gentleman (for so I chose to call him) in the most favourable light.

I presented him with a very elegant suit of cloaths, which I had

never worn, and which fitted him very well, as you know he is nearly

my size. You cannot imagine how handsome the fellow looked when he

was dressed, for he had linnen and every thing else suitable to his

cloaths.

I then desired him to wait on his goddess; but he, who had been so

eager a little before, was now quite abashed at the thoughts of

making his pretensions known to the lady, and intreated me to

present him to her. I saw he was quite disconcerted at the serious

scene he was going to engage in.

I pitied him, and told him I would go with him to Mrs Gerrarde; but

that it was proper first to prepare her a little.

He said he thought so too.

I immediately sent for Rachael, and speaking to her at the door,

without letting her see Pivet, I bid her tell her mistress that I

purposed making her a visit in half an hour, and should introduce

the gentleman, whom I expected she would, according to her promise,

receive at my hands for her husband; reserving to herself still the

liberty of chusing the other alternative, in case she disliked him.

Pivet shewed the sollicitude of a lover, after this message was sent

to his mistress; Poor dear lady, said he, how I pity her? What must

she suffer in this interval? But your presence, Monsieur Pivet, said

I, will dispel all her fears, and make her the happiest of women.

The poor fellow was out of countenance, and I dare say as anxious as

Mrs Gerrarde.

As I received no answer from her to my message, I construed her

silence as leave to attend her; and accordingly, at the appointed

time, I entered her apartment, leading Pivet by the hand.

She was sitting at a table, leaning her head on one of her hands;

she cast a look of scorn at me, and immediately withdrew her eyes,

not so much as deigning to glance them at Pivet, little imagining

that it was _he_ who accompanied me, though she knew it was her

intended bridegroom.

Pivet was not able to speak; he trembled, and, like a true

inamorato, ran to her, clapt one knee to the ground, and ventured,

though with great diffidence, to take one of her hands.

This action obliged the haughty fair one to vouchsafe him a glance

at her eye.

Her surprize, spite of her assumed airs of grandeur, was not to be

concealed; it was apparent, she coloured, and though she intended to

have been solemn and lofty, she even _stared_; and I could discover

a little gleam of pleasure dance over her countenance.

What! Monsieur Pivet? And then she looked at me, as if for an

explanation.

Yes, madam, said I, Monsieur Pivet _is_ the man. (I was going to say

the _happy_ man, but I did not mean to compliment her; my business

was to make her think I was doing her a favour). It has been your

good fortune to make a conquest of him; and in the hope of your

making him a good wife, as I am sure he will make you a good

husband, I have consented to the match; and I spoke this in the tone

of one, who thinking he has conferred a great obligation on an

undeserving object, expects to be thanked for it.

The woman, with all her art and assurance to boot, was quite

confounded. I did not give her time to recover herself, but taking

the settlement out of my pocket, and reading it to her, Look there,

madam, and see if I have injured you in the disposal of your person

and your fortune.

Mrs Gerrarde, always alert when her interest was in the question,

took the paper, and notwithstanding her confusion, read it entirely

over. Pivet's handsome appearance, joined to her former

prepossessions, had made so good an impression on her, that she

began to think the matter worth attending to. When she had read the

paper, she put it into Pivet's hands. Sir, said she, it should

appear by this that you have acted generously; but as I have already

been imposed upon by that gentleman (looking at me) all this may,

for ought I know, be a deceit; but as it is not in my power to make

terms for myself, it is to no purpose for me to make objections, or

to enquire any farther. I am ready to accept your offer, only I

should be glad to know who the man is, that I am to make my husband.

She spoke this with such an air of disdain, that the poor lover,

shrunk up and diminished in his own eyes, left me to make an answer.

Mrs Gerrarde, said I, I declare to you solemnly that there is no

deception in any thing which you see, nor any foul play meant to

you. This young man, whom I now present to you for your husband, is

well born, and has many genteel relations in this country; he has it

in his power, to my certain knowlege, to make good the settlement he

proposes for you, which I will take care to see properly secured.

That part of it which is your own property, you have now in your

possession, the other half I know is his. He was brought up to a

creditable business, which he intends to follow. I know him to be

good natured, and of an obliging temper. He lived with me some time,

and accompanied me in my travels. I suppose his having been my

gentleman, which station he did not accept through necessity, will

not be a material objection (and I smiled and affected to look very

proud), and I only mention it to convince you that I have no design

of deceiving you, or concealing any part of his character.

Pivet coloured (for I stole a side glance at him) and looked

sheepish. He began an aukward compliment with a bow, and 'I hope,

madam'--but I relieved him; and speaking to Mrs Gerrarde, You know

all now, madam, that can be known; therefore, if you are disposed to

keep your word, let us put an end to this business to-day. To-day,

Sir! Yes, to-day, madam. What occasion is there for farther delay?

Pivet now plucked up his courage, and begged, since she had

consented, that she would not defer his happiness. I told her,

between mirth and chiding, that I was in haste to get rid of my

charge, and was therefore determined to make her over to Mr Pivet

that evening; and telling her I would give orders about the

ceremony, left the lovers to make out for themselves a scheme of

conjugal felicity. Pivet pleaded his own cause so effectually, that,

in the evening, I had the satisfaction of bestowing, with my own

hand, that inestimable treasure of virtue and meekness, Mrs

Gerrarde, on my faithful Squire, Monsieur Pivet; to the no small joy

of the latter, and I believe, if the truth were known, to the no

great mortification of the former. Mrs Rachael and myself were the

only witnesses of this illustrious union.

When the ceremony was over, I approached, according to custom, to

congratulate and salute the bride; but she turned her saucy cheek to

me, and affected the whole night vast dignity of behaviour; yet it

was so foreign to her nature, that it appeared ridiculous; however

it was better than ranting.

I invited them both to sup with me, and treated Pivet with a

familiar civility that seemed to please him highly, as it did him

credit in the presence of his lady.

After supper, Pivet entreated me to complete the friendly and

generous offices I had already done him, by undertaking the

settlement of all money matters for him. As he knew I intended to go

to Paris, he begged I would receive for him the sum he had in the

hands of the banker, which, he said, if I would remit to him, it

would enable him to enter upon his business immediately. At the same

time he (with no ill grace) presented me my bond again, assuring me

he relied entirely upon my honour for the execution of my promise to

him, farther requesting that I would put that, together with Mrs

Gerrarde's money, if she approved of it, into such hands as I should

judge most proper for her advantage.

I was pleased at the openness of his proceedings, and promised to do

every thing for their mutual satisfaction; but insisted on his

keeping the bond, or lodging it in some proper hand, till I could

redeem it, by paying the money, which I should take care should be

speedily done. I told him, I thought the sooner he set out for his

own province the better. He said, he should be ready the next day,

if Mrs Gerrarde (for he did not yet presume to call her by his name)

did not object to it. He appealed to her with his looks.

She had scarce condescended to open her lips before; but now

answered, You may be sure, Sir, I shall not think it too soon to get

out of a prison.

He asked her if she chose to take her maid Rachael along with her?

Certainly, she said; I should not be fond of having a servant about

me, by whom I should not be understood.

Rachael was now called in, and the thing proposed to her. She seemed

rather inclined to return to England; but I told her, she could not,

in gratitude, desert her lady in a strange country; and that if she

had a mind to make me her friend, which she should find me upon any

future occasion, she would attend her home, and continue with her

till her mistress was willing to part with her.

The girl upon this consented to stay, and received Mrs Gerrarde's

orders to prepare for their departure the next day.

In the morning I made Pivet a present for his travelling charges,

and Rachael another; telling her, according to the account I had of

her behaviour, that I would be kind to her. She made me all the

promises that I could desire; assuring me, that it was purely to

oblige me that she staid with Mrs Gerrarde.

Pivet told me, that he would send the sum which his wife had, in

bills to me, to be appropriated in the manner agreed on: for he

said, that having that morning mentioned to her my generosity, in

relation to the bond, she had owned, that, notwithstanding her

resentment to me, she had no distrust of my honour in _those_

particulars.

I took this opportunity of telling Pivet, that when he could get his

wife in the humour, he might prevail on her to give an instrument,

impowering my steward to receive the little income of her jointure

at Ashby, which I would take care should be remitted to him; for,

trifling as it was, it might be serviceable.

When they were ready to set forward on' their journey, I begged

leave to speak a few words to madam Pivet by herself. She seemed not

inclined to the conference, but her husband very obligingly pressing

her not to part with me in enmity, and at the same time quitting the

room, she was obliged to hear me.

I then very frankly asked her pardon for the lengths I had gone;

telling her, that I hoped time, and her own good sense, would

convince her that she was more obliged to me, than her passion would

then give her leave to see. Remember, madam, I have kept my word

with you. You are now married to a very deserving young man; you

have a competent support during your life. Happiness is in your

power if you do not wilfully cast it away from you. Shew now that

greatness of mind of which you have so often boasted, by forgiving

the man, who has, as you think, injured you; and resolving at once

on a behaviour that shall, in your turn, intitle you, not only to

the forgiveness, but even to the esteem, of those whom you have

injured.

I would have preached on, and given her more good advice, but she

cut me short, with this decisive answer. Sir, I neither desire your

counsel nor your good opinion; Mr Pivet _may_ deserve some regard

from me, but _you_ I will never forgive, and she flung from me.

I called in Pivet, and telling him I was infinitely pleased at the

good disposition I found his lady in, I wished him all happiness and

a safe journey, and they set out directly for Dijon.

And now, my dear Bidulph, stop, to praise, to admire, to wonder at

my virtue! I, who have had one of the finest women in England in my

possession, for so many days (and by the way was not her aversion)

to yield up her (by me) unpolluted charms to the arms of another!

Add to this, that it has cost me more to make one woman honest, than

it need have done to have made half a dozen--otherwise. I had like

to have writ a strange ugly word, that was just at the nib of my

pen.

If you relate my story with the laudable partiality of a friend,

judiciously abolishing the context (for which you may have many

precedents), and neatly splicing together the useful fragments,

shall I not appear to posterity as great as Scipio himself? Ah! Sir

George, if we knew the secret springs of many of those actions which

dazzle us, in the histories of the renowned heroes of old, it is not

impossible but the wonderous page might dwindle into as

insignificant a tale as mine is.

Well, I thank my good genius that has led me safely through such a

labyrinth as I had got into. In getting rid of that woman (and not

disgracefully neither), I feel as if I had shaken off a great load.

But what a graceless baggage it is, not to thank me for my kindness.

I, who have been more than a father to her, in saving her first from

perdition, and then settling her well in the world--but there is no

obliging some tempers.

I shall leave this place to-morrow, for I must hasten to Paris, to

put every thing on a good footing for the new-married pair; and then

I will go and ramble I do not care whither, for another year. I

shall lodge at Paris, where I did before, and desire you will write

to me directly an account of all that passes within the circle of

your family. Let your sister and my lady Bidulph know in what manner

I have disposed of Mrs Gerrarde, but be sure you do it discreetly,

and take care not to mention that paultry circumstance of her

settlement, or any other private agreement with Pivet. I know Mrs

Arnold's delicacy would be hurt by the knowlege of this; therefore

beware of dropping the least hint of it, at your peril. Tell Lady

Bidulph I will pray devoutly for her daughter's happiness; if what I

have done will promote it, it will not a little contribute to my

own; tho' I begin to feel it is not to be expected in this life, at

least by such a hopeless wanderer as I am.

I could sit now, and indite melancholy verses, or write an elegy, or

make my will, or do any other splenetic thing: in short, I have a

good mind to turn monk and go into a monastery. I am sure I should

have lady Bidulph's vote for that.

Adieu, my dear Bidulph, you will not hear from me again, perhaps,

till I am in another region.

_Nov. 30._

_December 17_

What a strange man this is, my Cecilia! The more I reflect on his

conduct, the more I am amazed! What a mixture is there in his nature!

Wild to a romantic degree in his conceptions, yet how steady, how

resolute, how consistent, in putting those flights of fancy into act!

Generous he certainly is; how few men would put themselves to the

trouble and expence that he has done, from such a disinterested, such a

compassionate motive! Nay, on the contrary, I believe most men would be

cruel enough to take a sort of pleasure in the vexation of a man, who

had succeeded to the love of a mistress, once so much valued; and would

enjoy a mean triumph in being, though without reason, the object of

_his_ jealousy, who had cut them off from all hope.

Mr Faulkland is above this. I think myself highly indebted to him,

whether the scheme he has in so extraordinary a manner undertaken for my

service succeeds or not. Yet do I wish from my heart, that the

separation between Mr Arnold and Mrs Gerrarde had been brought about by

any other means. What if Mr Arnold should ever come at the truth

(though I think that hardly possible), might it not leave him more

estranged from me than he is even now? or if he should, in consequence

of this odd adventure, return to his poor banished wife, repent of his

injurious suspicions of her, and restore her to his confidence and love,

can he, can he ever restore to her that peace she has so long been a

stranger to? Will no latent sparks of former unkindness ever rekindle

and light up the fire of discord? How unwillingly do we repair the

unprovoked injuries which we find we have done to others! Poor Mr

Arnold; if I am so happy as to have my innocence cleared to him, how

miserable will his own reflections make him! but if he _is_ convinced

(which has been my daily and hourly prayers), he _shall_ not be unhappy,

if I can make him otherwise. Oh! my dear, it is the wish, the ardent

longing of my soul, to recover the esteem, though I lose the love, of Mr

Arnold! for I call that Being to witness, who knows the secrets of all

hearts, that since I have been his wife, I have never, even in thought,

swerved from that perfect and inviolable fidelity which I vowed to him.

What then must have been my sufferings, deprived of his love, cast out

from his house, and branded with the dreadful name of an Adultress? For

where is the difference between the intention and the act? To me there

is no distinction, and the husband must be gross that makes one.

My mother has suffered me to tell her the substance of Mr Faulkland's

letters, though she would not read them. I own I was better satisfied

that she should receive her information thus, because his light manner

of expressing himself in many places would have given her great offence.

Sir George did not consider this when he submitted the letters to my

mother's as well as my perusal. Many grave animadversions did she make

during my recital, and many times lift up her eyes in wonder at Mrs

Gerrarde's behaviour. She often said Mr Faulkland was frantic to

undertake such a thing, and wished he had not taken such a _terrible_

woman in hand. When I came to that part of the account where Mrs

Gerrarde had been prevailed on to write to Mr Arnold, I begged she would

give me leave to read the copy of the letter to her, as I assured her

there was nothing in it but would give her pleasure.

She consented; and I read it, leaving out Mr Faulkland's apostrophes. My

mother did not interrupt me; and finding she continued silent when I

came to the conclusion, I looked at her, and saw tears running down her

cheeks. Yes, my dear, my innocent child, said she, passionately throwing

her arms round me, you _were_ wronged; God knows you were wronged; and

He now proclaims your innocence even from the mouth of your most

inveterate enemy. And lifting up her eyes, Thou hast turned the hearts

of sinners to the wisdom of the just; therefore shall the righteous give

Thee thanks. And then, God forgive that woman all her sins for this one

act, and God forgive Mr Faulkland _his_ sins, and reward him for this

goodness. Sure your husband will relent now; sure he will long to take

my poor, forsaken, virtuous child (and her tears gushed as she spoke),

to his bosom again.

I could not answer her for some time; my own tears almost choaked me: at

last I said, My dear mother, I have no doubt of Mr Arnold's returning

kindness: he will, I hope, be convinced that I am guiltless, and we may

yet be happy.

She dried her eyes: God send, God send you may! But what has Mr

Faulkland done with his poor penitent? I hope he will behave honourably

to her; for this excellent parent had no doubt but that the letter,

written by Mrs Gerrarde was, in a great measure, the result of her own

contrition; for as I had not been minute in giving her a particular

account of all the previous steps taken by Mr Faulkland to obtain it

from her, she had not the least idea that Mrs Gerrarde had writ in that

manner from any other motive than the good one which appeared obvious to

her.

I told her, that I feared Mrs Gerrarde was far from being the penitent

she supposed her; and then acquainted her with the true reasons which

had induced her to write in the manner she had done. I then proceeded to

tell her of her behaviour after writing the letter, and how Mr Faulkland

had acted in consequence of that; concluding with informing her of Mrs

Gerrarde's being married, and provided for in a very reputable way.

My mother was highly delighted at this last circumstance; for, she said,

Mr Faulkland had no right to be the punisher of her crimes; and if he

had not made a decent provision for her, she would never have looked

upon him but as a dishonest person.

She told me, that though she was very glad, upon the whole, that Mr

Arnold and that bad woman were separated, yet she was nevertheless not

quite so well satisfied with the manner of it; for I think, said she,

that it is impossible but that a man of Mr Arnold's good sense must, one

time or other, have been convinced of his error, and, of his own accord,

returned to a right way of thinking.

I answered, that might possibly have happened; but that he might have

continued long enough under his infatuation intirely to ruin his family:

and as for what regarded me in particular, I knew of no means so likely

to remove his unjust suspicions effectually, as those which Mr Faulkland

had taken.

You are right, my dear, said she; let us hope the best. I am glad Mr

Faulkland does not mean to return soon to England: there is but one

event which could ever reconcile me to his doing so; and that is, in

order to do justice to the unfortunate Miss Burchell. If he would wipe

out that blot in his character by marrying her, I should again allow him

to be a good man: at present, I own, I can't help being dissatisfied,

that one, so blameable as I think him, should have laid my daughter

under the obligations which he has done.

I said it would rejoice me if he could be prevailed on to make Miss

Burchell the reparation she mentioned; but I feared she had no advocate

with Mr Faulkland; though I was of opinion, if he were made acquainted

with the life of sorrow she led, as well as her reserved and modest

behaviour, he would be inclined to favour her; especially if he were to

see the poor little boy.

My mother said, He never could expect quiet of mind, till he had wiped

the tears from her eyes.

Miss Burchell came in while we were speaking of her: my mother is always

glad to see her. The poor girl had been exceedingly shocked at Mr

Faulkland's carrying away her aunt. She thought this action put such an

invincible bar between her and her hopes (almost desperate before), that

it went near to distract her; for though there was no consanguinity in

the case, yet the degree of relationship between her and Mrs Gerrarde,

made her look upon this amour (for so she considered it) with the utmost

horror. She had so often expressed her sense of it in so lively a

manner, both to my mother and me, that had Mr Faulkland even been

inclined to offer his hand, she could not, consistently either with

virtue or common decency, have accepted of it.

My mother, ever delighted with acts of humanity, was in haste to

communicate the true state of the case to Miss Burchell. It was her

interest to keep our secret; therefore I made no scruple of trusting her

with it; especially as I knew it would so much contribute to her peace

of mind.

My mother accosted her with saying, Miss Burchell, I have something to

tell you, that I believe will give you pleasure. The unhappy young woman

lifted up her melancholy eyes; and, shaking her head, answered, _That_,

I believe, Madam, is now impossible. Your aunt is married, said my

mother, but not to Mr Faulkland; and, what is more, there has never any

thing passed between them that need be a bar to you, if he could be

brought to consider you as he ought. Miss Burchell looked amazed; then

turned her eyes from my mother to me, as if for an explanation. My

mother desired me to acquaint her with the history at large of Mr

Faulkland's proceedings; I did so, and took care not to omit the tender

manner in which he had mentioned her in one of his letters. She dropped

some tears at the recital; and then, turning to my mother, My dear good

Madam, you have snatched me from despair by this discovery: I was

overwhelmed; I think I could not have got the better of my grief: a

faint ray of glimmering hope is once more let in upon me. Mr Faulkland

may _yet_ be mine without a crime; or, if he is not, I shall at least

have the satisfaction to think him not so abandoned as he appeared to me

an hour ago. Oh! worthy and lovely Mrs Arnold! said she, addressing

herself to me, you see how Mr Faulkland reveres you: oh! that you would

but engage in my behalf! _you_ can influence his heart; _you_ can guide

his reason; _you_ are his fate!

Her fine eyes, which she fixed on me, filled with persuasive eloquence,

let me into the whole of her meaning, and conveyed more to me than it

was in the power of words to do. I understand you, dear Madam, said I;

and it grieves my heart to think that I cannot, must not interest myself

for you in the manner I would most ardently undertake to do, if there

were not such obstacles in my way as it is impossible for me to get

over. Mr Faulkland, you see, is free from the guilt we all feared he had

plunged himself into: he is full of remorse for the injury he did you,

and I dare believe retains in his heart a tender sense of your merit: he

is still free; nay, he has declared his intention of continuing so.

These circumstances give large room for hope: your unobjectionable

conduct, joined to paternal affection, may still bring about that

wished-for, happy event; but this must be left to time, and the workings

of his own heart. You know Mr Faulkland is, in his natural temper,

impatient of restraint; he is but a very young man, and has a few of

those levities which a little more settled age infallibly will correct,

where a good heart and a good understanding are united. Pardon me if I

add, that Mr Faulkland is not ungenerous, however blameable he may have

been in regard to you. All these circumstances considered, I say, may

warrant your indulging a hope, that he will at last be brought to make

you the reparation, which is mine and my mother's wish as much as your

own. Ah! Madam, said she, but Mr Faulkland is a great way from me: the

remembrance of me is already but too much worn out; distance, time, and

a variety of objects, must intirely efface it. _Your_ hand, the powerful

magic of _your_ touch, would soon brighten up the colouring of those

faint, faded traces, that he but scarcely preserves of me in his memory.

What could not your pen, guided by a heart so tender, so sympathizing

with the grief of others, effect on the man who considers you as a

divinity? If he had any hopes of _you_, Madam, it would be presumption

in me to put in my claim; but, as you cannot be my rival, be my

advocate: do, dear angelic lady! (and she lifted up her hands to me

fervently) write to Mr Faulkland, if you can restore him to me, what

prayers will I not pour out for your happiness?

My mother, who was greatly affected by her discourse, said to me,

Indeed, my dear, if you could effect that, it would be a very

meritorious work. Who knows what the high opinion Mr Faulkland has of

you, and the great deference he pays to your judgment, may produce?

I was sorry my good mother's openness of heart had made her enter so

suddenly into Miss Burchell's sentiments: it encouraged her to renew her

intreaties; she snatched both my mother's hands, and kissed them; she

wanted words to thank her.

I was unwilling to appear cold in Miss Burchell's interest, or to refuse

doing what my mother seemed to approve; but the resolution I had long

before made, never to see, or on any account whatsoever to hold the

least correspondence with Mr Faulkland, determined me. If strict

prudence might on so extraordinary an occasion have dispensed with this

promise, which, as I had made it to my own heart, I thought amounted

almost to a vow, I could not however answer it to that decorum, which I

had, as an inviolable law, determined to guide myself by, in so critical

a situation. And I resolved to have it in my power to say, in case Mr

Arnold and I were ever to unite again, that I had not in the smallest

article departed from it.

I told Miss Burchell there was but one reason which could prevent me

from complying with her request; but it was one of so much weight with

me, that, after my informing her of it, I hoped she would be so good as

not to urge me farther. I did, said I, upon my parting with my husband,

make a firm resolution, not only never to see Mr Faulkland, but never to

receive from, or write a line to him, nor in any manner whatsoever to

keep up the least intercourse with him.

I did not know but that Mr Faulkland (if he should learn the truth)

considering himself to be (as he really was, though innocently) the

cause of that unfortunate separation, might, either with a design of

consoling me, or of vindicating himself from any suspicion of blame,

have endeavoured to see me or write to me. In this I was mistaken; his

prudence, or his respect for me, prevented him from attempting either.

The resolution I had made, however, I thought due to my husband's

honour, as well as my own. The same cause still subsists; the weight of

it perhaps more in my own imagination than in reality; but if it even be

so, indulge me, dear Madam (to my mother), and dear Miss Burchell, in

this singularity. I have (not improbably) the happy prospect of being

restored to Mr Arnold's esteem; let me then be able to assure him, that

these eyes, these ears, these hands, have been as guiltless as my heart,

and all equally estranged from Mr Faulkland. This is a declaration I

think due to that punctilio, or, give me leave to call it, that

delicacy, I have endeavoured to preserve in all my conduct. Mother! you

always taught me to avoid even the shadow of reproach.

Very true, my dearest, answered my mother; I believe you are in the

right. Miss Burchell, I think my daughter cannot, conformably to that

discretion by which she has always been governed, undertake your cause

at present: it did not appear to me at first in the light wherein Sidney

has now put it.

Miss Burchell made no answer, but by her tears; we were both affected,

and I wished sincerely to have had it in my power to serve her. I told

her, if Mr Arnold and I should ever be re-united, that I would endeavour

to draw him so far over to our party, as to obtain his permission to

correspond with Mr Faulkland: that I was sure he would join with me in

wishing her the reparation she hoped for; and that I would make no

scruple of engaging warmly for her in such a case. But then, Madam, said

she, with what face can you interest yourself for me, so long as Mr

Arnold shall think that my aunt has been criminal with Mr Faulkland?

That thought, said I, did not occur to me before, and is indeed a

difficulty; for should Mr Arnold know that the elopement of Mrs Gerrarde

was against her will, and the letter she wrote him extorted from her by

Mr Faulkland, it might perhaps injure me as much in his opinion, as Mrs

Gerrarde's false suggestions had done before. Those intricacies, dear

Miss Burchell, must be left to time, which I hope may unravel them

favourably for us all. The attempt to disclose this affair to Mr Arnold

must not be sudden; indeed I must be well assured of his restored

confidence and affection before I can venture upon it at all. Whenever

that joyful event happens, assure yourself of my best endeavours to

serve you, if I have really any influence over Mr Faulkland, and

circumstances should so happily concur as to put it in my power to make

use of it.

Be contented, good Miss Burchell, said my mother, with this promise

which my daughter has made you: if Mr Arnold and she should live

together again, Mr Faulkland may probably return to England; as nothing

I believe now keeps him abroad, but to avoid giving Mr Arnold umbrage in

the present unhappy disunion between him and his wife.

_December 18_

My brother continues sullen; he seldom visits us, and when he does, the

meeting on his part is cold. He has made himself master of many

particulars relating to poor Mr Arnold's unhappy connection with Mrs

Gerrarde; for since her elopement the affair has been more talked of

than it was before, and her whole history traced out. She was the

daughter of an innkeeper in a country town, and ran away with Captain

Gerrarde, in his march through it, upon an acquaintance of but a few

days. The husband, who was passionately fond of her, concealed the

meanness of her birth, and put her off to his relations for a young lady

of a reputable family, with whom he got a good fortune. This induced his

sister, a widow lady, the mother of Miss Burchell, to leave at her death

the care of the unhappy girl to captain Gerrarde. The captain, whose

infirmities increased fast upon him a few years after his marriage, got

leave to retire upon half-pay into the country; and he lived for the

most part at Ashby, a little estate which he had purchased and settled

upon his wife: it seems he had a pretty good personal fortune, which she

had squandered, for his fondness could refuse her nothing, except living

apart from him at London, which he could never consent to, though it was

always her desire; but being debarred of this, she betook herself to

such pleasures as the country afforded, and was always a leading woman

at horse-races, assemblies, and such other amusements, as were within

her reach; which, together with expensive treats at home, and

card-playing (her supreme delight) left her at his death, which happened

about five years after their marriage, in the indigent state she in her

account of herself to Mr Faulkland acknowleges. It was then Mr Arnold

became acquainted with her, and in the manner she represented; for my

brother has lately fallen into the acquaintance of that very _relation_

(as she calls him) which she mentions, a Mr Pinnick, at whose lodgings

they first met. This gentleman, who was in reality nothing more than an

humble servant of the lady's, though she called him cousin, the better

to skreen a more particular connection, was so provoked at her deserting

him in favour of Mr Arnold, whom he said he was sure she had insnared,

that he made no scruple of telling all he knew of her. He said, she had

two brothers, very great profligates; one of whom had been put into

prison for forgery, and would have been hanged, had not Mr Arnold, at

the expence of a very considerable sum, saved his life. The other, some

very mean retainer to the law, a plausible fellow, and Mrs Gerrarde's

great favourite, for whom she had art and influence enough to prevail on

Mr Arnold to purchase a considerable employment. It would be endless,

said Mr Pinnick, to tell you the variety of stratagems she made use of

to get money out of those whom she had in her power, and who were able

to supply her. I, for my part, was not rich enough for her, which was

the chief reason I suppose of Mr Arnold's supplanting me; and I take it

for granted, that those arts, which she practised on me to little

effect, succeeded better with him. One time her poor father was in gaol,

and his whole family would be undone, and her mother sent a begging, if

he was not relieved from his distress, by a trifling sum; fifty pounds

would do. Another time her sister's husband, a country shopkeeper, was

upon the point of breaking, and would be inevitably ruined if he was not

assisted. And then she had a formal letter to produce from her sister

upon the melancholy occasion. These circumstances she made no scruple of

laying open to me, as she knew I was no stranger to her origin, having

resided for some years in the town where she formerly lived, though I

did not then know her. Her mother was a Roman Catholick; and in order to

have her daughter brought up in the same principles with herself, had

her sent to a relation in Dublin, where she received her education in a

nunnery. Though her artifices to get money from me were grown quite

stale, I make no doubt but she practised them all over again on poor

Arnold. She was not contented with the lodgings _I_ had placed her in,

but obliged him to take a handsome house, elegantly furnished for her: a

very fine chariot and horses were the next purchase; for a hired one the

lady would not vouchsafe to sit in: and I am sure I have seen her in the

boxes at the play, with as many jewels on her as any lady there.

All these ungrateful particulars, which Sir George had received from Mr

Pinnick, he took a sort of ill natured pleasure in repeating to my

mother and me. Unhappy Mr Arnold, into what a gulph didst thou unwarily

plunge thyself! Is it not amazing that this affair was even so long a

secret? That it was so to _me_ is not strange; for it is natural to

suppose that I must have been the last person to receive a hint of this

nature; but that my brother should never have been informed of it is

surprizing! 'Tis certain Mr Arnold was at first very cautious in his

visits, making them generally at night, and even then he never was

carried in his own chariot. I am shocked to think of the mischiefs which

I fear he has done to his temporal affairs, for his children's sake as

well as his own; but since he is delivered from the thraldom in which

this woman held him, the rest, I hope, by future good management, may be

retrieved. Would to heaven! I had nothing left me to lament, but the

waste of his fortune. Sir George says he is sure he is deeply in debt.

The law-suit too I hear is likely to go against us; if that is to be the

case, it will be a blow indeed!

_December 19_

How miserable is a state of suspence! I am, if possible, more unhappy

now, than when I was without hope of recovering my dear, and now more

dear, because undone Mr Arnold. Our cause came to a final hearing many

days ago (though I was not told it till this morning), and only prepared

for it yesterday, and it is given against us. Mr Arnold by this stroke

loses 900 pounds a year, besides considerable costs. Nothing now remains

but my jointure. Into what an abyss of misery is my unfortunate husband

plunged! Oh! that I could but see him! that I could but regain his

confidence, that I might sooth and comfort him in his afflictions!

My brother is very unkind; after telling me the fatal news, he said, he

thought I should be much to blame if I returned to Mr Arnold, though he

were even desirous of it. What prospect can you have with him but

beggary? said he; for I suppose his next step will be to wheedle you out

of your jointure, the only support you have now left for yourself and

your children.

Oh! brother, brother, said I, you have no heart! I could say no more,

for I burst into tears.

Perhaps you may not be put to the trial, answered he cruelly; but if you

should, you are to take your own way Mrs Arnold, for my advice had never

any weight with you or my mother.

My mother replied, Sir George, you do not use either me or your sister

well. Let her, in the name of God, follow the dictates of her duty. If

the unfortunate Mr Arnold sees his error, can you be so unchristian as

to endeavour at steeling his wife's heart against him? O son! this is

not the way to obtain forgiveness of God for your own faults! Far be it

from Sidney to reject the proffered love of a repenting husband. My dear

(to me) don't afflict yourself; if your husband has grace, you shall

both be as happy together as _I_ can make you. Misfortunes, said, Sir

George, are mighty great promoters of _grace_; I don't doubt but Mr

Arnold will repent most heartily--the having lavished away his fortune;

and the hopes of repairing it, may give him the _grace_ to take his wife

again.

Sir George, said my mother angrily, you will oblige me if you say no

more on the subject.