impertinent fellow; and Sir Robert yet more insolently repeated it:
Cecilia, extremely shocked, earnestly besought them both to be quiet;
but Belfield, at the repetition of this insult, hastily let go her hand
and put his own upon his sword, whilst Sir Robert, taking advantage
of his situation in being a step higher than his antagonist, fiercely
pushed him back, and descended into the lobby.
Belfield, enraged beyond endurance, instantly drew his sword, and Sir
Robert was preparing to follow his example, when Cecilia, in an agony
of fright, called out, “Good Heaven! will nobody interfere?” And then a
young man, forcing his way through the crowd, exclaimed, “For shame, for
shame, gentlemen! is this a place for such violence?”
Belfield, endeavouring to recover himself, put up his sword, and, though
in a voice half choaked with passion, said, “I thank you, Sir! I was off
my guard. I beg pardon of the whole company.”
Then, walking up to Sir Robert, he put into his hand a card with his
name and direction, saying, “With you, Sir, I shall be happy to settle
what apologies are necessary at your first leisure;” and hurried away.
Sir Robert, exclaiming aloud that he should soon teach him to whom he
had been so impertinent, was immediately going to follow him, when the
affrighted Cecilia again called out aloud, “Oh, stop him!--good God!
will nobody stop him!”
The rapidity with which this angry scene had passed had filled her with
amazement, and the evident resentment of the Baronet upon her refusing
his assistance, gave her an immediate consciousness that she was
herself the real cause of the quarrel; while the manner in which he was
preparing to follow Mr Belfield convinced her of the desperate scene
which was likely to succeed; fear, therefore, overcoming every other
feeling, forced from her this exclamation before she knew what she said.
The moment she had spoken, the young man who had already interposed
again rushed forward, and seizing Sir Robert by the arm, warmly
remonstrated against the violence of his proceedings, and being
presently seconded by other gentlemen, almost compelled him to give up
his design.
Then, hastening to Cecilia, “Be not alarmed, madam,” he cried, “all is
over, and every body is safe.”
Cecilia, finding herself thus addressed by a gentleman she had never
before seen, felt extremely ashamed of having rendered her interest
in the debate so apparent; she courtsied to him in some confusion, and
taking hold of Mrs Harrel's arm, hurried her back into the pit, in order
to quit a crowd, of which she now found herself the principal object.
Curiosity, however, was universally excited, and her retreat served
but to inflame it: some of the ladies, and most of the gentlemen, upon
various pretences, returned into the pit merely to look at her, and in a
few minutes the report was current that the young lady who had been the
occasion of the quarrel, was dying with love for Sir Robert Floyer.
Mr Monckton, who had kept by her side during the whole affair, felt
thunderstruck by the emotion she had shewn; Mr Arnott too, who had never
quitted her, wished himself exposed to the same danger as Sir Robert, so
that he might be honoured with the same concern: but they were both too
much the dupes of their own apprehensions and jealousy, to perceive that
what they instantly imputed to fondness, proceeded simply from general
humanity, accidentally united with the consciousness of being accessary
to the quarrel.
The young stranger who had officiated as mediator between the
disputants, in a few moments followed her with a glass of water, which
he had brought from the coffee-room, begging her to drink it and compose
herself.
Cecilia, though she declined his civility with more vexation than
gratitude, perceived, as she raised her eyes to thank him, that her
new friend was a young man very strikingly elegant in his address and
appearance.
Miss Larolles next, who, with her party, came back into the pit, ran
up to Cecilia, crying, “O my dear creature, what a monstrous shocking
thing! You've no Idea how I am frightened; do you know I happened to be
quite at the further end of the coffee-room when it began, and I could
not get out to see what was the matter for ten ages; only conceive what
a situation!”
“Would your fright, then, have been less,” said Cecilia, “had you been
nearer the danger?”
“O Lord no, for when I came within sight I was fifty times worse! I gave
such a monstrous scream, that it quite made Mr Meadows start. I dare say
he'll tell me of it these hundred years: but really when I saw them draw
their swords I thought I should have died; I was so amazingly surprized
you've no notion.”
Here she was interrupted by the re-appearance of the active stranger,
who again advancing to Cecilia, said, “I am in doubt whether the efforts
I make to revive will please or irritate you, but though you rejected
the last cordial I ventured to present you, perhaps you will look with a
more favourable eye towards that of which I am now the herald.”
Cecilia then, casting her eyes around, saw that he was followed by Sir
Robert Floyer. Full of displeasure both at this introduction and at his
presence, she turned hastily to Mr Arnott, and entreated him to enquire
if the carriage was not yet ready.
Sir Robert, looking at her with all the exultation of new-raised vanity,
said, with more softness than he had ever before addressed her, “Have
you been frightened?”
“Every body, I believe was frightened,” answered Cecilia, with an air of
dignity intended to check his rising expectations.
“There was no sort of cause,” answered he; “the fellow did not know whom
he spoke [to], that was all.”
“Lord, Sir Robert,” cried Miss Larolles, “how could you be so shocking
as to draw your sword? you can't conceive how horrid it looked.”
“Why I did not draw my sword,” cried he, “I only had my hand on the
hilt.”
“Lord, did not you, indeed! well, every body said you did, and I'm sure
I thought I saw five-and-twenty swords all at once. I thought one of you
would be killed every moment. It was horrid disagreeable, I assure you.”
Sir Robert was now called away by some gentlemen; and Mr Monckton,
earnest to be better informed of Cecilia's real sentiments, said, with
affected concern, “At present this matter is merely ridiculous; I am
sorry to think in how short a time it may become more important.”
“Surely,” cried Cecilia with quickness, “some of their friends will
interfere! surely upon so trifling a subject they will not be so mad, so
inexcusable, as to proceed to more serious resentment!”
“Whichever of them,” said the stranger, “is most honoured by this
anxiety, will be mad indeed to risk a life so valued!”
“Cannot you, Mr Monckton,” continued Cecilia, too much alarmed to regard
this insinuation, “speak with Mr Belfield? You are acquainted with him,
I know; is it impossible you can follow him?”
“I will with pleasure do whatever you wish; but still if Sir Robert--”
“O, as to Sir Robert, Mr Harrel, I am very sure, will undertake him; I
will try to see him to-night myself, and entreat him to exert all his
influence.”
“Ah, madam,” cried the stranger, archly, and lowering his voice, “those
_French beads_ and _Bristol stones_ have not, I find, shone in vain!”
At these words Cecilia recognised her white domino acquaintance at
the masquerade; she had before recollected his voice, but was too much
perturbed to consider where or when she had heard it.
“If Mr Briggs,” continued he, “does not speedily come forth with his
plum friend, before the glittering of swords and spears is joined to
that of jewels, the glare will be so resplendent, that he will fear
to come within the influence of its rays. Though, perhaps, he may only
think the stronger the light, the better he shall see to count his
guineas: for as
'---in ten thousand pounds
Ten thousand charms are centred,'
in an hundred thousand, the charms may have such magic power, that he
may defy the united efforts of tinsel and knight-errantry to deliver you
from the golden spell.”
Here the Captain, advancing to Cecilia, said, “I have been looking
for you in vain _partout_, but the crowd has been so _accablant_ I was
almost reduced to despair. Give me leave to hope you are now recovered
from the _horreur_ of this little _fracas_?”
Mr Arnott then brought intelligence that the carriage was ready.
Cecilia, glad to be gone, instantly hastened to it; and, as she was
conducted by Mr Monckton, most earnestly entreated him to take an active
part, in endeavouring to prevent the fatal consequences with which the
quarrel seemed likely to terminate.
CHAPTER v
A FASHIONABLE FRIEND.
As soon as they returned home, Cecilia begged Mrs Harrel not to lose
a moment before she tried to acquaint Mr Harrel with the state of the
affair. But that lady was too helpless to know in what manner to set
about it; she could not tell where he was, she could not conjecture
where he might be.
Cecilia then rang for his own man, and upon enquiry, heard that he was,
in all probability, at Brookes's in St James's-Street.
She then begged Mrs Harrel would write to him.
Mrs Harrel knew not what to say.
Cecilia therefore, equally quick in forming and executing her designs,
wrote to him herself, and entreated that without losing an instant he
would find out his friend Sir Robert Floyer, and endeavour to effect
an accommodation between him and Mr Belfield, with whom he had had a
dispute at the Opera-house.
The man soon returned with an answer that Mr Harrel would not fail to
obey her commands.
She determined to sit up till he came home in order to learn the event
of the negociation. She considered herself as the efficient cause of the
quarrel, yet scarce knew how or in what to blame herself; the behaviour
of Sir Robert had always been offensive to her; she disliked his
manners, and detested his boldness; and she had already shewn her
intention to accept the assistance of Mr Belfield before he had followed
her with an offer of his own. She was uncertain, indeed, whether he
had remarked what had passed, but she had reason to think that, so
circumstanced, to have changed her purpose, would have been construed
into an encouragement that might have authorised his future presumption
of her favour. All she could find to regret with regard to herself, was
wanting the presence of mind to have refused the civilities of both.
Mrs Harrel, though really sorry at the state of the affair, regarded
herself as so entirely unconcerned in it, that, easily wearied when out
of company, she soon grew sleepy, and retired to her own room.
The anxious Cecilia, hoping every instant the return of Mr Harrel, sat
up by herself: but it was not till near four o'clock in the morning that
he made his appearance.
“Well, sir,” cried she, the moment she saw him, “I fear by your
coming home so late you have had much trouble, but I hope it has been
successful?”
Great, however, was her mortification when he answered that he had not
even seen the Baronet, having been engaged himself in so particular a
manner, that he could not possibly break from his party till past three
o'clock, at which time he drove to the house of Sir Robert, but heard
that he was not yet come home.
Cecilia, though much disgusted by such a specimen of insensibility
towards a man whom he pretended to call his friend, would not leave
him till he had promised to arise as soon as it was light, and make an
effort to recover the time lost.
She was now no longer surprised either at the debts of Mr Harrel, or at
his _particular occasions_ for money. She was convinced he spent half
the night in gaming, and the consequences, however dreadful, were but
natural. That Sir Robert Floyer also did the same was a matter of much
less importance to her, but that the life of any man should through her
means be endangered, disturbed her inexpressibly.
She went, however, to bed, but arose again at six o'clock, and dressed
herself by candle light. In an hour's time she sent to enquire if Mr
Harrel was stirring, and hearing he was asleep, gave orders to have
him called. Yet he did not rise till eight o'clock, nor could all her
messages or expostulations drive him out of the house till nine.
He was scarcely gone before Mr Monckton arrived, who now for the first
time had the satisfaction of finding her alone.
“You are very good for coming so early,” cried she; “have you seen Mr
Belfield? Have you had any conversation with him?”
Alarmed at her eagerness, and still more at seeing by her looks the
sleepless night she had passed, he made at first no reply; and when,
with increasing impatience, she repeated her question, he only said,
“Has Belfield ever visited you since he had the honour of meeting you at
my house?”
“No, never.”
“Have you seen him often in public?”
“No, I have never seen him at all but the evening Mrs Harrel received
masks, and last night at the Opera.”
“Is it, then, for the safety of Sir Robert you are so extremely
anxious?”
“It is for the safety of both; the cause of their quarrel was so
trifling, that I cannot bear to think its consequence should be
serious.”
“But do you not wish better to one of them than to the other?”
“As a matter of justice I do, but not from any partiality: Sir Robert
was undoubtedly the aggressor, and Mr Belfield, though at first too
fiery, was certainly ill-used.”
The candour of this speech recovered Mr Monckton from his apprehensions;
and, carefully observing her looks while he spoke, he gave her the
following account.
That he had hastened to Belfield's lodgings the moment he left the
Opera-house, and, after repeated denials, absolutely forced himself into
his room, where he was quite alone, and in much agitation: he conversed
with him for more than an hour upon the subject of the quarrel, but
found he so warmly resented the personal insult given him by Sir Robert,
that no remonstrance had any effect in making him alter his resolution
of demanding satisfaction.
“And could you bring him to consent to no compromise before you left
him?” cried Cecilia.
“No; for before I got to him--the challenge had been sent.”
“The challenge! good heaven!--and do you know the event?”
“I called again this morning at his lodgings, but he was not returned
home.”
“And was it impossible to follow him? Were there no means to discover
whither he was gone?”
“None; to elude all pursuit, he went out before any body in the house
was stirring, and took his servant with him.”
“Have you, then, been to Sir Robert?”
“I have been to Cavendish-Square, but there, it seems, he has not
appeared all night; I traced him, through his servants, from the
Opera to a gaminghouse, where I found he had amused himself till this
morning.”
The uneasiness of Cecilia now encreased every moment; and Mr Monckton,
seeing he had no other chance of satisfying her, offered his service
to go again in search of both the gentlemen, and endeavour to bring her
better information. She accepted the proposal with gratitude, and he
departed.
Soon after she was joined by Mr Arnott, who, though seized with all the
horrors of jealousy at sight of her apprehensions, was so desirous to
relieve them, that without even making any merit of obliging her, he
almost instantly set out upon the same errand that employed Mr Monckton,
and determined not to mention his design till he found whether it would
enable him to bring her good tidings.
He was scarce gone when she was told that Mr Delvile begged to have the
honour of speaking to her. Surprised at this condescension, she desired
he might immediately be admitted; but much was her surprise augmented,
when, instead of seeing her ostentatious guardian, she again beheld her
masquerade friend, the white domino.
He entreated her pardon for an intrusion neither authorised by
acquaintance nor by business, though somewhat, he hoped, palliated, by
his near connection with one who was privileged to take an interest in
her affairs: and then, hastening to the motives which had occasioned his
visit, “when I had the honour,” he said, “of seeing you last night
at the Opera-house, the dispute which had just happened between two
gentlemen, seemed to give you an uneasiness which could not but be
painful to all who observed it, and as among that number I was not the
least moved, you will forgive, I hope, my eagerness to be the first to
bring you intelligence that nothing fatal has happened, or is likely to
happen.”
“You do me, sir,” said Cecilia, “much honour; and indeed you relieve me
from a suspense extremely disagreeable. The accommodation, I suppose,
was brought about this morning?”
“I find,” answered he, smiling, “you now expect too much; but hope is
never so elastic as when it springs from the ruins of terror.”
“What then is the matter? Are they at last, not safe?”
“Yes, perfectly safe; but I cannot tell you they have never been in
danger.”
“Well, if it is now over I am contented: but you will very much oblige
me, sir, if you will inform me what has passed.”
“You oblige me, madam, by the honour of your commands. I saw but too
much reason to apprehend that measures the most violent would follow
the affray of last night; yet as I found that the quarrel had been
accidental, and the offence unpremeditated, I thought it not absolutely
impossible that an expeditious mediation might effect a compromise:
at least it was worth trying; for though wrath slowly kindled or long
nourished is sullen and intractable, the sudden anger that has not had
time to impress the mind with a deep sense of injury, will, when gently
managed, be sometimes appeased with the same quickness it is excited: I
hoped, therefore, that some trifling concession from Sir Robert, as the
aggressor,--”
“Ah sir!” cried Cecilia, “that, I fear, was not to be obtained!”
“Not by me, I must own,” he answered; “but I was not willing to think of
the difficulty, and therefore ventured to make the proposal: nor did
I leave the Opera-house till I had used every possible argument to
persuade Sir Robert an apology would neither stain his courage nor his
reputation. But his spirit brooked not the humiliation.”
“Spirit!” cried Cecilia, “how mild a word! What, then, could poor Mr
Belfield resolve upon?”
“That, I believe, took him very little time to decide. I discovered, by
means of a gentleman at the Opera who was acquainted with him, where
he lived, and I waited upon him with an intention to offer my services
towards settling the affair by arbitration: for since you call him
poor Mr Belfield, I think you will permit me, without offence to
his antagonist, to own that his gallantry, though too impetuous for
commendation, engaged me in his interest.”
“I hope you don't think,” cried Cecilia, “that an offence to his
antagonist must necessarily be an offence to me?”
“Whatever I may have thought,” answered he, looking at her with evident
surprise, “I certainly did not wish that a sympathy offensive and
defensive had been concluded between you. I could not, however, gain
access to Mr Belfield last night, but the affair dwelt upon my mind, and
this morning I called at his lodging as soon as it was light.”
“How good you have been!” cried Cecilia; “your kind offices have not, I
hope, all proved ineffectual!”
“So valorous a Don Quixote,” returned he, laughing, “certainly merited
a faithful Esquire! He was, however, gone out, and nobody knew whither.
About half an hour ago I called upon him again; he was then just
returned home.”
“Well, Sir?”
“I saw him; the affair was over; and in a short time he will be able, if
you will allow him so much honour, to thank you for these enquiries.”
“He is then wounded?”
“He is a little hurt, but Sir Robert is perfectly safe. Belfield fired
first, and missed; the Baronet was not so successless.”
“I am grieved to hear it, indeed! And where is the wound?”
“The ball entered his right side, and the moment he felt it, he fired
his second pistol in the air. This I heard from his servant. He was
brought home carefully and slowly; no surgeon had been upon the spot,
but one was called to him immediately. I stayed to enquire his opinion
after the wound had been dressed: he told me he had extracted the ball,
and assured me Mr Belfield was not in any danger. Your alarm, madam,
last night, which had always been present to me, then encouraged me to
take the liberty of waiting upon you; for I concluded you could yet have
had no certain intelligence, and thought it best to let the plain and
simple fact out-run the probable exaggeration of rumour.”
Cecilia thanked him for his attention, and Mrs Harrel then making her
appearance, he arose and said, “Had my father known the honour I have
had this morning of waiting upon Miss Beverley, I am sure I should have
been charged with his compliments, and such a commission would somewhat
have lessened the presumption of this visit; but I feared lest while I
should be making interest for my credentials, the pretence of my
embassy might be lost, and other couriers, less scrupulous, might obtain
previous audiences, and anticipate my dispatches.”
He then took his leave.
“This white domino, at last then,” said Cecilia, “is the son of Mr
Delvile! and thence the knowledge of my situation which gave me so much
surprise:--a son how infinitely unlike his father!”
“Yes,” said Mrs Harrel, “and as unlike his mother too, for I assure you
she is more proud and haughty even than the old gentleman. I hate the
very sight of her, for she keeps every body in such awe that there's
nothing but restraint in her presence. But the son is a very pretty
young man, and much admired; though I have only seen him in public, for
none of the family visit here.”
Mr Monckton, who now soon returned, was not a little surprised to find
that all the intelligence he meant to communicate was already known: and
not the more pleased to hear that the white domino, to whom before he
owed no good-will, had thus officiously preceded him.
Mr Arnott, who also came just after him, had been so little satisfied
with the result of his enquiries, that from the fear of encreasing
Cecilia's uneasiness, he determined not to make known whither he had
been; but he soon found his forbearance was of no avail, as she
was already acquainted with the duel and its consequences. Yet his
unremitting desire to oblige her urged him twice in the course of the
same day to again call at Mr Belfield's lodgings, in order to bring her
thence fresh and unsolicited intelligence.
Before breakfast was quite over, Miss Larolles, out of breath with
eagerness, came to tell the news of the duel, in her way to church, as
it was Sunday morning! and soon after Mrs Mears, who also was followed
by other ladies, brought the same account, which by all was addressed to
Cecilia, with expressions of concern that convinced her, to her infinite
vexation, she was generally regarded as the person chiefly interested in
the accident.
Mr Harrel did not return till late, but then seemed in very high
spirits: “Miss Beverley,” he cried, “I bring you news that will
repay all your fright; Sir Robert is not only safe, but is come off
conqueror.”
“I am very sorry, Sir,” answered Cecilia, extremely provoked to be thus
congratulated, “that any body conquered, or any body was vanquished.”
“There is no need for sorrow,” cried Mr Harrel, “or for any thing but
joy, for he has not killed his man; the victory, therefore, will neither
cost him a flight nor a trial. To-day he means to wait upon you, and lay
his laurels at your feet.”
“He means, then, to take very fruitless trouble,” said Cecilia, “for I
have not any ambition to be so honoured.”
“Ah, Miss Beverley,” returned he, laughing, “this won't do now! it might
have passed a little while ago, but it won't do now, I promise you!”
Cecilia, though much displeased by this accusation, found that
disclaiming it only excited further raillery, and therefore prevailed
upon herself to give him a quiet hearing, and scarce any reply.
At dinner, when Sir Robert arrived, the dislike she had originally taken
to him, encreased already into disgust by his behaviour the preceding
evening, was now fixed into the strongest aversion by the horror she
conceived of his fierceness, and the indignation she felt excited by his
arrogance. He seemed, from the success of this duel, to think himself
raised to the highest pinnacle of human glory; triumph sat exulting
on his brow; he looked down on whoever he deigned to look at all, and
shewed that he thought his notice an honour, however imperious the
manner in which it was accorded.