What a letter is this, my sister! But Sir George is still himself;
gross; void of sentiment: he dreams of nothing but the glaring
advantages that fortune and rank in life procure. And how he argues
too! Weak arguer! He _will not suppose that the objection_ (absurd
he calls it), _which formerly prevented my happiness, should still
prevail with me to reject the same happiness_--Why not? Is the
nature of Mr Faulkland's offence changed? Has he ever repaired it?
Has not Miss Burchell the same claim she ever had? Nay, a stronger
than ever, if years of unabated love can give it her? _My mother and
I have by this time learnt to forgive human frailties; nay, we forgave
enormities_--Unkind brother, to rake up the unfortunate ashes of my
beloved. We have, indeed, learnt to forgive human frailties; but they
were the frailties of a husband, a repenting husband, who was seduced to
the commission of those crimes which he abhorred: but surely that is no
plea for my overlooking the faults of another, to whom I am under no
such tie. I am now _without fortune, and incumbered with children_.
Indelicate man! does he think _that_ an argument in favour of his
proposal? It is a strong one against it. Shall I, who, when I was in the
virgin-bloom of youth, flattered with some advantages of person, which
time and grief have since impaired, and not destitute of fortune; I, who
then rejected Mr Faulkland from motives which still subsist; shall I,
now that I have lost those advantages, meanly condescend to accept of
this rejected man? This would, indeed, be acknowleging, that the
humiliating change had levelled me to those principles which I formerly
contemned; would lay me under mortifying obligations to Mr Faulkland,
and destroy the merit of that refusal which proceeded from such
justifiable motives.
No, my sordid brother! if I _could_ recompence Mr Faulkland as he
deserves at my hands, I _would_ do it; but, with such a mind as I bear,
it cannot be done your way. I say nothing of the promise I made Miss
Burchell; if I had never made her such, my sentiments would be the same
from those other considerations; but such a promise, binding as it is,
determined my conduct beyond the possibility of a doubt.
How unreasonable are Sir George's prejudices with regard to this unhappy
young creature! He is for ever throwing out some invective against her.
It is cruel; but I am tempted to forgive him, as I know it proceeds from
his attachment to his friend. He need not put me in mind of the
gratitude I owe Mr Faulkland; I am thoroughly sensible of it; but Sir
George and I differ widely in our ideas of expressing this gratitude. My
_conduct in this affair is to determine him as to the light in which he
is hereafter to consider me_. Why, be it so. He has long lost the
tenderness of a brother for me; I will not regain it at the expence of
my honour. I know the worst that can befall me is poverty. I have
already experienced almost every possible ill in life but that, and for
that I am prepared. But I will not call myself poor while I have an
upright heart to support me; and the means, poor and despicable as they
are, of sustaining life. But what do I call despicable? Have I not an
estate, my dear, a whole fifty pounds a year, that I can call my own?
This much was reserved to me out of my jointure when the rest was sold;
and on this, whenever it pleases heaven to take my mother away, will I
retire to some cottage in a cheap country, where my two children and I
will live, and smile at the rich and the great.
My brother's letter has vexed and disgusted me exceedingly. _Lady Sarah
presents her service._ Vain woman! is that a becoming phrase to the
mother of her husband? I am so provoked, I think I shall not answer him:
he has no relish for such arguments as I could produce in support of my
own opinions, and my writing to him would only bring on disagreeable
altercations. My mother is in a downright passion with him: Selfish
wretch! she called him; and said, he would sacrifice both honour and
justice to his own pride.
_July 19_
Miss Burchell; poor soul, how I pity her! Her anxiety increases every
hour. She, you may be sure, keeps a look-out on all Mr Faulkland's
motions; for, she tells me, she hears he is arrived in town. I suppose I
shall receive a notice of some kind or other from him. The unhappy
girl; she grieves me to see her! There was never so extravagant a love
as her's: she has nourished it in solitude, and I believe has a heart
naturally tender to an uncommon degree; otherwise she could not,
for so long a time, and with so little hopes, have preserved so
undiminished a fondness; but some accidents have, I know not how,
combined to feed this flame. She acknowleges that Mr Faulkland's
being disappointed in espousing me, gave the first encouragement to
her hopes; for, she said, she had reason to believe that I was the only
woman in the world that stood between her and her happiness; and
Mr Faulkland's remaining single ever since, confirmed her in that
opinion. Then the generous attention that he paid to her welfare, in
recommending her to my mother's notice, when he first left England;
the noble supplies that he constantly furnished her with ever since for
the child's use; his behaviour to Mrs Gerrarde, who, she says, is the
most ensnaring of creatures; the tender manner that he mentioned
her in his letter to my brother; my mother's constantly indulging her
in the belief that she would one day recover Mr Faulkland's
affections: all these circumstances, I say, joined together, have kept
alive the warmest and most romantic love I ever saw or heard of. Well
may the men say, that forsaken women are always the most passionate
lovers: it may be so, and Miss Burchell is one instance of the truth of
this observation; but I think _I_ should never make another. There is
something to me unaccountable in this; but Miss Burchell is all made
up of languishments and softness. I have heard her speak of Mr
Faulkland in so rapturous a strain as has amazed me; and she once
owned to me, that she is sure she must have died, if he had not
returned her love! Return it! Ah! my Cecilia, how did he return it?
How mortifying is her situation! to be compelled to court the man
who flies her, and to make use of a rival's mediation too! but let me
forget that name; I am no longer so to her, and shall do my best to
prove it. She wearied me with importunities to write to Mr
Faulkland, now he is come to town; but I beseeched her to have a
little patience, till some overture was first made by him toward a
renewal of our acquaintance, which, I told her, it was very probable I
should soon receive. You may be sure I took care not to let her know
of the intimation I had from Sir George. She seems fearful of my
seeing Mr Faulkland. Oh! madam, said she, if he beholds your face
again, I am undone, unless you can first prevail with him--She
stopped. 'I understand you, dear Miss Burchell; I give you my word I
will not see Mr Faulkland, unless I am first convinced I can restore
him to you.' 'How good you are, madam! your influence, all potent as
it is, can work miracles. If Mr Faulkland is _sure_ you will never be his,
perhaps he may return to his _first_ love.' My dear, ought she to have
said so? But it is no matter; it is nothing to me now, who was his first
or second love.
_July 20_
It has happened to my wish; a billet from Mr Faulkland, sent with
compliments and how-do-ye's, to my mother and me. Miss Burchell,
who almost lives with us, was present when I received it: her colour
came and went several times while our servant delivered his message.
I gave the letter into her hand as soon as I had read it. There is
nothing alarming in it, madam, said I; see yourself; only a few
friendly lines, such as I might expect. Her hands shook while she
held the paper. Now, madam, said she, returning it; now you have a
charming opportunity of writing to him. I shall not fail, said I, to
make use of it, and will let you see what I write.
These are the contents of Mr Faulkland's letter:
Will you, madam, permit a forgotten, though not the least zealous
of your friends, to enquire after your welfare? Forgive me, if I
renew your grief, when I tell you, that, as I must participate in
every thing that relates to you, I have deeply mourned with you on
the late calamity that has befallen you. When Lady Bidulph opens
her doors to her general acquaintance; if I may presume to mingle
in the crowd, and kiss her hands, I shall esteem it as a
particular honour; but will not, without her permission, attempt
it. She is too good to refuse me this indulgence: you, madam, I
hope, will not forbid it to
The humblest, and
most devoted of your servants,
_Wednesday ORLANDO FAULKLAND.
morning._
Yes, Orlando, I must forbid you; I know the consequences of thy
insidious visits. I'll try you to the quick. You have given me an
opportunity of writing to you (I think) without any impropriety. Miss
Burchell's interest is uppermost in my wishes, and I will at least try
what my influence on this romantic wayward heart can effect.
How happy should I think myself, if _my_ mediation, _all potent_ as she
called it, would have the desired success!
_July 21_
I wrote to Mr Faulkland last night: my mother approved of the letter,
which I shewed her before I sent it. Mr Faulkland was abroad when
it was left at his house; but as I received an answer to it early this
morning, I will give you copies of the two letters together; and first
that of mine to Mr Faulkland.
I thank you, sir, thank you from my heart, for your friendship,
and beg you will not think me ungrateful for having thus long
deferred to pay you my acknowlegements for the signal favours I
have received at your hands. I am sensible, Sir, that it was owing
to your compassion, your generosity, and disinterested nobleness
of mind, that I was once indebted for the greatest blessing of my
life. To you I owe the vindicating of my suspected faith, and the
being restored to the affection of my dear husband. For this
goodness I have never ceased to bless and pray for you, and shall
continue to do so while I live. But oh! Sir, while you have given
_me_ so much cause for gratitude and esteem, why will you leave
one heart to sigh for your unkindness? a heart that admires, that
loves, that adores you! a heart worthy of your acceptance, and
which has a right to demand all your tenderness. Need I name the
amiable possessor of this heart? I need not; there is but one
woman in the world who owns this description: for her let me
become an advocate; she has won me to her party: indeed. Sir, she,
and she only, deserves your love. Her's, I am sure, you have ever
possessed unrivalled, though her youth, beauty, and charming
accomplishments, must have made her the object of every one's
wishes who saw her. 'Tis above four years since you first won her
virgin affections. What has been her portion since that fatal
time? Tears, solitude, and unremitting anguish. How can a mind
like yours, susceptible as it is of pity for the woes of others,
condemn _such_ a woman to perpetual sorrow? How can that
generosity, which has been so active on other occasions, droop and
languish where there is _such_ a cause to call forth all its
exertions?
Do, Mr Faulkland, permit pity to plead in your bosom for the dear
Miss Burchell. I should urge paternal affection too; but to the
voice of nature you cannot be deaf. Your sweet little son calls
upon you to do him and his mother justice; the injured lady
herself implores your compassion; my mother, who equally admires
and loves her, intreats you; I, whom you once esteemed, conjure
you; the secret monitor in your own soul must join in our
sollicitations. Why, then, why will you shut your ears against
the united voice of reason, of conscience, and of gratitude? You
cannot, you will not do it. Miss Burchell's merit and sufferings
must be rewarded; and I shall bless Mr Faulkland as the guardian
of the injured, the patron of the afflicted, the assertor of his
own, as well as of my honour. This is the light, and this only, in
which I shall rejoice to see him.
_Mr_ FAULKLAND's _Answer_
You do well, Madam, you do well to anticipate my suit; and, with
so much cruel eloquence, to bid me despair. Yes, I see Miss
Burchell has won you to her party; but what have I done to merit
such a malevolent fate, that you, you of all created beings,
should become _her_ advocate? I little thought Mrs Arnold would
make such a barbarous use of her power. Tell me, thou dear tyrant,
how have I deserved this? Would it not have been kinder to have
said at once, Faulkland, do not hope; I never will be yours; I
hate, I despise you, and leave you to your fate? Oh! no; you are
artful in your cruelty; you would prevent even my wishes, and cut
off my hopes in their blossom, before they dare to unfold
themselves to you.
But you have furnished me with weapons against yourself, and I
will use them with as little mercy as you have shewn to me. If
four years are past since I won Miss Burchell's affections, is it
not also _as_ long that I have loved you with an ardor--Oh thou
insensible! Were you not mine by your own consent, with your
mother's approbation? Was not the day, the hour fixed, that I was
to have led you to the altar? Miss Burchell's hopes were never
raised to such a pitch as mine, when an avenging fiend snatched
the promised blessing from my grasp. Think what were then my
sufferings. I saw you afterwards in the arms of another. Miss
Burchell never suffered _such_ torture. Had I seen you _happy_, I
might have been consoled. If Miss Burchell loved me as I have
loved you, she would rejoice in the prospect of my felicity. I
should have done so in your's, Heaven is my witness! Had you been
happy, I should not have thought myself miserable, though you were
lost to my hopes.
Why do you compel me to urge an ungrateful truth in regard to Miss
Burchell? Madam, she has no claim to my vows: my gratitude, my
compassion, she has an ample right to, and she has them. More
might by this time have been her's, if I had never seen Mrs
Arnold.
Remember, I do not yet desire permission to throw myself at your
feet; I revere you too much to make such a request; but do not
banish me your presence. I cannot always be proof against such
rigours. Indulge me at least in the hope that time may do
something in my favour. I will not desire you to tell me so; but
do not forbid it. Lady Bidulph knows I respect her; but she is
still obdurate. If _she_ relented, would not _you_ madam, do so
too?
I am, &c.
How this man distresses me, my dear! What a difficult task have I
undertaken! yet I will go through with it. I am fearful of letting Miss
Burchell see his answer, so discouraging as it is for her; yet how can I
withhold it from her sight? 'Tis necessary I should conceal nothing from
her on this occasion; she confides in me, and I must not give her cause
for suspicion. _She has no right to his vows._ This he always said. It
is necessary the lady should be quite explicit with me. I doubt she has
not been altogether sincere in what she has said to my mother on this
subject. I shall see her presently, and discourse with her more
particularly on this head than I have ever yet done....
I have had a conference with Miss Burchell, a long one, and in private;
for I told my mother I wished to talk with her alone.
I began with shewing her Mr Faulkland's last letter. It had the effect I
expected. She was exceedingly shocked. I laid my finger on that
paragraph, _She has no right to my vows_. It is necessary, my dear
madam, said I, that you should be perfectly open and candid with me on
this head. I have entered the lists for you, and will not give up your
cause; but it depends on you to furnish me with every possible argument
in your favour. If you mislead me by wrong insinuations, instead of
putting it in my power to serve you, you will only create to yourself
fresh obstacles.
It is a nice subject, madam, and what I have ever been cautious of
touching upon to you; but in the present situation of your affairs, it
is of the utmost importance to you, that you should have no reserves to
me. When Mr Faulkland first recommended you to my mother's acquaintance,
he referred her to your honour, for an explanation of certain points, of
so delicate a nature, that I am loath to touch upon them. But pardon me,
dear Miss Burchell, you must be open with me. Mr Faulkland was obliged
to declare, in his own justification, that he never sought to gain your
affections; and was so far from endeavouring to take advantage of the
kind sentiments you had for him, that he avoided all opportunities of
improving them; that he was even surprized into the fatal step, which
has since made you so unhappy, by the artifices of that vile woman, who
had the care of you.
Mr Faulkland relied so intirely on your candour, that, as I told you
before, he referred my mother to you, for a confirmation of the truth of
what he advanced; imagining that your testimony would in some measure
extenuate his fault. My mother, I have reason to believe, has heard the
story from you in a light less favourable to Mr Faulkland. I was married
before she received any information on this subject from you; and as any
extenuation on Mr Faulkland's side was then become a matter of
indifference to me, I enquired not into particulars; but by what I could
judge from my mother's discourse then, and from hints which she has many
times dropped since, I am inclined to believe, that either Mr Faulkland
concealed some particulars, or that you, from a delicacy very natural to
a young lady in such circumstances, chose to draw a veil over some parts
of your story. But, dear madam, all disguises must now be thrown aside;
depend upon it, your candour will more effectually recommend you to Mr
Faulkland's esteem, than any thing else; and, perhaps, your justifying
him to _me_, may be no immaterial circumstance in your favour.
Variety of passions discovered themselves on her face while I spoke, but
shame was predominant. She was mute, and hung down her head. I took her
by the hand, Do not think, my dear, I mean to ensnare you; far be such
perfidy from my heart! Have I not promised you my assistance? I declare,
by every thing that is sacred, you shall have it to the utmost stretch
of my power; but do not let a false bashfulness stand between you and
sincerity; you will stop up the way to your own happiness if you do.
Speak, dear madam, has Mr Faulkland been just in his representations?
She burst into a flood of tears: Oh! madam, you read my very soul; what
disguise can I make use of, before such penetrating eyes as yours? Yes,
Mr Faulkland _has_ spoke the truth, shameful as the confession is for
me, I own it. Mrs Gerrarde, base woman! betrayed me; my own mad passion
did the rest. Mr Faulkland told me, a few days after the fatal meeting,
that he was the most miserable man on earth for what had happened: he
said, there was a lady in the world to whom he was bound to offer his
hand; that her brother was his particular friend; that his marriage was
then actually negotiating; and he was pressed on that occasion to return
to London. He owned he had never seen the lady, but as his honour was
engaged to her brother, he could not look upon himself as a free man. He
cursed his ill fate, that he had not had an opportunity of informing me
of this sooner; which, he said, might have prevented me from casting
away my affection on a man, who could not deserve it. What could I say,
madam? There was no room for reproaches or complaints. I made none; I
had nobody to accuse but myself. I had declared my frantic love to Mr
Faulkland unasked; I had implored his in return: in one dreadful moment
I fell a sacrifice to my own weakness. The only hope that now remained
for me, was built on that circumstance of Mr Faulkland's having never
seen his destined bride. Had I known you, madam, to have been the
person, there could have sprung but small comfort from that
consideration; but ignorant as I was of the lady's merit, I thought it
not impossible but that some objection might have arisen either to her
person or temper; or the lady, perhaps, (though that I thought almost
incredible) might not approve of Mr Faulkland: in either case, some
glimmerings of hope remained for me. Mr Faulkland's generous compassion
for me, gave me room to think he did not hate me, and I was unwilling to
lose the little interest I thought I had gained in his heart, by _fond
complainings_, much less upbraidings, for which he had given me no
cause. I therefore acquiesced, determined to wait for what my fate was
to do with me; resolving privately in my own mind, that in case Mr
Faulkland's intended nuptials should not take place, to remind him of my
love. I did not confess to my aunt what had been the result of that
interview, which she had contrived between Mr Faulkland and me: shame
would not suffer me to indulge it. But it was not long in my power to
conceal it: I believe indeed, she suspected it before. She reproached me
for the error which she herself had caused; but I believe, what most
nettled her was Mr Faulkland's having escaped the snare; for I am sure
she would have been base enough to have had me retain him as a lover,
though I could not secure him for a husband; for he was not the first,
that this bad woman would have seduced me to favour, for her own private
interest.
In the midst of the horror, into which the condition I found myself
threw me, I heard that Mr Faulkland was on the point of being married.
<p>The prospect I had before me drove me to despair. I knew I could not
remain long in my uncle's house. I knew not whither to fly. In my
distraction I wrote to Mr Faulkland: You, madam, saw the letter, that
ill-fated letter, which deprived Mr Faulkland of his happiness.
I soon received an answer, wherein Mr Faulkland related to me at large
the unfortunate consequences that letter had produced. He lamented, in
the tenderest manner, my unhappy situation; told me, he would provide me
a proper place for my retreat; and, as I was an entire stranger in
London, having never been there, would recommend me to the notice of one
of the best of women, lady Bidulph, from whom, as my unhappy story was
known to her, I might expect the utmost humanity. And here, madam, with
blushes let me own it, he urged me not to conceal a single circumstance
of the truth from that lady.
'You know, said he, my dear Miss Burchell, I am not a seducer; rescue me
from that black suspicion; and, as far as the unhappy case will admit,
clear my honour to lady Bidulph. See what a reliance I have on _your_
honour, when I trust the vindicating of my own to you, in such delicate
circumstances. He concluded his letter with telling me frankly, that
though he had been rejected by Miss Bidulph, he loved her with such an
ardent passion, that it was impossible for him ever to think of any
other woman; and till he had a heart to bestow, he should never
entertain a thought of marriage.'
You know Mr Faulkland at this juncture went abroad; and thus was I
circumstanced when I came to that house, which he had provided for me.
And so frank and noble were his proceedings, that I solemnly declare, I
was determined, though at the hazard of divulging my own shame, to have
acquitted him to the utmost of my power to lady Bidulph; and should have
rejoiced, could I have been the means of procuring him the happiness he
deserved, in regaining your favour; as I had been, though unknowingly,
the unlucky cause of his losing it. But fortune had disposed of you
otherwise, before I saw lady Bidulph. This she quickly informed me of,
and I will own to you, madam, that as I found there was now an
insuperable bar to Mr Faulkland's hopes, I was mean enough not to have
the courage to speak truth. I saw it could not avail him, in regard to
his prospects with you. Lady Bidulph's eye awed me; yet I think she led
me into a justification of myself, so great were her prejudices against
Mr Faulkland. Or, perhaps, having already disposed of you in marriage,
in vindication of this step, she did not wish to be undeceived. Yes,
again, in spite of my confusion, I must repeat it, I was not sincere; I
threw out such hints to lady Bidulph, as must have made her think Mr
Faulkland had taken pains to undo me: to this act of disingenuousness,
my sole motive was, that I might appear in a less culpable light in the
eyes of a lady of such strict virtue as your mother. By making her my
friend, I was in hopes one day of making you so too. Devoted, as Mr
Faulkland was, to the most charming woman in the world, I was not afraid
of his making a second choice. I thought, if he _were_ to be induced to
marry, he might, in time, be prevailed upon to turn his thoughts towards
me. In this hope I have dragged on so many tedious years. I was not
mistaken in my opinion, that he could find none worthy to succeed Mrs
Arnold in his heart. He loves you still, madam; but you have declared
you will never be his; he is still free; these are the circumstances
that nourish my hope. My heart is in your hand; I have made you mistress
of my dearest secret. Can you forgive me, madam? But you have an heroic
soul! Remember, Mrs Arnold, to your generosity I now trust what is
dearer to me than life. Should Mr Faulkland know, should lady Bidulph
know, how I have abused their confidence, I think I could not outlive
it.
They never shall, madam, said I: I thank you for this frank
acknowlegement of your heart; such a proof of your confidence in me, I
should be a wretch to abuse; and I hope to make such a use of the candid
confession you have now made me, as will greatly promote your interest.
And is it possible, madam, said she, you can yield up the interest you
have in Mr Faulkland without a pang? Oh! the exquisite charmer! and she
said it with such an emphasis, drawing out her breath in long sighs. But
you are heroic, as I said before: Nature did not mold your heart, as she
has done those of the rest of your sex. Who that was beloved by Mr
Faulkland, would yield him to another? Worlds! ten thousand worlds would
I give to be beloved by him as you are! but you are a prodigy of a
woman! I stopped Miss Burchell in her transports. There is less merit,
madam, than you ascribe to me in my conduct: I readily acquiesced under
my mother's rejection of Mr Faulkland, when he _had_ some interest in my
heart; but there is no self-denial in what I am now about to do for you.
My affections have long since changed their object, and now lie buried
with him in his grave.
My tears here bore witness to the truth of what I said: Miss Burchell
wept too. Her mind was agitated; the confession she had made to me had
humbled her; her heart overflowed with fondness; I had filled her with
pleasing hopes: all these sensations combined together, melting her
into tenderness: she is made up of tears, and sighs, and romantic
wishes.
I can now, said I, assure Mr Faulkland, that you have done him justice,
and that he is highly obliged to your candour.
She interrupted me; But, madam, if he should know how _late_ my
acknowlegements came--He need not know it, said I; my mother shall not
know it either; leave every thing to my management, and depend upon my
word. She snatched my hand eagerly, and kissed it.
But oh! madam, above all things, said she, let not Sir George Bidulph
know any thing of your intended goodness, in mediating for me. He hates
me, implacably he hates me. I upbraid him not for it: his strong
attachment to Mr Faulkland is the cause of it: he accuses me in his
heart of being the occasion (which I own I was, though ignorantly) of Mr
Faulkland's disappointment. I am sure, were he to know what you design
in my favour, he would counterwork you, and use all his influence over
his friend to ruin me.
I made her easy on this head, by assuring her Sir George should know
nothing of the matter; and put her in mind how lucky it was for her that
he was absent.
I cannot help thinking, my Cecilia, that there is a sort of fatality has
attended Mr Faulkland's attachment to me. By what a strange accident did
we come to the knowledge of Miss Burchell's affair! How strong were my
mother's prepossessions against Mr Faulkland; and how many little
circumstances concurred her to encourage in this disposition! His letter
from Bath to my brother helped to confirm her in her dislike of his
conduct; Miss Burchell's letter to Mr Faulkland, though meant very
differently, was a strong motive of condemnation. The only means of
justification left for him, my mother did not apply to, till it was too
late; and then that very circumstances of it's _being_ too late to serve
him, Miss Burchell acknowleges, was the reason that the very method
which he had proposed for his defence, was turned to his condemnation.
Rooted, as my mother's prejudices were, she engages herself, she engages
me, in a promise, to use my endeavours to promote Miss Burchell's
marriage with Mr Faulkland. Does this not look as if some unseen power,
who guides our actions, had set a stamp of disapprobation on the union
between this man and me.
I wish I had seen that letter which Mr Faulkland wrote to my brother
from Bath: my mother said, she did not read it through. He treated the
subject lightly, and there was one circumstance in particular in it
that shocked her; and yet surely, if the _whole_ might not have borne a
favourable construction, Sir George would not have shewn her that
account, by way of justifying his friend. This reflection comes too
late! Why did it not occur sooner to my mother or to me? We drew no
other inference from Sir George's disclosing this letter, than that as
Mr Faulkland treated the affair ludicrously, it was therefore expected,
both by him and my brother, that we should consider it so too. That
could not have been the case. Miss Burchell's confession has opened my
eyes.--Poor Mr Faulkland! What wayward fate is thine! But let me beware
of relenting; that might be fatal. There is still one indelible blot
remains upon his conduct. Miss Burchell, blameable as she acknowleges
herself, was still betrayed; and though not by Mr Faulkland, yet sure
his having paid the price of her innocence to the wicked aunt, renders
him so far guilty, as that he owes her a great reparation. This was a
particular I durst not touch upon; the unhappy girl herself being
ignorant of it. There is a wide gulph fixed between Mr Faulkland and me.
How many things are leagued against him! Alas! he thinks the principal
bar to his hopes is removed, and that if Miss Burchell has been just, he
ought to be forgiven. But he little knows thy Sidney's heart; critically
delicate as my situation is, in regard him, I am removed a thousand
times farther than ever from his wishes. Neither knows he the
engagements I am under to Miss Burchell; which alone would put an
ever-lasting bar between us. Unhappy Miss Burchell! She has bound me to
her by stronger ties than ever. She has been ingenuous; she has owned
her weakness to me; she declares she would have done this sooner, if it
could have promoted my happiness: perhaps she would; shall I not then
endeavour to promote her's? I will, I must; my word is given. Yet
Faulkland deserves--oh! he deserves a worthier lot.