Chapter XIV.

_A dialogue between Arabella and Lucy, in which the latter seems to

have the advantage._

Why, madam, said Lucy, all I can tell your ladyship is, that we were

all excessively frightened, to be sure, when you fainted, especially

myself; and that we did what we could to recover you--And so

accordingly your ladyship did recover.

What's this to the purpose? said Arabella, perceiving she stopped here.

I know that I fainted, and it is also very plain that I recovered

again--I ask you what happened to me in the intermediate time between

my fainting and recovery. Give me a faithful relation of all the

accidents to which by my fainting I am quite a stranger; and which, no

doubt, are very considerable----

Indeed, madam, replied Lucy, I have given your ladyship a faithful

relation of all I can remember.

When? resumed Arabella, surprised.

This moment, madam, said Lucy.

Why, sure thou dreamest, wench! replied she. Hast thou told me how I

was seized and carried off? How I was rescued again? And--

No, indeed, madam, interrupted Lucy, I don't dream; I never told your

ladyship that you was carried off.

Well, said Arabella, and why dost thou not satisfy my curiosity? Is it

not fit I should be acquainted with such a momentous part of my history?

I can't, indeed, and please your ladyship, said Lucy.

What canst thou not? said Arabella, enraged at her stupidity.

Why, madam, said Lucy, sobbing, I can't make a history of nothing!

Of nothing, wench! resumed Arabella, in a greater rage than before.

Dost thou call an adventure to which thou wast a witness, and borest

haply so great a share in, nothing?--An adventure which hereafter will

make a considerable figure in the relation of my life, dost thou look

upon as trifling and of no consequence?

No, indeed I don't, madam, said Lucy.

Why then, pursued Arabella, dost thou wilfully neglect to relate it?

Suppose, as there is nothing more likely, thou wert commanded by some

persons of considerable quality, or haply some great princes and

princesses, to recount the adventures of my life, wouldest thou omit a

circumstance of so much moment?

No indeed, madam, said Lucy.

I am glad to hear thou art so discreet, said Arabella; and pray do me

the favour to relate this adventure to me, as thou wouldest do to those

princes and princesses, if thou wert commanded.

Here Arabella, making a full stop, fixed her eyes upon her woman,

expecting every moment she would begin the desired narrative--But

finding she continued silent longer than she thought was necessary for

recalling the several circumstances of the story into her mind--

I find, said she, it will be necessary to caution you against making

your audience wait too long for your relation. It looks as if you was

to make a studied speech, not a simple relation of facts, which ought

to be free from all affectation of labour and art; and be told with

that graceful negligence which is so becoming to truth.

This I thought proper to tell you, added she, that you may not

fall into that mistake when you are called upon to relate my

adventures----Well, now if you please to begin----

What, pray madam? said Lucy.

What? repeated Arabella: why, the adventures which happened to me so

lately. Relate to me every circumstance of my being carried away, and

how my deliverance was effected by my cousin.

Indeed, madam, said Lucy, I know nothing about your ladyship's being

carried away.

Be gone, cried Arabella, losing all patience at her obstinacy: get

out of my presence this moment. Wretch, unworthy of my confidence

and favour, thy treason is too manifest: thou art bribed by that

presumptuous man to conceal all the circumstances of his attempt from

my knowledge, to the end that I may not have a full conviction of his

guilt.

Lucy, who never saw her lady so much offended before, and knew not the

occasion of it, burst into tears; which so affected the tender heart

of Arabella, that losing insensibly all her anger, she told her with

a voice softened to a tone of the utmost sweetness and condescension,

that provided she would confess how far she had been prevailed upon by

his rich presents to forget her duty, she would pardon and receive her

again into favour--

Speak, added she, and be not afraid, after this promise, to let me know

what Mr. Tinsel required of thee, and what were the gifts with which he

purchased thy services. Doubtless, he presented thee with jewels of a

considerable value----

Since your ladyship, said Lucy, sobbing, has promised not to be angry,

I don't care if I do tell your ladyship what he gave me. He gave me

this half guinea, madam, indeed he did; but for all that, when he would

come into your chamber, I struggled with him, and cried out, for fear

he should carry your ladyship away----

Arabella, lost in astonishment and shame at hearing of so

inconsiderable a present made to her woman, the like of which not one

of her romances could furnish her, ordered her immediately to withdraw,

not being willing she should observe the confusion this strange bribe

had given her.

After she had been gone some time, she endeavoured to compose her

looks, and went down to the dining-room, where Sir Charles and his son

and daughter had been engaged in a conversation concerning her, the

particulars of which may be found in the first chapter of the next book.

BOOK VIII.

Chapter I.

_Contains the conversation referred to in the last chapter of the

preceding book._

Miss Glanville, who with a malicious pleasure had secretly triumphed

in the extravagancies her beautiful cousin had been guilty of, was now

sensibly disappointed to find they had had so little effect on her

father and brother; for instead of reflecting upon the absurdities

to which they had been a witness, Mr. Glanville artfully pursued the

subject Arabella had just before been expatiating upon, taking notice

frequently of some observations of hers, and by a well contrived

repetition of her words, obliged his father a second time to declare

that his niece had spoken extremely well.

Mr. Glanville taking the word, launched out into such praises of her

wit, that Miss Glanville, no longer able to listen patiently, replied--

It was true Lady Bella sometimes said very sensible things; that it was

a great pity she was not always in a reasonable way of thinking, or

that her intervals were not longer--

Her intervals, miss! said Glanville, pray what do you mean by that

expression?--

Why, pray, said Miss Glanville, don't you think my cousin is sometimes

a little wrong in the head?

Mr. Glanville at these words starting from his chair, took a turn

across the room in great discomposure: then stopping all of a sudden,

and giving his sister a furious look----Charlotte, said he, don't

give me cause to think you are envious of your cousin's superior

excellencies----

Envious! repeated Miss Glanville, I envious of my cousin--I vow I

should never have thought of that--Indeed, brother, you are much

mistaken; my cousin's superior excellencies never gave me a moment's

disturbance--Though I must confess her unaccountable whims have often

excited my pity--

No more of this, Charlotte, interrupted Mr. Glanville, as you value my

friendship--no more of it----

Why, really, son, said Sir Charles, my niece has very strange whimsies

sometimes. How it came into her head to think Mr. Tinsel would attempt

to carry her away, I can't imagine. For after all, he only pressed

rather too rudely into her chamber, for which, as you see, I have

forbidden his visits.

That was of a piece, said Miss Glanville sneeringly to her brother,

with her asking you if you had made Mr. Tinsel swear upon your sword,

that he would never again attempt to carry her away; and applauding you

for having given him his liberty, as the generous Atermens did on the

same occasion.

I would advise you, Charlotte, said Mr. Glanville, not to aim at

repeating your cousin's words, till you know how to pronounce them

properly.

Oh! that's one of her superior excellencies, said Miss Glanville.

Indeed, miss, said Glanville very provokingly, she is superior to you

in many things; and as much so in the goodness of her heart, as in the

beauty of her person----

Come, come, Charles, said the baronet, who observed his daughter sat

swelling and biting her lip at this reproach, personal reflections are

better avoided. Your sister is very well, and not to be disparaged;

though, to be sure, Lady Bella is the finest woman I ever saw in my

life.

Miss Glanville was, if possible, more disgusted at her father's

palliation than her brother's reproaches; and, in order to give a loose

to her passion, accused Mr. Glanville of a decrease in his affection

for her, since he had been in love with her cousin; and having found

this excuse for her tears, very freely gave vent to them.

Mr. Glanville being softened by this sight, sacrificed a few

compliments to her vanity, which soon restored her to her usual

tranquillity; then, turning the discourse on his beloved Arabella,

pronounced a panegyric on her virtues and accomplishments of an hour

long; which, if it did not absolutely persuade his sister to change her

opinion, it certainly convinced his father that his niece was not only

perfectly well in her understanding, but even better than most others

of her sex.

Mr. Glanville had just finished her eulogium when Arabella appeared.

Joy danced in his eyes at her approach; he gazed upon her with a kind

of conscious triumph in his looks; her consummate loveliness justifying

his passion, and being in his opinion more than an excuse for all her

extravagancies.

Chapter II.

_In which our heroine, as we presume, shows herself in two very

different lights._

Arabella, who at her entrance had perceived some traces of uneasiness

upon Miss Glanville's countenance, tenderly asked her the cause; to

which that young lady answering in a cold and reserved manner, Mr.

Glanville, to divert her reflections on it, very freely accused himself

of having given his sister some offence. To be sure, brother, said Miss

Glanville, you are very vehement in your temper, and are as violently

carried away about things of little importance as of the greatest; and

then, whatever you have a fancy for, you love so obstinately.

I am obliged to you, miss, interrupted Mr. Glanville, for endeavouring

to give Lady Bella so unfavourable an opinion of me----

I assure you, said Arabella, Miss Glanville has said nothing to your

disadvantage: for, in my opinion, the temperament of great minds ought

to be such as she represents yours to be. For there is nothing at so

great a distance from true and heroic virtue, as that indifference

which obliges some people to be pleased with all things or nothing:

whence it comes to pass, that they neither entertain great desires

of glory, nor fear of infamy; that they neither love nor hate; that

they are wholly influenced by custom, and are sensible only of the

afflictions of the body, their minds being in a manner insensible----

To say the truth, I am inclined to conceive a greater hope of a man,

who in the beginning of his life is hurried away by some evil habit,

than one that fastens on nothing. The mind that cannot be brought to

detest vice, will never be persuaded to love virtue; but one who is

capable of loving or hating irreconcileably, by having, when young,

his passions directed to proper objects, will remain fixed in his

choice of what is good. But with him who is incapable of any violent

attraction, and whose heart is chilled by a general indifference,

precept or example will have no force--And philosophy itself, which

boasts it hath remedies for all indispositions of the soul, never had

any that can cure an indifferent mind--Nay, added she, I am persuaded

that indifference is generally the inseparable companion of a weak and

imperfect judgment. For it is so natural to a person to be carried

towards that which he believes to be good, that if indifferent people

were able to judge of things, they would fasten on something. But

certain it is, that this lukewarmness of soul, which sends forth but

feeble desires, sends also but feeble lights; so that those who are

guilty of it, not knowing any thing clearly, cannot fasten on any thing

with perseverance.

Mr. Glanville, when Arabella had finished this speech, cast a

triumphing glance at his sister, who had affected great inattention all

the while she had been speaking. Sir Charles, in his way, expressed

much admiration of her wit; telling her, if she had been a man, she

would have made a great figure in parliament, and that her speeches

might have come perhaps to be printed in time.

This compliment, odd as it was, gave great joy to Glanville; when the

conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Selvin, who had

slipped away unobserved at the time that Arabella's indisposition had

alarmed them, and now came to enquire after her health; and also, if an

opportunity offered, to set her right with regard to the suspicions she

had entertained of his designing to pay his addresses to her.

Arabella, as soon as he had sent in his name, appeared to be in great

disturbance; and upon his entrance, offered immediately to withdraw,

telling Mr. Glanville, who would have detained her, that she found no

place was likely to secure her from the persecutions of that gentleman.

Glanville stared, and looked strangely perplexed at this speech; Miss

Glanville smiled, and poor Selvin, with a very silly look, hemm'd two

or three times, and then with a faltering accent said, Madam, I am very

much concerned to find your ladyship resolved to persist in----

Sir, interrupted Arabella, my resolutions are unalterable. I told you

so before, and am surprised, after the knowledge of my intentions, you

presume to appear in my presence again, from whence I had so positively

banished you.

Pray, niece, said Sir Charles, what has Mr. Selvin done to disoblige

you?

Sir, replied Arabella, Mr. Selvin's offence can admit of no other

reparation than that which I required of him, which was a voluntary

banishment from my presence; and in this, pursued she, I am guilty

of no more severity to you, than the princess Udosia was to the

unfortunate Thrasimedes. For the passion of this prince having come

to her knowledge, notwithstanding the pains he took to conceal it,

this fair and wise princess thought it not enough to forbid his

speaking to her, but also banished him from her presence; laying a

peremptory command upon him, never to appear before her again till

he was perfectly cured of that unhappy love he had entertained for

her--Imitate therefore the meritorious obedience of this poor prince:

and if that passion you profess for me----

How, sir! interrupted Sir Charles: do you make love to my niece then?--

Sir, replied Mr. Selvin, who was strangely confounded at Arabella's

speech, though I really admire the perfections this lady is possessed

of, yet I assure you, upon my honour, I never had a thought of making

any addresses to her; and I can't imagine why her ladyship persists in

accusing me of such presumption.

So formal a denial, after what Arabella had said, extremely perplexed

Sir Charles, and filled Mr. Glanville with inconceivable shame--

Miss Glanville enjoyed their disturbance, and, full of an ill-natured

triumph, endeavoured to look Arabella into confusion; but that lady not

being at all discomposed by this declaration of Mr. Selvin's, having

accounted for it already, replied with great calmness--

Sir, it is easy to see through the artifice of your disclaiming any

passion for me--Upon any other occasion, questionless, you would

rather sacrifice your life, than consent to disavow these sentiments,

which unhappily for your peace, you have entertained. At present the

desire of continuing near me obliges you to lay this constraint upon

yourself. However, you know Thrasimedes fell upon the same stratagem to

no purpose. The rigid Udosia saw through the disguise, and would not

dispense with herself from banishing him from Rome, as I do you from

England----

How, madam! interrupted Selvin, amazed--

Yes, sir, replied Arabella hastily: nothing less can satisfy what I owe

to the consideration of my own glory.

Upon my word, madam, said Selvin, half angry, and yet strongly inclined

to laugh, I don't see the necessity of my quitting my native country,

to satisfy what you owe to the consideration of your own glory. Pray,

how does my staying in England affect your ladyship's glory?

To answer your question with another, said Arabella, pray how did the

stay of Thrasimedes in Rome, affect the glory of the empress Udosia?

Mr. Selvin was struck dumb with this speech, for he was not willing

to be thought so deficient in the knowledge of history, as not to be

acquainted with the reasons why Thrasimedes should not stay in Rome.

His silence therefore seeming to Arabella to be a tacit confession

of the justice of her commands, a sentiment of compassion for this

unfortunate lover intruded itself into her mind; and turning her bright

eyes, full of a soft complacency, upon Selvin, who stared at her as if

he had lost his wits--

I will not, said she, wrong the sublimity of your passion for me so

much as to doubt your being ready to sacrifice the repose of your own

life to the satisfaction of mine: nor will I do so much injustice to

your generosity, as to suppose the glory of obeying my commands, will

not in some measure soften the rigour of your destiny--I know not

whether it may be lawful for me to tell you, that your misfortune does

really cause me some affliction; but I am willing to give you this

consolation, and also to assure you, that to whatever part of the world

your despair will carry you, the good wishes and compassion of Arabella

shall follow you----

Having said this, with one of her fair hands she covered her face, to

hide the blushes which so compassionate a speech had caused--holding

the other extended with a careless air, supposing he would kneel

to kiss it, and bathe it with his tears, as was the custom on such

melancholy occasions, her head at the same time turned another way, as

if reluctantly and with confusion she granted this favour.--But after

standing a moment in this posture, and finding her hand untouched,

she concluded grief had deprived him of his senses, and that he would

shortly fall into a swoon as Thrasimedes did: and to prevent being a

witness of so doleful a sight, she hurried out of the room, without

once turning about; and having reached her own apartment, sunk into a

chair, not a little affected with the deplorable condition in which she

had left her supposed miserable lover.

Chapter III.

_The contrast continued._

The company she had left behind her being all, except Mr. Glanville, to

the last degree surprised at her strange words and actions, continued

mute for several minutes after she was gone, staring upon one another,

as if each wished to know the other's opinion of such an unaccountable

behaviour. At last Miss Glanville, who observed her brother's back was

towards her, told Mr. Selvin in a low voice, that she hoped he would

call and take his leave of them before he set out for the place where

his despair would carry him.

Mr. Selvin, in spite of his natural gravity, could not forbear laughing

at this speech of Miss Glanville's, which shocked her brother; and

not being able to stay where Arabella was ridiculed, nor entitled to

resent it, which would have been a manifest injustice on that occasion,

he retired to his own apartment, to give vent to that spleen which in

those moments made him out of humour with all the world.

Sir Charles, when he was gone, indulged himself in a little mirth on

his niece's extravagance, protesting he did not know what to do with

her. Upon which Miss Glanville observed, that it was a pity there were

not such things as Protestant nunneries; giving it as her opinion,

that her cousin ought to be confined in one of those places, and never

suffered to see any company, by which means she would avoid exposing

herself in the manner she did now.

Mr. Selvin, who possibly thought this a reasonable scheme of Miss

Glanville's, seemed by his silence to assent to her opinion; but Sir

Charles was greatly displeased with his daughter for expressing herself

so freely; alleging that Arabella, when she was out of those whims,

was a very sensible young lady, and sometimes talked as learnedly as a

divine. To which Mr. Selvin also added, that she had a great knowledge

of history, and had a most surprising memory; and after some more

discourse to the same purpose, he took his leave, earnestly entreating

Sir Charles to believe that he never entertained any design of making

his addresses to Lady Bella.

In the mean time, that lady, after having given near half an hour to

those reflections which occur to heroines in the same situation with

herself, called for Lucy, and ordered her to go to the dining-room, and

see in what condition Mr. Selvin was, telling her she had certainly

left him in a swoon, as also the occasion of it; and bade her give him

all the consolation in her power.

Lucy, with tears in her eyes at this recital, went down as she was

ordered, and entering the room without any ceremony, her thoughts being

wholly fixed on the melancholy circumstance her lady had been telling

her; she looked eagerly round the room without speaking a word, till

Sir Charles and Miss Glanville, who thought she had been sent with some

message from Arabella, asked her both at the same instant, what she

wanted.

I came, sir, said Lucy, repeating her lady's words, to see in what

condition Mr. Selvin is in, and to give him all the solation in my

power.

Sir Charles, laughing heartily at this speech, asked her what she could

do for Mr. Selvin? To which she replied, she did not know; but her lady

had told her to give him all the solation in her power.

Consolation thou wouldst say, I suppose, said Sir Charles.

Yes, Sir, said Lucy, curtseying. Well, child, added he, go up and tell

your lady, Mr. Selvin does not need any consolation.

Lucy accordingly returned with this message, and was met at the

chamber-door by Arabella, who hastily asked her if Mr. Selvin was

recovered from his swoon: to which Lucy replied that she did not know;

but that Sir Charles bid her tell her ladyship, Mr. Selvin did not need

any consolation.

Oh Heavens! cried Arabella, throwing herself into a chair as pale as

death--He is dead, he has fallen upon his sword, and put an end to his

life and miseries at once--Oh! how unhappy am I, cried she, bursting

into tears, to be the cause of so cruel an accident--Was ever any

fate so terrible as mine--Was ever beauty so fatal--Was ever rigour

so unfortunate--How will the quiet of my future days be disturbed by

the sad remembrance of a man whose death was caused by my disdain--But

why, resumed she after a little pause--Why do I thus afflict myself for

what has happened by an unavoidable necessity? Nor am I singular in the

misfortune which has befallen me--Did not the sad Perinthus die for the

beautiful Panthea--Did not the rigour of Barsina bring the miserable

Oxyatres to the grave--And the severity of Statira make Oroondates

fall upon his sword in her presence, though happily he escaped being

killed by it--Let us then not afflict ourselves unreasonably at this

sad accident--Let us lament, as we ought, the fatal effects of our

charms--But let us comfort ourselves with the thought that we have only

acted conformable to our duty.

Arabella having pronounced these last words with a solemn and lofty

accent, ordered Lucy, who listened to her with eyes drowned in tears,

to go down and ask if the body was removed. For, added she, all my

constancy will not be sufficient to support me against that pitiful

sight.

Lucy accordingly delivered her message to Sir Charles and Miss

Glanville, who were still together, discoursing on the fantastical turn

of Arabella; when the knight, who could not possibly comprehend what

she meant by asking if the body was removed, bid her tell her lady he

desired to speak with her.

Arabella, upon receiving this summons, set herself to consider what

could be the intent of it. If Mr. Selvin be dead, said she, what good

can my presence do among them? Surely it cannot be to upbraid me with

my severity, that my uncle desires to see me--No, it would be unjust to

suppose it. Questionless, my unhappy lover is still struggling with the

pangs of death, and for a consolation in his last moments, implores the

favour of resigning up his life in my sight. Pausing a little at these

words, she rose from her seat with a resolution to give the unhappy

Selvin her pardon before he died. Meeting Mr. Glanville as he was

returning from his chamber to the dining-room, she told him, she hoped

the charity she was going to discover towards his rival, would not give

him any uneasiness; and preventing his reply, by going hastily into the

room, he followed her, dreading some new extravagance, yet, not able to

prevent it, endeavoured to conceal his confusion from her observation.

Arabella, after breathing a gentle sigh, told Sir Charles, that she was

come to grant Mr. Selvin her pardon for the offence he had been guilty

of, that he might depart in peace.

Well, well, said Sir Charles, he is departed in peace without it.

How, Sir! interrupted Arabella: is he dead then already? Alas! why had

he not the satisfaction of seeing me before he expired, that his soul

might have departed in peace? He would have been assured not only of my

pardon, but pity also; and that assurance would have made him happy in

his last moments.

Why, niece, interrupted Sir Charles, staring, you surprise me

prodigiously: are you in earnest?

Questionless I am, sir, said she: nor ought you to be surprised at

the concern I express for the fate of this unhappy man, nor at the

pardon I proposed to have granted him; since herein I am justified by

the example of many great and virtuous princesses, who have done as

much, nay, haply more than I intended to have done, for persons whose

offences were greater than Mr. Selvin's.

I am very sorry, madam, said Sir Charles, to hear you talk in this

manner: it is really enough to make one suspect you are----

You do me great injustice, sir, interrupted Arabella, if you suspect

me to be guilty of any unbecoming weakness for this man. If barely

expressing my compassion for his misfortunes be esteemed so great a

favour, what would you have thought if I had supported his head on my

knees while he was dying, shed tears over him, and discovered all the

tokens of a sincere affliction for him?

Good God! said Sir Charles, lifting up his eyes: did any body ever hear

of any thing like this?

What, sir, said Arabella, with as great an appearance of surprise in

her countenance as his had discovered, do you say you never heard of

any thing like this? Then you never heard of the princess of Media, I

suppose----

No, not I, madam, said Sir Charles peevishly.

Then, sir, resumed Arabella, permit me to tell you, that this fair

and virtuous princess condescended to do all I have mentioned for the

fierce Labynet, prince of Assyria: who though he had mortally offended

her by stealing her away out of the court of the king her father,

nevertheless, when he was wounded to death in her presence, and humbly

implored her pardon before he died, she condescended as I have said,

to support him on her knees, and shed tears for his disaster. I could

produce many more instances of the like compassion in ladies almost as

highly born as herself, though, perhaps, their quality was not quite

so illustrious, she being the heiress of two powerful kingdoms. Yet to

mention only these----

Good Heavens! cried Mr. Glanville here, being quite out of patience, I

shall go distracted----

Arabella, surprised at this exclamation, looked earnestly at him for a

moment--and then asked him, whether any thing she had said had given

him uneasiness?

Yes, upon my soul, madam, said Glanville, so vexed and confused that he

hardly knew what he said----

I am sorry for it, replied Arabella, gravely; and also am greatly

concerned to find that in generosity you are so much exceeded by the

illustrious Cyrus; who was so far from taking umbrage at Mandana's

behaviour to the dying prince, that he commended her for the compassion

she had shown him. So also did the brave and generous Oroondates, when

the fair Statira----

By Heavens! cried Glanville, rising in a passion, there's no bearing

this. Pardon me, madam, but upon my soul you'll make me hang myself.

Hang yourself, repeated Arabella: sure you know not what you say? You

meant, I suppose, that you'll fall upon your sword. What hero ever

threatened to give himself so vulgar a death? But pray let me know the

cause of your despair, so sudden and so violent.

Mr. Glanville continuing in a sort of sullen silence, Arabella, raising

her voice, went on:

Though I do not conceive myself obliged to give you an account of my

conduct, seeing that I have only permitted you yet to hope for my

favour; yet I owe to myself and my own honour the justification I am

going to make. Know then, that however suspicious my compassion for Mr.

Selvin may appear to your mistaken judgment, yet it has its foundation

only in the generosity of my disposition, which inclines me to pardon

the fault when the unhappy criminal repents; and to afford him my

pity when his circumstances require it. Let not therefore the charity

I have discovered towards your rival, be the cause of your despair,

since my sentiments for him, were he living, would be what they were

before; that is, full of indifference, nay, haply, disdain. And suffer

not yourself to be so carried away by a violent and unjust jealousy,

as to threaten your own death, which, if you really had any ground for

your suspicions, and truly loved me, would come unsought for, though

not undesired--For indeed, was your despair reasonable, death would

necessarily follow it; for what lover can live under so desperate a

misfortune? In that case you may meet death undauntedly when it comes,

nay, embrace it with joy; but truly the killing one's self is but a

false picture of true courage, proceeding rather from fear of a further

evil, than contempt of that you fly to: for if it were a contempt of

pain, the same principle would make you resolve to bear patiently and

fearlessly all kind of pains; and hope being of all other the most

contrary thing to fear, this being an utter banishment of hope, seems

to have its ground in fear.

Chapter IV.

_In which Mr. Glanville makes an unsuccessful attempt upon Arabella._

Arabella, when she had finished these words, which banished in part

Mr. Glanville's confusion, went to her own apartment, followed by Miss

Glanville, to whom she had made a sign for that purpose; and throwing

herself into a chair, burst into tears, which greatly surprising Miss

Glanville, she pressed her to tell her the cause.

Alas! replied Arabella, have I not cause to think myself extremely

unhappy? The deplorable death of Mr. Selvin, the despair to which I see

your brother reduced, with the fatal consequences which may attend it,

fill me with a mortal uneasiness.

Well, said Miss Glanville, your ladyship may make yourself quite easy

as to both these matters; for Mr. Selvin is not dead, nor is my brother

in despair that I know of.

What do you say, miss? interrupted Arabella: is not Mr. Selvin dead?

Was the wound he gave himself not mortal then?

I know of no wound that he gave himself, not I, said Miss Glanville.

What makes your ladyship suppose he gave himself a wound? Lord bless

me, what strange thoughts come into your head!

Truly I am rejoiced to hear it, replied Arabella; and in order to

prevent the effects of his despair, I'll instantly dispatch my commands

to him to live.

I dare answer for his obedience, madam, said Miss Glanville, smiling.

Arabella then gave orders for paper and pens to be brought her; and

seeing Mr. Glanville enter the room, very formally acquainted him with

her intention, telling him, that he ought to be satisfied with the

banishment to which she had doomed his unhappy rival, and not require

his death, since he had nothing to fear from his pretensions.

I assure you, madam, said Mr. Glanville, I am perfectly easy upon

that account: and in order to spare you the trouble of sending to Mr.

Selvin, I may venture to assure you that he is in no danger of dying.

It is impossible, sir, replied Arabella: according to the nature of

things, it is impossible but he must already be very near death--You

know the rigour of my sentence, you know----

I know, madam, said Mr. Glanville, that Mr. Selvin does not think

himself under a necessity of obeying your sentence; and has the

impudence to question your authority for banishing him from his native

country.

My authority, sir, said Arabella, strangely surprised, is founded upon

the absolute power he has given me over him.

He denies that, madam, said Glanville, and says that he neither can

give, nor you exercise, an absolute power over him; since you are both

accountable to the king, whose subjects you are, and both restrained by

the laws under whose sanction you live.

Arabella's apparent confusion at these words giving Mr. Glanville hopes

that he had fallen upon a proper method to cure her of some of her

strange notions, he was going to pursue his arguments, when Arabella

looking a little sternly upon him--

The empire of love, said she, like the empire of honour, is governed

by laws of its own, which have no dependence upon, or relation to, any

other.

Pardon me, madam, said Glanville, if I presume to differ from you. Our

laws have fixed the boundaries of honour as well as those of love.

How is that possible, replied Arabella, when they differ so widely,

that a man may be justified by the one, and yet condemned by the other?

For instance, pursued she, you are not permitted by the laws of the

land to take away the life of any person whatever; yet the laws of

honour oblige you to hunt your enemy through the world, in order to

sacrifice him to your vengeance. Since it is impossible then for the

same actions to be at once just and unjust, it must necessarily follow,

that the law which condemns it, and that which justifies it, is not the

same, but directly opposite. And now, added she, after a little pause,

I hope I have entirely cleared up that point to you.

You have, indeed, madam, replied Mr. Glanville, proved to a

demonstration, that what is called honour is something distinct from

justice, since they command things absolutely opposite to each other.

Arabella, without reflecting on this inference, went on to prove the

independent sovereignty of love: which, said she, may be collected

from all the words and actions of those heroes who were inspired by

this passion. We see it in them, pursued she, triumphing not only over

all natural and avowed allegiance, but superior even to friendship,

duty, and honour itself. This the actions of Oroondates, Artaxerxes,

Spitridates, and many other illustrious princes sufficiently testify.

Love requires a more unlimited obedience from its slaves, than any

other monarch can expect from his subjects; an obedience which is

circumscribed by no laws whatever, and dependent upon nothing but

itself.

I shall live, madam, says the renowned prince of Scythia to the divine

Statira; I shall live, since it is your command I should do so; and

death can have no power over a life which you are pleased to take care

of----

Say only that you wish I should conquer, said the great Juba

to the incomparable Cleopatra, and my enemies will be already

vanquished--victory will come over to the side your favour--and an army

of a hundred thousand men will not be able to overcome the man who has

your commands to conquer--

How mean and insignificant, pursued she, are the titles bestowed on

other monarchs compared with those which dignify the sovereigns of

hearts, such as Divine Arbitress of my Fate, Visible Divinity, Earthly

Goddess, and many others equally sublime--

Mr. Glanville losing all patience at her obstinate folly, interrupted

her here with a question quite foreign to the subject she was

discussing, and soon after quitting her chamber, retired to his own,

more than ever despairing of her recovery.

Chapter V.

_In which is introduced a very singular character._

Miss Glanville, whose envy and dislike of her lovely cousin were

heightened by her suspicions that she disputed with her the possession

of Sir George's heart, she having been long in reality a great admirer

of that gay gentleman, was extremely delighted with the ridicule her

absurd behaviour had drawn upon her at Bath, which she found by enquiry

was through Mr. Tinsel's representation grown almost general.

In order therefore to be at liberty to go to the public places

uneclipsed by the superior beauty of Arabella, she acquainted her

father and brother with part of what she had heard, which determined

them to prevent that young lady's appearance in public while they

stayed at Bath; this being no difficult matter to bring about, since

Arabella only went to the rooms or parade in compliance with the

invitation of her cousins.

Miss Glanville being by these means rid of a rival too powerful even to

contend with, went with more than usual gaiety to the assembly, where

the extravagancies of Arabella afforded a perpetual fund for diversion.

Her more than passive behaviour upon this occasion, banishing all

restraint among those she conversed with, the jest circulated very

freely at Arabella's expense. Nor did Miss Glanville fail to give new

poignancy to their sarcasms, by artfully disclosing the bent of her

cousin's studies, and enumerating the many absurdities they had made

her guilty of.

Arabella's uncommon beauty had gained her so many enemies among the

ladies that composed this assembly, that they seemed to contend with

each other who should ridicule her most. The celebrated Countess of

----, being then at Bath, approached a circle of these fair defamers,

and listening a few moments to the contemptuous jests they threw out

against the absent beauty, declared herself in her favour; which in

a moment, such was the force of her universally acknowledged merit,

and the deference always paid to her opinion, silenced every pretty

impertinent around her.

This lady, who among her own sex had no superior in wit, elegance,

and ease, was inferior to very few of the other in sense,

learning, and judgment. Her skill in poetry, painting, and music,

though incontestably great, was numbered among the least of her

accomplishments. Her candour, her sweetness, her modesty and

benevolence, while they secured her from the darts of envy, rendered

her superior to praise, and made the one as unnecessary as the other

ineffectual.

She had been a witness of the surprise Arabella's extraordinary

appearance had occasioned, and struck with that as well as the uncommon

charms of her person, had pressed near her with several others of the

company, when she was discoursing in the manner we have related.

A person of the countess's nice discernment could not fail of observing

the wit and spirit, which though obscured, was not absolutely hid under

the absurdity of her notions. And this discovery adding esteem to the

compassion she felt for the fair visionary, she resolved to rescue

her from the ill-natured raillery of her sex. Praising therefore her

understanding, and the beauty of her person, with a sweetness and

generosity peculiar to herself, she accounted in the most delicate

manner imaginable for the singularity of her notions, from her studies,

her retirement, her ignorance of the world, and her lively imagination.

And to abate the keenness of their sarcasms, she acknowledged that

she herself had, when very young, been deep read in romances; and but

for an early acquaintance with the world, and being directed to other

studies, was likely to have been as much a heroine as Lady Bella.

Miss Glanville, though she was secretly vexed at this defence of

her cousin, was however under a necessity of seeming obliged to the

countess for it: and that lady expressing a desire to be acquainted

with Lady Bella, Miss Glanville respectfully offered to attend her

cousin to her lodgings; which the countess as respectfully declined,

saying, as Lady Bella was a stranger, she would make her the first

visit.

Miss Glanville at her return gave her brother an account of what had

happened at the assembly, and filled him with an inconceivable joy at

the countess's intention. He had always been a zealous admirer of that

lady's character, and flattered himself that the conversation of so

admirable a woman would be of the utmost use to Arabella.

That very night he mentioned her to his beloved cousin; and after

enumerating all her fine qualities, declared that she had already

conceived a friendship for her, and was solicitous of her acquaintance.

I think myself extremely fortunate, replied Arabella, in that I have

(though questionless undeservedly) acquired the amity of this lovely

person; and I beg you, pursued she to Miss Glanville, to tell her, that

I long with impatience to embrace her, and to give her that share in my

heart which her transcendent merit deserves.

Miss Glanville only bowed her head in answer to this request, giving

her brother at the same time a significant leer; who, though used to

Arabella's particularities, could not help being a little confounded at

the heroic speech she had made.

Chapter VI.

_Containing something which at first sight may possibly puzzle the

reader._

The countess was as good as her word, and two days after sent a card to

Arabella, importing her design to wait on her that afternoon.

Our heroine expected her with great impatience, and the moment she

entered the room, flew towards her with a graceful eagerness, and

straining her in her arms, embraced her with all the fervour of a long

absent friend.

Sir Charles and Mr. Glanville were equally embarrassed at the

familiarity of this address; but observing that the countess seemed not

to be surprised at it, but rather to receive it with pleasure, they

were soon composed.

You cannot imagine, lovely stranger, said Arabella to the countess, as

soon as they were seated, with what impatience I have longed to behold

you, since the knowledge I have received of your rare qualities, and

the friendship you have been pleased to honour me with--And I may truly

protest to you, that such is my admiration of your virtues, that I

would have gone to the farthest part of the world to render you that

which you with so much generosity have condescended to bestow upon me.

Sir Charles stared at this extraordinary speech, and not being able to

comprehend a word of it, was concerned to think how the lady to whom it

was addressed would understand it.

Mr. Glanville looked down, and bit his nails in extreme confusion; but

the countess, who had not forgot the language of romance, returned the

compliment in a strain as heroic as hers.

The favour I have received from Fortune, said she, in bringing me to

the happiness of your acquaintance, charming Arabella, is so great,

that I may rationally expect some terrible misfortune will befall me:

seeing that in this life our pleasures are so constantly succeeded by

pains, that we hardly ever enjoy the one without suffering the other

soon after.

Arabella was quite transported to hear the countess express herself

in language so conformable to her own; but Mr. Glanville was greatly

confounded, and began to suspect she was diverting herself with his

cousin's singularities: and Sir Charles was within a little of thinking

her as much out of the way as his niece.

Misfortunes, madam, said Arabella, are too often the lot of excellent

persons like yourself. The sublimest among mortals both for beauty

and virtue have experienced the frowns of Fate. The sufferings of the

divine Statira, or Cassandra, for she bore both names, the persecutions

of the incomparable Cleopatra, the distresses of the beautiful Candace,

and the afflictions of the fair and generous Mandana, are proofs

that the most illustrious persons in the world have felt the rage of

calamity.

It must be confessed, said the countess, that all those fair princesses

you have named, were for a while extremely unfortunate; yet in the

catalogue of these lovely and afflicted persons you have forgot one who

might with justice dispute the priority of sufferings with them all--I

mean the beautiful Elisa, princess of Parthia.

Pardon me, madam, replied Arabella. I cannot be of your opinion. The

princess of Parthia may indeed justly be ranked among the number of

unfortunate persons, but she can by no means dispute the melancholy

precedence with the divine Cleopatra--For in fine, madam, what evils

did the princess of Parthia suffer which the fair Cleopatra did not

likewise endure, and some of them haply in a greater degree? If Elisa,

by the tyrannical authority of the king her father, saw herself upon

the point of becoming the wife of a prince she detested, was not the

beautiful daughter of Antony, by the more unjustifiable tyranny of

Augustus likely to be forced into the arms of Tyberius, a proud and

cruel prince, who was odious to the whole world as well as to her? If

Elisa was for some time in the power of pirates, was not Cleopatra

captive to an inhuman king, who presented his sword to the fair breast

of that divine princess, worthy the adoration of the whole earth? And

in fine, if Elisa had the grief to see her dear Artaban imprisoned by

the order of Augustus, Cleopatra beheld with mortal agonies her beloved

Coriolanus enclosed amidst the guards of that enraged prince, and

doomed to a cruel death.

It is certain, madam, replied the countess, that the misfortunes of

both these princesses were very great, though as you have shown me with

some inequality: and when one reflects upon the dangerous adventures to

which persons of their quality were exposed in those times, one cannot

help rejoicing that we live in an age in which the customs, manners,

habits, and inclinations differ so widely from theirs, that it is

impossible such adventures should ever happen.

Such is the strange alteration of things, that some people I dare say

at present cannot be persuaded to believe there ever were princesses

wandering through the world by land and sea in mean disguises, carried

away violently out of their father's dominions by insolent lovers; some

discovered sleeping in forests, other shipwrecked on desolate islands,

confined in castles, bound in chariots, and even struggling amidst

the tempestuous waves of the sea, into which they had cast themselves

to avoid the brutal force of their ravishers. Not one of these things

having happened within the compass of several thousand years, people

unlearned in antiquity would be apt to deem them idle tales, so

improbable do they appear at present.

Arabella, though greatly surprised at this discourse, did not think

proper to express her thoughts of it. She was unwilling to appear

absolutely ignorant of the present customs of the world, before a

lady whose good opinion she was ardently desirous of improving. Her

prepossessions in favour of the countess made her receive the new

lights she held out to her with respect, though not without doubt and

irresolution. Her blushes, her silence, and down-cast eyes gave the

countess to understand part of her thoughts; who for fear of alarming

her too much for that time, dropped the subject, and turning the

conversation on others more general, gave Arabella an opportunity of

mingling in it with that wit and vivacity which was natural to her when

romances were out of the question.

Chapter VII.

_In which, if the reader has not anticipated it, he will find an

explanation of some seeming inconsistencies in the foregoing chapter._

The countess, charmed with the wit and good sense of Arabella, could

not conceal her admiration, but expressed it in terms the most

obliging imaginable: and Arabella, who was excessively delighted with

her, returned the compliments she made her with the most respectful

tenderness.

In the midst of these mutual civilities, Arabella, in the style of

romance, entreated the countess to favour her with the recital of her

adventures.

At the mention of this request, that lady conveyed so much confusion

into her countenance, that Arabella, extremely embarrassed by it,

though she knew not why, thought it necessary to apologise for the

disturbance she seemed to have occasioned in her.

Pardon me, madam, replied the countess, recovering herself, if the

uncommoness of your request made a moment's reflection necessary to

convince me that a young lady of your sense and delicacy could mean

no offence to decorum by making it. The word adventures carries in

it so free and licentious a sound in the apprehensions of people at

this period of time, that it can hardly with propriety be applied to

those few and natural incidents which compose the history of a woman

of honour. And when I tell you, pursued she with a smile, that I was

born and christened, had a useful and proper education, received the

addresses of my Lord ---- through the recommendation of my parents,

and married him with their consents and my own inclination, and that

since we have lived in great harmony together, I have told you all the

material passages of my life; which upon enquiry you will find differ

very little from those of other women of the same rank, who have a

moderate share of sense, prudence and virtue.

Since you have already, madam, replied Arabella blushing, excused me

for the liberty I took with you, it will be unnecessary to tell you

it was grounded upon the customs of ancient times, when ladies of the

highest rank and sublimest virtue were often exposed to a variety of

cruel adventures, which they imparted in confidence to each other, when

chance brought them together.

Custom, said the countess, smiling, changes the very nature of things;

and what was honourable a thousand years ago, may probably be looked

upon as infamous now--A lady in the heroic age you speak of, would not

be thought to possess any great share of merit, if she had not been

many times carried away by one or other of her insolent lovers: whereas

a beauty in this could not pass through the hands of several different

ravishers, without bringing an imputation on her chastity.

The same actions which made a man a hero in those times would

constitute him a murderer in these--And the same steps which led him to

a throne then, would infallibly conduct him to a scaffold now.

But custom, madam, said Arabella, cannot possibly change the nature

of virtue or vice: and since virtue is the chief characteristic of a

hero, a hero in the last age will be a hero in this--Though the natures

of virtue or vice cannot be changed, replied the countess, yet they

may be mistaken; and different principles, customs, and education, may

probably change their names, if not their natures.

Sure, madam, said Arabella a little moved, you do not intend by this

inference to prove Oroondates, Artaxerxes, Juba, Artaban, and the other

heroes of antiquity bad men?

Judging them by the rules of Christianity, and our present notions of

honour, justice, and humanity, they certainly are, replied the countess.

Did they not possess all the necessary qualifications of heroes, madam,

said Arabella, and each in a superlative degree? Was not their valour

invincible, their generosity unbounded, and their fidelity inviolable?

It cannot be denied, said the countess, but that their valour was

invincible; and many thousand men less courageous than themselves, felt

the fatal effects of that invincible valour, which was perpetually

seeking after occasions to exert itself. Oroondates gave many

extraordinary proofs of that unbounded generosity so natural to the

heroes of his time. This prince being sent by the king his father, at

the head of an army, to oppose the Persian monarch, who had unjustly

invaded his dominions, and was destroying the lives and properties

of his subjects; having taken the wives and daughters of his enemy

prisoners, had by these means an opportunity to put a period to a war

so destructive to his country: yet out of a generosity truly heroic,

he released them immediately without any conditions; and falling in

love with one of those princesses, secretly quitted his father's

court, resided several years in that of the enemy of his father and

country, engaged himself to his daughter, and when the war broke out

again between the two kings, fought furiously against an army in which

the king his father was in person, and shed the blood of his future

subjects without remorse; though each of those subjects, we are told,

would have sacrificed his life to save that of their prince, so much

was he beloved. Such are the actions which immortalize the heroes

of romance, and are by the authors of those books styled glorious,

godlike, and divine. Yet judging of them as Christians, we shall find

them impious and base, and directly opposite to our present notions of

moral and relative duties.

It is certain therefore, madam, added the countess with a smile, that

what was virtue in those days, is vice in ours: and to form a hero

according to our notions of them at present, it is necessary to give

him qualities very different from Oroondates.

The secret charm in the countenance, voice, and manner of the countess,

joined to the force of her reasoning, could not fail of making some

impression on the mind of Arabella; but it was such an impression

as came far short of conviction. She was surprised, embarrassed,

perplexed, but not convinced. Heroism, romantic heroism, was deeply

rooted in her heart; it was her habit of thinking, a principle imbibed

from education. She could not separate her ideas of glory, virtue,

courage, generosity, and honour, from the false representations of

them in the actions of Oroondates, Juba, Artaxerxes, and the rest of

the imaginary heroes. The countess's discourse had raised a kind of

tumult in her thoughts, which gave an air of perplexity to her lovely

face, and made that lady apprehensive she had gone too far, and lost

that ground in her esteem, which she had endeavoured to acquire by a

conformity to some of her notions and language. In this, however, she

was mistaken; Arabella felt a tenderness for her that had already the

force of a long contracted friendship, and an esteem little less than

veneration.

When the countess took leave, the professions of Arabella, though

delivered in the language of romance, were very sincere and affecting,

and were returned with an equal degree of tenderness by the countess,

who had conceived a more than ordinary affection for her.

Mr. Glanville, who could have almost worshipped the countess for

the generous design he saw she had entertained, took an opportunity

as he handed her to her chair, to entreat in a manner as earnest as

polite, that she would continue the happiness of her acquaintance to

his cousin; which, with a smile of mingled dignity and sweetness, she

assured him of.

Chapter VIII.

_Which concludes book the eighth._

Mr. Glanville at his return to the dining-room, finding Arabella

retired, told his father in a rapture of joy, that the charming

countess would certainly make a convert of Lady Bella.

Methinks, said the baronet, she has as strange whims in her head as my

niece. Ad's-heart, what a deal of stuff did she talk about! A parcel of

heroes as she calls them, with confounded hard names--In my mind, she

is more likely to make Lady Bella worse than better.

Mr. Glanville, a little vexed at his father's misapprehension,

endeavoured with as much delicacy as he could, to set him right with

regard to the countess; so that he brought him at last to confess she

managed the thing very well.

The countess, who had resolved to take Arabella openly into her

protection, was thinking on means to engage her to appear at the

assembly, whither she proposed to accompany her in a modern dress. But

her good intentions towards our lovely heroine were suspended by the

account she received of her mother's indisposition, which commanded her

immediate attendance on her at her seat in ----.

Her sudden departure gave Arabella an extreme uneasiness, and proved a

cruel disappointment to Mr. Glanville, who had founded all his hopes of

her recovery on the conversation of that lady.

Sir Charles having affairs that required his presence in London,

proposed to his niece the leaving Bath in a few days, to which she

consented; and accordingly they set out for London in Arabella's coach

and six, attended by several servants on horseback, her women having

been sent away before in the stage.

Nothing very remarkable happened during this journey; so we shall not

trouble our readers with several small mistakes of Arabella's, such as

her supposing a neat country girl who was riding behind a man, to be

some lady or princess in disguise, forced away by a lover she hated,

and entreating Mr. Glanville to attempt her rescue; which occasioned

some little debate between her and Sir Charles, who could not be

persuaded to believe it was as she said, and forbade his son to meddle

in other people's affairs. Several of these sorts of mistakes, as we

said before, we omit; and will therefore, if our reader pleases, bring

our heroine without further delay to London.

BOOK IX.

Chapter I.

_In which is related an admirable adventure._

Miss Glanville, whose spirits were greatly exhilarated at their

entrance into London, that seat of magnificence and pleasure,

congratulated her cousin upon the entertainment she would receive from

the new and surprising objects which every day for a considerable

time would furnish her with; and ran over the catalogue of diversions

with such a volubility of tongue, as drew a gentle reprimand from her

father, and made her keep a sullen silence till they were set down in

St. James's Square, the place of their residence in town.

Sir Charles having ordered his late lady's apartment to be prepared for

the accommodation of his niece; as soon as the first civilities were

over, she retired to her chamber where she employed herself in giving

her women directions for placing her books, of which she had brought a

moderate quantity to London, in her closet.

Miss Glanville as soon as she had dispatched away some hundred cards

to her acquaintance, to give them notice she was in town, attended

Arabella in her own apartment; and as they sat at the tea she began to

regulate the diversions of the week, naming the Drawing-Room, Park,

Concert, Ranelagh, Lady ----'s Assembly, the Duchess of ----'s Rout,

Vauxhall, and a long &c. of visits; at which Arabella, with an accent

that expressed her surprise, asked her, if she supposed she intended to

stay in town three or four years.

Law, cousin, said Miss Glanville, all this is but the amusement of a

few days.

Amusement, do you say? replied Arabella: methinks it seems to be the

sole employment of those days; and what you call the amusement, must of

necessity be the business of life.

You are always so grave, cousin, said Miss Glanville, one does not

know what to say to you. However, I shan't press you to go to public

places against your inclination, yet you'll condescend to receive a few

visits, I suppose?

Yes, replied Arabella, and if among the ladies whom I shall see, I find

any like the amiable Countess of ----, I shall not scruple to enter

into the most tender amity with them.

The Countess of ---- is very well, to be sure, said Miss Glanville;

yet I don't know how it is, she does not suit my taste--She is very

particular in a great many things, and knows too much for a lady, as I

heard my Lord Fribble say one day. Then she is quite unfashionable: she

hates cards, keeps no assembly, is seen but seldom at public places;

and in my opinion, as well as in a great many others, is the dullest

company in the world. I'm sure I met her at a visit a little before I

went down to your seat; and she had not been a quarter of an hour in

the room, before she set a whole circle of ladies a-yawning.

Arabella, though she had a sincere contempt for her cousin's manner of

thinking, yet always politely concealed it; and vexed as she was at her

sneers upon the countess, she contented herself with gently defending

her, telling her at the same time, that till she met with a lady who

had more merit than the countess, she should always possess the first

place in her esteem.

Arabella, who had from youth adopted the resentments of her father,

refused to make her appearance at court, which Sir Charles gently

intimated to her; yet being not wholly divested of the curiosity

natural to her sex, she condescended to go _incog._ to the gallery on

a ball night, accompanied by Mr. Glanville and his sister, in order to

behold the splendour of the British Court.

As her romances had long familiarised her thoughts to objects of

grandeur and magnificence, she was not so much struck as might have

been expected with those that now presented themselves to her view.

Nor was she a little disappointed to find that among the men she saw

none whose appearance came up to her ideas of the air and port of an

Artaban, Oroondates, or Juba; or any of the ladies, who did not in her

opinion, fall short of the perfections of Elisa, Mandana, Statira, &c.

It was remarkable too, that she never enquired how often the princesses

had been carried away by love-captivated monarchs, or how many

victories the king's sons had gained; but seemed the whole time she

was there to have suspended all her romantic ideas of glory, beauty,

gallantry, and love.

Mr. Glanville was highly pleased with her composed behaviour, and a day

or two after entreated her to allow him the honour of showing her what

was remarkable and worthy of her observation in this great metropolis.

To this she also consented, and for the greater privacy began their

travels in a hired coach.

Part of several days were taken up in this employment; but Mr.

Glanville had the mortification to find she was full of allusions

to her romances upon every occasion; such as her asking the person

who shows the armoury at the Tower, the names of the knights to

whom each suit belonged, and wondering there were no devices on the

shields or plumes of feathers in the helmets. She observed that the

lion Lysimachus killed, was, according to the history of that prince,

much larger than any of those she was showed in the Tower, and also

much fiercer; took notice that St. Paul's was less magnificent in

the inside, than the temple in which Cyrus, when he went to Mandana,

heard her return thanks for his supposed death; enquired if it was not

customary for the king and his whole court to sail in barges upon the

Thames, as Augustus used to do upon the Tyber; whether they had not

music and collations in the Park; and where they celebrated the justs

and tournaments.

The season for Vauxhall being not yet over, she was desirous of once

seeing a place, which by the description she had heard of it, greatly

resembled the gardens of Lucullus at Rome, in which the emperor, with

all the princes and princesses of his court were so nobly entertained,

and where so many gallant conversations had passed among those

admirable persons.

The singularity of her dress, for she was covered with her veil, drew

a number of gazers after her, who pressed round her with so little

respect, that she was greatly embarrassed, and had thoughts of quitting

the place, delightful as she owned it, immediately, when her attention

was wholly engrossed by an adventure in which she soon interested

herself very deeply.

An officer of rank in the sea service had brought his mistress,

disguised in a suit of man's or rather boy's clothes, and a hat

and feather, into the gardens. The young creature being a little

intoxicated with the wine she had taken too freely, was thrown so much

off her guard as to give occasion to some of the company to suspect

her sex; and a gay fellow, in order to give them some diversion at

her expense, pretending to be affronted at something she said, drew

his sword upon the disguised fair-one, which so alarmed her, that she

shrieked out she was a woman, and ran for protection to her lover; who

was so disordered with liquor, that he was not able to defend her.

Miss Glanville, ever curious and inquisitive, demanded the cause why

the company ran in crowds to that particular spot; and received for

answer, that a gentleman had drawn his sword upon a lady disguised in a

man's habit.

Oh Heavens! cried Arabella, this must certainly be a very notable

adventure. The lady has doubtless some extraordinary circumstances in

her story, and haply, upon enquiry, her misfortunes will be found to

resemble those which obliged the beautiful Aspasia to put on the same

disguise, who was by that means murdered by the cruel Zenodorus in a

fit of jealousy at the amity his wife expressed for her. But can I not

see this unfortunate fair-one? added she, pressing in spite of Mr.

Glanville's entreaties through the crowd: I may haply be able to afford

her some consolation.

Mr. Glanville, finding his persuasions were not regarded, followed her

with very little difficulty: for her veil falling back in her hurry,

she did not mind to replace it; and the charms of her face, joined to

the majesty of her person, and singularity of her dress, attracting

every person's attention and respect, they made way for her to pass,

not a little surprised at the extreme earnestness and solemnity that

appeared in her countenance upon an event so diverting to every one

else.

The disguised lady whom she was endeavouring to approach, had thrown

herself upon a bench in one of the boxes, trembling still with the

apprehension of the sword, though her antagonist was kneeling at her

feet, making love to her in mock-heroics for the diversion of the

company.

Her hat and peruke had fallen off in her fright, and her hair, which

had been turned up under it, hung now loosely about her neck, and gave

such an appearance of woe to a face, which notwithstanding the paleness

that terror had overspread it with, was really extremely pretty, that

Arabella was equally struck with compassion and admiration of her.

Lovely unknown, said she to her, with an air of extreme tenderness,

though I am a stranger both to your name and history, yet your aspect

persuadeth me your quality is not mean; and the condition and disguise

in which I behold you, showing that you are unfortunate, permit me

to offer you all the assistance in my power, seeing that I am moved

thereto by my compassion for your distress, and that esteem which the

sight of you must necessarily inspire.

Mr. Glanville was struck dumb with confusion at this strange speech,

and at the whispers and scoffs it occasioned among the spectators.

He attempted to take hold of her hand, in order to lead her away,

but she disengaged herself from him with a frown of displeasure; and

taking no notice of Miss Glanville, who whispered with great emotion,

Lord, cousin, how you expose yourself! pressed nearer to the beautiful

disguised, and again repeated her offers of service.

The girl being perfectly recovered from her intoxication by the fright

she had been in, gazed upon Arabella with a look of extreme surprise:

yet being moved to respect by the dignity of her appearance, and,

strange as her words seemed to be, by the obliging purport of them, and

the affecting earnestness with which they were delivered, she rose from

her seat and thanked her, with an accent full of regard and submission.

Fair maid, said Arabella, taking her hand, let us quit this place,

where your discovery may probably subject you to more dangers. If you

will be pleased to put yourself into my protection, and acquaint me

with the history of your misfortunes; I have interest enough with a

valiant person, who shall undertake to free you from your persecutions,

and re-establish the repose of your life.

The kneeling hero, who as well as every one else that were present, had

gazed with astonishment at Arabella during all this passage, perceiving

she was about to rob him of the disguised fair, seized hold of the hand

she had at liberty, and swore he would not part with her.

Mr. Glanville, almost mad with vexation, endeavoured to get Arabella

away.

Are you mad, madam, said he in a whisper, to make all this rout about

a prostitute? Do you see how every body stares at you? What will they

think--For Heaven's sake, let us be gone!

What, sir, replied Arabella in a rage, are you base enough to leave

this admirable creature in the power of that man, who is questionless

her ravisher; and will you not draw your sword in her defence?

Hey-day! cried the sea-officer, waked out of his stupid doze by the

clamour about him: what's the matter here--What are you doing? Where's

my Lucy? Zounds, sir! said he, to the young fellow who held her, what

business have you with my Lucy? And uttering a dreadful oath, drew

out his sword, and staggered towards his gay rival, who observing the

weakness of his antagonist, flourished with his sword to show his

courage and frighten the ladies, who all ran away screaming. Arabella

taking Miss Glanville under the arm, cried out to Mr. Glanville as she

left the place, to take care of the distressed lady, and, while the two

combatants were disputing for her, to carry her away in safety.

But Mr. Glanville, without regarding this injunction, hastened after

her; and to pacify her, told her the lady was rescued by her favourite

lover, and carried off in triumph.

But are you sure, said Arabella, it was not some other of her ravishers

who carried her away, and not the person whom she has haply favoured

with her affection? May not the same thing have happened to her, as

did to the beautiful Candace, queen of Ethiopia; who, while two of

her ravishers were fighting for her, a third whom she took for her

deliverer, came and carried her away.

But she went away willingly, I assure you, madam, said Mr. Glanville:

pray don't be in any concern about her----

If she went away willingly with him, replied Arabella, it is probable

it may not be another ravisher: and yet if this person that rescued her

happened to be in armour, and the vizor of his helmet down, she might

be mistaken as well as Queen Candace.

Well, well, he was not in armour, madam, said Glanville, almost beside

himself with vexation at her folly----

You seem to be disturbed, sir, said Arabella, a little surprised at his

peevish tone. Is there any thing in this adventure which concerns you?

Nay, now I remember, you did not offer to defend the beautiful unknown.

I am not willing to impute your inaction upon such an occasion to want

of courage or generosity; perhaps you are acquainted with her history,

and from this knowledge refused to engage in her defence.

Mr. Glanville, perceiving the company gather from all parts to the

walk they were in, told her he would acquaint her with all he knew

concerning the disguised lady when they were in the coach on their

return home; and Arabella, impatient for the promised story, proposed

to leave the gardens immediately, which was gladly complied with by Mr.

Glanville, who heartily repented his having carried her thither.

Chapter II.

_Which ends with a very unfavourable prediction for our heroine._

As soon as they were seated in the coach, she did not fail to call

upon him to perform his promise: but Mr. Glanville, excessively out

of humour at her exposing herself in the gardens, replied, without

considering whether he should not offend her, that he knew no more of

the disguised lady than any body else in the place.

How, sir! replied Arabella, did you not promise to relate her

adventures to me? And would you have me believe you knew no more of

them than the rest of the cavaliers and ladies in the place?

Upon my soul, I don't, madam, said Glanville: yet what I know of her is

sufficient to let me understand she was not worth the consideration you

seemed to have for her.

She cannot sure be more indiscreet than the fair and unfortunate

Hermione, replied Arabella; who like her put on man's apparel, through

despair at the ill success of her passion for Alexander--And certain it

is, that though the beautiful Hermione was guilty of one great error

which lost her the esteem of Alexander, yet she had a high and noble

soul; as was manifest by her behaviour and words when she was run

through by the sword of Demetrius. Oh! death, cried she, as she was

falling, how sweet do I find thee, and how much and how earnestly have

I desired thee!

Oh Lord! Oh Lord! cried Mr. Glanville, hardly sensible of what he said,

was there ever any thing so intolerable!

You pity the unhappy Hermione, sir? said Arabella, interpreting his

exclamation her own way. Indeed, she is well worthy of your compassion.

And if the bare recital of the words she uttered at receiving her

death's wound affects you so much, you may guess what would have been

your agonies, had you been Demetrius that gave it to her.

Here Mr. Glanville groaning aloud through impatience at her

absurdities----

This subject affects you deeply, I perceive, said Arabella. There is no

question but you would have acted in the same circumstance as Demetrius

did: yet let me tell you, the extravagancy of his rage and despair

for what he had innocently committed, was imputed to him as a great

imbecility, as was also the violent passion he conceived soon after

for the fair Deidamia. You know the accident which brought that fair

princess into his way.

Indeed I do not, madam, said Glanville, peevishly.

Well, then I'll tell you, said Arabella; but, pausing a little:

The recital I have engaged myself to make, added she, will necessarily

take up some hours' time, as upon reflection I have found: so if

you will dispense with my beginning it at present, I will satisfy

your curiosity to-morrow, when I may be able to pursue it without

interruption.

To this Mr. Glanville made no other answer than a bow with his head;

and the coach a few moments after arriving at their own house, he led

her to her apartment, firmly resolved never to attend her to any more

public places while she continued in the same ridiculous folly.

Sir Charles, who had several times been in doubt whether Arabella

was not really disordered in her senses; upon Miss Glanville's

account of her behaviour at the gardens, concluded she was absolutely

mad, and held a short debate with himself, whether he ought not to

bring a commission of lunacy against her, rather than marry her to

his son, whom he was persuaded could never be happy with a wife so

unaccountably absurd. Though he only hinted at this to Mr. Glanville,

in a conversation he had with him while his dissatisfaction was at

its height, concerning Arabella, yet the bare supposition that his

father ever thought of such a thing, threw the young gentleman into

such agonies, that Sir Charles, to compose him, protested he would do

nothing in relation to his niece that he would not approve of. Yet

he expostulated with him on the absurdity of her behaviour, and the

ridicule to which she exposed herself wherever she went; appealing to

him, whether in a wife he could think those follies supportable, which

in a mistress occasioned him so much confusion.

Mr. Glanville, as much in love as he was, felt all the force of this

inference, and acknowledged to his father, that he could not think of

marrying Arabella, till the whims her romances had put into her head,

were erased by a better knowledge of life and manners. But he added

with a sigh, that he knew not how this reformation would be effected;

for she had such a strange facility in reconciling every incident to

her own fantastic ideas, that every new object added strength to the

fatal deception she laboured under.

Chapter III.

_In which Arabella meets with another admirable adventure._

Our lovely heroine had not been above a fortnight in London, before

the gross air of that smoky town affected her health so much, that Sir

Charles proposed to her to go for a few weeks to Richmond, where he

hired a house elegantly furnished for her reception.

Miss Glanville had been too long out of that darling city to pay

her the compliment of attending her constantly at Richmond; yet she

promised to be as often as possible with her: and Sir Charles, having

affairs that could not dispense with his absence from town, placed

his steward in her house, being a person whose prudence and fidelity

he could rely upon; and he, with her women, and some other menial

servants, made up her equipage.

As it was not consistent with decorum for Mr. Glanville to reside in

her house, he contented himself with riding to Richmond generally

every day; and as long as Arabella was pleased with that retirement,

he resolved not to press her return to town till the Countess of ----

arrived, in whose conversation he grounded all his hopes of her cure.

At that season of the year, Richmond not being quite deserted by

company, Arabella was visited by several ladies of fashion; who,

charmed with her affability, politeness, and good sense, were strangely

perplexed how to account for some peculiarities in her dress and manner

of thinking.

Some of the younger sort, from whom Arabella's extraordinary beauty

took away all pretensions to equality on that score, made themselves

extremely merry with her oddnesses, as they called them, and gave broad

intimations that her head was not right.

As for Arabella, whose taste was as delicate, sentiments as refined,

and judgment as clear as any person's could be who believed the

authenticity of Scudery's romances, she was strangely disappointed to

find no lady with whom she could converse with any tolerable pleasure;

and that instead of Clelias, Statiras, Mandanas, &c. she found only

Miss Glanvilles among all she knew.

The comparison she drew between such as these and the charming

Countess of ----, whom she had just begun to be acquainted with at

Bath, increased her regret for the interruption that was given to so

agreeable a friendship; and it was with infinite pleasure Mr. Glanville

heard her repeatedly wish for the arrival of that admirable lady (as

she always called her) in town.

Not being able to relish the insipid conversation of the young ladies

that visited her at Richmond, her chief amusement was to walk in

the park there; which, because of its rural privacy, was extremely

agreeable to her inclinations.

Here she indulged contemplation, leaning on the arm of her faithful

Lucy, while her other women walked at some distance behind her, and two

men servants kept her always in sight.

One evening when she was returning from her usual walk, she heard the

sound of a woman's voice, which seemed to proceed from a tuft of trees

that hid her from her view. And stopping a moment, distinguished some

plaintive accents, which increasing her curiosity, she advanced towards

the place, telling Lucy she was resolved if possible to discover who

the distressed lady was, and what was the subject of her affliction.

As she drew nearer with softly treading steps, she could distinguish

through the branches of the trees, now despoiled of great part of their

leaves, two women seated on the ground, their backs towards her, and

one of them, with her head gently reclined on the other's shoulder,

seemed by her mournful action to be weeping; for she often put her

handkerchief to her eyes, breathing every time a sigh, which, as

Arabella phrased it, seemed to proceed from the deepest recesses of her

heart.

This adventure, more worthy indeed to be styled an adventure than all

our fair heroine had ever yet met with, and so conformable to what she

had read in romances, filled her heart with eager expectation. She made

a sign to Lucy to make no noise, and creeping still closer towards the

place where this afflicted person sat, she heard her distinctly utter

these words, which, however, were often interrupted with her sighs.

Ah, Ariamenes! whom I to my misfortune have too much loved, and whom

to my misfortune I fear I shall never sufficiently hate, since that

Heaven, and thy cruel ingratitude, have ordained that thou shalt never

be mine, and that so many sweet and dear hopes are for ever taken from

me, return me at least, ungrateful man, return me those testimonies of

my innocent affection, which were sometimes so dear and precious to

thee. Return me those favours, which all innocent as they were, are

become criminal by thy crime. Return me, cruel man, return me those

relics of my heart which thou detainest in despite of me, and which,

notwithstanding thy infidelity, I cannot recover.

Here her tears interrupting her speech, Arabella being impatient to

know the history of this afflicted person, came softly round to the

other side, and showing herself, occasioned some disturbance to the

sad unknown; who, rising from her seat, with her face averted, as if

ashamed of having so far disclosed her sorrows in a stranger's hearing,

endeavoured to pass by her unnoticed.

Arabella, perceiving her design, stopped her with a very graceful

action, and, with a voice all composed of sweetness, earnestly conjured

her to relate her history.

Think not, lovely unknown, said she, (for she was really very pretty)

that my endeavours to detain you proceed from an indiscreet curiosity.

It is true, some complaints which have fallen from your fair mouth,

have raised in me a desire to be acquainted with your adventures; but

this desire has its foundation in that compassion your complaints have

filled me with: and if I wish to know your misfortunes, it is only with

a view of affording you some consolation.

Pardon me, madam, said the fair afflicted, gazing on Arabella with

many signs of admiration, if my confusion at being overheard in a

place I had chosen to bewail my misfortunes, made me be guilty of

some appearance of rudeness, not seeing the admirable person I wanted

to avoid. But, pursued she, hesitating a little, those characters of

beauty I behold in your face, and the gracefulness of your deportment

convincing me you can be of no ordinary rank, I will the less scruple

to acquaint you with my adventures, and the cause of those complaints

you have heard proceed from my mouth.

Arabella assuring her, that whatever her misfortunes were, she might

depend upon all the assistance in her power, seated herself near her at

the foot of the tree where she had been sitting; and giving Lucy orders

to join the rest of her women, and stay at a distance till she made a

sign to them to advance, she prepared to listen to the adventures of

the fair unknown; who, after some little pause, began to relate them in

this manner.

Chapter IV.

_In which is related the history of the princess of Gaul._

My name, madam, is Cynecia, my birth illustrious enough, seeing that

I am the daughter of a sovereign prince, who possesses a large and

spacious territory in what is now called ancient Gaul.

What, madam! interrupted Arabella, are you a princess, then?

Questionless I am, madam, replied the lady; and a princess happy

and prosperous, till the felicity of my life was interrupted by the

perfidious Ariamenes.

Pardon me, madam, interrupted Arabella again, that my ignorance of your

quality made me be deficient in those respects which are due to your

high birth, and which notwithstanding those characters of greatness I

might read in the lineaments of your visage, I yet neglected to pay----

Alas, madam! said the stranger, that little beauty which the heavens

bestowed on me only to make me wretched, as by the event it has proved,

has long since taken its flight, and together with my happiness, I have

lost that which made me unhappy. And certain it is, grief has made such

ravages among what might once have been thought tolerable in my face,

that I should not be surprised if my being no longer fair, should make

you with difficulty believe I ever was so.

Arabella after a proper compliment in answer to this speech, entreated

the princess to go on with her history; who, hesitating a little,

complied with her request.

Be pleased to know then, madam, said she, that being bred up with all

imaginable tenderness in my father's court, I had no sooner arrived

to my sixteenth year than I saw myself surrounded with lovers; who

nevertheless, such was the severity with which I behaved myself,

concealed their passions under a respectful silence, well knowing

banishment from my presence was the least punishment they had to

expect, if they presumed to declare their sentiments to me.

I lived in this fashion, madam, for two years longer, rejoicing in the

insensibility of my own heart, and triumphing in the sufferings of

others, when my tranquillity was all at once interrupted by an accident

which I am going to relate to you.

The princess stopped here to give vent to some sighs which a cruel

remembrance forced from her; and continuing in a deep muse for five or

six minutes, resumed her story in this manner.

It being my custom to walk in a forest adjoining to one of my father's

summer residences, attended only by my women, one day when I was taking

this amusement, I perceived at some distance a man lying on the ground;

and impelled by a sudden curiosity, I advanced towards this person,

whom upon a nearer view I perceived to have been wounded very much,

and fainted away through loss of blood. His habit being very rich, I

concluded by that he was of no mean quality: but when I had looked

upon his countenance, pale and languishing as it was, methought there

appeared so many marks of greatness, accompanied with a sweetness so

happily blended, that my attention was engaged in an extraordinary

manner, and interested me so powerfully in his safety, that I commanded

some of my women to run immediately for proper assistance, and convey

him to the castle, while I directed others to throw some water in his

face, and to apply some linen to his wounds, to stop the bleeding.

These charitable cares restored the wounded stranger to his senses. He

opened his eyes, and turning them slowly to the objects around him,

fixed at last their languishing looks on me: when moved, as it should

seem, to some respect by what he saw in my countenance, he rose with

some difficulty from the ground, and bowing almost down to it again, by

that action seemed to pay me his acknowledgments for what he supposed I

had done for his preservation.