'Why do you compel me, Sir, noble and disinterested as your
conduct has been towards me, to accuse you now of unkindness? You
call me insensible--oh! it is from my too great sensibility that
all my sorrows have sprung. Destitute as I am of happiness myself,
or even of a possibility of ever attaining it here, I look for no
other comfort in this life, but what must arise from seeing those
whom I most esteem in possession of that tranquillity of mind,
which I can never hope to enjoy. If Mr Faulkland were happy, if
Miss Burchell were happy, I should be less miserable. Remember,
Sir, it was not this lady's fault that you were disappointed in
your former hope. She did not try, by female wiles, to engage a
heart which you refused her. She used no ungenerous arts to cross
your wishes. Loving you as she did, almost to distraction, she
yielded you up in silent anguish to a rival; a rival superior to
herself in nothing. I acknowlege, Sir, I was to have been yours,
and with my own consent; but was it not also with my own consent
those bonds were cancelled, by which we were to have been united?
I was then convinced Miss Burchell had a prior claim; I think so
still, and ever shall. Miss Burchell's family is not mean, her
fortune is considerable; her beauty and personal accomplishments
inferior to none; and, but for Mr Faulkland, she had been
innocent. Yet do not imagine I would aggravate your fault; Miss
Burchell's candor could not suffer this. How charmingly ingenuous
was her confession! In the midst of tears and blushes, she owned
her weakness; you, she said, were not to blame. She praised your
generosity, your compassion, the integrity and frankness of your
whole behaviour towards her; and could Miss Burchell's suffrage
have ensured to you the completion of your wishes, Mr Faulkland
would have been indebted to her for what he once thought his
happiness. But though her testimony could not avail you in that
particular, yet are your obligations to her the same. Does not
then Miss Burchell love Mr Faulkland with a generosity equal to
his own? Do years of fervent and unalterable affection deserve no
return? Does the child, the dear innocent that calls you father,
deserve no consideration? He bears your name, Sir; let him not
blush to own it: he may one day be an honour and a comfort to you.
Put it in his power to make it his boast, instead of his shame,
that Mr Faulkland was his father. The amiable lady, whose very
life is bound up in you, has, in the midst of her affliction, one
great source of comfort; her character has escaped the malignity
of cruel tongues, by the privacy with which she conducted her
measures, till after the birth of your son. The retirement she has
since lived in; her prudent, her modest, her exemplary conduct
have created esteem in every body that knows her; this
circumstance, as it is a peculiar felicity to herself, so ought it
to be a motive of encouragement to you, Sir, to compleat her
happiness. The false judging part of the world will have nothing
to point at; Miss Burchell's relation, or even connection, with
Mrs Gerrarde is hardly known here; she has had no correspondence
with that irregular woman since she became a widow; and her
character had not suffered before, in such a manner, as to reflect
dishonour on the young lady, who was then under her care. How then
can you persist in a cruel rejection of this lady? You own she is
amiable; I am sure she has a thousand good qualities. Is her love
for you, her unparalleled love, to be imputed to her as a crime?
If it be one, long and bitter has been her punishment! On you it
rests to recompence her sufferings. What may you not expect from a
grateful heart that worships you? Such a fervent, such a faithful
love (deserving as you are) you perhaps may never again meet with
in woman. With her you may be happy, she will make it the study of
her life to render you so. Your own heart, conscious of having
acted nobly, will confirm your happiness. Would to God I could
inspire you with such sentiments as would induce you to make the
generous experiment! How would your character rise in the esteem
of the two persons whom you profess to revere! How would you be
adored by the amiable sufferer! but above all, how delightful must
be the exultations of the self-approving mind! There wants but
this act to render you the most deserving of men. I would fain
esteem, respect, admire you as I ought; but you will not let me;
you will be a _common_ man, and undistinguished amongst the light
ones of your sex.'
I shewed this letter to Miss Burchell; she read it with grateful tears
running down her cheeks. In about an hour I received the following
answer to it.
'Miss Burchell may triumph, Madam, since she has obtained _you_
for her advocate. Well have you acquitted yourself of the task
your rigid heart has undertaken. I thank the lady for the justice
her charming ingenuousness (as you rightly call it) has done me.
But what have I gained by this? Have I not raised the fair
complainant still higher in your esteem, given her a stronger
claim to your pity, and furnished you with arms against myself?
Wretch that I am, I do, I must acknowlege the force of every thing
that you have urged. Miss Burchell is amiable, her sincerity, her
constancy, and (by me) unmerited love, deserve to be greatly
recompensed. I would to heaven I had a heart to give her! but I
have not; _you_ know I have not; _she_ knows it too. Could I have
made Miss Burchell the return she deserves, I would not thus long
have shunned her presence. I acknowleged the state of my heart to
her even at the time I had lost all hopes of possessing you. And
in the spite of my own struggles, after years of confirmed
despair, I found myself still enslaved. How then could I offer a
hand, devoted as my whole soul was to another object, to a lady,
whose constant, tender, and delicate affection, demanded all the
return that a sensible and grateful heart could make? This, Madam,
is all the plea I can urge in answer to those arguments you offer
to promote your favourite wish. Consult your own delicacy, let
Miss Burchell consult hers, and then perhaps I shall stand
acquitted of ingratitude.
'I hoped, Madam, that cleared as I have been of _one_ imputation,
I might have recovered some favour in yours and Lady Bidulph's
thoughts. I was flattered with this consolation, small as it was,
when every other hope forsook me. But when an unexpected event
again brought happiness within my prospect, this reflection, I own
became of more importance, and served to strengthen my then
revived hopes. But you dash them with an unrelenting hand; and
again build up those barriers between us, that heaven itself had
overthrown. What can I say to you, inflexible as you are? has Miss
Burchell _all_ your pity? You may command my life, Madam; I would
lay it down freely for you; but I cannot, must not, will not give
up my love; and till you declare in express terms that I _must_ be
miserable, I will not even give up my hope.