I asked Mr Price, what Mr Ware's demand on him might amount to?

He said, four hundred pounds, which was what he had received from him,

since his father's death.

Take courage, Sir, said I, you shall not long remain here.

Ah! Madam, cried he, may God be the rewarder of your goodness! but my

enemy is a hardened man; he is not to be influenced by honour or virtue.

I perceived by this that the poor gentleman had no thought of my paying

his debt, but supposed I would endeavour to soften Mr Ware on his

account. Have a little patience, said I, and we will try what is to be

done.

I requested he would give me Mr Ware's letter, wherein he promised to

make good his first proposal, if he would consent to yield up his

daughter to him.

I took my leave, and slipped my purse, which had ten guineas in it, into

his daughter's hand as I went down stairs.

As soon as I returned home, I sent for Mr Warner, and related to him

circumstantially the distresses of this worthy father and child. His

honest indignation burst forth against the base betrayer of them both;

honest I must call it, though he vented his wrath in oaths and

execrations on his head.

These are proper objects, said I, to exercise our humanity on; I mean to

pay his debt, and make the remnant of his days comfortable. You are a

good girl, said, he, you know my purse is open to you.

Oh, Sir, said I, there is no need to tax your generosity upon this

occasion, the two thousand pounds you so lately gave me is but little

diminished. Psha, psha, said he, I gave you that to make ducks and

drakes of; it is not to go into the account; you know your quarter's

income is commenced, you may have what you will.

I begged he would immediately write to Mr Ware, who is now at Bath, and

make him a tender of his money, that we might get the poor man

discharged from confinement as soon as possible.

I gave him that vile fellow's letter, and advised him to let him know

that he was acquainted with the whole truth of the story; which,

perhaps, might frighten him into better terms than insisting on his

whole demand.

Mr Warner said, there was a merchant of his acquaintance at Bristol, to

whom he would write immediately, and order him to pay the money

directly, if it was insisted on. He said, he knew his friend would

readily undertake the thing, and execute it as soon as possible.

He called for pen, ink, and paper, and wrote before me the following

letter to his correspondent, which, as he left it with me to seal, and

send it to the post-office, I first copied.

'Dear Sir,

'I beg immediately on the receipt of this, you will take the

trouble of riding to Bath, and there enquire for a man of fortune,

one Ware, who is the greatest villain in England, and you may tell

him I say so. He has kept a poor honest clergyman starving in jail

this year and a half, because he would not sell his daughter to

him. He pretends the parson owes him four hundred pounds, which is

a lie; for though he received that sum from him, it was paid him

for value received by agreement. However, as the man can have no

redress, I request you would immediately tender him that sum, and

get a discharge, for I will have the poor fellow out.

I herewith send you inclosed a letter which that scoundrel Ware

wrote; pray shew it to him, as a token that the parson's case is

known, and that he has got friends to stand by him.

Your speedy execution of this affair, and answer, will oblige,

'Your friend and servant,

'EDWARD WARNER.'

To Mr William Blow,

merchant, at Bristol.

London, March 14, 1707-8.

My honest kinsman desired I would immediately send this letter off. I

suppose his correspondent will have more discretion than to let Mr Ware

see the contents, but I hope we shall have a good account of this

negotiation.

_March 22_

I have been very impatient, my Cecilia, for an answer to Mr Warner's odd

letter, and this day he received one. His friend at Bristol I take it

for granted acted very prudently, for he says, that having _waited_ on

Mr Ware (which word Mr Warner took great exceptions to) he acquainted

him with his commission, and at the same time produced his letter to Mr

Price by way of identifying the person, as Mr Ware at first seemed not

to recollect any thing of the matter. He said, Mr Ware blushed upon

seeing his own letter, in the hands of a stranger; Aye, I remember the

silly affair now, said he; the man is an old hypocrite, and his daughter

is a young one; but as I never meant to ruin him, I will forgive him the

debt; and accordingly wrote a full acquittal, which the merchant

transmitted with his answer.

Nothing now remained but to pay the usual fees, and get the poor old

gentleman out as fast as we could. Mr Warner undertook to do what was

proper on the occasion, and instantly set out it with an alacrity that

shewed the goodness of his heart.

How wonderfully shame operates on some minds! this wretched man, Ware,

whom neither the laws of God nor man could restrain, has, by this single

passion alone, been subdued. He found his base conduct was known by

people whom he could not impose on; and his forgiving the pretended

debt, no doubt, was meant as a bribe to prevent his disgrace from being

propagated: for though he could sit down and enjoy himself under the

accumulated guilt of fraud, perfidy, cruelty, oppression, and

ingratitude; he was not proof against the reproach and ridicule of the

world. This shews at least that he was not long practised in crimes of

this sort.

_March 24_

I did not see Mr Warner again till this morning, when he entered my room

making flourishes with his hands. Mr Price and his daughter were with

him--Here they are for you, said he, and it has done my heart good to

deliver such honest people from their misery.

The good old man poured forth such fervent prayers, and thanks for my

goodness towards them, that my heart exulted with rapture, at being the

means of conferring such happiness, as this worthy parent and child

seemed to enjoy. The young girl's gratitude was silent, but not less

ardent than her father's. She had kneeled down before me, and kissed my

hands. I was greatly touched with the humility and tenderness of her

acknowlegement.

I put an end to the grateful effusions of these honest hearts. I have

done but little for you, said I, as yet; as Mr Ware had the grace to

refuse the offered sum, I shall apply that money which I intended for

him to your future use, or your liberty will avail you but little.

We shall think of some method of settling you comfortably for life; in

the mean while your daughter and you shall be welcome to live with me.

I stopped him from renewing his thanks, and insisted on his saying no

more on that subject. The poor old gentleman is extremely feeble and

languishing from his long confinement, but I hope with proper care, as

he is naturally strong, he will recover his health.

_April 1_

What true delight springs from benevolent actions, my dear! I never

expected such heart-felt satisfaction as I have received from restoring

comfort to these truly deserving people. I have bought the young lady

some new clothes, plain, but genteel; and you cannot imagine what a

pretty creature she is, now she is dressed. I find the old gentleman a

man of admirable understanding, and great reading. He has a simplicity

in his manner that is truly engaging, but at the same time a politeness

that shews he is no stranger to the great world. Of his integrity he has

given convincing proofs. Praised be the Lord! who has made me, and

honest Mr Warner, the instruments of delivering such a man from the

depths of affliction. He mends apace in his health, but I am afraid he

will never recover the use of his hand; though, as it is not painful, it

seems not to give him any uneasiness.--

_April 10_

I am infinitely charmed with the conversation of this couple; for the

girl is very sensible, and prettily accomplished. I wish she were

married to some honest man that knew her value; for I find she has still

terrors on Mr Ware's account, nor is her father without his

apprehensions.

He said to me to-day, if I were to die, Madam, I would conjure you as

my last request to take my daughter into your service. With such a

pattern before her she must be virtuous, and with such a protector I am

sure she would be safe.

I told him he might rely on me, but that I hoped he would live long

enough to see her happily disposed of in marriage.

If I could see that day, said he, I should then have no other worldly

care to disturb me.

Here, my dearest Cecilia, I will close my very long narrative. The

pacquet is already swelled to an enormous size, but you never think them

too large.

_May 14_

After so many trifles, my dear, as my journal for nearly a month past

contained, you will be glad of something a little more serious. I

mentioned in my last week's journal, that I had cast my eyes on a young

man, who I thought would make a suitable match for Miss Price, if he

were approved of by her, and her father. This person is a linen-draper

in the Strand, a second brother of my Patty's. You can't have forgot

Harry Main, my dear, whom we both knew as a boy, remarkable for his

sober behaviour, modesty, and sweetness of temper. He is just now out of

his time, and his eldest brother has set him up in a handsome shop. You

may be sure I am his customer. 'Tis on this lad then that I have turned

my thoughts, as a fit husband for the amiable girl. I went yesterday

morning to buy some linen for Miss Price, and carried her with me, as I

had done once or twice before. After we made our markets, I told young

Main, with a freedom which a long acquaintance gave me, that I thought

he was so well settled, he wanted nothing but a good wife to complete

his happiness. He replied, he should think himself very happy if he

could light on some good young woman as a partner for life. Why do you

not look out for one, said I? They are not so hard to be come at. I

believe, Madam, he answered, I must get some one else to do it for me,

my friends laugh at me and say I am too bashful to speak for myself, but

I fancy were I to meet with a person that really touched my heart, I

should make a shift to find courage enough to tell her so.

And have you never yet seen such a person, said I? He blushed, and by an

involuntary motion his eyes were turned on Miss Price, of whom I

concluded his sister Patty, as she often visits him, had given him the

history. He said if I commanded him to tell his secret, I should know it

another time.

This was enough; I asked in a jocose way, would he take a wife of my

chusing? Sooner than of any body's in the world, Madam, he replied.

We took our leave, and I asked Patty when I went home, whether she had

ever mentioned any thing about Miss Price to her brother? Poor Patty

coloured for fear she had committed a fault, but owned directly she had

told him every circumstance of her story; her brother having been very

inquisitive about her, from the first time he had seen her with me; and

added, that she believed he was down-right in love with her.

I told her if Miss Price liked her brother, and her father did not

disapprove the match, I saw no reason why they might not make each other

happy, as I should give Miss Price a fortune worth a young man's

acceptance.

Patty said, she was sure her brother would rejoice at the offer, and

that she herself could not wish him to make a better choice.

It only remained now to know how the young lady herself stood affected

towards him. I put Patty (for whom Miss Price had conceived a great

affection) upon this task. I thought she would speak her mind with less

reserve to her, as I feared the obligation she thought herself under to

me, might have such an influence on her gratitude, as to prevent that

freedom which I wished her to use; for I was resolved not to put the

least shadow of constraint on her inclinations.

Patty succeeded so well, that without seeming to have any design in it,

she drew a confession from Miss Price very much in her brother's favour.

Being now sure that the young people liked each other, I thought I might

open my design to the old gentleman, which I did in few words. How the

good man was delighted with the happy prospect which his

deservedly-beloved daughter had before her! he has left the affair

intirely to me, so that I hope to have the girl disposed of very much to

all our satisfaction.

_May 18_

I am charmed with Mr Warner's noble behaviour. I claim an interest, said

he, in these honest creatures that you have taken under your protection.

I like the old fellow mightily, and admire the little girl so much,

that, if you had not provided a better husband for her, I should have

been half tempted to have taken her myself; but since it is as it is,

we must do handsomely by her.

I told him I had enquired into the young man's circumstances, and found

that about a thousand pounds would set him forward extremely well, and

that this was the portion I intended to give him with the young

gentlewoman.

Well said he, I believe that will do; but I must make the poor thing a

present myself for wedding-trinkets. And the old man too, must we not

take care of him?

Dear Sir, said I, how good you are? You would remind me of my duty, if I

myself were forgetful of it. But I have already settled a hundred pounds

a year on him.

Is that enough, said he? will it make the good fellow easy?

Oh, Sir, it exceeds his wishes; he intends to live with his daughter, as

his growing infirmities require her tender care.

Every thing is to be this day settled. Mr Price is exceedingly pleased

with his son-in-law elect; and the wedding will be no longer delayed,

than till Mr Main receives the answer to those letters which he has

wrote to his friends in the country, to apprize them of his approaching

marriage.

_May 26_

I am sure my dear Cecilia will rejoice with her friend in the

acquisition she has received to her own happiness by conferring so much

on a worthy family. The bride is this day gone home to her own house;

her delighted father with her. Their prayers and blessings, poured out

from truly grateful and virtuous hearts, remain with me. A reward, my

dear, and a rich one too, for the self-satisfying part I have acted.

My worthy Patty, whose merit alone raises her much above her station, I

shall no longer consider as my servant. She has been my friend in the

tenderest and most enlarged sense of the word, and she shall continue

so. I have hired another maid to wait on me, and with a sort of merry

ceremony enfranchised Patty on the day of her brother's marriage; for I

had her dressed elegantly as bride's maid to her new sister, and she sat

on her right-hand at the wedding dinner. I look on her as my companion,

but I cannot persuade her to forget that I was her mistress. She shews

this by actions, not by words.

[Here follows an interval of thirteen months, in which nothing material

to the thread of the story occurs. The journal contains only a

continued series of such actions, as shewed the noble and pious use

which Mrs Arnold made of the great fortune which providence had blessed

her with. The rest is filled up with a variety of little incidents, many

of them relative to her brother and his lady, to Mr Warner, and several

letters from Lady V----, with whom she constantly corresponded. At the

end of that period the journal proceeds thus.]

_June 28, 1708_

And shall I really be so blessed, my ever beloved Cecilia, as to see you

at the time you mention? Oh, my dear, after an absence of five long

years, how my heart bounds with joy at your approach! The two months

that are to intervene before we meet will appear very tedious to me. But

it is always so with happiness, that is within our view. Before I

expected you, though I regretted your absence, yet did I patiently

acquiesce under it, and could entertain my thoughts with other objects;

but I am now, I cannot tell you how anxious and impatient to see you.

And yet, my Cecilia, we shall have nothing new to say to each other,

knowing as we both do every circumstance of each other's life since we

parted. Mine has been a strange one; but my lot is now fallen on a fair

ground, where, I hope it will please heaven to continue me whilst I am

to remain in this world. The noble, I may almost call it, princely

fortune that my kinsman has settled on me, will enable me to leave my

children greatly provided for, whenever it shall be God's pleasure to

call me away. Let me but live to embrace my Cecilia, and then,

providence, thy will be done!

_June 29_

Gracious God! for what I am yet reserved? My trembling hand can scarce

hold my pen, but I will try to tell you the event which yesterday

produced.

I was but just set down to dinner; nobody with me but Patty and my

children. A note was brought into me, which, they said came by a porter,

who waited for an answer. I opened and read it. My eyes were struck with

the unlooked for name of Orlando Faulkland at the bottom; the contents

filled me with terror and surprize. I know not what I have done with the

note, but he informed me in it that he was just arrived in town, and

begged I would appoint an hour that evening to see him alone, adding,

that his arrival was, and must be, a secret to every body but me.

Troubled and shocked as I was, I returned for answer, by the same

messenger, that I should expect him at six o'clock. I need not tell you

how I passed the interval 'till that hour. It was impossible for me,

amidst a thousand conjectures, to form one which could probably occasion

this amazing visit. So strangely introduced! so unthought of! and from

one I imagined to be in another kingdom.

Precisely at six o'clock, I heard a coach stop at the door; Patty was in

the way to receive him, and presently Mr Faulkland himself entered the

drawing-room. Distraction was in his looks! I rose to receive him, but

shook from head to foot; and I felt the blood forsaking my face. He ran

to me, as if with a design to salute me, but started back without making

the offer. I made a motion to a chair for him, and sat down myself, for

I was not able to stand. You are welcome to England, Sir, I am glad to

see you--scarce knowing what I said. I hope your lady is well? He looked

wildly, as if in horror at the question. Then suddenly catching both my

hands, he fell on his knees before me, his eyes fixed mournfully on my

face, and it was some time before he could answer.

I could not speak; I burst into tears:--there was something dreadful in

his silence. He kissed both my hands, but I withdrew them from him. Sir,

Sir, speak I conjure you. You shock me to death! I see I have, said he;

and I am afraid to proceed: you will die at the relation. For God's

sake, Sir, explain yourself.--

You see a man, said he, whose life is forfeited to the law--My wife is

dead--and by my hand--.

I don't know whether he said more, for I fainted away. It seems he did

not call for any help, but by his own endeavours at last brought me to

myself, and I found him weeping bitterly over me.

The sound of the last horrid words I had heard him speak still rung in

my ears. I begged him to explain them.

That wife, said he, that woman whom _you_ persuaded me to marry, I

caught in adultery, and I punished the villain who had wronged me with

death. She shared in his fate, though without my intending it. For this

act of justice, which the law will deem murder, I myself must die, and I

am come but to take a last look.--What recompence then can you make the

man, whom you have brought to misery, shame and death?

His looks, and the tone of voice with which he spoke this, made my blood

run cold, and my heart die within me.

I wrung my hands, and redoubling my tears, I do not need your

reproaches, said I, to make me the most miserable woman on earth--What

recompence indeed _can_ I make you--None, none, but to tell you that if

you will fly this instant, my fortune will be at your disposal, and I

will take care to supply you in what part soever of the world you shall

chuse for your residence.

And can you after all that is past, said he, persist in such barbarity

as to drive me from you? or are you determined to see me perish here? If

that be so, I will soon rid you of this miserable hated wretch.

He drew his sword like a madman, and with a dreadful imprecation, which

made me shudder, swore that if I did not that minute, promise to bear

him company in his flight, he would plunge it into his breast, and die

before my eyes.--Good God, what a scene of horror was this! I will, I

will, I cried, I will go with you to the farthest verge of the earth. I

catched his arm, fell down on my knees, and was more mad, if possible

than himself.

I begged of him to put up his sword, which he did, seeing me almost dead

with fear. You know, said he, the means of dying are always in my own

power; take care you do not trifle with me, nor plead in excuse for

falsifying your promise, that you made it to save me from immediate

destruction.

I beseeched him to calm himself a little, and to permit me to send for

my brother. Sir George you know has an intire affection for you, said I,

you may trust him with your life in safety.

I had forgot him, said he; poor Bidulph! he will be afflicted when he

hears my story.

I instantly wrote a line to my brother requesting to see him

immediately. By good fortune he was home, and came to me directly.

In the mean time, as I saw Mr Faulkland's mind was exceedingly

disturbed, I endeavoured, by giving him an account of my own situation,

to divert his thoughts from the trouble that preyed on them; for I was

apprehensive of his relapsing into the same phrenzy that had so much

terrified me, if I touched on the cause, and therefore chose to defer

enquiring into the particulars of his misfortune, till my brother should

be present.

Sir George was equally astonished with me at the sight of Mr Faulkland;

they embraced tenderly; poor Mr Faulkland wept upon my brother's neck.

It was easy to discover he laboured under some extraordinary affliction.

My brother looked at me as if for an explanation; he seemed to guess at

least part of the fatal truth. Are you come to England alone, Faulkland,

said he? I prevented the reply; he is alone, said I, he has a dreadful

story to relate to you. Mrs Faulkland is dead. I durst not ask the

manner of her death, till you were by, to calm the transports of your

friend.

My heart forebodes, answered my brother, addressing himself to Mr

Faulkland, that the ungrateful woman you married has betrayed you. She

did, replied Mr Faulkland, but I did not mean to stain my hands with her

blood, perfidious as she was; her death be on her own head.

Sir George looked astonished; that she is dead I rejoice said he, but

how my dear Faulkland, were you accessary to it?

We were that instant interrupted. Mr Warner passing by, called to ask me

how I did, and as my brother's chariot stood at the door, I could not be

denied to him, though I had ordered that nobody should be let in.

I was called down to him, and indeed was not sorry to have an excuse for

absenting myself a while, for my spirits were quite overpowered.

Mr Warner quickly observed that something extraordinary had happened,

and as he was already acquainted with the greatest part of Mr

Faulkland's history, some particulars relative to his wife excepted, I

made no scruple, relying on his prudence and secrecy, of telling him the

cause of my present distress; in which he seemed to take a friendly and

even paternal share.

When he was gone, I returned to the room where I had left my brother and

his friend. They both seemed in extreme agitation, they were walking

about.

This is an unfortunate affair, said my brother, and may be attended with

dreadful consequences, if Faulkland does not shew more regard to his own

safety, than he seems inclined to do. I have been persuading him to

retire to a place which I can provide for him, where he may lye

concealed for a day or two, till he is recovered from the fatigue of his

journey; for he has travelled night and day for these three days without

sleeping.

Sir George looked at me, and by a sorrowful sign which he made, I

apprehended he feared his unhappy friend's head was disturbed.

For heaven's sake, Sir, said I, be advised by my brother, who loves you;

suffer him to conduct you to some place of security; when you have had a

little repose we will both come to you, and concert such measures as

shall be best for your safety.

He snatched my hand, Sir George is my true friend, said he, take care

that you do not deceive me. I find myself giddy for want of rest. I am

satisfied to be disposed of for to-night how you please. But give me

your word of honour that I shall see you in the morning.

You shall indeed, Sir, I replied.

Depend upon it, answered Sir George, I'll bring her to you myself.

He looked irresolute, and as if he knew not what to say; then turning to

my brother, and leaning on his shoulder, Do, dear Bidulph, carry me to

some place where I may lie down, for my spirits can hold out no longer.

Come, said Sir George, taking him under the arm, my chariot is at the

door, I will bring you to a house where you may be quiet at home.

Mr Faulkland rivetted his eyes on me, as my brother led him out of the

room, but he did not speak.

Sir George whispered me that he would return again. They went into the

chariot together and drove away.

It was ten o'clock before my brother returned. He told me he had lodged

Mr Faulkland safely at a friend's house in whom he could confide, as he

did not think his own, in case of a search, a place of security.

He said he had seen him in bed, and hoped a little sleep would compose

his mind, which seemed very much disturbed. I requested my brother to

give me the particulars of that terrible affair, which Mr Faulkland had

mentioned. Sir George related to me what follows, though Mr Faulkland,

he said, told the story but incoherently.

Mr Faulkland said he had no reason to be displeased with his wife's

conduct for more than a year after their marriage; her affection for him

seemed lively and sincere; and he had made her the most grateful

returns, it being the study of his life to render her happy. Her love

abated not of its ardor, and he had all the reason in the world to

imagine himself intirely possessed of her heart.

Whilst Mr Faulkland's house in the country was building, he had been

invited by a neighbouring gentleman, who lived at the distance of about

three miles from his own place, to stay at his house; which obliging

offer Mr Faulkland had readily accepted, as by that means he had daily

opportunities of seeing, and expediting his own improvements.

Mr Bond (that was the gentleman's name) had a wife and two or three

daughters, all very agreeable women; with whom Mrs Faulkland had, by

living so much in their family, contracted a great intimacy; but

particularly with the eldest, a sprightly fine young woman, of about

twenty years old. They had been three or four months at Mr Bonds; their

house, which was nothing more than a little lodge, was finished; and

they only waited till it was thoroughly dry to remove into it, as Mr

Faulkland had laid out extensive gardens, in the finishing of which he

proposed to amuse himself some time; for he acknowleged to my brother,

he was in no haste to return to England.

During their residence with this gentleman, they had made two or three

excursions to town. On their return from one of these, after an absence

of about a fortnight, they found a visitor at Mr Bond's; his name was

Smyth; he was an officer, a genteel handsome man, and they were given to

understand he made his addresses to the eldest daughter; of whom he had

been an admirer a long time, but durst not make his pretensions known to

her father, till having lately been promoted in the army to the rank of

a major, the young lady's parents admitted his visits to their daughter.

She had long before that acknowleged to Mrs Faulkland in confidence, her

attachment to him. Mr Faulkland, who had learned this secret from his

wife, was very glad to find that Miss Bond, for whom he had great

esteem, was likely to have her wishes accomplished, as he saw that Major

Smyth was treated with distinction by her parents, who complimented him

with a bed at their house; for he generally staid two or three nights

with them, every time he paid them a visit, as his regiment was then

quartered at a town about fifteen miles distant from their house.

The Major, without being a man of very shining parts, had such talents

as made him acceptable to the women. He sung prettily, was lively to

extravagance, full of agreeable trifling, and always in good humour.

Miss Bond loved him; and as he was considered in the light of a person

who would shortly be one of the family. Mr Faulkland soon contracted a

friendship with him, which the Major on his part, seemed very solicitous

to improve.

The marriage was now agreed on, and was only deferred till the young

lady's brother should be at age, as he was to join with his father in

making a settlement on his sister. This desirable event was at the

distance of four months; but as the lover was in the mean time permitted

to enjoy so much of his mistress's conversation, he seemed to submit to

the delay with patience.

Things were in this situation, when Mr Faulkland, thinking it time to

remove to his own house, proposed it to his lady; but she objected to

it, declaring she did not think it safe, as the house had been so

lately built. Though indeed it was now perfectly well seasoned; for the

shell had been intirely finished some time before Mr Faulkland had gone

to Mr Bond's house, and it was only the inside work, and a kitchen that

was built apart from the lodge, that wanted to be completed. Mr

Faulkland was unwilling to oppose his lady in any thing; but he was the

more solicitous that she should comply with his request in this

particular, as he thought he had observed that the eldest Miss Bond,

had, of late, behaved with more coldness towards her than usual. Though

he was far from guessing the cause of this, he thought it, however, a

sufficient reason for their removal. He was afraid they had already

staid too long; and that, perhaps, notwithstanding the good nature and

hospitality of the family they all now secretly wished their absence.

This, though he intended to make a suitable return for their friendly

reception of him during so long a time, made him resolve not to continue

there; and the more so, as Miss Bond, who was present when he proposed

it to Mrs Faulkland, seemed to wish for their departure; as she

dissented from that lady with regard to her opinion of the state of the

new house, and seemed to think there could no danger attend their

immediate entrance into it. Mrs Faulkland seemed nettled at this, and

immediately assented to her husband's proposal; the next day they took

their leave of Mr Bond's family, and repaired to their own house.

Mr Faulkland, from this period, remarked a change in his wife's

behaviour; she grew melancholy and peevish; but as she complained of not

being well, he imputed the alteration in her temper to that alone; and

the more so, as she did not abate in the tokens of her seeming affection

for him.

Mr Bond's family frequently visited them; Major Smyth always made one of

the party, and often came without them. Though they lived but at the

distance of three miles from each other, yet as the road for carriages

between the two houses, being a-cross one, was very bad, the ladies were

often prevailed on, if they staid late, to lye a night at Mr

Faulkland's, and in consequence of this, Mr Bond and the Major had

frequently done the same when they were of the party.

Though Mr Faulkland was far from having any injurious suspicion of his

wife, he could not help observing that all her complaints vanished,

whenever this family were at her house. This, however, he ascribed to

nothing more than her being fond of the company, though he thought a

coolness between her, and the eldest Miss Bond, was still apparent. The

principals of the family, however, behaved with their usual frankness

and good-humour, and Mr Faulkland thought there might be some little

female pique between the two ladies, which was not worth enquiring into.

As they punctually returned the friendly visits of these agreeable

neighbours, Mrs Faulkland always proposed passing the night there, to

induce them, as she said, to use the same obliging freedom at her house.

Mr Faulkland, on those occasions observed, that his lady always rose

much earlier than usual, but unsuspecting as he was, he was satisfied

with the reason she assigned for it, that of enjoying the pleasant hours

of the morning in a very delicious garden; a pleasure which they could

not have at home, as Mr Faulkland's improvements were only in their

infancy.

The mutual intercourse between the two families was thus carried on for

more than three months, when the time drew near, that Miss Bond and her

lover were to be united, and every thing was preparing for the purpose.

The young Mr Bond was come home from the college, and the house on this

occasion was more chearful than ever. Mr Faulkland and his lady were

there at a ball one night, when the latter, after dancing a long time,

complained suddenly of being violently ill and either really did, or

pretended to, faint. She was immediately conveyed to bed, and, at her

request, another room prepared for Mr Faulkland. He, extremely alarmed

at her indisposition, came to her bed-side, purposing to sit up by her

the whole night; the youngest of the Miss Bond's offering to do the

same, but Mrs Faulkland absolutely refused them both, and about

midnight, saying she found herself inclined to sleep, insisted on their

retiring; nor would she admit a servant to stay in the room, but

contented herself with having a candle burning on the hearth.

Mr Faulkland, who really had an affection for his lady, was impatient

the next morning to enquire after her health; he found her in bed, the

complaints of the preceding night all renewed.

The family were extremely disconcerted at this unlucky accident, and

expresed the utmost uneasiness, all but the eldest Miss Bond, who was

silent; and heard her mother and sisters condoling with Mr Faulkland,

not only with unconcern, but a suppressed smile of contempt, which did

not escape Mr Faulkland's observation. He now began to resent such a

behaviour, which he thought very unkind; and told his lady he wished she

was in a condition to be removed, as he was fearful in her present

situation it might be very inconvenient to the family to have her remain

sick in their house; especially as it quite broke in on the mirth and

festivity which were now going forward.

To this she replied, that she found herself so weak and dispirited,

which she said was always the consequence of those faintings, to which

she had been subject from her childhood, that she could not think of

leaving her room. She made a shift, however, to rise, and said she hoped

in a day or two to be able to remove.

Mrs Bond, who was of an extremely humane and tender disposition, begged

of her not to think of stirring till she found her health perfectly

re-established: Mrs Faulkland thankfully accepted her offer, and Mr

Faulkland, though reluctantly, was obliged to acquiesce.

They remained thus two days longer, Mrs Faulkland's complaints still

furnishing her with a pretence for sleeping alone; and, under colour of

not giving trouble in the family, she would not suffer a maid to sit up

with her.

Major Smyth, who had been in the house all this time, had now some call

to his regiment, which obliged him to go to the town where it lay, and

Mr Faulkland heard him give his man directions for their journey.

Mrs Faulkland still kept her room, and had not left it since the time

she was first taken ill. It happened that the chamber which was assigned

for Mr Faulkland, immediately joined his lady's, and was only separated

from it by a wainscot partition, by which means he could hear the least

stir in her chamber.

The unsuspecting injured husband, whose anxiety for his faithless wife

had always made him watchful and attentive to her motions, happened this

night to be more than ordinarily so. The family had now been for some

hours buried in sleep; every thing was profoundly silent for some time.

Mr Faulkland, who hoped his lady was settled to rest, was endeavouring

to compose himself to sleep, when he heard her stir. This immediately

roused him, and raising his head off the pillow, he found she got out of

bed. Though she seemed to use the utmost precaution, he nevertheless

heard her very distinctly open her door, and go out. Surprized as he was

at this motion, no other thought occurred to him, than that perhaps Mrs

Faulkland, finding herself ill, had got up to call some of the female

servants. Prepossessed with this belief, he started out of bed, and

hastily slipping on his clothes, ran into his lady's room, where he

found her candle still burning.

As he concluded she would presently return, he waited some minutes in

her chamber; at length, perceiving her clothes lying on a chair at her

bed-side, he was afraid she had gone out without putting any thing on

her, and though the night was not cold, he was apprehensive, that in her

apparently weak condition, her health might be farther injured.

On this account, he determined to go in quest of her; and concluding she

had gone to the apartment of the female servants, which was on the floor

over that on which they lay, he ascended the stairs as silently as

possibly.

As he was passing by a room on the top of the first flight, he heard

some one speak in a low voice, and listning, fancied it was his wife's.

As he knew not who lay in that room, he made no doubt but that it was

she, who was calling the person that slept there; and, without farther

reflection, hastily opened the door, and went in, with the candle, which

he had taken in his hand. On his sudden entrance, the person, who was in

bed, eagerly called out, Who is there? He soon perceived by his voice,

that it was Major Smyth. He was about to make an apology for his

intrusion, when he perceiving his lady's wrapping gown, which he had

seen her wear that morning, lying on the floor, and in the same instant

recollecting that he had heard a woman's voice when he was without-side

the door, the horror of her guilt rushed upon him at once, and without

making any answer to the major, he suddenly drew back the feet curtains

of the bed, where he plainly perceived that the major had a companion,

though she had hid her head under the clothes.

The major instantly leaped out of bed, and though he saw Mr Faulkland

was unarmed, he snatched up one of his own pistols, which lay on the

table, and which his man had charged that night, as they were to go a

short journey the next morning. Mr Faulkland, in the first transports of

his rage, seized the other; the miserable woman, observing their fatal

motions, threw herself out of bed. Mr Faulkland was too much distracted

to be able to give a distinct account of this dreadful incident; all he

can say is, that Major Smyth snapped his pistol at him, which, he

thinks, missed fire, and he instantly discharged his with more fatal

success; for Mrs Faulkland, who had in the instant rushed between them

shrieked out, and dropped on the ground; and the major reeling a few

steps, fell against one of the pillars of the bed, and cried out, He has

killed us both.

Mr Faulkland says, that, after this dreadful action, without knowing

what he did, he ran down stairs, and opening the front door, made the

best of his way home on foot. The phrenzy of his mind was such that he

thought not of providing for his safety; but having got into his house,

he had no intention of going farther, when, in less than a quarter of an

hour, one of his servants, whom he had left behind him at Mr Bond's, a

faithful fellow, who had lived with him many years, came to him, scared

and breathless, having ran himself almost dead to overtake his master.

Oh, Sir, said he, for heaven's sake, get away as fast as you can: Mr

Bond's family are all in an uproar; you will be taken, if you do not

make your escape this instant.

Have I killed any body? demanded Mr Faulkland.

Oh, Sir, answered the man, you have killed my lady, and Major Smyth is

mortally wounded.

I know not what I did, cried Mr Faulkland, but I did not mean to hurt

your mistress.

I believe it, Sir, replied the servant, but I fear nobody else will, for

that wicked wretch, though they think he cannot live many hours, would

take away your life if he could. The report of the pistol alarmed the

family, and we all ran into his room, gentry and servants and all; the

major was able to speak, but my lady was quite dead.

The account he gives is, that my lady's candle having gone out she got

up to get it lighted, and was endeavouring to find one of the maid's

rooms, when passing by his, and seeing a light, for he was but just got

into bed, she stepped in; and before she had time to retire again, you

rushed in like a madman; and seeing his pistols lie on the table, you

snatched them both up, and discharged one at your lady, which killed her

on the spot, you fired the other at him, while he was leaping out of

bed. I am sure, Sir, this is a false story, yet, as the family may all

believe it, I beg you on my knees, to provide for your safety. Miss Bond

was tearing her hair for her lover; but I heard her say, she was glad

that wicked woman (meaning my lady) had lost her life.

They had sent off some of the people for a surgeon, and I ran as fast as

I could to warn you of your dangers.

This honest fellow, not contented with urging his master, soon saddled a

very swift hunter, which he had in the stable; and Mr Faulkland, now

convinced of the necessity of flying, mounted it directly, and, attended

only by one groom, galloped off to Dublin, which he reached by seven

o'clock in the morning, and was lucky enough to arrive just as a packet,

which was going off with an express was ready to sail. He went on

board, and landed at Holly-head in twelve hours, from thence, without

stopping night or day, except to change horses, he rode post to London,

and presented himself, in the manner I have already told you, before me.

* * * * *

Such, my Cecilia, are the dismal particulars of this sad story. My

brother staid with me 'till it was very late; our time was past in

consulting on measures for Mr Faulkland's preservation. He said, he

would advise him, by all means, to get over to Holland as fast as he

could; for if that story, which the execrable Smyth had invented, should

be believed, and it was very likely to gain credit in case he died of

his wound, and persevered in it to the last, Mr Faulkland, having no

witness to disprove any part of the charge, would be in imminent danger

of losing his life.

I need not describe to you the horror in which I passed last night. I

rose this morning at day-light, and was but just dressed, when I was

informed Mr Warner wanted to speak to me. I went down stairs to him

directly.

I could not sleep all night for thinking of your affairs, said he,

without any previous salute; and I am so impatient to hear Faulkland's

story, that I could not rest 'till I came to you to be informed of it,

for I suppose you heard every thing last night.

I related all the particulars minutely as I have done to you, Mr Warner

never once interrupting me. When I had ended the story, what do you

intend for Faulkland, said my kinsman? I know not what to do, Sir, I

replied; but this I am sure of, that if it were in the power of wealth

to relieve his afflicted mind, he has an undoubted right to a large

portion of the fortune I possess; this I think myself bound to bestow on

the man, who, when I was destitute, offered me his. If we can prevail on

him to take care of his own safety, which, when he is a little more

collected, I hope we shall be able to do, I must entreat your

assistance, Sir, in helping me to make him as easy as his unhappy

circumstances will admit of.--And is this _all_, demanded Mr Warner

sternly? Does not your gratitude suggest a warmer recompence than giving

him a paultry income?

I was startled at the question, and not replying immediately, You must

marry him, said he in a peremptory tone; there is nothing now to hinder

you; the heavy misfortune which has fallen upon him, puts it in your

power to make him such a return as his prosperous days would not have

allowed you. You can confer an obligation on him now; so _that_ scruple

is rubbed out. As for any former idle aspersions, you have already done

more than enough to convince the world they were without foundation. I

could wish indeed that Jezebel of a wife had been cut off in the common

way; but since he was guiltless in his intentions, it would be barbarous

to make _that_ an objection, and I dare answer for it, all mankind will

acquit him, though the law perhaps may not, of that scoundrel's death,

who so well deserved it at his hands.

I told Mr Warner, that though Mr Faulkland had proposed something like

this, I was sure it was owing to his distracted mind, for that he had at

first declared he only came to take a last look at me, and that I hoped,

when he came to the cool use of his reason, he would be far from urging

such a request--The more are you bound then, said he, interrupting me,

to deal generously by him.--What does your brother say upon the subject?

He has not touched upon it, I replied, I was so taken up with hearing Mr

Faulkland's melancholy story from my brother, that I mentioned not to

him his wild proposal; and as Sir George told me Mr Faulkland was much

more composed when he left him to his rest, I presume he hinted nothing

of that kind to my brother.

Ay, ay, cried Mr Warner, Sir George to be sure will change his note. Mr

Faulkland is now a fallen man, therefore depend on it he will not be for

your marrying him; but for this very reason, I insist on your doing a

noble thing. If you have a grain of honour, or of gratitude in you, you

will not hesitate a moment. I will not desire you, continued he, finding

me silent, to carry your gratitude so far as to marry a madman, if he

should prove to be so; but if on your visit to him this morning, you

find him composed, and in his right mind, make him a frank offer of your

hand, and see you do it handsomely; consult not George, upon the

subject, I will have it all _my_ doing. Go, added he, if I did not know

that at the bottom of your heart you _love_ Faulkland, I would not make

this a point with you; but notwithstanding all your pretended demurs I

am sure that is the case.

I should be disingenuous to deny it, answered I; far from doing so, I

will own that I should prefer him before all the world, if the

strangeness of his present situation did not frighten me. Trouble not

your head about that, cried Mr Warner, if the man is in his senses, do

as I bid you, and take care that you acquit yourself with honour.

He left me without waiting for a reply. What can I say or do, my

Cecilia? My heart and my reason are at variance. What a strange dilemma

am I driven to? nobody to advise me. Mr Warner, precipitate and fanciful

in his determinations, urges me on to I know not what. Marry Mr

Faulkland! receive a hand stained with--Oh the very thought is terrible!

What would the world say to such an union? It cannot be. He will not

sure when he comes to the use of his cooler reason insist upon a

promise, which my own terror, and his desperation, extorted from me.

I must try to convince Mr Warner's judgment? I hope he will not

obstinately persist in pressing me to what I dare not comply with.... My

brother is just come to carry me to Mr Faulkland. Heaven grant I may

find him restored to his right mind!... Just returned from my visit to

Mr Faulkland. What a scene! He wrung my very heart. I would I had never

seen him.

We found him up, and walking about his room; his looks much more

composed than they were last night.

On our entering his chamber, his eyes sparkled with pleasure. He ran to

my brother, and embraced him. Thank you my dear, dear Bidulph, said he,

you at length give her to me, and with her own consent too. My bride!

turning passionately to me, and snatching my hand.

My brother seemed shocked, and cast his eyes mournfully at me: mine

moistened, and I was obliged to apply my handkerchief to them, turning

my head away.

Tears! cried Mr Faulkland, in a tone of surprize, and on our

wedding-day! I could not bear this, I sobbed aloud. My brother was

willing, if possible, to give his thoughts another turn, for not knowing

what had passed the day before, he thought this was some sudden start of

phrenzy.

My dear Faulkland, said he, you affect my Sister too much; we have been

consulting for your safety, and came to talk with you upon it.

I think there is no time to be lost, and that you ought immediately to

retire into Holland.

I am ready, said Mr Faulkland, but Mrs Arnold goes with me, I have her

promise for it.

Sidney shall follow you, answered my brother, making a motion to me to

shew he would have me humour him in his ravings. I will not go without

her, cried Mr Faulkland; the universe shall not now part us.

I was almost distracted with apprehension, and knew not what reply to

make; my brother looked confounded, and was silent.

Mr Faulkland approached me, and with a look of gloomy despair, You are

both mute, said he; Bidulph, I always thought _you_ loved me. Mrs Arnold

I hoped did not wish my death; but I am deceived in you both--I have no

farther business with life--The friend I most confided in betrays me;

the woman whom my soul worships, and to whom I sacrificed all my hopes

of happiness, repays me with ingratitude. Why should such a wretch any

longer submit to life? I have borne it too long already; but there's my

remedy, pointing furiously to his sword, which lay in the scabbard on a

table.

I could no longer contain myself, but bursting into tears, Oh, Sir, said

I, accuse me not of ingratitude; I would to heaven _my_ death could

repair the heavy afflictions I have brought upon you; if it could, I

would welcome it this hour. Your reproaches, cruel as they are, I

forgive. I own myself the unhappy cause of all your misfortunes; we have

been mutually fatal to each other. You know I always valued and esteemed

you, and have in your calamity already been sufficiently punished for

the share I have had in bringing it on you. What shall I say to you,

Sir? My whole fortune I think too small, too poor a recompence, to the

man who has obliged me beyond a possibility of return. Yet what have I

to offer more? Can you, Sir, can you urge me to a marriage at so strange

a juncture? Think how it will expose us both to censure. Your long

attachment to me has not been a secret. Think what dreadful

constructions may be put on _your_ conduct, nay, on _mine_, should a

union now take place, brought about, as it must appear, by so terrible

an event.

Mr Faulkland was silent, his eyes fixed on the ground. My brother took

up the argument. Indeed, my dear Faulkland, my sister has reason for her

fears. You know I ever was your sincere friend; you know too I always

was of opinion that Sidney ought to have been your wife; her former

objections I thought were romantic scruples, and hardly forgave her

refusing you. The present obstacle has more weight in it--Do not mistake

me, added he hastily (seeing Mr Faulkland raise his eyes full of

resentment at him) I wish my sister still to be yours, and will consent

to your marriage with my whole heart; but let me conjure you to take a

more favourable juncture; withdraw yourself but for the present; your

affairs may not be so desperate as you imagine. If that villain Smyth

should chance to recover, perhaps his conscience may awaken remorse, and

he may be prevailed on to do you justice. In that case you must be

cleared from the most distant imputation of what my sister hinted at,

and what has but too justly alarmed her. Cleared as your character will

then be, and conscious as we both are of the innocence of your

intentions there will remain no bar to Mrs Arnold's giving you her hand.

Smyth _cannot_ recover, interrupted Mr Faulkland, suddenly--there is no

hope can spring from that. Then answered my brother, at worst you can

but live abroad; all parts of the world are alike to such a philosopher

as my sister is; and probably, circumstanced as your marriage will

appear, she may like best to reside out of England.--

Mr Faulkland shook his head, and with a smile of indignation, Leave me,

Bidulph, cried he, I cannot bear _your_ attempting to deceive me. You

think me mad, and are cruel enough to endeavour at imposing on me--I

know my mind is disturbed--but who has driven me to despair! to madness!

to death! and he cast a look at me that chilled my blood.

Be satisfied, Madam, you shall soon be rid of this

fatal--hated--betrayed--abandoned wretch! he spoke this with his hands

grasped eagerly together, and his eyes lifted up to heaven. Then

striking his breast, he burst into tears, and rushing suddenly into his

closet, he shut the door violently, locking it on the inside.

He wept aloud, and his agonies reduced me almost to the same condition

with himself.

I begged my brother would endeavour to prevail on him to open the door,

for I was fearful of his making some dreadful attempt upon his own life;

but Sir George a little quieted my fears, by shewing me his sword, which

still lay on the table, and which, at my desire, he put out of the way.

My brother approached the closet door, and in the most soothing language

beseeched him to open it; but he could get no other answer from Mr

Faulkland than to beg he would leave him to himself.

I found this was not a time for arguing. I told my brother, we had

better suffer him to vent his passion alone, and that, perhaps, when he

had time to reflect a little on what had been said, he would permit his

cooler reason to govern him.

Sir George was very unwilling to leave him in such a distracted state of

mind; he renewed his efforts to persuade him to come out of the closet,

but to no purpose.

I beseech you to leave me, Sir George, said he, I am not in a condition

to talk--I cannot bear the sight of Mrs Arnold--let me recover

myself--another time perhaps I may be better able to discourse with

you.

Will you promise me then, replied my brother, that you will in the

interim do nothing that may be injurious to your life or health? Indeed,

my dear Faulkland, you distress my sister and me more than you can

imagine. Name the hour when you will permit me to come to you again; and

for heaven's sake think of your own immediate preservation: _that_ once

secured, there is nothing which my sister and I will not afterwards do

to make you happy--Can I rely on you, Faulkland? do you promise me not

to be rash? You have my sword in your possession, answered Mr Faulkland,

(still speaking within the closet) I have no other weapon about

me--leave me, Sir George--I cannot talk.

Say but that you wish to see me again, replied my brother, and I will

go, and give you no further trouble. Mr Faulkland sighed deeply. Say, I

wish to see you! he repeated, ah, Bidulph! and his voice seemed choaked.

My brother could not refrain from tears. I will come to you in the

evening, Faulkland--You will find me your true friend.--I should be

loath to lay you under any restraint here, in the house of my friend; do

but say there is no need of it. Promise me--the slightest word will

suffice. I know my dear Faulkland will not break his word.

Well--I will not attempt my life, cried he impatiently, let that satisfy

you--leave me, and let me not be exposed to any insults here.

I leave you, answered my brother, and hope to find you more composed a

few hours hence. Mrs Arnold too begs you will be calm, and think of

preserving a life which is so dear to us both.

Mr Faulkland was silent, and my brother and I withdrew; he thought it

best I should not speak to him.

Sir George left me at home, and said he would call again on Mr Faulkland

in the afternoon, and bring me word how he should find him. My brother

is exceedingly affected with his situation, and says he knows not what

to advise. He is fearful that Mr Faulkland's phrenzy is not to be

calmed, but by consenting to marry him, and circumstanced as he now is,

that thought is terrible. Yet, if I persist in my refusal, I drive the

noblest of minds to desperation. Oh, my Cecilia, is this the return I

ought to make to the most generous of men? whose fervent love for me has

been a constant source of torment to him for so many years! Yet how can

I yield him my hand? All my former scruples, weighty as they appeared to

me, were light to the dreadful bar that now interposes.

Had that ill-fated woman died the common way, with what joy, what

exultation could I have rewarded his honest persevering love! all my

duties fulfilled, obedience to my mother, justice to the woman I thought

injured, reverence to the memory of my husband, the respect due to my

own character. Should I not, my Cecilia, after thus being acquitted of

all other obligations, have been to blame, if, after a series of

misfortunes, all brought on by my strict adherence to those duties;

should I not have been to blame for refusing at length to do justice to

the most deserving of men? When I reflect on the past, when I survey the

present, and my foreboding heart whispers to me the future sufferings of

our dear unhappy Mr Faulkland, all my philosophy forsakes me. I have

borne up under my own sorrows--his quite subdue me--I must lay by my

pen--my eyes are brimful of tears.... Ah, my dear, what will become of

us? I am almost dead with apprehension. Rash, rash, unhappy Mr

Faulkland! He has fled from the house where my brother had concealed

him: I know not what I am writing, my fears distract me. 'Tis but two

hours since we left him, Sir George relying on his promise, and

unwilling to provoke him by any appearance of constraint, gave no

caution to the gentleman with whom he was lodged to observe his motions;

he is ready to kill himself for this neglect; but relying on Mr

Faulkland's promise not to make any attempt on his life, he suspected

not that he would endeavour to escape. Escape do I call it? rather let

me say, to throw himself into certain destruction.--He is set out on his

way for Ireland. Heaven knows what will be the consequence of this, if

my brother does not overtake and persuade him back. He is gone after

him, my cousin Warner with him; both rode post.

My thoughts are so confused, I can put nothing in order. It seems we had

not long quitted him, when he called up his servant (that groom who, as

I informed you, had come over with him) and telling him he was going out

of town ordered him to go directly to an inn somewhere in the city, and

hire two post-horses, and that he would follow him presently.

The man obeyed, and in about half an hour, his master came in a

hackney-coach to the place where he had directed him to wait for him.

Upon the inn-keeper's enquiring whither the horses were to go, Mr

Faulkland replied, to St Alban's. The man objected to the length of the

stage, and named Barnet. Mr Faulkland seemed impatient and angry; his

unusual earnestness, his wild looks, and the road he purposed taking,

alarmed his servant (a discreet elderly man) and he had the prudence

immediately to dispatch the master of the house, whom he prevailed on by

a piece of money, to go directly to my brother with this intelligence.

He had the precaution not to mention his master's name, only bade him

find out Sir George Bidulph, and tell him that his friend was set out

for St Alban's, and that his man had dispatched him with the news, and

would, if possible, endeavour to detain him on the road, that Sir George

might overtake him.

The man was punctual in delivering his message. My brother, wild with

amazement and horror, just called as he past my door, to tell me this

new and unexpected misfortune. Mr Warner had that instant come to

enquire what had past between Mr Faulkland and me in our interview this

morning. I had no time to tell him any thing. He looked very much

displeased at my brother and me, upon hearing Mr Faulkland was gone; but

said he would accompany Sir George, and they both hurried away together.

The man said, Mr Faulkland had set off before he could leave his house,

the servant having scarce time to give him the message.

I fear it will be impossible for my brother to overtake him--He will be

lost forever--what then will be my portion? Happy had it been for me

indeed, as my dear mother once said in the bitterness of her heart, that

I had died in my cradle!

_Tuesday-night twelve o'clock_

Heaven be praised, they are returned! _All_ returned; Mr Faulkland has

been prevailed on to come back, Mr Warner has prevailed on him. He has

saved his life; but, my Cecilia, thy friend's temporal happiness, and

peace of mind, is the only price that could ransom this desperate

self-devoted victim!

Mr Warner has bound himself by a solemn oath that I should become his

wife, or Mr Faulkland, determined on his own destruction, would, spite

of all they could do, have pursued his fatal journey to Ireland, in

order to deliver himself up to justice.

It was near ten o'clock before they returned to town. My brother carried

Mr Faulkland back to the gentleman's house, where he was before lodged;

and my kinsman left them together, in order to come and give me an

account of what passed.

He said the gentleman, at whose house he was lodged by my brother was

extreamly surprized at seeing him again, Mr Faulkland having with great

composure taken his leave of him in the morning; and after thanking him

for the shelter he had afforded him, told him he was going out of town.

My brother and my kinsman overtook him above a mile on this side St

Alban's, for which success they were intirely indebted to the prudence

of the servant who attended him: For the poor man, finding himself

pushing on with the utmost eagerness, and Mr Faulkland no longer making

a secret of this intention of returning to Ireland; resolved at all

events to prevent his ruin; and hoping that by a little delay, Sir

George might overtake them, contrived at their first stage so

dexterously to slip a nail in between the horse's shoe and his hoof,

that he knew he could not go far without being lame.

This succeeded so well, that the poor animal was soon disabled, and Mr

Faulkland not having it in his power to mount himself better, was

obliged to go on at a very easy rate 'till they arrived at the next

stage.

Mr Warner and my brother overtook him in this situation: Sir George knew

him as soon as they came in sight of him, and followed him at a proper

distance, still keeping him in view, 'till he lighted at the post-house.

They then at once entered the room, into which he had retired, whilst

fresh horses were getting ready.

Mr Faulkland started at the sight of my brother; he looked earnestly at

Mr Warner, whom he had never seen before; but spoke not to either of

them.

Sir George, pursued my kinsman, accosted him affectionately: Dear

Faulkland, was this kind of you, thus to fly from your friends that love

you? He presented me to him at the same, naming me as his relation.

Mr Faulkland grasped the hand, which I reached out in salutation to him;

he fixed his fine sparkling eyes on my face: Is it Mr Warner whom I have

the honour to salute? Sir, I am no stranger to your worth: I honour, I

revere you. You are too good to interest yourself thus for an unhappy

wretch, cast off, and forsaken by all the world.

Do I forsake you, Faulkland, cried your brother, kindly enough? No,

Faulkland, I am your constant sincere friend, and will prove myself so,

if you will but let me. Mr Faulkland made no reply.

Dear Faulkland, am I not your friend? You are Mrs Arnold's brother.--You

are not the man you were. Indeed Faulkland, I am; I am your true friend;

suffer me to be so, come back with me; Mr Warner and I have followed

you, in the hope of prevailing on you to return with us; do, Faulkland,

let us persuade you to preserve a life so dear to us all.

What am I to live for, answered Mr Faulkland sternly? _You_ have tried

to deceive me; the man I loved most, now I am fallen, rejects me. Your

sister persists in her obstinate cruelty towards me; she breaks her

promise, and you encourage her in it. I have neither friends, fortune,

or country! and do you talk to me of life on _such_ conditions? No,

Bidulph, it is a burden of which I will rid myself--Mr Warner, _you_ are

a generous man, _you_ have an enlarged mind; may a stranger ask a favour

of you?

I could have wept, continued my kinsman, to see such a frank noble

fellow driven to such desperation. Command me, Sir, I replied, there is

nothing I would not do to serve you.

I thank you, Sir; I have a little son; let me recommend the unhappy

orphan to your protection. He will soon want a father: will you be one

to him, Sir? I will send him over to you; he laid hold of my hand, and

repeated his question, Will you Mr Warner? _You_ have an enlarged mind,

and do not despise the unfortunate.

I cried downright; he touched me to the very quick. I never was so

affected in my life; and I own I was heartily displeased both with you

and your brother, for driving him to such extremities: _You_ especially,

on whom I laid injunctions to act in a contrary way. As for Sir George,

I am not surprized at _his_ behaviour.

From Mr Faulkland's discourse, proceeded my kinsman, it was apparent to

me, that his distraction proceeded from no other cause, than his belief

that you and your brother slighted him in his misfortunes. It was plain

when he fled to England, that he was sufficiently in his senses to be

anxious for his own safety; and though the sight of you, joined to the

hurry of his spirits, his fatigue, and want of sleep, might, in a man of

such violent passions, have created a temporary phrenzy, yet I am very

certain it would all have subsided, if you had behaved to him as you

ought to have done, and as I desired you would: nor do I see how you can

answer it to yourself, after the miseries you have already brought on

such a glorious man (for I never saw his equal either in mind or person)

to persist in a behaviour which has already turned his brain, and must

in the end occasion his death: for death he is determined on, if you

refuse to become his wife.

Oh, Sir, cried I, leave him not to himself, I conjure you; you see the

influence you have over his mind; you have done wonders in bringing him

back.--

Hold, replied Mr Warner, till I inform you of the means I was obliged to

use.

I have told you how I was affected with his situation, and the request

he made me to take care of his child. This was not the suggestion of

madness; it was plain to me, that if the cause were removed, he would

soon be restored to the perfect use of his reason, and I could not bear

to see the desolation of such a noble frame, and all charged to your

account.

Sir, I hope you do not mean, said I, to return to Ireland, do you not

know the risque that you run by putting yourself into the power of an

exasperated family from whom you can expect nothing but the most

malevolent persecution?

I deliver myself up to the laws, replied Mr Faulkland; my life is

devoted, 'tis indifferent to me how I die.

Suppose, said I, Mrs Arnold should consent to marry you, would not that

reconcile you to life?

Oh, Sir, and he shook his head, I am not to be deceived _twice_. (Your

brother walked about the room without taking part in the conversation.)

I do not mean it, Sir, Mrs Arnold must be yours; _I_ can influence her;

do but return back with me, I give you my honour I will do my utmost to

prevail on her to give you her hand immediately. Her heart is hardened,

Sir, she will not consent, replied he. I have no friend to urge her, I

am an outcast, and not fit to live--_I_ will urge her, Sir, she respects

me, she will be guided by me; she shall fulfil the promise she made

you--Oh, Sir, you but deceive yourself--she will find out new excuses, I

am not to be again allured by false hopes.

He stepped towards the door as he spoke these words, and was about to

open it. Your brother followed, and laid hold of his arm; I did the

same. Sir George, said he, expose me not to insults, why do you

persecute me? Leave me, Sir, I am _not_ a madman--but I am

_determined_--and he spoke as if he were _indeed_ so.

For heaven's sake, Faulkland, said your brother, be composed: You have

Mr Warner's word of honour; you shall have mine too, that we will do our

utmost to persuade Mrs Arnold to consent to your wishes. You have _my_

full consent, you have won Mr Warner to your interest, my sister will

yield to our joint entreaties. _Yield_, he repeated, no, no, Sir George,

she has a stubborn heart. I once thought it otherwise; but it is turned

to stone, nothing but my death will satisfy, her, and she _shall_ be

satisfied.

He made an effort to break from us. Stay Mr Faulkland, said I, again

laying hold of his hand, and I here swear to you by every thing that is

sacred, that if you will suffer me to conduct you back into Mrs Arnold's

presence, I will insist on her immediately accepting of you for her

husband, or I will for ever renounce all friendship with her: I know she

esteems and values you above all men, I am therefore sure, I do no

violence to her inclinations; and if she perseveres in her obstinate

punctilios, I swear to you by the same oath, that I will no longer

oppose you in your resolutions, let them be what they will.

Sir George, added I, Do you join with me in giving your friend the same

assurances? I do, answered he, solemnly addressing himself to Mr

Faulkland, and swear by all my hopes of happiness hereafter, to act in

conjunction with Mr Warner in every particular that he has promised.

Mr Faulkland seemed to be moved, he looked whistfully at us by turns, as

if willing, though afraid, to yield to our entreaties.

At length, I _think_ I may rely on you, said he, you will not break an

oath (to Sir George) but that woman has such an _inflexible_ heart! you

cannot change _that_.

We will do our utmost, we both answered together. Remember, then, said

he, stretching out a hand to each of us, you have sworn, if she persists

in her resolution, that you will leave me to myself, and oppose me no

longer. We have. I will go back with you then cried Mr Faulkland, and

stepped again nimbly to the door.

It will be best, said I, if we can hire a coach to carry us; there is no

necessity for our riding post, and we shall be less liable to

observation than if we were on horse-back. Mr Faulkland looked as if he

suspected some design; do you not mean, said he, to go directly back to

London? Certainly, I replied. And shall I see Mrs Arnold to-night?

Without doubt, if you desire it. Let us go then, said he; I think a

coach is a tedious way of travelling, but I submit to _your_ guidance.

I left Sir George with him, and went out to enquire whether we could be

provided with a coach and four; which after some delay was procured for

us. We prevailed on Mr Faulkland, whilst it was getting ready, to take a

little refreshment. He asked us, by what means we were informed of his

departure.

Sir George, unwilling to let him know that his servant had discovered

it, evaded the question; and only replied, Do you think, Faulkland, that

in the humour I left you, I could be inattentive to your motions? I am

not a madman, Bidulph, I must not be treated like one. I do not think

you one, answered your brother, but I know you are warm, and too

fearless of danger.

When the coach was ready, Mr Faulkland very willingly got into it with

us. He spoke but little, and appeared very thoughtful during our

journey.

The coachman stopped at an inn, after we had driven about fifteen miles,

to bate his horses for a while. He seemed startled at it, and said he

would not alight. We told him there was no occasion, but your brother

and I chose to go into the house, that he might not think we watched

him. He seemed pleased at this, and smiled when we set forward again,

but did not speak.

When we arrived in London, Now, Sir, said I, we will, if you please, go

directly to Mrs Arnold's house. As I am sure your absenting yourself in

the manner you did, exceedingly afflicted her, so am I certain your

return will give her sincere joy. I am ready therefore to attend you

immediately to her; but if I may advise you, I think it were better that

I should first see and talk to her. It will be proper to prepare her, by

giving her at least one night to reflect on the important event, which I

expect will take place to-morrow. Sir George, what are your sentiments?

I am of your mind, replied your brother?; I think my sister ought by all

means to have so much time given her for recollection. If Faulkland has

no objection to it, we will go to my friend's house, where he was

before. When you have seen my sister you may come to us there with her

determination.

I have submitted myself for the present, answered Mr Faulkland, to your

guidance. To-morrow remember I am to be at liberty. Bidulph, beware how

you watch my motions again.

Your brother then directed the coachman to his friend's house, Mr

Faulkland not opposing the motion. I went in for a few minutes merely to

satisfy myself in what manner Mr Faulkland had escaped from thence in

order to inform you.

Mr Faulkland was very urgent with me to go to you. Keep me not long in

suspence, Sir, said he, I may as well know my fate to-night, as

to-morrow.

I left him with a promise to return with your final answer. You know

_my_ sentiments, you know your brother's, and it rests on you to

pronounce sentence of life or death (for your answer imports no less) on

a man who is worthy of the greatest queen in the universe. What do you

say, Mrs Arnold, must Faulkland die?

Heaven forbid, cried I, no, Sir; I should be inflexible _indeed_, if,

after what you have told me, I were any longer to resist. I yield, Sir,

to your request, to Mr Faulkland's, and to my brother's; and I will own

at the same time that my heart strongly impels me to consent. Yet, my

dear Sir, believe me I should have resisted _that_ impulse, if I could

hope that my refusal would not be followed by consequences too dreadful

to be thought on. There is therefore _no_ alternative, I _must_ be the

wife of Mr Faulkland.

The sooner the affair is finished then the better, said he; Faulkland

stands here on slippery ground; perhaps some of the Bond family may by

this time be arrived in England, and in pursuit of him; therefore let

your marriage be dispatched immediately, and send him away directly to

Holland. I suppose when he has made sure of you, he may be prevailed on

to go without you. Oh, Sir, said I, urge this request to him I beseech

you, it is of the last importance to me that he should comply with it,

and the only preliminary that I have now to make to our marriage. Yes,

yes, answered my kinsman, I think we shall convince him of the necessity

of this. I shall escort you to Holland myself, for I have business at

Rotterdam; and I had thoughts of taking the voyage, if this occasion had

not offered. We will but just stay to settle some affairs here, and

observe what measures can be taken for his service, and then follow him.

Take courage, my dear, continued he, seeing me look sad, all may come

right again. I love out-of-the-way adventures, and this I think _is_

one. We will live like princes, let us go where we will. I only wish

that your brother were _against_ the match, that I might have the more

pleasure in forwarding it; but I need not grudge him that _once_ in his

life he has shewn some tokens of generosity.

I will return to Faulkland, I long to set his noble heart at ease.

Strange perverse creatures your sex are! It amazes me that any thing

could tempt you to reject such a man! Were I a woman, I should run mad

for him. Well, I will go to him, and let him know without any farther

demurs you will give him your hand to-morrow morning. Our honest friend

Price I think may join you. I will call on him, after I have seen

Faulkland, to bid him prepare for the business. I will myself have the

pleasure of giving you away. Good by--and away he went with a pleased

busy countenance.

I took up my pen as soon as he departed, and have scribbled thus far

without suffering any reflections to stop me. Let me now lay down my

pen, to pause before I leap into the frightful precipice that opens

before me.... To-morrow! Ah, my Cecilia, what is that morrow to produce?

it joins me for ever to Mr Faulkland! the chosen of my heart, my first

love! the man who adores me; who deserves all my affection, who has

obliged me beyond all recompence. Who has a claim to my warmest

gratitude, to my esteem, to my whole heart. I save his life, I have the

power to make him happy; my brother, my kinsman urge me; my own heart

too prompts me. Why cannot I then reconcile myself to my lot? Oh that

question is answered by a fearful image that starts up to my fancy--I am

not superstitious, yet believe me, my dear, I am at this instant chilled

with horror.

I am ashamed to confess my weakness, but I must call Patty to sit with

me the remainder of the night. I cannot think of rest!

_Wednesday Morning_

I have passed the whole night in endeavouring to fortify my mind against

the important event that a few hours will accomplish. If Mr Faulkland's

mind should again become tranquil, which my kinsman gave me room to hope

would be the consequence of gratifying the ardent wish of his soul, I

must take care not to disturb it by shewing any reluctance in yielding

him my hand. Had an Angel _once_ told me that I should give my hand

_reluctantly_ to Mr Faulkland, I would not have believed it; yet fatally

circumstanced as our marriage _now_ is, it cannot be otherwise.

And yet I _ought_ to be his. I owe him a great sacrifice, and I am about

to pay it. I am dressed and ready. I wait for my kinsman or my brother,

one of whom, or both perhaps, will be here presently.... Mr Warner is

come; I have but just time to tell you that my brother and Mr Price are

with Mr Faulkland. My kinsman says he is quite a new man. They wait for

me, I go. Heaven guide my steps....

_Thursday_

My fate is accomplished! What a change! Join with me, my dear Cecilia,

in beseeching heaven to look graciously down on me in my new state, and

to guide and protect my beloved Mr Faulkland, my ever destined husband.

Alas! my dear, he is now many miles separated from me.

The worthy Mr Price performed the sacred ceremony. Mr Warner did the

office of a father. He and my brother were all who were present.

There is something so amazing in all this, I can scarce credit my

senses; but my life has been a series of strange, strange events!

I am so bewildered, I cannot connect my thoughts; but I will try to give

you my yesterday's _vision_, for I can hardly persuade myself that what

I recollect really happened.

I broke off just as Mr Warner called on me, to carry me to the house of

my brother's friend.

While we were in the coach, he told me, that having the night before

informed Mr Faulkland of the joyful news of my consenting to marry him

the next day, he seemed at first to doubt, and repeatedly conjured him

not to deceive him; 'till having received the most solemn assurances of

its being true, Mr Faulkland gave himself up to such ecstacies as made

them apprehensive his joy might have effects almost as fatal in their

consequences, as his despair was likely to produce before.

Mr Warner had a mind to lower him a little, and thought, by putting him

in mind of his danger, somewhat to allay his transports.

Mrs Arnold's consent to make you happy, said he, fills me with extreme

joy; but it is not now a time to indulge it: you are here in peril of

your life; you must preserve it now for Mrs Arnold's sake. For Mrs

Arnold's sake! he replied, with ecstasy, yes, yes, 'tis now worth

preserving. Mr Warner, Kinsman, Friend of my life, (grasping his hand)

dispose of me as you please; you shall guide all my steps. Will not Mrs

Arnold go with me after we are made one?

If, after having considered what may be urged to you on that head, you

should still continue to desire it, replied my cousin, she will without

doubt accompany you. But, my dear Sir, consider, circumstanced as you

now are, what will the world say, should she accompany your flight? It

will fix an indelible stain on her character, which is dearer to her

than life, and which I am sure, upon cooler thoughts, you will prize at

an equal value. This marriage will be a profound secret to the world; it

may remain so as long as we please. I have business in Holland, which

will demand my presence there in a very short time. Her accompanying me

thither can give rise to no suspicion. I will dispatch my affairs with

all possible speed, and conduct her to you.

The joy that before lighted up his countenance, pursued my cousin,

seemed a little clouded. He took a turn or two about the room, as if to

consider of what I had said; then, addressing himself jointly to your

brother and me, You are both cooler than I am; perhaps you may judge

better; let me but call her _mine_, I will then do as you would have me.

I cannot determine on anything now.

As soon as my sister and you are married, said Sir George, I think,

Faulkland, you ought to get out of England with all the speed you can.

It will be but a short absence; Sidney will soon follow you. What do you

purpose doing in regard to your son? I had forgot him, cried Mr

Faulkland. Poor child! My heart has been in such tumults since Mr Warner

came in, that I could think of nothing but the blessed news he has

brought me. But I must not neglect my boy. I will write to the honest

servant that I left behind; he shall bring him over: you, my dear

Bidulph, will take care of him, 'till an opportunity offers of sending

him to me.

I hope there will be no need, replied your brother, of sending him out

of England; your affairs may yet turn out so as to permit your return

into your own country.--Impossible! interrupted Mr Faulkland; if Smyth

should ever recover, _his_ representation of the other accident cuts off

every hope. He will not, for his own sake, confess the truth, but impute

the error of my fatal hand to premeditated guilt. Heaven knows, base as

she was, I would not have attempted her life; but I was born to be the

avenger of those crimes into the commission of which I, perhaps, first

led her. As for the contemptible villain who wronged me, I do not repent

of the punishment I inflicted on him; though probably, had I been

allowed a moment's time for recollection, I might have taken vengeance

in a manner more worthy of myself.

I was delighted, proceeded Mr Warner, to find him so cool and rational

in his reflections. He continued talking calmly and reasonably on the

subject of his misfortunes; but on the mention of your name, started

again into transports; but they now seemed to be only those of joy, upon

the prospect of what was to happen the next day.

After I left him, I went to Mr Price, who promised to be in readiness at

the appointed hour.

We were now got to the house of my brother's friend. Mr Warner led me up

stairs into the room, where Sir George, Mr Faulkland, and Mr Price, were

sitting together.

Mr Faulkland was so agitated at the sight of me, that having risen to

salute me, he was not able to speak; but seizing both my hands, he

kissed them fervently one after the other, tears dropping on them as he

held them to his lips. Every one was silent; we were all too much

affected to speak. My brother was the first that broke silence. Well,

Faulkland, said he, have we not kept our promise?

Mr Faulkland turned towards him: Oh, Bidulph, forgive me for doubting; I

am afraid I have used you ill: Can you pardon the madness that I was

driven to by despair?--Mr Warner, Mrs Arnold, I believe you think me

distracted. Indeed I am not. I was only--(and he seemed to hesitate for

a word) weary of life.--I thought I had lost every thing.--The world was

grown a desart.--No one in it for me.

You formed a wrong judgment, my dear Sir, answered Mr Warner; you find

yourself now with your sincere friends; Sir George and myself are both

so; and your bride, your dear Mrs Arnold, is ready to give you her hand.

I _am_, Sir, said I, and if your happiness still depends on me, it gives

me joy that I have at length the power of _bestowing_ it.

I have no _words_, he replied, I can _find_ none, it is all _here_; and

he laid his hand on his heart, his eyes fixed with delight on my face.

I beheld him now, my Cecilia, in a light in which I had never before

viewed him; overwhelmed by misfortunes, of which I accused myself as

being the author. I saw him an exile, likely to be deprived of a noble

fortune, his heart pierced with remorse for an involuntary crime. I saw

too that he loved me; loved me with a fervent and unconquerable passion.

Of this, in the anguish of his soul, at a time when he was wrought up to

phrenzy, he had given but too strong demonstration. Shall I own it to

you, my Cecilia, I think I never loved him as I did in that moment.

My heart was at once assailed by a variety of passions; amongst which,

gratitude, and the softest compassion, were predominant.