'You give me pleasure, Sir; I begin to descry hopes for your and
my amiable friend. I know such a heart as Mr Faulkland's cannot
be proof against sentiments of gratitude and compassion; it will
not be difficult to convert those sentiments into love, when the
object is so deserving. Try, Sir, try; the experiment cannot fail.
How much to your honour will so noble a triumph be over an
ill-fated passion! What delightful returns may you not expect from
the obliged, the grateful partner of your happiness! Do not call
me inflexible, or rigid; filled as I am with gratitude, and a
sense of your merit, I should hate myself, if I did not acknowlege
that you deserve more from me than it can ever be in my power to
repay. I must be plain with you, since you require it; it is
impossible I ever can be yours. Sorry I am, that the necessity of
circumstances compels me to make so early a declaration, from
which I thought my present situation would have exempted me; but I
forgive you, Sir, for urging me on this head, and draw a happy
presage from your resting your hopes in relation to me, on my own
determination. You appeal to my delicacy, whether you ought, with
a heart estranged, to offer your hand to Miss Burchell? Were
delicacy alone to be consulted, the answer perhaps might be easy;
but there are superior considerations in your case to be taken in.
Love, without doubt, demands love in return; but where injured
honour is to be repaired, where the disgrace of a darling child is
to be prevented, those nicer sentiments of the soul must and ought
to give way: and I will venture to pronounce, that Miss Burchell
would, with raptures, receive the hand which would confer such
valuable blessings on her; leaving it to time, and her own
unremiting tenderness and assiduity, to get an interest in the
heart, which, by such an act, proved its own rectitude. On this
subject, I, from experience, am qualified to speak. You know, sir,
the interest you once had in me; you cannot think me so light a
creature, as to suppose I so soon after my breaking with you,
bestowed my affections on another. I did not; obedience to my
mother's commands was the sole motive which engaged my vows to Mr
Arnold; and I married him with no other sentiments, those of
esteem and gratitude for the great love he bore me. Yet from these
seeds sown in my heart, sprung a tender and ardent affection:
never did wife love a husband better than I did Mr Arnold; his
kindness merited, and _did_ win my whole affections; nor could a
temporary alienation of _his_ heart, disposses him of the place he
held in _mine_. His returning love (for which, with all
thankfulness, I own myself bound to you, Sir) made him still
dearer to me than ever, and I now profess myself wedded to his
memory. You have a right, Sir, to expect that I should explain
myself at once to you on this subject; for your own sake, and for
Miss Burchell's I must not suffer you to entertain a doubt of my
resolution. You compel me to repeat, that I think Miss Burchell
deserves your love, and has a just right to your hand. She throws
herself upon your honour, without pretending to have any _lawful_
claim; if she _had_, I should not condescend to solicit the man
who could refuse to do her justice.
'My mother is firm in her first resolves; could you place a crown
on my head, her integrity would still oblige her to reject it; nor
would a crown tempt me to forfeit the duty which I owe to her.
'See then, Sir, if that _unexpected event_, which you mention (a
fatal event to me!) has brought you nearer to your wishes; and
here let me add, in justice to my own particular sentiments, that
I think Mr Faulkland is the last man who ought to be my choice,
even if my heart were disposed to make one. Reproach me not with
ingratitude, or caprice, till I have explained myself. It is not
long, Sir (blameless and unconscious as you were of the injury,
and nobly as you repaired it) since you were the cause of a
separation between me and my husband. I know you will say that our
mutual innocence on this occasion, and the secret's being known
but to a few of our friends, makes that objection of little
weight. I grant you, with many it might be so; all minds are not
equally susceptible; 'tis my unhappiness to have a too resenting
heart. My own honour (scrupulous you might call it) would not
suffer me to let the man succeed Mr Arnold in my love, who was the
occasion of so much uneasiness to him, and the cause of my being
suspected in my fidelity. Would it not be an insult on his memory?
Oh, Sir, what is the world's opinion to the approbation of our own
hearts! Mine has never yet reproached me, and this has been my
support in all my trials. Thus much I say for the reverence I bear
my dear Mr Arnold's memory; but I have other reasons to offer in
my excuse; refinements you will call them, but my heart feels
their force. I am not the same woman you once loved; afflictions
have impaired my health, and those little advantages of person
which nature bestowed on me, have not been improved by time; my
spirits, broken by misfortunes, have left me languid and
insensible to joy. Peace is the utmost of my wish, and all that I
am now capable of relishing. The bride, whom Mr Faulkland once
sought, was in the bloom of youth, admired and caressed, by a
flattering world; unblemished in her character, her fortune equal
to her wishes, her heart, her virgin heart, was then a present
(with pride let me say it) worthy of any man's acceptance. It was
then in her power to bestow happiness, and Mr Faulkland would not
have been matched unequally. But the scene is changed; what should
I now bring to your arms? A person faded by grief; a reputation
(though undeservedly) once called in question; a little helpless
family without fortune; a widowed heart, dead to love and
incapable of pleasure. Oh, Sir! could I bear to be your wife on
such conditions? Indebted to you as I am, past a possibility of my
ever making you a return, to what a mighty sum would you raise the
obligation? How poor would you make me in my own eyes? Humbled as
I am by adversity, my soul has still too much pride, or let me
call it delicacy, to submit to this. No, if there was no Miss
Burchell in the world, no parental sway to guide me, in my present
circumstances, I never would be yours.
'You have now before you my final determination. I shall trouble
you no more on the subject. If your heart relents towards Miss
Burchell, great will be your reward. In her you are sure of a
tender, faithful, and charming friend; who will more than repay
every act of kindness towards her; and he who is the author of
justice and mercy will not fail to bless you.
'I am, &c'.
Methinks, my dear friend, I have now eased my heart of a load that
oppressed it. What can I say more? Mr Faulkland now knows my determined
purpose in regard to myself; and if he is not quite insensible, I think
Miss Burchell must at last obtain the wish of her soul. Oh, my Cecilia,
I would not have my heart devoured by such a flame as her's, for the
whole world. But have I not acted as I should do? I hope I have; I feel
satisfied with my own conduct, and I never yet found that to be the case
when I acted wrong. There are some nice points, in which our own hearts
are the best, as well as the most impartial judges. If Mr Faulkland
persists in rejecting poor Miss Burchell, I can urge him no farther; but
I am determined not to see him.
_June 25_
How uneasy has been my suspense these three days! I question if
Miss Burchell's is much greater. No answer from this strange man;
perhaps he is flown off again.--No, I wrong him, a letter is this
minute brought up to me from him--Read it, my beloved, and
congratulate me.
'You were born to conquer. Madam; what is there that you cannot
effect? My heart was made for you, and you can mould it as you
please. Enjoy your triumph, if it be one. I will receive Miss
Burchell as _your_ gift, and since I cannot obtain your love, I
will at least compel your esteem. Why should _your_ generosity,
_your_ compassion for an unhappy lady, to whom you have no
obligation, exceed that of a man who owns himself bound to her in
gratitude? I wish I could repay her the debt of love I owe her,
but I will try to repair my fault hereafter; and in her gentle
bosom perhaps I may recover that peace, to which I have been so
long a stranger. She will forgive the waywardness of a heart,
which never disguised its anguish to her; and which she knows has
been torn by a cruel passion, that, like a cruel disease, was not
either to be resisted or subdued. But thanks to you, Madam, I
think I begin to feel my cure approaching. Miss Burchell's
tenderness will finish what you have begun. You shall never
reproach me more; if I _ever_ had an interest in your heart, I
will not forfeit it now, but make that proud heart acknowledge,
spite of itself, that Faulkland was not unworthy of it.'
Ha! my Cecilia, what do you say to my Orlando now? _My_ Orlando let me
this once call him. Has he not a noble mind? Happy! happy Miss Burchell!
you are at length arrived to the summit of your wishes. Long may you
enjoy them, and may you make your love as blest as he deserves to be! My
mother clasped her hands together in joy, when I read this letter to
her. God bless him, God bless him, said she; he is now indeed a
righteous man. How rejoiced I am, my dear, that I have been the means of
bringing about his so-much-wished-for event. And yet, methinks, if I
were in Miss Burchell's place, though my heart doated on the man to
death, I could not receive him on such terms. He accepts her as _my_
gift; it is to raise himself in my esteem, he does her justice: Nay, I
think the assuming man seems to insinuate a sort of superiority over
me, by this concession. Why let it be so, I shall be content in my
humiliation, if _my_ gift will restore him to his peace. If it does,
which I pray heaven it may, ought he not to think himself indebted to
me?
I think I should not let Miss Burchell see this last letter; he does not
consent with a good grace; and it may damp her joy. Though, upon second
thoughts, I question whether she has delicacy enough to be much affected
by this circumstance.
* * * * *
I am saved the trouble of observing any decorum towards Miss Burchell.
She has been just here wild with transport; and was several minutes in
the room before I could get her to speak coherently. She had received a
letter from Mr Faulkland, written by his own angelic hand, she said. She
made no difficulty of leaving it with me, and here it is.
Mr Faulkland's letter to Miss Burchell.
'Is it possible, Madam, that I can still be dear to you, careless
and remiss as I have been towards you, since you first honoured me
with your affection? If you can forgive this, I am ready to offer
you my hand; and hope, by devoting my future days to you, to make
you amends for those years, during which (deserving as you are) I
have withheld that heart which was your due.
'I never had any merit towards you but my sincerity; and I will
not now give up that virtue to arrogate to myself another to which
I have no title. I own to you, Madam, that it is to Mrs Arnold's
superior prudence, and nice honour, I am beholden for being
brought to a just sense of your worth, and my own obligations to
you. If you will give me leave to attend you this afternoon, you
will receive a man filled with sentiments of gratitude and esteem
for you, and who is determined by his future conduct, to deserve a
continuance of your love.
'I am, &c.'
I congratulated Miss Burchell (after reading this letter) on her
approaching felicity. She had not words to express her acknowlegements
to me. The service I had rendered her was indeed to her a most important
one; and there are some occasions where _words_ are of no use; Miss
Burchell can be eloquent without them. She embraced me a thousand times,
and wept in tender transport on my neck.
My mother is as much delighted at this happy event, as if it immediately
concerned her own welfare. She recommended it to Miss Burchell, to have
her little boy with her when Mr Faulkland came to visit her. It seems he
has not seen the child since his last return to England: he did not care
to go to the house where it was boarded, for fear of drawing any
observation on himself to Miss Burchell's prejudice; and the people
never permitted the child to be taken abroad by any one but Miss
Burchell (who passes for its aunt) or Mr Faulkland's house-keeper; but
this good woman, happening to be sick when he came to town, Mr Faulkland
had not an opportunity of sending for it.
Miss Burchell greatly approved of the motion, and flew from us to
prepare for this so much desired interview.
And now, Cecilia, do you not think Mr Faulkland has proved himself a
disinterested (lover shall I say) of your Sidney? Indeed he has given a
noble testimony of his esteem and deference for me, as well as he
formerly did of his affection. If Miss Burchell does not render herself
worthy of him, how shall I hate myself for having brought about this
union! But she loves him too ardently, and is herself too lovely, not to
get possession of his heart, when it becomes his duty, as well as his
interest, to give it up to her. All acquaintance between her and me,
must now cease: for her sake, as well as Mr Faulkland's, this will be
necessary; my presence may disturb, but can never contribute to the
tranquillity of either of them.
_June 26_
Miss Burchell was in too much haste to communicate her joy to us, to
defer giving an account of what passed between her and Mr Faulkland
yesterday evening. She hurried to us last night, at almost ten o'clock.
He came to her house, she said, at six, the hour she had appointed him;
and looked _so_ enchantingly. She herself was dressed out very elegantly
to receive him, and I thought looked really charming; her countenance
was so lighted up with joy, that she did not appear the same woman.
She had endeavoured, she said, to compose herself for this interview,
and had tried to assume something of dignity; but it all vanished when
her conqueror approached, and the tumult of her heart so intirely
banished all recollection, and presence of mind, that she was not able
to tell me in what manner she received him. She only knows, she says,
that having snatched up her little boy, who stood by her and hung on her
gown, she put him into his father's arms, and bidding the babe thank him
for his goodness, she burst into tears. Mr Faulkland tenderly embraced
the child, not without a visible emotion of countenance; and having
gently set him down again, he placed himself by Miss Burchell's side:
She was still sobbing. Those generous tears, Madam, said he, taking her
by the hand, reproach me too much: I have not deserved this tenderness;
I cannot look upon you, nor that dear boy, without blushing, but you
have forgiven me: it shall be the study of my life to make you both
happy. Oh! Madam, continued Miss Burchell, what an exquisite joy must
such a declaration give me from the beloved of my soul. I wrung his
hand; Oh, Sir, you are too good: What return can I make you? One thing
only say to me, that you do not offer me a _very_ reluctant hand, and I
shall then be the happiest of women.
Mr Faulkland paused a little while, and then, with a noble frankness,
replied: 'You know, my dear Miss Burchell, with what an excess of
passion I have ever loved Mrs Arnold: Had no such woman existed, _you_
would have been my choice, preferably to any other: but when I first
knew you, I looked upon myself as bound to her, though, at that time, I
had never seen her: my knowledge of her afterwards confirmed me her's. I
made no secret of this to you, and you may remember what my declarations
to you were, even at the time my hopes were frustrated. I have loved her
fervently ever since; even in the arms of a husband I adored her; and I
will be candid enough to own to you, that, as my attachment to her has,
during all that time, estranged me from you, so should I still, had I
the least hopes of succeeding, have persisted in my suit. But she has
cut off all hope; she has declared she can never be mine, and at the
same time has represented my obligations to you in so strong a light,
that I am convinced I ought to be your's. And let me own, Madam (you who
are generous, and know what it is to love, will pardon a declaration
which I durst not make to any other woman) to you I will confess that
Mrs Arnold is arbitress of my fate; and in approving myself to her, I do
so to my own conscience. I do not therefore, though my actions have been
guided by her, yield with reluctance to her will; her virtue, her
religion, and enlarged mind, have only dictated to me, what my own
reason tells me I ought to do. I have been a slave to a hopeless passion
too long; I am now resolved to struggle with my chains: you, Madam, must
assist me in breaking them entirely; and I make no doubt but that time,
joined to my own efforts, and aided by your sweetness of disposition,
your tenderness, and admirable sense, will enable me to conquer what I
must now call a weakness, and make the triumph equally happy for us
both. But remember, Madam, I never see Mrs Arnold more. 'Tis for your
peace sake as well as my own, that I make this a preliminary to our
marriage. I will, when you shall vouchsafe me the honour of your hand,
receive it, if you please, from Lady Bidulph; and as I presume it will
be agreeable to you to have the ceremony intirely private, that I may,
for our dear little boy's sake, present you rather as my acknowleged
wife, than as my new made bride, I will, with the utmost speed and
secrecy, have such dispositions made, as shall be suitable to my
condition, and your own merit.
'I should like, after we are united, if you have no objection to it, to
pay a visit for a while to an estate I have in Ireland; which I have
never yet seen, and which I intended to have looked at, if this event,
this happy event (and he kissed my hand) had not taken place.'
Penetrated as I was, pursued Miss Burchell, with a sense of the
generosity and openness of his heart, I could not forbear raising his
hand to my lips; he tenderly withdrew it from me, as if abashed at my
condescension. He then turned the discourse to less interesting
subjects, and after three delightful hours spent with me, took his
leave; not without having first fixed on Wednesday, next Wednesday, to
be the blessed day that is to make him mine for ever.
Happy, happy may you be, said I! you _must_ be happy; but let me see you
once again before you are Mrs Faulkland: there are not many hours to
come before that name will be yours. My dear Madam! said she, and patted
my bosom with her hand, I hope all is well _here_; she looked earnestly
in my face, and then added, but you have a noble heart. 'Tis an honest
one I hope, said I, a little disconcerted at her manner. Why did she
address me thus, my dear? I hope I did not discover any thing in my
behaviour as if I repined her good fortune; if I did, far be such a
wretched meanness from the heart of thy friend. Was it not my own act to
make Miss Burchell the happy woman she now thinks herself? Yet I own
there is something in Mr Faulkland's conduct which has raised my esteem
to admiration. Oh may his future days be blessed, else shall I indeed be
wretched!
My mother told Miss Burchell, it would give her inexpressive
satisfaction to bestow her in marriage on Mr Faulkland; and desired she
would let her know to-morrow at what time and place the ceremony as to
be performed. She answered, at her own house, as she could be no where
else so private; and that Mr Faulkland would engage for the purpose a
clergyman, a particular friend of his, and fellow-collegian, on whose
discretion he could rely.
Miss Burchell's spirits were too much exhilarated to let her think of
rest; she staid with us till it was very late, and having taken occasion
to mention how grieved she was at the thoughts of losing my society, and
of the necessity Mr Faulkland expressed himself under of never seeing me
more, my mother took that opportunity of gravely entering into the
subject of matrimonial duties. She highly applauded Mr Faulkland's
resolution on that head, and told Miss Burchell, it ought exceedingly to
enhance his merit towards her. Let this be a memorandum to you, my dear
Madam, said she, how sacred the bond is to be held that is now going to
unite you: He will not, you see, run the hazard of being tempted, even
in thought, to swerve from that faith which he is going to plight to
you; your situation is delicate, and it will require the utmost prudence
and circumspection on your part, to secure such an interest in his heart
as he now seems inclined to give you. It is not on your personal charms
that you are to rely, for subduing, or preserving the affections of such
a man as he is. They alone, you see, were not able to effect this: it is
to Mr Faulkland's honour rather than his love, that you are now obliged
for the justice he has done you: never let this be out of your thoughts;
be grateful, but let your gratitude have dignity in it; and by your
behaviour convince your husband that honour was with you a first motive
to wish this union, love will then come in with a better grace as a
secondary inducement.
The freedom of my mother's observations, and instructions, I was not
surprized at, because she always speaks her mind; but the emphasis with
which she delivered herself was unusual. Miss Burchell expressed herself
as obliged to her, and joined intirely in her opinion; I could perceive,
however, she was not pleased with the lecture.
When Miss Burchell was gone, my mother told me, she thought it necessary
to speak as she had done. Miss Burchell, said she, is not _quite_ the
girl I took her for; so much modesty and reserve, I thought I had never
met with in a young creature before; when she used to speak of Mr
Faulkland, it was with affection indeed, but with such a nice decorum as
convinced me of the innocence and purity of her heart. But of late I
have observed she has been less delicate in her expressions of
tenderness; such passionate flights have sometimes broke from her, as I
did not think becoming in a young woman, and which indeed almost
offended me; and this night her joy has been ungoverned. Great reason
she has for joy 'tis true; but there are some considerations which ought
to have made her chasten that joy into a sober, and, at least seemingly,
moderate satisfaction. She loves Mr Faulkland, but let her beware of
disgusting a man of his sense by too strong an expression of her
fondness.
My mother's observation, and her uncommonly forcible manner of
expressing it, struck me prodigiously. It is true I had made the same
remarks myself, but as you know she is not extremely penetrating, and in
general, but a superficial observer, I was the more surprized at what
she said. Miss Burchell's behaviour must have been formerly very
different from what it now is, to have made my mother so sensible of the
change. _Some considerations_, she said, ought to have made her chasten
her joy. Perhaps, she meant no more than that the young lady, even in
the midst of that joy, had, upon reflection, cause for humiliation. I
hope, she did not think that her gaiety on this desired event affected
me, who had so warmly promoted it. My mother is too open not to give the
full meaning of her thoughts. This may be only the suggestion of my own
fancy, yet it has mortified me. I had but little rest last night, and
rose this morning by day-light, to throw together in writing the above
particulars.
_June 27_
Miss Burchell came not to us till late this evening; pleasure danced in
her eyes. I whispered to her, We rejoice with you, dear Madam,
sincerely rejoice, at your approaching felicity; but our present state
will not suffer us to keep pace with you in that gaiety, however
justifiable it may be from the cause: restrain yourself a little; my
mother will not think you kind, as we are so soon to part with you.
She smiled, and thanking me for the hint, immediately composed her
features to such a decorum (I will not call it demureness) that it was
impossible to discover she was agitated by any extraordinary emotion.
I own, I was amazed at the command she so suddenly assumed over
her countenance. I was glad, however, she did so, that my mother
might not have fresh cause of dislike towards her.
She told us that Mr Faulkland had settled a thousand pounds a
year on her, and that too without ever having informed himself of the
state of her fortune: for, in the hurry of her thoughts, she had
neglected to mention it to him: (Generous man! whispered I to
myself.) She then, with great gravity, applied herself to my mother,
and told her, she hoped for the honour of her presence, the next
morning, at her own house; where the ceremony was to be
performed, before no other witnesses but her ladyship, and the
gentlewoman, who had been Mr Faulkland's housekeeper; and that
the following day they purposed retiring to Mr Faulkland's seat in
Hertfordshire, and, after a short stay there, to set out for Ireland.
My mother commended Mr Faulkland's diligence, for having so
suddenly disposed every thing for this important event, and told our
friend she would not fail to attend her at the appointed time.
Miss Burchell's behaviour was extremely composed; she either
really was, or affected to be, extremely sorry at parting with me; she
could not stay long with us, she said, as she had many things to settle
in the remaining part of that evening. On taking leave of me, I shall
not see you again, worthiest of women, said she, at least, for many
months; but my love, my respect, and my gratitude towards you will
be as lasting as my life. You shall hear often from me, and be so good
as sometimes to tell me I am not forgotten. She embraced me with
tears in her eyes, but I thought she tripped down stairs to her chair, as
if her heart was very light.
My mother liked her deportment; she said, she believed the
flightiness of her behaviour before, was owing to her being quite
intoxicated with the suddenness of her joy, on so unexpected a turn
of fortune; but that since she had time for recollection, she had
recovered her wonted bashful and sober air, with which she used to
be so delighted. My mother says, she will contrive to carry a rich
white brocade gown with her, in order to slip it on at Miss Burchell's
house; for she would not, on any consideration, appear in mourning
on this joyful occasion. You know the reverence she has for omens.
_June 28_
The important event is over, my Cecilia. Miss Burchell is now Mrs
Faulkland. My mother is just returned, and saw the nuptial knot tied.
The lady, she said, looked very lovely; and it was easy to observe she
gave her hand with all her heart. Mr Faulkland's behaviour was polite
and unconstrained; but his attention to his bride was more gallant than
tender; and his whole deportment was that of a man who seemed to
endeavour at acquitting himself with a good grace of an act of duty,
rather than of inclination. The latter part of the observation is mine,
not my mother's; but I collected it from certain little particulars,
which she related to me in her own way, without drawing any inference
from them.
He thanked her in a most respectful manner for the honour she had done
him, and for her former friendship to Miss Burchell; but did not once
mention my name. So much the better; I hope he will forget me.
My mother is mighty alert on the occasion, and felicitates both herself
and me on our having brought about this very important affair. She
joined heartily with me in praying that the new-married pair may be
happy in each other. She is quite reconciled to Mr Faulkland. What a
pity it was, said she--and stopped; then added, But every thing is for
the best. I understood her, but made no reply.
They go out of town to-morrow morning; all happiness attend them!
I expect Sir George will be quite outrageous about this marriage.
My second refusal of his friend, with the addition of his now being
wedded, through my persuasion, to a woman my brother never could
endure, will, I fear, exasperate him beyond a possibility of
reconciliation. I cannot help it; I have acted agreeably to the dictates
of my duty; that must be my consolation: life is in itself a warfare, _my_
life has been particularly so.
_July 8_
My mother is far from being well; her spirits have been a little
heightened for these few days past, but her disorder I see gains ground:
the swelling in her legs is returning, and her rest at night quite
broken. I am hourly habituating myself to think of her dissolution; or,
in other words, am preparing myself for the worst evil that can now
befal me. I hope I shall find myself equal to the trial.
_July 10_
Here is a storm for you my dear; a letter from Sir George. I wanted such
a thing to rouse me from the almost lethargic dulness that was creeping
on me. Mr Faulkland has acquainted him with his marriage. Pray observe
his brotherly address.