_An Helper_
The next morning, as Camilla had accompanied Mrs. Arlbery, in earnest
discourse, from her chamber to the hall, she heard the postman say Miss
Tyrold as he gave in a letter. She seized it, saw the hand-writing of
Lionel, and ran eagerly into the parlour, which was empty, to read it,
in some hopes it would at least contain an acknowledgment of the draft,
that might be shewn to Sir Sedley, and relieve her from the pain of
continuing the principal in such an affair.
The letter, however, was merely a sportive rhapsody, beginning; _My dear
Lady Clarendel_; desiring her favour and protection, and telling her he
had done what he could for her honour, by adding two trophies to the
victorious car of Hymen, driven by the happy Baronet.
Wholly at a loss how to act, she sat ruminating over this letter, till
Mrs. Arlbery opened the door. Having no time to fold it, and dreading
her seeing the first words, she threw her handkerchief, which was then
in her hand, over it, upon the table, hoping presently to draw it away
unperceived.
'My dear friend,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'I am glad to see you a moment
alone. Do you know any thing of Mandlebert?'
'No!' answered she affrighted, lest any evil had happened.
'Did he not take leave of you at the Rooms the other night?'
'Leave of me? is he gone any where?'
'He has left Tunbridge.'
Camilla remained stupified.
'Left it,' she continued, 'without the poor civility of a call, to ask
if you had any letters or messages for Hampshire.'
Camilla coloured high; she felt to her heart this evident coldness, and
she knew it to be still more marked than Mrs. Arlbery could divine; for
he was aware she wished particularly to speak with him; and though she
had failed in her appointment, he had not inquired why.
'And this is the man for whom you would relinquish all mankind? this is
the grateful character who is to render you insensible to every body?'
The disturbed mind of Camilla needed not this speech; her debt to Sir
Sedley, cast wholly upon herself by the thoughtless Lionel; her
inability to pay it, the impressive lines the Baronet had addressed to
her, and the cruel and pointed indifference of Edgar, all forcibly
united to make her wish, at this moment, her heart at her own disposal.
In a few minutes, the voice of Sir Sedley, gaily singing, caught her
ear. He was entering the hall, the street door being open. She started
up; Mrs. Arlbery would have detained her, but she could not endure to
encounter him, and without returning his salutation, or listening to his
address, crossed him in the hall, and flew up stairs.
There, however, she had scarcely taken breath, when she recollected the
letter which she had left upon the table, and which the afflicting
intelligence that Edgar had quitted Tunbridge, had made her forget she
had received. In a terror immeasurable, lest her handkerchief should be
drawn aside, and betray the first line, she re-descended the stairs, and
hastily entered the room. Her shock was then inexpressible. The
handkerchief, which her own quick motion in retiring had displaced, was
upon the floor, the letter was in full view; the eyes of Sir Sedley were
fixed upon his own name, with a look indefinable between pleasure and
impertinence, and Mrs. Arlbery was laughing with all her might.
She seized the letter, and was running away with it, when Mrs. Arlbery
slipt out of the room, and Sir Sedley, shutting the door, half archly,
half tenderly repeated, from the letter, 'My dear Lady Clarendel!'
In a perfect agony, she hid her face, exclaiming: 'O Lionel! my
foolish ... cruel brother!...'
'Not foolish, not cruel, I think him,' cried Sir Sedley, taking her
hand, 'but amiable ... he has done honour to my name, and he will use
it, I hope, henceforth, as his own.'
'Forget, forget his flippancy,' cried she, withdrawing impatiently her
hand; 'and pardon his sister's breach of engagement for this morning. I
hope soon, very soon, to repair it, and I hope....'
She did not know what to add; she stopt, stammered, and then endeavoured
to make her retreat.
'Do not go,' cried he, gently detaining her; 'incomparable Camilla! I
have a thousand things to say to you. Will you not hear them?'
'No!' cried she, disengaging herself; 'no, no, no! I can hear
nothing!...'
'Do you fascinate then,' said he, half reproachfully, 'like the
rattlesnake, only to destroy?'
Camilla conceived this as alluding to her recent encouragement, and
stood trembling with expectation it would be followed by a claim upon
her justice.
But Sir Sedley, who was far from any meaning so pointed, lightly added;
'What thus agitates the fairest of creatures? can she fear a poor
captive entangled in the witchery of her loveliness, and only the more
enslaved the more he struggles to get free?'
'Let me go,' cried she, eager to stop him; 'I beseech you, Sir Sedley!'
'All beauteous Camilla!' said he, retreating yet still so as to
intercept her passage; 'I am bound to submit; but when may I see you
again?'
'At any time,' replied she hastily; 'only let me pass now!'
'At any time! adorable Camilla! be it then to-night! be it this
evening!... be it at noon!... be it....'
'No, no, no, no!' cried she, panting with shame and alarm; 'I do not
mean at any time! I spoke without thought ... I mean....'
'Speak so ever and anon,' cried he, 'if thought is my enemy! This
evening then....'
He stopt, as if irresolute how to finish his phrase, but soon added:
'Adieu, till this evening, adieu!' and opened the door for her to pass.
Triumph sat in his eye; exultation spoke in every feature; yet his voice
betrayed constraint, and seemed checked, as if from fear of entrusting
it with his sentiments. The fear, however, was palpably not of
diffidence with respect to Camilla, but of indecision with regard to
himself.
Camilla, almost sinking with shame now hung back, from a dread of
leaving him in this dangerous delusion. She sat down, and in a faltering
voice, said: 'Sir Sedley! hear me, I beg!...'
'Hear you?' cried he, gallantly casting himself at her feet; 'yes! from
the fervid rays of the sun, to the mild lustre of the moon!...
from....'
A loud knock at the street door, and a ringing at the same time at the
bell, made him rise, meaning to shut again the door of the parlour, but
he was prevented by the entrance of a man into the hall, calling out, in
a voice that reached to every part of the house, 'An express for Miss
Camilla Tyrold.'
Camilla started up, concluding it some strange intelligence concerning
Edgar. But a letter was put into her hand, and she saw it was the
writing of Lavinia.
It was short, but most affectionate. It told her that news was just
arrived from the Continent, which gave reason for hourly expectation of
their cousin Lynmere at Cleves, in consequence of which Sir Hugh was
assembling all the family to receive him. She was then, with her father,
going thither from Etherington, where the restored health of her uncle
had, for a week past, enabled them to reside, and she was ordered to
send off an express to Tunbridge, to beg Camilla would prepare
immediately for the post-chaise of Sir Hugh, which would be sent for
her, with the Cleves housekeeper, and reach Mount Pleasant within a few
hours after this notice.
A hundred questions assailed Camilla when she had run over this letter,
the noise of the express having brought Mrs. Arlbery and the Dennels
into the parlour.
She produced the letter, and putting it in the hands of Mrs. Arlbery,
relieved her painful confusion, by quitting the room without again
meeting the eyes of Sir Sedley.
She could make no preparation, however, for her journey, from mingled
desire and fear of an explanation with the Baronet before her departure.
Again, therefore, in a few minutes she went down; gathering courage from
the horror of a mistake that might lead to so much mischief.
She found only Mrs. Arlbery in the parlour.
Involuntarily staring, 'Where,' she cried, 'is Sir Sedley?'
'He is gone,' answered Mrs. Arlbery, laughing at her earnestness; 'but
no doubt you will soon see him at Cleves.'
'Then I am undone!' cried she, bursting into tears, and running back to
her chamber.
Mrs. Arlbery instantly followed, and kindly inquired what disturbed her.
'O, Mrs. Arlbery!' she cried, 'lend me, I beseech you, some aid, and
spare me, in pity, your raillery! Sir Sedley, I fear, greatly mistakes
me; set him right, I conjure you....'
'Me, my dear? and do you think if some happy fatality is at work at this
moment to force you to your good, I will come forth, like your evil
genius, to counteract its operations?'
'I must write, then ... yet, in this haste, this confusion, I fear to
involve rather than extricate myself!'
'Ay, write by all means; there is nothing so prettily forwards these
affairs, as a correspondence between the parties undertaken to put an
end to them.'
She went, laughing, out of the chamber, and Camilla, who had seized a
pen, distressfully flung it from her.
What indeed could she say? he had made no direct declaration; she could
give, therefore, no direct repulse; and though, through her brother's
cruel want of all consideration, she was so deeply in his debt, she
durst no longer promise its discharge; for the strange departure of
Edgar robbed her of all courage to make to him her meditated
application.
Yet to leave Sir Sedley in this errour was every way terrible. If, which
still seemed very possible, from his manner and behaviour, he should
check his partiality, and make the whole of what had passed end in mere
public-place gallantry, she must always have the mortification to know
he had considered her as ready to accept him: If, on the contrary,
encouraging what he felt for her, from the belief she returned his best
opinion, he should seriously demand her hand ... how could she justify
the apparent attention she once paid him? and how assert, while so
hopelessly his debtor, the independence to reject one who so many ways
seemed to hold himself secure?
* * * * *
She was broken in upon by Mrs. Mittin, who entered full of lamentation
at the intelligence she had just heard from Miss Dennel of her sudden
departure; which she ended with, 'But as you are going in such haste, my
dear, you must have fifty things to do, so pray now, let me help you.
Come, what shall I pack up for you? Where's all your things?'
Camilla, incapable of doing any business for herself, accepted the
offer.
'Well then, now where's your gowns? Bless me! what a one is here? why
it's been in the dew, and then in the dust, and then in the dew again,
till all the bottom must be cut off; why you can never shew it amongst
your friends; it will quite bring a disgrace upon poor Tunbridge; come,
I think you must give it to me; I've got a piece of muslin just like
it, and I can piece it so that it won't appear; but it will never do for
you again.'
Camilla was surprised; but her mind was filled with other matters, and
the gown was put apart.
'What! are those all your neck handkerchiefs? why, my dear Miss Tyrold,
that's a thing you want very bad indeed; why here's one you can never
wear again; it wants more darning than it's worth.'
Camilla said she should have very good time to mend it at home.
'But then, my dear, you don't consider what a bad look that will have
amongst your friends; what will they think of poor Tunbridge, that you
should have let it go so far? why, may be they'll never let you come
again; the best way will be not to let them see it; suppose I take it
off your hands? I dare say they don't know your count.'
At any other time, Camilla would either have resisted these seizures, or
have been diverted by the pretence that they were made only for her own
benefit; but she was now glad at any rate to get rid of the care of the
package.
When this was over, and Mrs. Mittin had pretty well paid herself for her
trouble: 'Well, my dear,' she cried, 'and what can I do for you next?
Have you paid Mrs. Tillden, and Mr. Doust, and Mr. Tent?'
These were questions that indeed roused Camilla from her reverie; she
had not once thought of what she owed to the milliner, to her shoemaker,
nor to her haberdasher; from all of whom she had now, through the hands
of Mrs. Mittin, had various articles. She thanked her for reminding her
of so necessary an attention, and said she would immediately send for
the bills.
'I'll run and pay 'em for you myself,' said Mrs. Mittin; 'for they
always take that kind; and as I recommended them all to you, I have a
right they should know how I stand their friend; for there's many an odd
service they may do me in return; so I'll go for you with all my heart;
only give me the money.'
Camilla took out her purse, in which, from her debt to Sir Sedley, and
perpetually current expences, there now remained but fifteen shillings
of her borrowed five guineas; though latterly, she had wholly denied
herself whatever did not seem an expence unavoidable. What to do she now
knew not; for though all she had ordered had been trifling, she was
sure it must amount to four or five guineas. She had repeatedly refused
to borrow anything more of Mrs. Arlbery, always hoping every call for
money would be the last; but she was too inexperienced to know, that in
gay circles, and public places, the demands for wealth are endless and
countless; and that oeconomy itself, which is always local, is there
lavish and extravagant, compared with its character, in private scenes
and retired life.
Yet was this the last moment to apply to Mrs. Arlbery upon such a
subject, since it would be endowing her with fresh arms to fight the
cause of Sir Sedley. She sat still, and ruminating, till Mrs. Mittin,
who without scruple had taken a full inventory of the contents of the
purse, exclaimed: 'La! my dear, why sure I hope that i'n't all you've
got left?'
Camilla was fain to confess she had nothing more at Tunbridge.
'Well, don't be uneasy, my dear,' cried she, 'and I'll go to 'em all,
and be caution for you, till you get the money.'
Camilla thanked her very sincerely, and again resumed her first opinion
of her real good nature, and kindness of heart. She took her direction
in London, whither she was soon to return, and promised, in a short
time, to transmit the money for her to distribute, as every one of the
shopkeepers went to the metropolis in the winter.
Delighted both with the praise and the commission, Mrs. Mittin took
leave; and Camilla determined to employ her next quarter's allowance in
paying these debts, and frankly to beg from her uncle the five guineas
that were due to Mrs. Arlbery.
She then wrote an affectionate adieu to Mrs. Berlinton, intreating to
hear from her at Etherington; and, while she was sealing it, Mrs.
Arlbery came to embrace her, as the carriage was at the door.
Camilla, in making her acknowledgments for the kindness she had
received, intermingled a petition, that at least, she would not augment,
if she refused to clear the mistake of Sir Sedley.
'I believe he may safely,' she answered, 'be left to himself; though it
is plain that, at this moment, he is in a difficulty as great as your
own; for marriage he still resists, though he finds you resistless. I
wish you mutually to be parted till ... pardon me, my fair friend ...
your understandings are mutually cleared, and he is divested of what is
too factitious, and you of what is too artless. Your situation is,
indeed, rather whimsical; for the two mortals with whom you have to
deal require treatment diametrically opposite; yet, humour them a little
adroitly, and you presently gain them both. He that is proud, must be
distanced; he that is vain, must be flattered. This is paying them with
their own coin; but they hold no other to be current. Pride, if not
humbled, degenerates into contempt; vanity, if not indulged, dissolves
into indifference.'
Camilla disclaimed taking any measures with respect to either; but Mrs.
Arlbery insisted the field would be won by Sir Sedley, 'who is already,'
she cried, 'persuaded you have for some time encouraged him, and that
now you are fully propitious....'
Camilla hastily interrupted her: 'O, Mrs. Arlbery!' she cried, 'I cannot
endure this! add not to my disturbance by making it my own work!'
She then embraced her; took leave of the Dennels, and with the
housekeeper of Sir Hugh set out from Tunbridge for Cleves.
END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.
VOLUME IV
BOOK VII
CHAPTER I
_The right Style of Arguing_
Camilla was received with the most tender joy by all her family, again
re-assembled at Cleves to welcome the return of young Lynmere, who was
expected every hour. Sir Hugh, perfectly recovered from his late
illness, and busy, notwithstanding all remonstrance, in preparation for
the approaching nuptials, was in spirits that exhilarated whoever saw
him. Eugenia awaited that event with gentleness, though with varying
sensations; from fears, lest her personal misfortunes should prove
repulsive to Clermont, and from wishes to find him resembling Melmond in
talents, and Bellamy in passion and constancy.
Dr. Orkborne gave now his lessons with redoubled assiduity, from an
ambition to produce to the scholastic traveller, a phenomenon of his own
workmanship in a learned young female: nor were his toils less ready,
nor less pleasant, for a secret surmise they would shortly end; though
not till honour should be united with independence, for his recompence.
But Miss Margland fretted, that this wedding would advance no London
journey; and Indiana could not for a moment recover from her
indignation, that the deformed and ugly Eugenia, though two years
younger than herself, should be married before her. Lavinia had no
thought but for the happiness of her sister; and Mr. Tyrold lamented the
absence of his wife, who, alike from understanding and affection, was
the only person to properly superintend this affair, but from whom Dr.
Marchmont, just arrived, brought very faint hopes of a speedy return.
Eugenia, however, was not the sole care of her father, at this period.
The countenance of Camilla soon betrayed, to his inquiring eyes, the
inefficacy of the Tunbridge journey. But he forbore all question; and
left to time or her choice to unravel, if new incidents kept alive her
inquietude, or, if no incident at all had been equally prejudicial to
her repose.
* * * * *
Two days after, while Camilla, still astonished by no news, nor sight of
Edgar, was sitting with her sisters, and recounting to them her late
adventures, and present difficulties, with Sir Sedley Clarendel, Jacob
brought her, in its own superb bird-cage, the learned little bullfinch;
telling her, it had been delivered to him without any message, by a man
who said she had left it, by mistake, at Tunbridge; whence he had had
orders to follow her with it to Cleves park.
She was much provoked thus to receive it. Mrs. Arlbery had pressed her
to take it in her uncle's chaise, which she had firmly refused; and she
now concluded this method was adopted, that Sir Sedley might imagine she
detained it as his gift.
In drawing out, soon after, the receptacle for the bird's nourishment,
she perceived, written with a pencil upon the wood, these words: 'Thou
art gone then, fair fugitive! Ah! at least, fly only where thou mayst be
pursued!'
This writing had not been visible till the machine was taken out to be
replenished. She recollected the hand of Sir Sedley, and was now sure it
was sent by himself, and could no longer, therefore, doubt his
intentions being serious.
With infinite perplexity she consulted with her sisters; but, when
candidly she had related, that once, to her never-ending regret, she had
apparently welcomed his civilities, Eugenia pronounced her rectitude to
be engaged by that error, as strongly as her gratitude by the
preservation of her life, and the extraordinary service done to Lionel,
not to reject the young baronet, should he make his proposals.
She heard this opinion with horror. Timid shame, and the counsel of her
father, united to impede her naming the internal obstacle which she felt
to be insurmountable; and, while casting up, in silence, her appealing
eyes to Heaven for relief, from the intricacy in which she found herself
involved, she saw Lionel galloping into the park.
She flew to meet him, and he dismounted, and led his horse, to walk with
her.
She flattered herself, she might now represent the mischief he was
doing, and obtain from him some redress. But he was more wild and
impracticable than ever. 'Well, my dear girl,' he cried, 'when are all
these betterings and worsings to take place? Numps has sent for me to
see poor little Greek and Latin hobble to the altar; but, 'tis a million
to one, if our noble baronet does not whisk you there before her. He's a
charming fellow, faith. I had a good long confab with him this morning.'
'This morning? I hope, then, you were so good, so just, as to tell him
when you mean to pay the money you have borrowed?'
'My dear child, I often think you were born but yesterday, only, by some
accident, you came into the world, like Minerva, grown up and ready
dressed. What makes you think I mean to pay him? Have I given him any
bond?'
'A bond? Is that necessary to justice and honour?'
'If I had asked the money, you are right, my dear; I ought, then,
certainly, to refund. But, as it now stands, 'tis his own affair. I have
nothing to do with it: except, indeed, receiving the dear little golden
boys, and making merry with them.'
'O fie, Lionel, fie!'
'Why, what had I to do with it? Do you think he would care one fig if he
saw me sunk to the bottom of the Red Sea? No, my dear, no; you are the
little debtor; so balance your accounts for yourself, and don't cast
them upon your poor neighbours, who have full enough to settle of their
own.'
Camilla was thunderstruck; 'And have you been so cruel,' she cried,
'seeing the matter in such a light, to place me in such a predicament?'
'Cruel, my dear girl? why, what will it cost you, except a dimple or two
the more? And don't you know you always look best when you smile? I
assure you, it's a mercy he don't see you when you are giving me one of
my lectures. It disfigures you so horribly, that he'd take fright and
never speak to you again.'
'What can I ever say, to make you hear me, or feel for me? Tell me, at
least, what has passed this morning; and assure me that nothing new,
nothing yet worse, has occurred.'
'O no, nothing at all. All is in the fairest train possible. I dare say,
he'll come hither, upon the grand question, before sun-set.'
Camilla gasped for breath, and was some time before she could ask whence
he drew such a conclusion.
'O, because I see he's in for it. I have a pretty good eye, my dear! He
said, too, he had such a prodigious ... friendship, I think he called
it, for you, that he was immeasurably happy, and all that, to be of the
least service to your brother. A fine fellow, upon my word! a fine
generous spark as ever I saw. He charged me to call upon him freely when
I had any little embarrassment, or difficulty, or was hard run, or
things of that sort. He's a fine buck, I tell you, and knows the world
perfectly, that I promise you. He's none of your drivellers, none of
your ignoramuses. He has the true notion of things. He's just a right
friend for me. You could not have made a better match.'
Camilla, in the most solemn manner, protested herself disengaged in
thought, word, and deed; and declared her fixed intention so to
continue. But he only laughed at her declarations, calling them maidenly
fibs; and, assuring her, the young baronet was so much in earnest, she
might as well be sincere as not. 'Besides,' he added, ''tis not fair to
trifle where a man behaves so handsomely and honourably. Consider the
£.200!'
'I shall quite lose my senses, Lionel!' cried she, in an agony; 'I shall
quite lose my senses if you speak in this manner!'
Lionel shouted aloud; 'Why, my dear girl, what is £.200 to Sir Sedley
Clarendel? You talk as if he had twenty pound a-year for pin-money, like
you and Lavinia, that might go with half a gown a-year, if good old
Numps did not help you. Why, he's as rich as Croesus, child. Besides,
he would have been quite affronted if I had talked of paying him such a
trifle, for he offered me any thing I pleased. O, he knows the world, I
promise you! He's none of your starched prigs. He knows life, my dear!
He said, he could perfectly conceive how hard it must be to a lad of
spirit, like me, to be always exact. I don't know that I ever made a
more agreeable acquaintance in my life.'
Camilla was in an agitation that made him regard her, for a moment, with
a serious surprise; but his natural levity soon resumed its post, and,
laughing at himself for being nearly, he said, taken in, by her childish
freaks, he protested he would bite no more: 'For, after all, you must
not think to make a fool of me, my dear. It won't do. I'm too knowing.
Do you suppose, if he had not already made up his mind to the noose, and
was not sure you had made up yours to letting it be tied, he would have
cared for poor me, and my scrapes? No, no; whatever he does for me,
before you are married, you may set down in your own memorandum book:
whatever he may please to do afterwards, I am content should be charged
to poor Pillgarlick.'
He then bid her good-morrow, by the name of Lady Clarendel; and said, he
would go and see if little Greek and Latin were as preposterous a prude
about young Lynmere.
Camilla remained almost petrified with amazement at her own situation;
and only was deterred from immediately opening her whole heart and
affairs to her father, with the confidence to which his indulgence
entitled him, by the impossibility of explaining her full distress
without betraying her brother.
CHAPTER II
_A Council_
The next morning, Camilla, eager to try once more her influence with her
brother, accompanied him into the park, and renewed her remonstrances,
but with no better success; and while they were passing by a private
gate, that opened to the high road, they saw Sir Sedley Clarendel
driving by in his phaeton.
Lionel, bursting from his sister, opened the gate, called to Sir Sedley
to give his reins to one of his servants, and brought him, not
unwilling, though much surprised, into the park.
Camilla, in dismay unspeakable at this conduct, and the idea of such a
meeting, had run forward instantly to hide herself in the summer-house,
to avoid re-passing the gate in her way to the mansion; but her scheme
was more precipitate than wise; Lionel caught a glimpse of her gown as
she went into the little building, and shouted aloud: 'Look! look! Sir
Sedley! there's Camilla making believe to run away from you!'
'Ah, fair fugitive!' cried the baronet, springing forward, and entering
the summer-house almost as soon as herself, 'fly only thus, where you
may be pursued!'
Camilla, utterly confounded, knew not where to cast her eyes, where to
hide her face; and her quick-changing colour, and short-heaved breath,
manifested an excess of confusion, that touched, flattered, and
penetrated the baronet so deeply and so suddenly, as to put him off
from all guard of consequences, and all recollection of matrimonial
distaste: 'Beautiful, resistless Camilla!' he cried; 'how vain is it to
struggle against your witchery! Assure me but of your clemency, and I
will adore the chains that shackle me!'
Camilla, wholly overcome, by sorrow, gratitude, repentance, and shame,
sunk upon a chair, and shed a torrent of tears that she even sought not
to restrain. The shock of refusing one, to whose error in believing
himself acceptable she had largely contributed, or the horror of
yielding to him her hand, while her heart was in the possession of
another, made her almost wish, at this moment, he should divine her
distress, that his own pride might conclude it.
But far different from what would produce such an effect, were the
feelings of pride now working in his bosom. He imagined her emotion had
its source in causes the softest and most flattering. Every personal
obstacle sunk before this idea, and with a seriousness in his manner he
had not yet used: 'This evening, lovely Camilla,' he cried, 'let me beg,
for this evening, the audience accorded me upon that which I lost at
Tunbridge.'
He was then going; but Camilla, hastily rising, cried, 'Sir Sedley, I
beseech ...' when Lionel capering into the little apartment, danced
round it in mad ecstasy, chanting 'Lady Clarendel, Lady Clarendel, my
dear Lady Clarendel!'
Camilla now was not confused alone. Sir Sedley himself could gladly have
pushed him out of the building; but neither the looks of surprise and
provocation of the baronet, nor the prayers nor reprimands of Camilla,
could tame his wild transport. He shook hands, whether he would or not,
with the one; he bowed most obsequiously, whether she would regard him
or not, to the other; and still chanting the same burden, made a clamour
that shook the little edifice to its foundation.
The strong taste for ridicule, that was a prominent part of the
character of Sir Sedley, was soon conquered by this ludicrous behaviour,
and both his amazement and displeasure ended in a hearty fit of
laughter. But Camilla suffered too severely to join in the mirth; she
blushed for her brother, she blushed for herself, she hung her head in
speechless shame, and covered her eyes with her hand.
The noisy merriment of Lionel preventing any explanation, though
rendering it every moment more necessary, Sir Sedley, repeating his
request for the evening, took leave.
Camilla looked upon his departing in this manner as her sentence to
misery, and was pursuing him, to decline the visit; but Lionel, seizing
her two hands, swung her round the room, in defiance of her even angry
expostulations and sufferings, which he neither credited nor conceived,
and then skipt after the baronet himself, who was already out of the
park.
She became now nearly frantic. She thought herself irretrievably in the
power of Sir Sedley, and by means so forced and indelicate, that she was
scarcely more afflicted at the event, than shocked by its circumstances;
and though incapable to really harbour rancour against a brother she
sincerely loved, she yet believed at this moment she never should
forgive, nor willingly see him more.
In this state she was found by Lavinia. The history was inarticulately
told, but Lavinia could give only her pity; she saw not any avenue to an
honourable retreat, and thought, like Eugenia, she could now only free
herself by the breach of what should be dearer to her even than
happiness, her probity and honour.
Utterly inconsolable she remained, till again she heard the voice of
Lionel, loudly singing in the park.
'Go to him! go to him! my dearest Lavinia,' she cried, 'and, if my peace
is dear to you, prevail with him to clear up the mistakes of Sir Sedley,
and to prevent his dreaded, killing visit this evening!'
Lavinia only answered by compliance; but, after an half hour's useless
contest with her riotous brother, returned to her weeping sister, not
merely successless with regard to her petition, but loaded with fresh
ill tidings that she knew not how to impart. Lionel had only laughed at
the repugnance of Camilla, which he regarded as something between
childishness and affectation, and begged Lavinia to be wiser than to
heed to it: 'Brother Sedley has desired me, however,' he added, 'not to
speak of the matter to Numps nor my father, till he has had a little
more conversation with his charmer; and he intends to call to-night as
if only upon a visit to me.'
When Camilla learnt, at length, this painful end of her embassy, she
gave herself up so completely to despair, that Lavinia, affrighted, ran
to the house for Eugenia, whose extreme youth was no impediment, in the
minds of her liberal sisters, to their belief nor reverence of her
superior wisdom. Her species of education had early prepossessed them
with respect for her knowledge, and her unaffected fondness for study,
had fixed their opinion of her extraordinary understanding. The goodness
of her heart, the evenness of her temper, and her natural turn to
contemplation, had established her character alike for sanctity and for
philosophy throughout the family.
She listened with the sincerest commiseration to the present state of
the case: 'Certainly,' she cried, 'you cannot, in honour, now refuse
him; but deal with him sincerely, and he may generously himself
relinquish his claims. Write to him, my dear Camilla; tell him you
grieve to afflict, yet disdain to deceive him; assure him of your
perfect esteem and eternal gratitude; but confess, at once, your heart
refuses to return his tenderness. Entreat him to forgive whatever he may
have mistaken, and nobly to restore to you the liberty of which your
obligations, without his consent, must rob you.'
To Lavinia this advice appeared infallible; but Camilla, though she felt
an entanglement which fettered herself, thought it by no means
sufficiently direct or clear to authorise a rejection of Sir Sedley;
since, strangely as she seemed in his power, circumstances had placed
her there, and not his own solicitation.
Yet to prevent a visit of which her knowledge seemed consent, and which
her consent must be most seriously to authorise, she deemed as
indispensable to her character, as to her fears. She hesitated,
therefore, not a moment in preferring writing to a meeting; and after
various conversations, and various essays, the following billet was
dispatched to Clarendel Place, through the means of Molly Mill, and by
her friend Tommy Hodd.
_To Sir_ Sedley Clarendel.
I should ill return what I owe to Sir Sedley Clarendel by causing
him any useless trouble I can spare him. He spoke of a visit hither
this evening, when I was too much hurried to represent that it
could not be received, as my brother's residence is at Etherington,
and my father and my uncle have not the honour to be known to Sir
Sedley. For me, my gratitude must ever be unalterable; and where
accident occasions a meeting, I shall be most happy to express it;
but I have nothing to say, nothing to offer, that could recompense
one moment of Sir Sedley's time given voluntarily to such a visit.
CAMILLA TYROLD.
Ill as this letter satisfied her, she could devise nothing better; but
though her sisters had both thought it too rigorous, she would not risk
anything gentler.
During the dinner, they all appeared absent and dejected; but Sir Hugh
attributed it to the non-arrival of Clermont, in watching for whom his
own time was completely occupied, by examining two weather-cocks, and
walking from one to the other, to see if they agreed, or how they
changed; Indiana was wholly engrossed in consultations with Miss
Margland, upon the most becoming dress for a bride's maid; and Mr.
Tyrold, having observed that his three girls had spent the morning
together, concluded Camilla had divulged to them her unhappy perplexity,
and felt soothed himself in considering she had soothers so affectionate
and faithful.
Early in the evening Tommy Hodd arrived, and Molly Mill brought Camilla
the following answer of Sir Sedley.
_Miss_ Camilla Tyrold.
Ah! what in this lower sphere can be unchequered, when even a
correspondence with the most lovely of her sex, brings alarm with
its felicity? Must I come, then, to Cleves, fair Insensible, but as
a visitor to Mr. Lionel? Have you taken a captive only to see him
in fetters? Allured a victim merely to behold him bleed? Ah!
tomorrow, at least, permit the audience that to-day is denied, and
at your feet, let your slave receive his doom.
SEDLEY CLARENDEL.
Camilla turned cold. She shrunk from a remonstrance she conceived she
had merited, and regarded herself to be henceforth either culpable or
unhappy. Unacquainted with the feminine indulgence which the world, by
long prescription, grants to coquetry, its name was scarcely known to
her; and she saw in its own native egotism the ungenerous desire to
please, where she herself was indifferent, and anticipated from Sir
Sedley reproach, if not contempt. No sophistications of custom had
warped the first innocence of her innate sense of right, and to trifle
with the feelings of another for any gratification of her own, made
success bring a blush to her integrity, not exultation to her vanity.
The words _victim_ and _bleeding_, much affected the tender Lavinia,
while those of _fetters_, _captive_, and _insensible_, satisfied the
heroic Eugenia that Sir Sedley deserved the hand of her sister; but
neither of them spoke.
'You say nothing?' cried Camilla, turning paler and paler, and sitting
down lest she should fall.
They both wept and embraced her, and Eugenia said, if, indeed, she could
not conquer her aversion, she saw no way to elude the baronet, but by
openly confessing her repugnance, in the conversation he demanded.
Camilla saw not less strongly the necessity of being both prompt and
explicit; but how receive Sir Sedley at Cleves? and upon what pretence
converse with him privately? Even Lionel the next day was to return to
the university, though his presence, if he staid, would, in all
probability, but add to every difficulty.
At length, they decided, that the conference should take place at the
Grove; and to prevent the threatened visit of the next day, Camilla
wrote the following answer:
_To Sir_ Sedley Clarendel.
I should be grieved, indeed, to return my obligations to Sir Sedley
Clarendel by meriting his serious reproach; yet I cannot have the
honour of seeing him at Cleves, since my brother is immediately
quitting it for Oxford. As soon as I hear Mrs. Arlbery is again at
the Grove, I shall wait upon her, and always be most happy to
assure Sir Sedley of my gratitude, which will be as lasting as it
is sincere.
CAMILLA TYROLD.
Though wretched in this strange state of things, she knew not how to
word her letter more positively, since his own, notwithstanding its
inferences, had so much more the style of florid gallantry than plain
truth. Molly Mill undertook that Tommy Hodd should carry it early the
next morning.
* * * * *
Lionel was so enraged at the non-appearance of the young baronet at
night, that Camilla was compelled to confess she had promised to see
him, and to give him his answer at Mrs. Arlbery's. He was out of humour,
nevertheless, lest Sir Sedley should be affronted by the delay, and
feared that the best match in the whole county would prove abortive,
from his sister's foolish trimmings, and silly ignorance of life.
CHAPTER III
_A Proposal of Marriage_
The increasing depression of Camilla, and the melancholy of her
sympathising sisters, though still attributed to the adverse wind by the
compass-watching baronet, escaped not the notice of Mr. Tyrold; who,
alarmed for the peace of his daughter, determined to watch for the first
quiet opportunity of investigating her actual situation.
Lionel, after breakfast, the next morning, was obliged to relinquish
waiting for Clermont, and to set off for Oxford. He contrived to whisper
to Camilla, that he hoped she would be a good girl at last, and not play
the fool; but, finding she only sighed, he laughed at her calamitious
state, in becoming mistress of fifteen thousand per annum, only by the
small trouble of running over a short ceremony; and, assuring her he
would assist her off with part of the charge, if it were too heavy for
her, bid her inform him in time of the propitious day.
Camilla, shortly after, saw from her window, galloping full speed across
the park to the house, Major Cerwood. She suspected her tormenting
brother to have been again at work; nor was she mistaken. He had met
with the Major at the hotel at Tunbridge, while his spirits, always
violent, were in a state of almost intoxication of delight, at the
first idea of such an accession to his powers of amusement, as a new
brother rolling in immense wealth, which he already considered as nearly
at his own disposal. High wrought, therefore, for what he deemed good
sport, he confirmed what he had asserted at the ball at Northwick, of
the expectations of Camilla from Sir Hugh, by relating the public fact,
of her having been announced, to the family and neighbourhood, for his
uncle's heiress, at ten years of age; and only sinking, in his account,
the revocation made so soon after in favour of Eugenia. To this, he
added his advice, that no time was to be lost, as numberless new suitors
were likely to pursue her from Tunbridge.
The Major, upon alighting, inquired for Sir Hugh, deeming Mr. Tyrold of
little consequence, since it was not from him Camilla was to inherit her
fortune.
The baronet, as usual, was watching the winds and the clouds; but,
concluding whoever came would bring some news from Clermont, received
the Major with the utmost cordiality, saying: 'I see, sir, you are a
stranger; by which I suppose you to be just come from abroad; where, I
hope, you left all well?'
'I am just come, sir,' answered the Major, 'from Tunbridge, where I had
the honour, through my acquaintance with Mrs. Arlbery, of meeting daily
with your charming niece; an honour, sir, which must cause all the
future happiness or misery of my life.'
He then made a declaration, in form, of the most ardent passion for
Camilla; mentioned his family, which was an honourable one; talked of
his expectations with confidence, though vaguely; and desired to leave
the disposition of the settlement wholly to the baronet; who, he hoped,
would not refuse to see his elder brother, a gentleman of fortune in
Lincolnshire, who would have the honour to wait upon him, at any time he
would be so good as to appoint, upon this momentous affair.
Sir Hugh heard this harangue with consternation. The Major was in the
prime of life, his person was good, his speech was florid, his air was
assured, and his regimentals were gay. Not a doubt of his success
occurred to the baronet; who saw, in one blow, the darling scheme of his
old age demolished, in the deprivation of Camilla.
The Major impatiently waited for an answer; but Sir Hugh was too much
disordered to frame one; he walked up and down the room, muttering in a
desponding manner, to himself, 'Lord, help us! what a set of poor weak
mortals we are, we poor men! The best schemes and plans in the world
always coming to nothing before we can bring them about! I'll never form
another while I live, for the sake of this one warning. Nobody knows,
next, but what Clermont will be carrying off Eugenia to see foreign
parts! and then comes some other of these red-coats to take away
Indiana; and, after doing all for the best so long, I may be left all
alone, except just for Mrs. Margland and the Doctor! that I don't take
much pleasure in, Lord help me! except as a Christian, which I hope is
no sin.'
At length, endeavouring to compose himself, he sat down, and said, 'So
you are come, sir, to take away from me my own particular little niece?
which is a hard thing upon an uncle, intending her to live with him.
However, I don't mean to find fault; but I can tell you this one thing,
sir, which I beg you to remember; which is, if you don't make her happy,
you'll break my heart! For she's what I love the best in the world,
little as I've made it appear, by not leaving her a shilling. For which
sake, however, I can't but respect you the more for coming after her,
instead of Eugenia.'
'Sir?' cried the Major, amazed.
'The other two chaps,' continued he, 'that came about us not long ago,
wanted to make their court to Eugenia and Indiana; as well as another
that came to the house when I was ill, in the same coat as yourself, by
what I can gather from the description; but never a one has come to
Camilla yet, except yourself, because my brother can spare her but a
trifle, having another young girl to provide for, besides Lionel; which
is the most expensive of them all, poor boy! never having enough, by the
reason Oxford is so dear, as I suppose.'
The Major now wore an air of surprise and uneasiness that Sir Hugh began
to observe, but attributed to his unpleasant reception of his proposals.
He begged his pardon, therefore, and again assured him of his respect
for a choice so little mercenary, which he looked upon as a mark of a
good heart.
The Major, completely staggered, and suspecting the information of
Lionel to be ill grounded, if not purposely deluding, entreated his
permission to wait upon him again; and offered for the present to take
leave.
Sir Hugh, in a melancholy voice, said, he would first summon his niece,
as he could not answer it to his conscience preventing the meeting,
unless she gave him leave.
He then rang the bell, and told Jacob to call Camilla.
Major Cerwood was excessively distressed. To retreat seemed impossible;
yet to connect himself without fortune, when he thought he was
addressing a rich heiress, was a turn of fate he scarcely knew how
either to support or to parry. All that, in this haste, he could
resolve, was, to let the matter pass for the moment, and then insist
upon satisfaction from Lionel, either in clearing up the mistake, or
taking upon himself its blame.
When Camilla appeared, the disturbance of Sir Hugh still augmented; and
he could hardly articulate, 'My dear, in the case you are willing to
leave your family, here's a gentleman come to make his addresses to you;
which I think it right you should know, though how I shall struggle
through it, if I lose you, is more than my poor weak head can tell; for
what shall I do without my dear little girl, that I thought to make the
best comfort of my old age? which, however, I beg you not to think of,
in case this young Captain's more agreeable.'
'Ah! my dear uncle!' cried she, 'your Camilla can never return half the
comfort she receives from you! keep me with you still, and ever! I am
much obliged to Major Cerwood. I beg him to accept my sincerest thanks;
but to pardon me, when I assure him, they are all I have to offer him.'
Repulse was not new to the Major; who, in various country towns, had
sought to retrieve his affairs by some prudent connection; his pride,
however, had never so little suffered as on the present occasion, for
his apprehension of error or imposition had removed from him all thought
of even the possibility of a refusal; which, now, therefore,
unexpectedly and joyfully obviated his embarrassment, and enabled him to
quit the field by an honourable retreat. He bowed profoundly, called
himself, without knowing what he said, the most unhappy of men; and,
without risking one solicitation, or a moment for repentance, hastily
took leave, with intention, immediately, to demand an explanation of
Lionel.
But he had not escaped a mile from the house, ere he gave up that
design, from anticipating the ridicule that might follow it. To require
satisfaction for a young lady's want of fortune, however reasonable,
would always be derided as ludicrous. He resolved, therefore, quietly
to put up with the rejection; and to gather his next documents
concerning the portion of a fair damsel, from authority better to be
relied upon than that of a brother.
Sir Hugh, for some time, discovered not that he had retired. Enchanted
by so unexpected a dismission, his favourite scheme of life seemed
accorded to him, and he pressed Camilla to his bosom, in a transport of
joy. 'We shall live together, now, I hope,' he cried, 'without any of
these young chaps coming in again to part us. Not that I would object to
your marrying, my dear girl, if it was with a relation, like Eugenia,
or, with a neighbour, like Indiana, if it had not been for its going
off; but to see you taken away from me by a mere stranger, coming from
distant parts, and knowing nothing of any of us, is a thing that makes
my heart ache but to think of; so I hope it will happen no more; for
these trials do no good to my recovery.'
Turning round, then, with a view to say something consolatory to the
Major, he was seriously concerned to find him departed. 'I can't say,'
he cried, 'I had any intention to send him off so short, his meaning not
being bad, considering him in the light of a person in love; which is a
time when a man has not much thought, except for himself, by what I can
gather.'
He then proposed a walk, to watch if Clermont were coming. The wind, he
acknowledged, was indeed contrary; but, he did not doubt, upon such a
particular occasion, his good lad would not mind such difficulties.
CHAPTER IV
_A Bull-Dog_
Sir Hugh called upon his other nieces to join him; purposing to stroll
to the end of a lane which led to the London road.
Camilla accompanied the party in the most mournful silence. The assuming
letter she had received; the interview she should have to sustain; and
her apparent dependance upon Sir Sedley, sinking her into complete
despondence.
When they came to the high road, Sir Hugh made a stop, and bid every
body look sharp.
A horseman was seen advancing full gallop. By his figure he appeared to
be young; by his pace, in uncommon speed.
'That's him,' cried Sir Hugh, striking his stick upon the ground, and
smiling most complacently; 'I said he would not mind the wind, my dear
Eugenia! what's the wind, or the waves either, to a lover? which is a
thing, however, that I won't talk about; so don't be ashamed, my dear
girl, nobody knowing what we mean.'
Eugenia looked down, deeply colouring, and much regretting the lameness
that prevented her running back, to avoid so public and discountenancing
a meeting.
The horseman now came up to them, and was preparing to turn down the
lane; when, all at once, they perceived him to be Edgar Mandlebert.
He had left Tunbridge in a manner not more abrupt than comfortless. His
disappointment in the failure of Camilla at the Rooms had been as
bitter, as his expectations from the promised conference had been
animated. When Lionel appeared, he inquired if his sister were absent
from illness.... No; she was only writing a letter. To take this moment
for such a purpose, be the letter what it might, seemed sporting with
his curiosity and warm interest in her affairs: and he went back,
mortified and dejected, to his lodgings; where, just arrived by the
stage, he found a letter from Dr. Marchmont, acquainting him with his
return to his rectory. In this suspensive state of mind, to cast himself
upon his sagacious friend seemed a relief the most desirable: but, while
considering whether first to claim from Camilla her promised
communication, the voice of Lionel issuing from the room of Major
Cerwood, struck his ears. He darted forth, and accompanied the youth to
his horse, who was setting out upon some expedition, in the dark; and
then received information, under the pretence of great secrecy, that
Major Cerwood was going immediately to ask leave of absence, and proceed
straight to Hampshire, with his final proposals of marriage with
Camilla. He now concluded this was the subject upon which she had meant
to consult with him; but delicacy, pride, and hope all combated his
interference. He determined even to avoid her, till the answer should be
given. 'I must owe her hand,' cried he, 'to her heart, not to a contest
such as this: and, if impartially and unbiassed, the Major is refused,
no farther cruel doubt, no torturing hesitation, shall keep me another
minute from her feet!' With the dawn, therefore, he set out for
Hampshire; but, fixed to avoid Cleves, till he could learn that the
Major's visit were over, he devoted his mornings to rides, and his
evenings to Dr. Marchmont, till now, a mile or two from the Park, he had
met the Major himself, and concluded the acceptance or the rejection
decided. They merely touched their hats as they passed each other; and
he instantly took the route which the Major was quitting.
In the excess of his tribulation, he was galloping past the whole group,
without discerning one of its figures; when Sir Hugh called out, 'Why
it's young Mr. Edgar! So now we've walked all this way for nothing! and
Clermont may be still at Jericho, or at Rome, for anything we know to
the contrary!'
Edgar stopt short. He felt himself shiver at sight of Camilla, but
dismounted, gave his horse to his groom, and joined the party.
Eugenia recovering, now fearlessly looked up; but Camilla, struck and
affected, shook in every limb, and was forced to hold by Lavinia.
Edgar called upon his utmost presence of mind to carry him through what
he conceived to be a final trial. He spoke to Sir Hugh, and compelled
himself to speak separately to every one else; but, when he addressed
Camilla, to whom he said something not very distinctly, about Tunbridge,
she curtsied to him slightly, and turned away, without making any
answer. Her mind, taking suddenly a quick retrospection of all that had
passed between them, presented him to her view as uncertain and
delusive; and, casting upon him, internally, the whole odium of her
present distress, and her feelings were so indignant, that, in her
present desperate state, she deemed it beneath her to disguise them,
either from himself or the world.
Edgar, to whose troubled imagination everything painted his rival,
concluded the Major had been heard with favour; and his own adverse
counsel was now recollected with resentment.
Sir Hugh, far more fatigued by his disappointment than by his walk, said
he should go no further, as he found it in vain to expect Clermont; and
accepted the arm of Edgar to aid his stick in helping him home.
Camilla, still leaning upon Lavinia, mounted a little bank, which she
knew Sir Hugh could not ascend, that she might walk on where Edgar could
not join her; involuntarily ejaculating, 'Lavinia! if you would avoid
deceit and treachery, look at a man as at a picture, which tells you
only the present moment! Rely upon nothing of time to come! They are not
like us, Lavinia. They think themselves free, if they have made no
verbal profession; though they may have pledged themselves by looks, by
actions, by attentions, and by manners, a thousand, and a thousand
times!'
Edgar observed her avoidance with the keenest apprehension; and,
connecting it with her failure at the Rooms, imagined the Major had now
influenced her to an utter aversion of him.
Sir Hugh meanwhile, though wholly unheard, related, in a low voice, to
Edgar, the history of his preparations for Clermont; begging him,
however, to take no notice of them to Eugenia: and, then, adding, 'Very
likely, Mr. Edgar, you are just come from Tunbridge? and, if so, you may
have met with that young Captain that has been with us this morning;
who, I understand to be a Major?'
Edgar was thrown into the utmost trepidation; the artless openness of
Sir Hugh gave him every reason to suppose he should immediately gather
full intelligence, and all his peace and all his hopes might hang upon
another word. He could only bow to the question; but before Sir Hugh
could go on, a butcher's boy, who was riding by, from a wanton love of
mischief, gave a signal to his attending bull-dog, to attack the old
spaniel that accompanied Sir Hugh.
Sustained by his master many a year, the proud old favourite, though
unequal to the combat, disdained to fly; and the fierce bull-dog would
presently have demolished him, had not Edgar, recovering all his vigour
from his earnest desire to rescue an animal so dear to Sir Hugh, armed
himself with the baronet's stick, and thrust it dexterously across the
jaws of this intended antagonist.
Nothing, however, could withstand the fangs of the bull-dog; they soon
severed it, and, again, he made at the spaniel; but Edgar rushed between
them, with no other weapons than the broken fragments of the stick: and,
while the baronet and Eugenia screamed out to old Rover to return to
them, and Lavinia, with more readiness of common sense, exerted the
fullest powers of which her gentle voice was capable, to conjure the
wicked boy to call off his dog, Camilla, who was the last to look round
at this scene, only turned about as the incensed and disappointed
bull-dog, missing his object, aimed at Edgar himself. Roused at once
from her sullen calm to the most agonising sensibility, every thing and
every body, herself most of all, were forgotten in the sight of his
danger; and, with a piercing shriek, she darted down the bank, and
arrived at the tremendous spot, at the same instant that the more useful
exhortations of Lavinia, had induced the boy to withdraw the fierce
animal; who, with all his might, and all his fury, obeyed the weak
whistle of a little urchin he had been bred to love and respect, for
bringing him his daily food.
Camilla perceived not if the danger were impending, or over; gasping,
pale, and agitated, she caught Mandlebert by the arm, and, in broken
accents, half pronounced, 'O Edgar!... are you hurt?'
The revulsion that had operated in her mind took now its ample turn in
that of Mandlebert; he could hardly trust his senses, hardly believe he
existed; yet he felt the pressure of her hand upon his arm, and saw in
her countenance terror the most undisguised, and tenderness that went
straight to his soul. 'Is it Camilla,' he cried, 'who thus speaks to
me?... Is not my safety or my destruction alike indifferent to Camilla?'
'O no! O no!' cried she, scarce conscious she answered at all, till
called to recollection by his own changed looks; changed from
incredulity and amazement to animation that lightened up every feature,
to eyes that shot fire. Abashed, astonished, ashamed, she precipitately
drew away her hand, and sought quietly to retire.
But Edgar was no longer master of himself; he conceived he was on a
pinnacle, whence he could only, and without any gradation, turn to
happiness or despair. He followed her, trembling and uncertain, his joy
fading into alarm at her retreat, his hope transforming into
apprehension at her resumed coldness of demeanor. 'Do you repent,' he
cried, 'that you have shewn me a little humanity?... will the Major ...
the happy Major!... be offended you do less than detest me?'
'The Major!' repeated she, looking back, surprised, 'can you think the
Major has any influence with me?'
'Ah, Heaven!' he cried, 'what do you say!...'
Enchanted, affrighted, bewildered, yet silent, she hurried on; Edgar
could not forget himself more than a moment; he forbore, therefore, to
follow, and, though with a self-denial next to torture, returned to Sir
Hugh, to whom his arm was doubly necessary, from the scene he had just
witnessed, and the loss of his stick.
The butcher's boy and his bull-dog were decamped; and the baronet and
Eugenia were rivalling each other in fondling the rescued spaniel, and
in pouring thanks and praise unlimited upon Edgar.
They then walked back as before; and, as soon as they re-entered the
mansion, the female party went upstairs, and Sir Hugh, warmly shaking
Edgar by the hand, said: 'My dear Mr. Edgar, this is one of the happiest
days of my life, except just that of my nephew's coming over, which it
is but right to put before it. But here, first, my dear Camilla's
refused that young Captain, who would have carried her the Lord knows
where, immediately, as I make no doubt; and next, I've saved the life of
my poor old Rover, by the means of your good-nature.'
'Refused?' cried Edgar; 'my dear Sir Hugh!--did you say refused?'
Sir Hugh innocently gratified him with the repetition of the word, but
begged him not to mention it, 'For fear,' he said, 'it should hurt the
young man when he falls in love somewhere else; which I heartily hope he
will do soon, poor gentleman! for the sake of its not fretting him.'
'Miss Camilla, then, has refused him?' again repeated Edgar, with a
countenance that, to any man but the baronet, must have betrayed his
whole soul.
'Yes, poor gentleman! this very morning; for which I am thankful enough:
for what do we know of those young officers, who may all be sent to the
East Indies, or Jamaica, every day of their lives? Not but what I have
the proper pity for him, which, I hope, is all that can be expected.'
Edgar walked about the room, in a perturbation of hope, fear, and joy,
that disabled him from all further appearance of attention. He wished to
relate this transaction to Dr. Marchmont, yet dreaded any retarding
advice; he languished to make Camilla herself the sole mistress of his
destiny: the interest she had shewn for his safety seemed to admit but
one interpretation; and, finally, he resolved to stay at Cleves till he
could meet with her alone.
Camilla had not uttered a word after the adventure of the bull-dog. The
smallest idea that she could excite the least emotion in Edgar, brought
a secret rapture to her heart, that, at any former period, would alone
have sufficed to render her happy: but, at this instant of entanglement
with another, she revolted from the indulgence of such pleasure; and
instead of dwelling, as she would have done before, on the look, the
accent, the manner, that were susceptible, by any construction, of
partiality, she checked every idea that did not represent Edgar as
unstable and consistent; and sought, with all her power, to regard him
as Mrs. Arlbery had painted him, and to believe him, except in a few
casual moments of caprice, insensible and hard of heart.
Yet this entanglement, in which, scarce knowing how, she now seemed to
be entwined with Sir Sedley, grew more and more terrific; and when she
considered that her sisters themselves thought her independence gone,
and her honour engaged, she was seized with so much wonderment, how it
had all been brought about, that her understanding seemed to play her
false, and she believed the whole a dream.
CHAPTER V
_An Oak Tree_
When the sisters were summoned down stairs to dinner, planted at the
door, ready to receive them at their entrance, stood Edgar. Lavinia and
Eugenia addressed him as usual; but Camilla could not speak, could not
return his salutation, could not look at him. She sat hastily down in
her accustomed place by her uncle, and even the presence of her father
scarcely restrained her tears, as she contrasted the hopeless
uncertainties of Edgar, with the perilous pursuit of Sir Sedley.
Edgar, for the first time, saw her avoidance without suspecting that it
flowed from repugnance. The interest she had shewn for his safety was
still bounding in his breast, and as, from time to time, he stole a
glance at her, and observed her emotion, his heart whispered him the
softest hopes, that soon the most perfect confidence would make every
feeling reciprocal.
But these hopes were not long without alloy; he soon discerned something
that far exceeded what could give him pleasure in her perturbation; he
read in it not merely hurry and alarm, but suffering and distress.
He now ventured to look at her no more; his confidence gave place to
pity; he saw she was unhappy, and breathed no present wish but to
relieve and console her.
When the dessert was served, she was preparing to retire; but she caught
the eye of her father, and saw she should not long be alone; she
re-seated herself, therefore, in haste, to postpone, at least, his
scrutiny.
Every body, at length, arose, and Sir Hugh proposed that they should all
walk in the park, during his nap, but keep close to the pales, that they
might listen for all passengers, in case of Clermont's coming.
To this, also, Camilla could make no objection, and they set out. She
took an arm of each sister, and indulged the heaviness of her heart in
not uttering a word.
They had not gone far, when a servant ran after Mr. Tyrold with a
pacquet, just arrived, by a private hand, from Lisbon. He returned to
read it in his own room; Lavinia and Eugenia accompanied him to hear its
contents, and Camilla, for the first time, seemed the least affectionate
of his daughters; she durst not encounter him but in the mixt company of
all the house; she told Lavinia to make haste back with the news, and
took the arm of Indiana.
The compulsion of uninteresting discourse soon became intolerable; and
no longer chained to the party by the awe of her father, she presently
left Indiana to Miss Margland, and perceiving that Edgar was conversing
with Dr. Orkborne, said she would wait for her sisters; and, turning a
little aside, sat down upon a bench under a large oak.
Here her painful struggle and unwilling forbearance ended; she gave free
vent to her tears, and thought herself the most wretched of human
beings; she found her heart, her aching heart, more than ever devoted to
Mandlebert, filled with his image, revering his virtues, honouring even
his coldness, from a persuasion she deserved not his affection, and
sighing solely for the privilege to consign herself to his remembrance
for life, though unknown to himself, and unsuspected by the world. The
very idea of Sir Sedley was horror to her; she felt guilty to have
involved herself in an intercourse so fertile of danger; she thought
over, with severest repentance, her short, but unjustifiable deviation
from that transparent openness, and undesigning plainness of conduct,
which her disposition as much as her education ought to have rendered
unchangeable. To that, alone, was owing all her actual difficulty, for
to that alone was owing her own opinion of any claim upon her justice.
How dearly, she cried, do I now pay for the unthinking plan with which I
risked the peace of another, for the re-establishment of my own! She
languished to throw herself into the arms of her father, to unbosom to
him all her errors and distresses, and owe their extrication to his
wisdom and kindness. She was sure he would be unmoved by the glare of a
brilliant establishment, and that far from desiring her to sacrifice her
feelings to wealth and shew, he would himself plead against the alliance
when he knew the state of her mind, and recommend to her, so
circumstanced, the single life, in the true spirit of Christian
philosophy and moderation: but all was so closely interwoven in the
affairs and ill conduct of her brother, that she believed herself
engaged in honour to guard the fatal secret, though hazarding by its
concealment impropriety and misery.
These afflicting ruminations were at length interrupted by the sound of
feet; she took her handkerchief from her eyes, expecting to see her
sisters; she was mistaken, and beheld Mandlebert.
She started and rose; she strove to chace the tears from her eyes
without wiping them, and asked what he had done with Dr. Orkborne?
'You are in grief!' cried he in a tone of sympathy; 'some evil has
befallen you!... let me ask....'
'No; I am only waiting for my sisters. They have just received letters
from Lisbon.'
'You have been weeping! you are weeping now! why do you turn away from
me? I will not obtrusively demand your confidence ... yet, could I give
you the most distant idea what a weight it might remove from my
mind, ... you would find it difficult to deny yourself the pleasure of
doing so much good!'
The tears of Camilla now streamed afresh. Words so kind from Edgar, the
cold, the hard-hearted Edgar, surprised and overset her; yet she
endeavoured to hide her face, and made an effort to pass him.
'Is not this a little unkind?' cried he, gravely; 'however, I have no
claim to oppose you.'
'Unkind!' she repeated, and involuntarily turning to him, shewed a
countenance so disconsolate, that he lost his self-control, and taking
her reluctant hand, said: 'O Camilla! torture me no longer!'
Almost transfixed with astonishment, she looked at him for a moment in a
speechless wonder; but the interval of doubt was short; the character of
Edgar, for unalienable steadiness, unalterable honour, was fixed in her
mind, like 'truths from holy writ,' and she knew, with certainty
incontrovertible, that his fate was at her disposal, from the instant he
acknowledged openly her power over his feelings.
Every opposite sensation, that with violence the most ungovernable could
encounter but to combat, now met in her bosom, elevating her to rapture,
harrowing her with terror, menacing even her understanding. The most
exquisite wish of her heart seemed accorded at a period so nearly too
late for its acceptance, that her faculties, bewildered, confused,
deranged, lost the capacity of clearly conceiving if still she were a
free agent or not.
He saw her excess of disorder with alarm; he sought to draw her again to
her seat; but she put her hand upon her forehead, and leant it against
the bark of the tree.
'You will not speak to me!' cried he; 'you will not trust me! shall I
call you cruel? No! for you are not aware of the pain you inflict, the
anguish you make me suffer! the generosity of your nature would else,
unbidden, impulsively interfere.'
'_You_ suffer! _you!_' cried she, again distressfully, almost
incredulously, looking at him, while her hands were uplifted with
amazement: 'I thought you above any suffering! superior to all
calamity!... almost to all feeling!...'
'Ah, Camilla! what thus estranges you from candor? from justice? what is
it can prompt you to goad thus a heart which almost from its first
beating....'
He stopt, desirous to check himself; while penetrated by his softness,
and ashamed of what, in the bitterness of her spirit, she had
pronounced, she again melted into tears, and sunk down upon the bench;
yet holding out to him one hand, while with the other she covered her
face: 'Forgive me,' she cried, 'I entreat ... for I scarce know what I
say.'
Such a speech, and so accompanied, might have demolished the stoicism of
an older philosopher than Edgar; he fervently kissed her proferred hand,
exclaiming: 'Forgive you! can Camilla use such a word? has she the
slightest care for my opinion? the most remote concern for me, or for my
happiness?'
'Farewell! farewell!' cried she, hastily drawing away her hand, 'go now,
I beseech you!'
'What a moment to expect me to depart! O Camilla! my soul sickens of
this suspence! End it, generous Camilla! beloved as lovely! my heart is
all your own! use it gently, and accept it nobly!'
Every other emotion, now, in the vanquished Camilla, every retrospective
fear, every actual regret, yielded to the conquering charm of grateful
tenderness; and restoring the hand she had withdrawn: 'O Edgar,' she
cried, 'how little can I merit such a gift! yet I prize it ... far, far
beyond all words!'
The agitation of Edgar was, at first, too mighty and too delicious for
speech; but his eyes, now cast up to heaven, now fixed upon her own,
spoke the most ardent, yet purest felicity; while her hand, now held to
his heart, now pressed to his lips, strove vainly to recover its
liberty. 'Blest moment!' he at length uttered, 'that finishes for every
such misery of uncertainty! that gives my life to happiness ... my
existence to Camilla!'
Again speech seemed too poor for him. Perfect satisfaction is seldom
loquacious; its character is rather tender than gay; and where happiness
succeeds abruptly to long solicitude and sorrow, its enjoyment is
fearful; it softens rather than exhilarates. Sudden joy is sportive, but
sudden happiness is awful.
The pause, however, that on his side was ecstatic thankfulness, soon
became mixt, on that of Camilla, with confusion and remorse: Sir Sedley
returned to her memory, and with him every reflection, and every
apprehension, that most cruelly could sully each trembling, though
nearly gratified hope.
The cloud that so soon dimmed the transient radiance of her countenance,
was instantly perceived by Edgar; but as he was beginning the most
anxious inquiries, the two sisters approached, and Camilla, whose hand
he then relinquished, rushed forward, and throwing her arms around their
necks, wept upon their bosoms.
'Sweet sisters!' cried Edgar, embracing them all three in one; 'long may
ye thus endearingly entwine each other, in the sacred links of
affectionate affinity! Where shall I find our common father?... where
is Mr. Tyrold?'
The amazed sisters could with difficulty answer that he was with their
uncle, to whom he was communicating news from their mother.
Edgar looked tenderly at Camilla, but, perceiving her emotion, forbore
to speak to her, though he could not deny himself the pleasure of
snatching one kiss of the hand which hung down upon the shoulder of
Eugenia; he then whispered to both the sisters: 'You will not, I trust,
be my enemies?' and hurried to the house.
'What can this mean?' cried Eugenia and Lavinia in a breath.
'It means,' said Camilla, 'that I am the most distressed ... yet the
happiest of human beings!'
This little speech, began with the deepest sigh, but finished with the
most refulgent smile, only added to their wonder.
'I hope you have been consulting with Edgar,' said the innocent Eugenia;
'nobody can more ably advise you, since, in generosity to Lionel, you
are prohibited from counselling with my father.'
Again the most expressive smiles played in every feature through the
tears of Camilla, as she turned, with involuntary archness, to Eugenia,
and answered: 'And shall I follow his counsel, my dear sister, if he
gives me any?'
'Why not? he is wise, prudent, and much attached to us all. How he can
have supposed it possible we could be his enemies, is past all
divination!'
Gaiety was so truly the native growth of the mind of Camilla, that
neither care nor affliction could chace it long from its home. The
speeches of the unsuspicious Eugenia, that a moment before would have
past unheeded, now regaled her renovated fancy with a thousand amusing
images, which so vigorously struggled against her sadness and her
terrors, that they were soon nearly driven from the field by their
sportive assailants; and, by the time she reached her chamber, whither,
lost in amaze, her sisters followed her, the surprise she had in store
for them, the pleasure with which she knew they would sympathise in her
happiness, and the security of Edgar's decided regard, had liberated her
mind from the shackles of reminiscence, and restored her vivacity to its
original spirit.
Fastening, then, her door, she turned to them with a countenance of the
brightest animation; alternately and almost wildly embraced them, and
related the explicit declaration of Edgar; now hiding in their bosoms
the blushes of her modest joy, now offering up to Heaven the
thanksgiving of her artless rapture, now dissolving in the soft tears of
the tenderest sensibility, according to the quick changing impulses of
her natural and lively, yet feeling and susceptible character. Nor once
did she look at the reverse of this darling portrait of chosen felicity,
till Eugenia, with a gentle sigh, uttered: 'Unhappy Sir Sedley
Clarendel! how may this stroke be softened to him?'
'Ah Eugenia!' she cried; 'that alone is my impediment to the most
perfect, the most unmixt content! why have you made me think of him?'
'My dear Camilla,' said Eugenia, with a look of curious earnestness, and
taking both her hands, while she seemed examining her face, 'you are
then, it seems, in love? and with Edgar Mandlebert?'
Camilla, blushing, yet laughing, broke away from her, denying the
charge.
A consultation succeeded upon the method of proceeding with the young
baronet. Tommy Hodd was not yet returned with the answer; it was five
miles to Clarendel Place, which made going and returning his day's work.
She resolved to wait but this one reply, and then to acknowledge to
Edgar the whole of her situation. The delicacy of Lavinia, and the high
honour of Eugenia, concurred in the propriety of this confession; and
they all saw the urgent necessity of an immediate explanation with Sir
Sedley, whose disappointment might every hour receive added weight from
delay. Painful, therefore, confusing and distasteful, as was the task,
Camilla determined upon the avowal, and as completely to be guided by
Edgar in this difficult conjuncture, as if his advice were already
sanctioned by conjugal authority.
CHAPTER VI
_A Call of the House_
Edgar returned to the parlour with a countenance so much brightened, a
joy so open, a confidence so manly, and an air so strongly announcing
some interesting intelligence, that his history required no prelude.
'Edgar,' said Mr. Tyrold, 'you have a look to disarm care of its
corrosion. You could not take a better time to wear so cheering an
aspect; I have just learnt that my wife can fix no sort of date for her
return; I must borrow, therefore, some reflected happiness; and none,
after my children, can bring its sunshine so home to my bosom as
yourself.'
'What a fortunate moment have you chosen,' cried Edgar, affectionately
taking him by the hand, 'to express this generous pleasure in seeing me
happy! will you repent, will you retract, when you hear in what it may
involve you?... Dearest sir! my honoured, my parental friend! to what a
test shall I put your kindness!... Will you give me in charge one of the
dearest ties of your existence? will you repose in my care so large a
portion of your peace? will you trust to me your Camilla?...'
With all the ardour of her character, all the keen and quick feelings of
her sensitive mind, scarce had Camilla herself been more struck, more
penetrated with sudden joy, sudden wonder, sudden gratification of every
kind, than Mr. Tyrold felt at this moment. He more than returned the
pressure with which Edgar held his hand, and instantly answered, 'Yes,
my excellent young friend, without hesitation, without a shadow of
apprehension for her happiness! though she is all the fondest father can
wish; ... and though she only who gave her to me is dearer!'
Felicity and tenderness were now the sole guests in the breast of Edgar.
He kissed with reverence the hand of Mr. Tyrold, called him by the
honoured and endearing title of father; acknowledged that, from the
earliest period of observation, Camilla had seemed to him the most
amiable of human creatures; spoke with the warm devotion he sincerely
felt for her of Mrs. Tyrold; and was breathing forth his very soul in
tender rapture upon his happy prospects, when something between a sigh
and a groan from the baronet, made him hastily turn round, apologise for
not sooner addressing him, and respectfully solicit his consent.
Sir Hugh was in an agitation of delight and surprise almost too potent
for his strength. 'The Lord be good unto me,' he cried; 'have I lived to
see such a day as this!' Then, throwing his arms about Edgar's neck,
while his eyes were fast filling with tears, which soon ran plentifully
down his cheeks, 'Good young Mr. Edgar!' he cried; 'good young man! and
do you really love my poor Camilla, for all her not being worth a penny?
And will my dear little darling come to so good an end at last, after
being disinherited for doing nothing? And will you never vex her, nor
speak an unkind word to her? Indeed, young Mr. Edgar, you are a noble
boy! you are indeed; and I love you to the bottom of my old heart for
this true good naturedness!'
Then, again and again embracing him, 'This is all of a piece,' he
continued, 'with your saving my poor old Rover, which is a thing I shall
never forget to my longest day, being a remarkable sign of a good heart;
the poor dog having done nothing to offend, as we can all testify. So
that it's a surprising thing what that mastiff owed him such a grudge
for.'
Then quitting him abruptly to embrace Mr. Tyrold, 'My dear brother,' he
cried, 'I hope your judgment approves this thing, as well as my
sister's, when she comes to hear it, which I shall send off express,
before I sleep another wink, for fear of accidents.'
'Approve,' answered Mr. Tyrold, with a look of the most expressive
kindness at Edgar, 'is too cold a word; I rejoice, even thankfully
rejoice, to place my dear child in such worthy and beloved hands.'
'Well, then,' cried the enchanted baronet, 'if that's the case, that we
are all of one mind, we had better settle the business at once, all of
us being subject to die by delay.'
He then rang the bell, and ordered Jacob to summon Camilla to the
parlour, adding, 'And all the rest too, Jacob, for I have something to
tell them every one, which, I make no doubt, they will be very glad to
hear, yourself included, as well as your fellow-servants, who have no
right to be left out; only let my niece come first, being her own
affair.'
Camilla obeyed not the call without many secret sensations of distress
and difficulty, but which, mingled with the more obvious ones of modesty
and embarrassment, all passed for a flutter of spirits that appeared
natural to the occasion.
Mr. Tyrold could only silently embrace her: knowing what she had
suffered, and judging thence the excess of her present satisfaction, he
would not add to her confusion by any information of his consciousness;
but the softness with which he held her to his bosom spoke, beyond all
words, his heartfelt sympathy in her happiness.
Camilla had no power to draw herself from his arms; but Edgar hovered
round her, and Sir Hugh repeatedly and impatiently demanded to have his
turn. Mr. Tyrold, gently disengaging himself from her embraces, gave
one of her hands to Edgar, who, with grateful joy, pressed it to his
lips. 'My children!' he then said, laying a hand upon the shoulder of
each, 'what a sight is this to me! how precious a union! what will it be
to your excellent mother! So long and so decidedly it has been our
favourite earthly wish, that, were she but restored to me ... to her
country and to her family ... I might, perhaps, require some new evil to
prevent my forgetting where ... and what I am!'
'My dear brother, I say! my dear niece! My dear Mr. young Edgar!' cried
Sir Hugh, in the highest good humour, though with nearly exhausted
patience, 'won't you let me put in a word? nor so much as give you my
blessing? though I can hardly hold life and soul together for the sake
of my joy!'
Camilla cast herself into his arms, he kissed her most fondly, saying:
'Don't forget your poor old uncle, my dear little girl, for the account
of this young Mr. Edgar, because, good as he is, he has taken to you but
a short time in comparison with me.'
'No,' said Edgar, still tenaciously retaining the hand parentally
bestowed upon him; 'no, dear Sir Hugh, I wish not to rob you of your
darling. I wish but to be admitted myself into this dear and respected
family, and to have Etherington, Cleves, and Beech Park, considered as
our alternate and common habitations.'
'You are the very best young man in the whole wide world!' cried Sir
Hugh, almost sobbing with ecstasy; 'for you have hit upon just the very
thing I was thinking of in my own private mind! What a mercy it is our
not accepting that young Captain, who would have run away with her to I
don't know where, instead of being married to the very nearest estate in
the county, that will always be living with us!'
The rest of the family now, obedient to the direction of Jacob, who had
intimated that something extraordinary was going forward, entered the
room.
'Come in, come in,' cried Sir Hugh, 'and hear the good news; for we have
just been upon the very point of losing the best opportunity that ever
we had in our lives of all living together; which, I hope, we shall now
do, without any more strangers coming upon us with their company, being
a thing we don't desire.'
'But what's the good news, uncle?' said Indiana; 'is it only about our
living together?'
'Why, yes, my dear, that's the first principle, and the other is, that
young Mr. Edgar's going to marry Camilla; which I hope you won't take
ill, liking being all fancy.'
'Me?' cried she, with a disdainful toss of the head, though severely
mortified; 'it's nothing to me, I'm sure!'
Camilla ashamed, and Edgar embarrassed, strove now mutually to shew Sir
Hugh they wished no more might be said: but he only embraced them again,
and declared he had never been so full of joy before in his whole life,
and would not be cut short.
Miss Margland, extremely piqued, vented her spleen in oblique sarcasms,
and sought to heal her offended pride by appeals for justice to her
sagacity and foresight in the whole business.
Jacob, now opening the door, said all the servants were come.
Camilla tried to escape; but Sir Hugh would not permit her, and the
house-keeper and butler led the way, followed by every other domestic of
the house.
'Well, my friends,' he cried, 'wish her joy, which I am sure you will do
of your own accord, for she's going to be mistress of Beech Park; which
I thought would have been the case with my other niece, till I found out
my mistakes; which is of no consequence now, all having ended for the
best; though unknown to us poor mortals.'
The servants obeyed with alacrity, and offered their hearty
congratulations to the blushing Camilla and happy Edgar, Molly Mill
excepted; who, having concluded Sir Sedley Clarendel the man, doubted
her own senses, and, instead of open felicitations, whispered Camilla,
'Dear Miss, I've got another letter for you! It's here in my bosom.'
Camilla, frightened, said: 'Hush! hush!' while Edgar, imagining the
girl, whose simplicity and talkativeness were familiar to him, had said
something ridiculous, entreated to be indulged with hearing her remark:
but seeing Camilla look grave, forbore to press his request.
The baronet now began an harangue upon the happiness that would accrue
from these double unions, for which he assured them they should have
double remembrances, though the same preparations would do for both, as
he meant they should take place at the same time, provided Mr. Edgar
would have the obligingness to wait for a fair wind, which he was
expecting every hour.
Camilla could now stay no longer; nor could Edgar, though adoring the
hearty joy of Sir Hugh, refuse to aid her in absconding.
He begged her permission to follow, as soon as it might be possible,
which she tacitly accorded. She was impatient herself for the important
conference she was planning, and felt, with increasing solicitude, that
all her life's happiness hung upon her power to extricate herself
honourably from the terrible embarrassment in which she was involved.
She sauntered about the hall till the servants came out, anxious to
receive the letter which Molly Mill had announced. They all sought to
surround her with fresh good wishes; but she singled out Molly, and
begged the rest to leave her for the present. The letter, however, was
not unpinned from the inside of Molly's neck handkerchief, before Edgar,
eager and gay, joined her.
Trembling then, she entreated her to make haste.
'La, Miss,' answered the girl, 'if you hurry me so, I shall tear it as
sure as can be; and what will you say then, Miss?'
'Well ... then ... another time will do ... take it to my room.'
'No, no, Miss; the gentleman told Tommy Hodd he wanted an answer as
quick as can be; he said, if Tommy'd come a-horseback, he'd pay for the
horse, to make him quicker; and Tommy says he always behaves very
handsome.'
She then gave her the squeezed billet. Camilla, in great confusion, put
it into her pocket. Edgar, who even unavoidably heard what passed, held
back till Molly retired; and then, with an air of undisguised surprise
and curiosity, though in a laughing tone, said, 'Must not the letter be
read till I make my bow?'
'O yes,' ... cried she, stammering, 'it may be read ... at any time.'
And she put her hand in her pocket to reproduce it. But the idea of
making known the strange and unexpected history she had to relate, by
shewing so strange a correspondence, without one leading and softening
previous circumstance, required a force and confidence of which she was
not mistress. She twisted it, therefore, hastily round, to hide the
hand-writing of the direction, and, then, with the same care, rolled it
up, and encircled it with her fingers.
'Shall I be jealous?' said he, gently, though disappointed.
'You have much reason!' she answered, with a smile so soft, it dispersed
every fear, yet with an attention so careful to conceal the address,
that it kept alive every wonder. He took her other hand, and kissing it,
cried: 'No, sweetest Camilla, such unworthy distrust shall make no part
of our compact. Yet I own myself a little interested to know what
gentleman has obtained a privilege I should myself prize above almost
any other. I will leave you, however, to read the letter, and, perhaps,
before you answer it ... but no ... I will ask nothing; I shall lose all
pleasure in your confidence, if it is not spontaneous. I will go and
find your sisters.'
The first impulse of Camilla was, to commit to him immediately the
unopened letter: but the fear of its contents, its style, its
requisitions, made her terror overpower her generosity; and, though she
looked after him with regret, she stood still to break the seal of her
letter.
_Miss_ Camilla Tyrold.
Is it thus, O far too fair tormenter! thou delightest to torture?
Dost thou give wings but to clip them? raise expectation but to bid
it linger? fan bright the flame of hope, but to see it consume in
its own ashes? Another delay?... Ah! tell me how I may exist till
it terminates! Name to me, O fair tyrant! some period, ... or build
not upon longer forbearance, but expect me at your feet. You talk
of the Grove: its fair owner is just returned, and calls herself
impatient to see you. To-morrow, then, ... you will not, I trust,
kill me again tomorrow? With the sun, the renovating sun, I will
visit those precincts, nor quit them till warned away by the pale
light of Diana: tell me, then, to what century of that period your
ingenious cruelty condemns me to this expiring state, ere a
vivifying smile recalls me back to life?
SEDLEY CLARENDEL.
The immediate presence of Edgar himself could not have made this letter
dye the cheeks of Camilla of a deeper red. She saw that Sir Sedley
thought her only coquetishly trifling, and she looked forward with
nearly equal horror to clearing up a mistake that might embitter his
future life, and to acknowledging to Edgar ... the scrupulous, the
scrutinising, the delicate Edgar ... that such a mistake could have been
formed.
She was ruminating upon this formidable, this terrible task, when Edgar
again appeared, accompanied by her sisters. She hurried the letter into
her pocket. Edgar saw the action with a concern that dampt his spirits;
he wished to obtain from her immediately the unlimited trust, which
immediately, and for ever, he meant to repose in her. They all strolled
together for a short time in the park; but she was anxious to retreat to
her room, and her sisters were dying with impatience to read Sir
Sedley's letter. Edgar, disturbed to see how little any of their
countenances accorded with the happy feelings he had so recently
experienced, proposed not to lengthen the walk, but flattered himself,
upon re-entering the house, Camilla would afford him a few minutes of
explanation. But she only, with a faint smile, said she should soon
return to the parlour; and he saw Molly Mill eagerly waiting for her
upon the stairs, and heard her, in reply to some question concerning
Tommy Hodd, desire the girl to be quiet till she got to her room.
Edgar could form no idea of what all this meant, yet, that some secret
disturbance preyed upon Camilla, that some gentleman wrote to her, and
expected impatiently an answer; and that the correspondence passed
neither through her friends, nor by the post, but by the medium of Molly
Mill, were circumstances not less unaccountable than unpleasant.
Camilla, meanwhile, produced the letter to her sisters, beseeching their
ablest counsel. 'See but,' she cried, 'how dreadfully unprepared is Sir
Sedley for the event of the day! And oh!... how yet more unprepared
must be Edgar for seeing that such a letter could ever be addressed to
me! How shall I shew it him, my dear sisters? how help his believing I
must have given every possible encouragement, ere Sir Sedley could have
written to me in so assured a style?'
Much deliberation ensued; but they were all so perplexed, that they were
summoned to tea before they had come to any resolution.
The counsel of Eugenia, then, prevailed; and it was settled, that
Camilla should avoid, for the present, any communication to Edgar, lest
it should lead to mischief between him and the young baronet, who could
not but be mutually displeased with each other; and that the next
morning, before she saw Edgar again, she should set out for the Grove,
and there cast herself wholly upon the generosity of Sir Sedley; and,
when freed from all engagement, return, and relate, without reserve,
the whole history to Edgar; who would so soon be brother of her brother,
that he would pardon the faults of Lionel, and who would then be in no
danger himself from personal contest or discussion with Sir Sedley. She
wrote, therefore, one line, to say she would see Mrs. Arlbery early the
next day, and delivered it to Molly Mill; who promised to borrow a horse
of the under-groom, that Tommy Hodd might be back before bed-time,
without any obligation to Sir Sedley.
She, then, went down stairs; when Edgar, disappointed by her long
absence, sought vainly to recompense it by conversing with her. She was
gentle, but seated herself aloof, and avoided his eyes.
His desire to unravel so much mystery he thought now so legitimated by
his peculiar situation, that he was frequently upon the point of
soliciting for information: but, to know himself privileged, upon
further reflexion, was sufficient to insure his forbearance. Even when
that knot was tied which would give to him all power, he sincerely meant
to owe all her trust to willing communication. Should he now, then, make
her deem him exacting, and tenacious of prerogative? no; it might
shackle the freedom of her mind in their future intercourse. He would
quietly, therefore, wait her own time, and submit to her own
inclination. She could not doubt his impatience; he would not compel her
generosity.
CHAPTER VII
_The Triumph of Pride_
The three sisters were retired, at night, to another council in the room
of Camilla, when Molly Mill, with a look of dismay, burst in upon them,
bringing, with the answer of Sir Sedley, news that Tommy Hodd, by an
accident he could not help, had rode the horse she had borrowed for him
of the under-groom to death.
The dismay, now, spread equally to them all. What a tale would this
misfortune unfold to Sir Hugh, to Edgar, to the whole house! The debt of
Lionel, the correspondence with Sir Sedley, the expectations of the
young baronet.... Camilla could not support it; she sent for Jacob to
own to him the affair, and beg his assistance.
Jacob, though getting into bed, obeyed the call. He was, however, so
much irritated at the loss of the horse, and the boldness of the
under-groom, in lending him without leave, that, at first, he would
listen to no entreaties, and protested that both the boy and Molly Mill
should be complained of to his master. The eloquence, however, of his
three young mistresses, for so all the nieces of Sir Hugh were called by
the servants at Cleves, soon softened his ire; he almost adored his
master, and was affectionately attached to the young family. They begged
him, therefore, to buy another horse, as like it as possible, and to
contrive not to employ it when Sir Hugh was in sight, till they were
able to clear up the history to their uncle themselves: this would not
be difficult, as the baronet rarely visited his stables since his fall,
from the melancholy with which he was filled by the sight of his horses.
There was to be a fair for cattle in the neighbourhood the next day, and
Jacob promised to ride over to see what bargain he could make for them.
They then inquired about what money would be necessary for the purchase.
The cost, he said, of poor Tom Jones was 40£.
Camilla held up her hands, almost screaming. Eugenia, with more presence
of mind, said they would see him again in the morning before he went,
and then told Molly Mill to wait for her in her own room.
'What can I now do?' cried Camilla; 'I would not add the history of this
dreadful expence to the sad tale I have already to relate to Edgar for
the universe! To begin my career by such a string of humiliations would
be insupportable. Already I owe five guineas to Mrs. Arlbery, which the
tumult of my mind since my return has prevented me from naming to my
uncle; and I have left debts at Tunbridge that will probably take up all
my next quarter's allowance!'
'As far as these three guineas will go,' said Lavinia, taking out her
purse, 'here, my dearest Camilla, they are; ... but how little that is!
I never before thought my pittance too small! yet how well we all know
my dear father cannot augment it.'
Eugenia, who, in haste, had stept to her own room, now came back, and
putting twenty guineas into the hand of Camilla, said: 'This, my beloved
sister, is all I now have by me; but Jacob is rich and good, and will
rejoice to pay the rest for us at present; and I shall very soon
reimburse him, for my uncle has insisted upon making me a very
considerable present, which I shall, now, no longer refuse.'
Camilla burst into tears, and, hanging about their necks: 'O my
sisters,' she cried, 'what goodness is yours! but how can I avail myself
of it with any justice? Your three guineas, my Lavinia, your little
all ... how can I bear to take?'
'Do not teach me to repine, my dear Camilla, that I have no more! I am
sure of being remembered by my uncle on the approaching occasions, and I
can never, therefore, better spare my little store.'
'You are all kindness! and you my dear Eugenia, though you have more,
have claims upon that more, and are both expected and used to answer
them....'
'Yes, I have indeed more!' interrupted Eugenia, 'which only sisters good
as mine could pardon; but because my uncle has made me his heiress, has
he made me a brute? No! whatever I have, must be amongst us all in
common, not only now, but ...' She stopt, affrighted at the idea she was
presenting to herself, and fervently clasping her hands, exclaimed: 'O
long ... long may it be ere I can shew my sisters all I feel for them!
they will believe it, I am sure ... and that is far happier!'
The idea this raised struck them all, at the same moment, to the heart.
Not one of them had dry eyes, and with a sadness over-powering every
other consideration, they sighed as heavily, and with looks as
disconsolate, as if the uncle so dear to them were already no more.
The influence of parts, the predominance of knowledge, the honour of
learning, the captivation of talents, and even the charm of fame itself,
all shrink in their effects before the superior force of goodness, even
where most simple and uncultivated, for power over the social
affections.
* * * * *
At an early hour, the next morning the commission, with the twenty
guineas in hand, and the promise of the rest in a short time, were given
to Jacob; and Camilla, then, begged permission of her father, and the
carriage of her uncle, to visit Mrs. Arlbery, who, she had heard, was
just returned to the Grove.
Concluding she wished to be the messenger of her own affairs to that
lady, they made no opposition, and she set off before eight o'clock,
without entering the parlour, where Edgar, she was informed, was already
arrived for breakfast.
The little journey was terrible to her; scenes of disappointment and
despair on the part of Sir Sedley, were anticipated by her alarmed
imagination, and she reproached herself for every word she had ever
spoken, every look she had ever given, that could have raised any
presumption of her regard.
The last note was written in the style of all the others, and not one
ever expressed the smallest doubt of success; how dreadful then to break
to him such news, at the very moment he might imagine she came to meet
him with partial pleasure!
Mrs. Arlbery was not yet risen. Camilla inquired, stammering, if any
company were at the house. None, was the answer. She then begged leave
to walk in the garden till Mrs. Arlbery came down stairs.
She was not sorry to miss her; she dreaded her yet more than Sir Sedley
himself, and hoped to see him alone.
Nevertheless, she remained a full hour in waiting, ruminating upon the
wonder her disappearance would give to Edgar, and nearly persuaded some
chance had anticipated her account to Sir Sedley, whose rage and grief
were too violent to suffer him to keep his appointment.
This idea served but to add to her perturbation, when, at last, she saw
him enter the garden.
All presence of mind then forsook her; she looked around to see if she
could escape, but his approach was too quick for avoidance. Her eyes,
unable to encounter his, were bent upon the ground, and she stood still,
and even trembling, till he reached her.
To the prepossessed notions and vain character of Sir Sedley, these were
symptoms by no means discouraging; with a confidence almost amounting to
arrogance he advanced, pitying her distress, yet pitying himself still
more for the snare in which it was involving him. He permitted his eyes
for a moment to fasten upon her, to admire her, and to enjoy
triumphantly her confusion in silence: 'Ah, beauteous tyrant!' he then
cried; 'if this instant were less inappreciable, in what language could
I upbraid thy unexampled abuse of power? thy lacerating barbarity?'
He then, almost by force, took her hand; she struggled eagerly to
recover it, but 'No,' he cried, 'fair torturer! it is now my prisoner,
and must be punished for its inhuman sins, in the congealing and
unmerciful lines it has portrayed for me.'
And then, regardless of her resistance, which he attributed to mere
bashfulness, he obstinately and incessantly devoured it with kisses, in
defiance of opposition, supplication, or anger, till, suddenly and
piercingly, she startled him with a scream, and snatched it away with a
force irresistible.
Amazed, he stared at her. Her face was almost convulsed with emotion;
but her eyes, which appeared to be fixed, directed him to the cause. At
the bottom of the walk, which was only a few yards distant, stood
Mandlebert.
Pale and motionless, he looked as if bereft of strength and faculties.
Camilla had seen him the moment she raised her eyes, and her horror was
uncontrollable. Sir Sedley, astonished at what he beheld, astonished
what to think, drew back, with a supercilious kind of bow. Edgar,
recalled by what he thought insolence to his recollection, advanced a
few steps, and addressing himself to Camilla, said: 'I had the commands
of Sir Hugh to pursue you, Miss Tyrold, to give you immediate notice
that Mr. Lynmere is arrived.' He added no more, deigned not a look at
Sir Sedley, but rapidly retreated, remounted his horse, and galloped
off.
Camilla looked after him till he was out of sight, with uplifted hands
and eyes, deploring his departure, his mistake, and his resentment,
without courage to attempt stopping him.
Sir Sedley stood suspended, how to act, what to judge. If Edgar's was
the displeasure of a discarded lover, why should it so affect Camilla?
if of a successful one, why came she to meet him? why had she received
and answered his notes?
Finding she attempted neither to speak nor move, he again approached
her, and saying, 'Fair Incomprehensible!...' would again have taken her
hand; but rousing to a sense of her situation, she drew back, and with
some dignity, but more agitation, cried: 'Sir Sedley, I blush if I am
culpable of any part of your mistake; but suffer me now to be explicit,
and let me be fully, finally, and not too late understood. You must
write to me no more; I cannot answer nor read your letters. You must
speak to me no more, except in public society; you must go further, Sir
Sedley ... you must think of me no more.'
'Horrible!' cried he, starting back; 'you distress me past measure!'
'No, no, you will soon ... easily ... readily forget me.'
'Inhuman! you make me unhappy past thought!'
'Indeed I am inexpressibly concerned; but the whole affair....'
'You shock, you annihilate me, you injure me in the tenderest point!'
Camilla now, amazed, cried 'what is it you mean, sir?'
'By investing me, fair barbarian, with the temerity of forming any claim
that can call for repulse!'
Utterly confounded by so unexpected a disclaiming of all design, she
again, though from far different sensations, cast up her eyes and hands.
And is it, she thought, for a trifler such as this, so unmeaning, so
unfeeling, I have risked my whole of hope and happiness?
She said, however, no more; for what more could be said? She coloured,
past him, and hastily quitting the garden, told the footman to apologise
to Mrs. Arlbery for her sudden departure, by informing her that a near
relation was just arrived from abroad; and then got into the carriage
and drove back to Cleves. Sir Sedley followed carelessly, yet without
aiming at overtaking her, and intreated, negligently, to be heard, yet
said nothing which required the smallest answer.
Piqued completely, and mortified to the quick, by the conviction which
now broke in upon him of the superior ascendance of Mandlebert, he could
not brook to have been thought in earnest when he saw he should not have
been accepted, nor pardon his own vanity the affront it had brought upon
his pride. He sung aloud an opera air till the carriage of Sir Hugh was
out of sight, and then drove his phaeton to Clarendel-Place, where he
instantly ordered his post-chaise, and in less than an hour, set off on
a tour to the Hebrides.
CHAPTER VIII
_A Summons to Happiness_
Camilla had but just set out from Cleves, when Sir Hugh, consulting his
weather-cocks, which a new chain of ideas had made him forget to
examine, saw that the wind was fair for the voyage of his nephew; and
heard, upon inquiry, that the favourable change had taken place the
preceding day, though the general confusion of the house had prevented
it from being heeded by any of the family.
With eagerness the most excessive, he went to the room of Eugenia, and
bid her put on a smart hat to walk out with him, as there was no knowing
how soon a certain person might arrive.
Eugenia, colouring, said she would rather stay within.
'Well,' cried he, 'you'll be neater, to be sure, for not blowing about
in the wind; so I'll go take t'other girls.'
Eugenia, left alone, became exceedingly fluttered. She could not bear to
remain in the house under the notion of so degrading a consideration as
owing any advantage to outward appearance; and fearing her uncle, in his
extreme openness, should give that reason for her not walking, she
determined to take a stroll by herself in the park.
She bent her steps towards a small wood at some distance from the house,
where she meant to rest herself and read; for she had learnt of Dr.
Orkborne never to be unprovided with a book. But she had not yet reached
her place of intended repose, when the sound of feet made her turn
round, and, to her utter consternation, she saw a young man, whose
boots, whip, and foreign air, announced instantly to be Clermont
Lynmere.
She doubted not but he was sent in pursuit of her; and though youthful
timidity prompted her to shun him, she retained sufficient command over
herself to check it, and to stop till he came up to her; while he,
neither quickening nor slackening his pace as he approached, passed her
with so little attention, that she was presently convinced he had scarce
even perceived her.
Disconcerted by a meeting so strange and so ill timed, she involuntarily
stood still, without any other power than that of looking after him.
In a few minutes Molly Mill, running up to her, cried: 'Dear Miss, have
not you seen young Mr. Lynmere? He come by t'other way just as master,
and Miss Margland, and Miss Lynmere, and Miss Tyrold, was gone to meet
him by the great gate; and so he said he'd come and look who he could
find himself.'