I have many new particulars to acquaint you with, that shew a great
change in the behaviour of my friends as I find we have. I will give
these particulars to you as they offered.
All the family was at church in the morning. They brought good Dr. Lewen
with them, in pursuance of a previous invitation. And the doctor sent up
to desire my permission to attend me in my own apartment.
You may believe it was easily granted.
So the doctor came up.
We had a conversation of near an hour before dinner: but, to my
surprise, he waved every thing that would have led me to the subject I
supposed he wanted to talk about. At last, I asked him, if it were not
thought strange I should be so long absent from church? He made me some
handsome compliments upon it: but said, for his part, he had ever made
it a rule to avoid interfering in the private concerns of families,
unless desired to do so.
I was prodigiously disappointed; but supposing that he was thought too
just a man to be made a judge of in this cause; I led no more to it:
nor, when he was called down to dinner, did he take the least notice of
leaving me behind him there.
But this was not the first time since my confinement that I thought it a
hardship not to dine below. And when I parted with him on the stairs, a
tear would burst its way; and he hurried down; his own good-natured eyes
glistening; for he saw it.--Nor trusted he his voice, lest the accent I
suppose should have discovered his concern; departing in silence; though
with his usual graceful obligingness.
I hear that he praised me, and my part in the conversation that
passed between us. To shew them, I suppose, that it was not upon the
interesting subjects which I make no doubt he was desired not to enter
upon.
He left me so dissatisfied, yet so perplexed with this new way of
treatment, that I never found myself so much disconcerted, and out of my
train.
But I was to be more so. This was to be a day of puzzle to me. Pregnant
puzzle, if I may say so: for there must great meaning lie behind it.
In the afternoon, all but my brother and sister went to church with
the good doctor; who left his compliments for me. I took a walk in the
garden. My brother and sister walked in it too, and kept me in their
eye a good while, on purpose, as I thought, that I might see how gay and
good-humoured they were together. At last they came down the walk that I
was coming up, hand-in-hand, lover-like.
Your servant, Miss--your servant, Sir--passed between my brother and me.
Is it not coldish, Clary! in a kinder voice than usual, said my sister,
and stopped.--I stopped and courtesied low to her half-courtesy.--I
think not, Sister, said I.
She went on. I courtesied without return; and proceeded, turning to my
poultry-yard.
By a shorter turn, arm-in-arm, they were there before me.
I think, Clary, said my brother, you must present me with some of this
breed, for Scotland.
If you please, Brother.
I'll choose for you, said my sister.
And while I fed them, they pointed to half a dozen: yet intending
nothing by it, I believe, but to shew a deal of love and good-humour to
each other before me.
My uncles next, (at their return from church) were to do me the honour
of their notice. They bid Betty tell me, they would drink tea with me
in my own apartment. Now, thought I, shall I have the subject of next
Tuesday enforced upon me.
But they contradicted the order for tea, and only my uncle Harlowe came
up to me.
Half-distant, half-affectionate, at his entering my chamber, was the
air he put on to his daughter-niece, as he used to call me; and I threw
myself at his feet, and besought his favour.
None of these discomposures, Child. None of these apprehensions. You
will now have every body's favour. All is coming about, my dear. I was
impatient to see you. I could no longer deny myself this satisfaction.
He then raised me, and kissed me, and called me charming creature!
But he waved entering into any interesting subject. All will be well
now. All will be right!--No more complainings! every body loves you!--I
only came to make my earliest court to you! [were his condescending
words] and to sit and talk of twenty and twenty fond things, as I used
to do. And let every past disagreeable thing be forgotten; as if nothing
had happened.
He understood me as beginning to hint at the disgrace of my
confinement--No disgrace my dear can fall to your lot: your reputation
is too well established.--I longed to see you, repeated me--I have seen
nobody half so amiable since I saw you last.
And again he kissed my cheek, my glowing cheek; for I was impatient,
I was vexed, to be thus, as I thought, played upon: And how could I be
thankful for a visit, that (it was now evident) was only a too humble
artifice, to draw me in against the next Tuesday, or to leave me
inexcusable to them all?
O my cunning brother!--This is his contrivance. And then my anger made
me recollect the triumph in his and my sister's fondness for each other,
as practised before me; and the mingled indignation flashing from their
eyes, as arm-in-arm they spoke to me, and the forced condescension
playing upon their lips, when they called me Clary, and Sister.
Do you think I could, with these reflections, look upon my uncle
Harlowe's visit as the favour he seemed desirous I should think it
to be?--Indeed I could not; and seeing him so studiously avoid all
recrimination, as I may call it, I gave into the affectation; and
followed him in his talk of indifferent things: while he seemed to
admire this thing and that, as if he had never seen them before; and
now-and then condescendingly kissed the hand that wrought some of the
things he fixed his eyes upon; not so much to admire them, as to find
subjects to divert what was most in his head, and in my heart.
At his going away--How can I leave you here by yourself, my dear? you,
whose company used to enliven us all. You are not expected down indeed:
but I protest I had a good mind to surprise your father and mother!--If
I thought nothing would arise that would be disagreeable--My dear!
my love! [O the dear artful gentleman! how could my uncle Harlowe so
dissemble?] What say you? Will you give me your hands? Will you see your
father? Can you stand his displeasure, on first seeing the dear creature
who has given him and all of us so much disturbance? Can you promise
future--
He saw me rising in my temper--Nay, my dear, interrupting himself, if
you cannot be all resignation, I would not have you think of it.
My heart, struggling between duty and warmth of temper, was full. You
know, my dear, I never could bear to be dealt meanly with!--How--how can
you, Sir! you my Papa-uncle--How can you, Sir!--The poor girl!--for I
could not speak with connexion.
Nay, my dear, if you cannot be all duty, all resignation--better stay
where you are.--But after the instance you have given--
Instance I have given!--What instance, Sir?
Well, well, Child, better stay where you are, if your past confinement
hangs so heavy upon you--but now there will be a sudden end to
it--Adieu, my dear!--Three words only--Let your compliance be
sincere!--and love me, as you used to love me--your Grandfather did not
do so much for you, as I will do for you.
Without suffering me to reply, he hurried away, as I thought, like one
who has been employed to act a part against his will, and was glad it
was over.
Don't you see, my dear Miss Howe, how they are all determined?--Have I
not reason to dread next Tuesday?
Up presently after came my sister:--to observe, I suppose, the way I was
in.
She found me in tears.
Have you not a Thomas a Kempis, Sister? with a stiff air.