The maiden name of Mrs. Inchbald, actress, novelist,
dramatist, and society favourite, was Elizabeth Simpson, and
she was the daughter of a farmer living near Bury St. Edmunds,
where she was born on October 15, 1753. At the age of eighteen
she ran away to London, under the influence of romantic
expectations, which were realised by a sudden marriage with
Joseph Inchbald, the actor. After seventeen years on the
stage, without attaining conspicuous success, Mrs. Inchbald
retired, and devoted herself to the writing of novels and
plays and the collection of theatrical literature. Her first
novel, written in 1791, was "A Simple Story." With "Nature and
Art," a tale written later, it has kept a place among the
fiction that is reprinted for successive generations. In later
years Mrs. Inchbald lived quietly on her savings, retaining a
flattering social position by her beauty and cleverness. She
died on August 1, 1821.
_I.--The Priest's Ward_
Dorriforth, bred at St. Omer's in all the scholastic rigour of that
college, was, by education and the solemn vows of his order, a Roman
Catholic priest. He was about thirty, and refusing to shelter himself
from the temptations of the layman by the walls of a cloister, but
finding that shelter in his own prudence, justice, fortitude, and
temperance, had lived in London near five years, when a gentleman with
whom he had contracted a most sincere friendship died, and left him the
sole guardian of his daughter, who was then eighteen.
It is in this place proper to remark that Mr. Milner was a member of the
Church of Rome, but his daughter had been educated in her dead mother's
religion at a boarding-school for Protestants, whence she had returned
with her little heart employed in all the endless pursuits of personal
accomplishments, and her mind left without one ornament, except such as
nature gave.
She had been visiting at Bath when her father died. Therefore, Mr.
Dorriforth, together with Miss Woodley, the middle-aged niece of the
widow lady, Mrs. Horton, who kept his house, journeyed midway to meet
her. But when the carriage stopped at the inn-gate, and her name was
announced, he turned pale--something like a foreboding of disaster
trembled at his heart--and Miss Woodley was obliged to be the first to
welcome his lovely charge--lovely beyond description.
But the natural vivacity, the gaiety which report had given to Miss
Milner, were softened by her recent sorrow to a meek sadness. The
instant Dorriforth was introduced to her as her "guardian, and her
deceased father's most beloved friend," she burst into tears, and
kneeling before him, promised ever to obey him as a father. She told him
artlessly she had expected him to be elderly and plain. He was somewhat
embarrassed, but replied that she should find him a plain man in all his
actions; and in the conversation which followed, in which she had
somewhat lightly referred to his faith, begged that religion should not
be named between them, for, as he had resolved never to persecute her,
in pity she should be grateful, and not persecute him.
Among the many visitors who attended her levées during the following
weeks was Lord Frederick Lawnly, whose intimacy with her Dorriforth
beheld with alternate pain and pleasure. He wished to see his charge
married, yet he trembled for her happiness under the care of a young
nobleman immersed in all the vices of the town. His uneasiness made him
desire her to forbid Lord Frederick's visits, who, alarmed, confounded,
and provoked, remonstrated passionately.
"By heaven, I believe Mr. Dorriforth loves you himself, and it is
jealousy which makes him treat me in this way!"
"For shame, my lord!" cried Miss Woodley, trembling with horror at the
sacrilegious idea.
"Nay, shame to him if he is not in love!" answered his lordship. "For
who but a savage could behold beauty like yours without owning its
power? And surely when your guardian looks at you, his wishes------"
"Are never less pure," Miss Milner replied eagerly, "than those which
dwell in the bosom of my celestial guardian."
At this moment Dorriforth entered the room.
"What's the matter?" cried he, looking with concern on his discomposure.
"A compliment paid by herself to you, sir," replied Lord Frederick, "has
affected your ward in the manner you have seen." And then he changed the
subject with an air of ridicule, while Miss Milner threw open the sash,
and leaned her head from the window to conceal the embarrassment his
implication had caused her.
Although Dorriforth was a good man, there was an obstinacy in his nature
which sometimes degenerated into implacable stubbornness. The child of a
sister once beloved, who married a young officer against her brother's
consent, was left an orphan, destitute of all support but from his
uncle's generosity; but, although Dorriforth maintained him, he would
never see him. Miss Milner brought the boy to town once to present him
to his uncle, but no sooner did he hear Harry Rushbrook's name than he
set him off his knee, and, calling for his hat, walked instantly from
the house, although dinner had just been served.
About this time Miss Milner had the humiliation of having Miss Fenton
held up to her as a pattern for her to follow; but, instead of being
inspired to emulation, she was provoked to envy. Young, beautiful,
elegant, Miss Fenton was betrothed to Lord Elmwood, Mr. Dorriforth's
cousin; and Dorriforth, whose heart was not formed--at least, not
educated--for love, beheld in her the most perfect model for her sex.
Not to admire Miss Fenton was impossible. To find one fault with her was
equally impossible, and yet to love her was unlikely. But Mr. Sandford,
Dorriforth's old tutor, and rigid monitor and friend, adored her, and
often, with a shake of his head and a sigh, would he say to Miss Milner,
"No, I am not so hard upon you as your guardian. I only desire you to
love Miss Fenton; to resemble her, I believe, is above your ability."
As a Jesuit, he was a man of learning, and knew the hearts of women as
well as those of men. He saw Miss Milner's heart at the first view of
her person, and beholding in that little circumference a weight of folly
that he wished to eradicate, he began to toil in the vineyard, eagerly
courting her detestation of him in the hope of also making her abominate
herself. In the mortification of slights he was an expert, and humbled
her in her own opinion more than a thousand sermons would have done. She
would have been cured of all her pride had she not possessed a degree of
spirit beyond the generality of her sex!
_II.--The Priest Marries His Ward_
Finding Dorriforth frequently perplexed by his guardianship, Mr.
Sandford advised that a suitable match should immediately be sought for
her; but she refused so many offers that, believing her affections were
set upon Lord Frederick, he insisted that she should be taken into the
country at once. Her ready compliance delighted Dorriforth, and for six
weeks all around was the picture of tranquillity. Then Lord Frederick
suddenly appeared at the door as she alighted from her coach, and
seizing her hand, entreated her "not to desert him in compliance with
the injunctions of monkish hypocrisy."
Dorriforth heard this, standing silently by, with a manly scorn upon his
countenance; but on Miss Milner's struggling to release her hand, which
Lord Frederick was devouring with kisses, with an instantaneous impulse
he rushed forward and struck him a violent blow in the face. Then,
leading her to her own chamber, covered with shame and confusion for
what he had done, he fell on his knees before her, and earnestly
"entreated her forgiveness for the indelicacy he had been guilty of in
her presence."
To see her guardian at her feet struck her with a sense of impropriety
as if she had seen a parent there. All agitation and emotion, she
implored him to rise, and, with a thousand protestations, declared "that
she thought the rashness of his action was the highest proof of his
regard for her."
Finding that Lord Frederick had gone when he had resigned the care of
his ward to Miss Woodley, Dorriforth returned to his own apartment with
a bosom torn by excruciating sensations. He had departed from his sacred
character, and the dignity of his profession and sentiments; he had
treated with unpardonable insult a young nobleman whose only offence was
love; he had offended and filled with horror a beautiful young woman
whom it was his duty to protect from those brutal manners to which he
himself had exposed her.
The outcome of this incident was a duel, to prevent which Miss Milner
deceived him by confessing a passion for Lord Frederick, although to
Miss Woodley she avowed the real truth, that it was Dorriforth she
loved.
"Do you suppose I love Lord Frederick? Do you suppose I _can_ love him?
Oh, fly, and prevent my guardian from telling him this untruth! This
duel is horrible even beyond anything else! Oh, Miss Woodley, pity the
agonies of my heart, my heart by nature sincere, when such are the fatal
propensities it cherishes that I must submit to the grossest falsehoods
rather than reveal the truth! Are you so blind," she exclaimed, "as to
believe I do not care for Mr. Dorriforth? Oh, Miss Woodley, I love him
with all the passion of a woman, and with all the tenderness of a wife!"
"Silence!" cried Miss Woodley, struck with horror. Yet, amidst all her
grief and abhorrence, pity was still predominant, and, seeing her
friend's misery, she did all she could to comfort her. But she was
resolved that she should leave home, and, on pain of revealing her
secret to Mr. Dorriforth, induced her to pay a visit of indefinite
length to her friends at Bath.
There, in the melancholy that possessed her, Miss Woodley's letters
alone gave her consolation. In a short time her health became impaired;
she was once in imminent danger, and during her delirium incessantly
repeated her guardian's name. Miss Woodley journeyed to her at once, and
so did Dorriforth, who, through the death of his cousin, Lord Elmwood,
had acquired his title and estates. On this account he had received a
dispensation from his vow of celibacy, and was enjoined to marry. His
ward felt a pleasure so exquisite on hearing this that the agitation of
mind and person brought with it the sensation of exquisite pain; but, to
her cruel grief, she found that he was, on the advice of his friends,
already paying his addresses to Miss Fenton.
As if a poniard had thrust her to the heart, she writhed under this
unexpected stroke; she felt, and she expressed anguish. Lord Elmwood was
alarmed and shocked. But later, when, in his perplexity concerning his
ward's marriage, he induced Miss Woodley to tell him on whom Miss
Milner's choice was fixed, his vehemence filled her with alarm.
"For God's sake, take care what you are doing! You are destroying my
prospects of futurity, you are making this world too dear to me! I am
transported by the tidings you have revealed--and yet, perhaps, I had
better not have heard them!" he exclaimed. And then, to prevent further
question, he hastened out of the room.
Within a few days he was her professed lover--she, the happiest of human
beings--Miss Woodley partaking in the joy. Mr. Sandford alone lamented
with the deepest concern that Miss Fenton had been supplanted--and
supplanted by Miss Milner.
Yet Miss Fenton was perhaps affected least of any by the change; she
received everything with the same insipid smile of approbation, and the
same cold indifference.
_III.--A Fatal Experiment_
Lost in the maze of happiness that surrounded her, Miss Milner
oftentimes asked her heart, "Are not my charms even more invincible than
I ever believed them to be? Dorriforth, the grave, the pious, the
anchorite Dorriforth, by their force is animated to all the ardour of
the most impassioned lover; while the proud priest, the austere guardian,
is humbled, if I but frown, into the veriest slave of love." She then
asked: "Why did I not keep him longer in suspense? He could not have
loved me more, I believe, but my power over him might have been greater
still. I am the happiest of women in the affection he has proved to me,
but I wonder if it would exist under ill-treatment? If it would not, he
still does not love me as I wish to be loved; if it would, my triumph,
my felicity, would be enhanced."
Thus the dear-bought experiment of being loved in spite of her faults--a
glory proud women ever aspire to--was, at present, the ambition of Miss
Milner. She, who, as Dorriforth's ward had ever been gentle, and always
obedient, became as a mistress, sometimes haughty, always insolent. He
was surprised, but the novelty pleased him. Miss Milner, whom he
tenderly loved, could put on no change that did not seem to become her.
But at last her attempt to rouse his jealousy by again encouraging Lord
Frederick hurt him beyond measure. In a letter releasing her from her
engagement to him, and announcing his immediate departure for a long
Continental tour, he begged her for the short time they were to remain
together not to insult him with an open preference for another. By
complying with this request she would give him to believe that she
thought he had, at least, faithfully discharged some part of his duty.
She was struck to despair. Pride alone kept her from revealing her
anguish, though her death should be the immediate consequence! But
Sandford, who had hitherto been most inimical to her, on the evening
before Lord Elmwood's departure showed at last some kindness by
entreating her to breakfast with them the following morning. There she
sat silent, unable to eat, unable to speak, unable to move, until the
moment for parting came. Then, unable to repress her tears as
heretofore, as Elmwood took her hand in his, she suffered them to fall
in torrents.
"What is all this?" cried Sandford, going up to them in anger.
They neither of them replied, or changed their situation.
"Separate this moment!" cried Sandford. "Or resolve to be separated only
by--death! Lord Elmwood, do you love this woman?"
"More than my life!" he replied, with the most heartfelt accents.
He then turned to Miss Milner.
"Can you say the same by him?"