Camilla, to whose foresight misfortune never presented itself, heard

this with nearly equal terror for herself, and sorrow for the poor man:

yet her own part, in a second minute, appeared that of mere

inconvenience, compared with his, which seemed ruin irretrievable; she

sought, therefore, to comfort him; but could afford no further help,

since she had painfully to beg from her uncle the sum already so

uselessly incurred. He ventured still to press, that, if again he could

obtain a supply, every evil chance should be guarded against; but

Camilla had now learned that accidents were possible; and the fear which

arises from disappointed trust, made her think of probable mischiefs

with too acute a discernment, to deem it right to run again any hazard,

where, if there were a failure, another, not herself, would be the

sufferer. Yet the despair of the poor man induced her to promise she

would write in his favour, though not act in it again unauthorised.

With feelings of still augmented discomfort, from her denial, she

repaired to her toilette; but attired herself without seeing what she

put on, or knowing, but by Mrs. Mittin's descriptions and boastings,

that her dress was new, of the Pervil uniform, and made precisely like

that of Mrs. Berlinton. Her agitated spirits, suspended, not between

hope and fear, but hope and despair, permitted no examination of its

elegance: the recollection of its expence, and the knowledge that Edgar

thought her degenerating into coquetry, left nothing but regret for its

wear.

Mrs. Berlinton, who never before, since her marriage, had been of any

party where her attractions had not been unrivalled, had believed

herself superior to pleasure from personal homage, and knew not, till

she missed it, that it made any part of her amusement in public. But the

Beauty, when first she perceives a competitor for the adulation she has

enjoyed exclusively, and the Statesman, at the first turn of popular

applause to an antagonist, are the two beings who, perhaps, for the

moment, require the most severe display of self-command, to disguise,

under the semblance of good humour or indifference, the disappointment

they experience in themselves, or the contempt with which they are

seized for the changing multitude.

Mrs. Berlinton, though she felt no resentment against Camilla for the

desertion she had occasioned her, felt much surprize; not to be first

was new to her: and whoever, in any station of life, any class of

society, has had regular and acknowledged precedency, must own a sudden

descent to be rather awkward. Where resignation is voluntary, to give up

the higher place may denote more greatness of mind than to retain it;

but where imposed by others, few things are less exhilarating to the

principal, or impress less respect upon the by-stander.

Mrs. Berlinton had never been vain; but she could not be ignorant of her

beauty; and that the world's admiration should be so wondrously fickle,

or so curiously short-lived, as to make even the bloom of youth fade

before the higher zest of novelty, was an earlier lesson than her mind

was prepared to receive. She thought she had dressed herself that

morning with too much carelessness of what was becoming, and devoted to

this evening a greater portion of labour and study.

While Camilla was impatiently waiting, Mrs. Pollard, the washerwoman,

gained admittance to her, and bringing two interesting little children

of from four to five years old, and an elder girl of eleven, made them

join with herself to implore their benefactress to save them all from

destruction.

Higden having had the imprudence, in his grief, to make known his recent

misfortune, it had reached the ears of his landlord, who already was

watchful and suspicious, from a year and half arrears of his rent; and

steps were immediately preparing to seize whatever was upon the premises

the next morning; which, by bringing upon him all his other creditors,

would infallibly immure him in the lingering hopelessness of a prison.

Camilla now wavered; the debt was but eighteen pounds; the noble

largesses of her uncle in charity, till, of late, that he had been

somewhat drained by Lionel, were nearly unlimited.--She paused--looked

now at the pleading group, now at her expensive dress; asked how, for

her own hopes, she could risk so much, yet for their deliverance from

ruin so little; and with a blush turning from the mirrour, and to the

children with a tear, finally consented that the landlord should apply

to her the next morning.

* * * * *

Lord Pervil had some time opened the ball before Mrs. Berlinton's

arrival; but he looked every where for Camilla, to succeed to a young

lady of quality with whom he had danced the first two dances. He could

not, however, believe he had found, though he now soon saw and made up

to her. The brilliancy of her eyes was dimmed by weeping, her vivacity

was changed into dejection, sighs and looks of absence took place of

smiles and sallies of gaiety, and her whole character seemed to have

lost its spring and elasticity. She gave him her hand, to preserve her

power of giving it if claimed by Edgar, and though he had thought of her

without ceasing since she had charmed him in the yacht, till he had

obtained it, not a lady appeared in the room, by the time these two

dances were over, that he would not more cheerfully have chosen for two

more: her gravity every minute encreased, her eye rolled, with restless

anxiety, every where, except to meet his, and so little were her

thoughts, looks, or conversation bestowed upon her partner, that instead

of finding the animated beauty who had nearly captivated him on board

the yacht, he seemed coupled with a fair lifeless machine, whom the

music, perforce, put in motion; and relinquished her hand with as little

reluctance as she withdrew it.

Melmond had again, by his sister, been forced into the party, though

with added unwillingness, from his new idea of Indiana. Now, however, to

avoid that fair bane was impossible: Indiana was the first object to

meet every eye, from the lustre of her beauty, and the fineness of her

figure, each more than ever transcendently conspicuous, from the uniform

which had obliged every other female in the room to appear in exactly

the same attire. Yet great and unrivalled as was the admiration which

she met, what came simply and naturally was insufficient for the thirst

with which she now quaffed this intoxicating beverage; and to render its

draughts still more delicious, she made Eugenia always hold by her arm.

The contrast here to the spectators was diverting as well as striking,

and renewed attention to her own charms, when the eye began to grow

nearly sated with gazing. The ingenuous Eugenia, incapable of suspecting

such a design, was always the dupe to the request, from the opinion it

was made in kindness, to save her from fatigue in the eternal sauntering

of a public place; and, lost to all fear, in being lost to all hope, as

to her own appearance, cheerfully accompanied her beautiful kinswoman,

without conjecturing that, in a company whence the illiterate and vulgar

were excluded, personal imperfections could excite pleasantry, or be a

subject of satire.

Camilla, who still saw nothing of Edgar, yet still thought it possible

he might come, joined them as soon as she was able. Miss Margland was

full of complaints about Dr. Orkborne, for his affording them no

assistance in the yacht, and not coming home even to dinner, nor to

attend them to Lord Pervil's; and Eugenia, who was sincerely attached to

the Doctor, from the many years he had been her preceptor, was beginning

to express her serious uneasiness at his thus strangely vanishing; when

Clermont, with the most obstreperous laughter, made up to them, and

said: 'I'll tell you a monstrous good joke! the best thing you ever

heard in your life! the old Doctor's been upon the very point of being

drowned!--and he has not had a morsel to eat all day!'

He then related that his man, having seen him composedly seated, and

musing upon a pile of planks which were seasoning upon the beach, with

his face turned away from the company to avoid its interruptions, had

enquired if he had any commands at home, whither he was going: 'Not for

meaning to do them,' continued Lynmere; 'No, no! catch Bob at that! but

only to break in upon him; for Bob's a rare hand at a joke. He says he's

ready to die with laughing, when he speaks to the old Doctor while he's

studying, because he looks so much as if he wished we were all hanged.

However, he answered tolerably civilly, and only desired that nobody

might go into his room till he came home from the sail, for he'd forgot

to lock it. So Bob, who smoked how the matter was, says: 'The sail, Sir,

what are you going alone, then? for all the company's been gone these

two hours.' So this put him in such a taking, Bob says he never laughed

so much in his life. He jumped up as if he'd been bit: 'Gone?' says he,

'why where's Miss Eugenia, I promised Sir Hugh not to lose sight of

her.' So he said he'd go after her that very moment. 'Call me a boat,'

said he: just as if he'd ordered a hackney coach; for he knows about as

much of winds and tides as my little bay Filly, that I bought of Halder

yesterday for fifty pounds, but that I shall make worth seventy in less

than a month. Well, there was nothing to be had but a small fishing

boat, so Bob winks at the man to take in a friend; for he has all those

fellows in a string. So in went his Latinship, and off they put. Bob

fell into such a fit of laughter, he says I might have heard him a mile

off. I don't think Bob has his fellow upon earth for fun.'

Eugenia now interrupted the narration, with a serious enquiry where Dr.

Orkborne was at present.

Lynmere, shouting at what he thought the ridicule of this concern,

answered, that Bob had told the fisherman to go about his own business,

unless the Doctor offered to pay him handsomely for taking him on board

the yacht; but thinking it would be a good joke to know what was become

of him, he had gone himself, with Halder, and some more choice blades,

to the beach, about half an hour ago, to make Bob see if the fishing

boat was come in; and, by good luck, they arrived at the very nick of

time, and saw the Doctor, the fish, and the fishing-tackle, all hauled

out together. 'And a better sight was never seen before, I promise you!'

continued Lynmere; 'I thought I should quite have burst my sides with

looking at him, he was so wet and so cold, and so miserable; and when I

thought of his having had no dinner, I shouted till I was ready to roll

on the beach--and he smelt so of the fish, that I could have hugged Bob,

'twas such monstrous good sport. He got three half crowns in a minute

for his ingenuity. Halder began;--and two others of us gave two more.'

'Poor Dr. Orkborne! and where is he now?' said Eugenia.

'Why we got about the fisherman, and then we had all the same fun over

again: He says, that, at first, the poor gentleman was in a great

taking, fretting and fuming, and looking out for the yacht, and seeming

almost beside himself for hurry to get to it; but after that, he takes

out a little red book and a pencil, and falls to writing, just as hard

as if he'd come into the boat for nothing else; insomuch, that when they

were just coming along-side the yacht, he never lifted up his head, nor

listened to one word, but kept making a motion with his hand to be let

alone: and when the man said the yacht would be passed, he bid him hold

his peace, and not interrupt him so, in such a pettish manner, that the

man resolved to take honest Bob's advice, and go on about his own

business. And so he did, and the Doctor was as content as a lord, till

he had scribbled all he could scratch out of his noddle: but then came

the best sport of all; for when he had nothing more to write, and looked

up, and saw the boat stock still, and the man fishing at his leisure,

and heard the yacht had been bound homeward of a good hour, he was in

such a perilous passion, the man says, that he actually thought he'd

have jumped overboard. I'll bet what you will he won't ask Bob to call

him a boat again in a hurry.'

'As to his behaviour,' said Miss Margland, 'it's the last thing in the

world to surprize me, after what I have seen myself; nor any body else,

I believe, neither. Who is Dr. Orkborne? I doubt much if any body ever

heard his name before. I should like to know if any body can tell who

was his grandfather!'

She then declared, if she could get any soul to fetch him, he should

still come, if it were only that he might not pass the evening all in

his own way, which would be just the thing to encourage him to hide

himself out of sight, on purpose not to help them another time.

Eugenia was going to beg he might not be disturbed, when Melmond, all

alacrity to seize any means of absenting himself from the two cousins,

who produced in him so severe a conflict, offered his services to carry

a message to the Doctor; which, being readily accepted, he set off.

Indiana and Eugenia, not wholly without similarity of sensation, looked

after him. Indiana had now caught his eye; and though quickness was no

part of her character, the tale it told had convinced her that her

power, though no longer acknowledged was not extinguished; it required

neither elemental precepts, nor sagacious perceptions, to make this

discovery, and she exultingly determined to appease her late

mortification, by reducing him to her feet. She stopt not to enquire

what such a step might be to Eugenia, nor what was likely, or even

desirable to be its event. Where narrow minds imagine they have received

injury, they seek revenge rather than redress, from an opinion that such

a conduct asserts their own importance.

Still vainly, and wretchedly, the eyes of Camilla sought Edgar: the

evening advanced, but he came not; yet, catching at every possible

chance for hope, she thought some other room that they had not visited,

might be open for company, where, finally, they might meet.

Dr. Orkborne accompanied Melmond back. Miss Margland was preparing him a

reproachful reception, but was so much offended by the fishy smell which

he brought into the room, that she had immediate recourse to her salts,

and besought him to stand out of her way. He complied without

reluctance, though with high disdain.

The young ladies were all dancing. Indiana had no sooner perceived

Melmond, than she determined to engage his attention: the arts of

coquetry require but slender parts, where the love of admiration is

potent; she pretended, therefore, to feel extremely ill, put her hand to

her forehead, and telling her partner, Mr. Halder, she could not stand

another minute, hastened to Miss Margland, and cast herself, as if

fainting, upon her neck.

This had all the success with Melmond that his own lively imagination

could give it. He flew to a side-table to get her a glass of water,

which his trembling hand could scarce hold, but which she received from

him with a languishing sweetness, that dissolved every tie but of love,

and he '_hung over her enamoured_[4];' while Miss Margland related that

she could hardly keep from fainting herself, so much she had been

shocked and disordered by the horrid smell of Dr. Orkborne.

[Footnote 4: Milton]

Indiana now caught the infection, and protested she was so much worse,

that if she had not a little air she should die. Melmond was flying to

open a window, but a lady who sat close to it, objected; and he had then

recourse to two folding doors, leading to a portico open to a large

garden.

Hither Indiana permitted herself to be led, and led by the thrice happy,

yet thrice miserable Melmond. Miss Margland was accompanying them, but

Lady Pervil, advancing to enquire what went wrong, gave her an

opportunity irresistible to inveigh against Dr. Orkborne; and as her

well-bred hearer, though little interested in such a detail, would not

interrupt it, Indiana arrived alone in the portico with Melmond. Halder,

who had danced with her, followed, but supposing Melmond the favoured

man, walked singing off, and made the tour of the garden.

This situation was to Melmond as dangerous, as to Indiana it was

exulting. She now suddenly withdrew her hand, with an air of poignant

disdain, which the illuminated portico and house made amply visible; and

when, surprised and much moved, he tremblingly enquired if she were

worse, she answered, 'Why do you ask? I am sure you do not care.'

Easily deprived of all forbearance, 'Heavens!' he exclaimed, 'do I live,

yet suffer this imputation! O divine Indiana! load me with every other

reproach, rather than this dreadful charge of insensibility to all that

is most lovely, most perfect upon earth!'

'I thought,' said Indiana, again softening her fine eyes, 'you had quite

forgot me, and all the vows you made to me.'

'Wretch that I am,' cried Melmond nearly distracted by this charge, and

by the regret at losing him, which seemed its purpose, 'condemned to

every species of woe! O fair, angelic Indiana! in a cottage with you

would I have dwelt, more delightedly, and more proudly, than any

potentate in the most gorgeous palace: but, alas! from you--formed to

enchant all mankind, and add grace to every dignity--from you could I

dare ask such a sacrifice?'

Indiana now listened with an attentive softness no longer factitious;

though all her views wafted her to splendour and high life, her ear

could not withstand the romantic sound of love and a cottage; and though

no character was ever less formed to know and taste the blessings such a

spot may bestow and reciprocate, she imagined she might there be happy,

for she considered such a habitation but as a bower of eglantine and

roses, in which she might repose and be adored all day long.

Melmond saw but too quickly the relenting cast of her countenance; and

ecstasy and despair combated which should bear sway in his breast. 'Ah,

madam,' he cried, 'most adorable and most adored of women! you know my

terrible situation, but you know not the sufferings, nor the constancy

of my heart!--the persecution of friends, the pressure of distress, the

hopelessness of my idolized Indiana--'

A deep sigh interrupted him--it came not from Indiana--startled, he

looked round--and beheld Eugenia, leaning against the door by which she

seemed to have intended entering, pale, petrified, aghast.

Shame now tied his tongue, and tingled, with quick reproach, through his

whole frame. He looked at Indiana with despair, at Eugenia with remorse;

injured rectitude and blushing honour urged him to the swiftest

termination of so every way terrible a scene, and bowing low to Eugenia,

'I durst not, madam,' he cried, 'ever hope for your pardon! yet I rather

deluded myself than deceived you when I ventured to solicit your

acceptance. Alas! I am a bankrupt both in fortune and in heart, and can

only pray you will hasten to forget--that you may forbear to execrate

me!'

He then disappeared, finding a way out by the garden, to avoid

re-entering the ball-room.

Eugenia, who, in this speech, comprehended an eternal adieu, sunk upon

the seat of the portico, cold, shivering, almost lifeless. Little

prepared for such an event, she had followed Indiana the moment she was

disengaged from the dance, not suspicious of any _tête-à-tête_, from

believing Halder of the party. The energy of Melmond made her approach

unheard; and the words she unavoidably caught, nearly turned her to

marble.

Indiana was sorry for her distress, yet felt a triumph in its cause; and

wondered how so plain a little creature could take it into her head to

think of marrying.

Camilla now joined them, affrighted at the evident anguish of Eugenia,

who, leaning upon her affectionate bosom, had the relief excited by

pity, of bursting into tears, while despondingly she uttered: 'All is

over, my sister, and over for life with Eugenia! Melmond flies and

detests me! I am odious in his sight! I am horror to this thoughts!'

Camilla wept over her in silent, but heart-breaking sympathy. Indiana

returned to the dance: but the two suffering sisters remained in the

portico till summoned to depart. They were insensible to the night air,

from the fever of their minds. They spoke no more; they felt the

insufficiency of words to express their griefs, and their mutual

compassion was all that softened their mutual sorrows.

CHAPTER III

_An Adieu_

Lost to all happiness, and for the first time in her life, divested of

hope, Camilla at a late hour returned to Mrs. Berlinton's. And here,

her heart-breaking disappointment received the cruel aggravation of the

most severe self-reproach, when, in facing the mirror to deposit her

ornaments upon the toilette table, she considered the expensive elegance

of her whole dress, now, even in her own estimation, by its abortive

purpose, rendered glaringly extravagant. Since her project had failed,

she saw the impropriety of having risked so much in its attempt; and a

train of just reflections ensued, to which her understanding was always

equal, though her gaiety was seldom disposed. 'Would Edgar,' thought

she, 'wait the event of a meeting at a ball to decide his conduct? Had

he not every title to claim a conference with me, if he had the smallest

inclination? Rejected as he calls himself, I had not pretended to demand

our separation from any doubts, any displeasure of my own. From the

moment he suffered me to quit, without reclamation, the roof under which

I had proposed our parting, I ought to have seen it was but his own

desire, perhaps design, I was executing. And all the reluctance he

seemed to feel, which so weakly I attributed to regard, was but the

expiring sensibility of the last moment of intercourse. Not with

murmurs, he says, he will quit me--nor with murmurs will I now resign

him!--with blessings, he says, he leaves me--O Edgar! mayest thou too be

blest! The erring and unequal Camilla deserved thee not!'

A more minute examination of her attire was not calculated to improve

her serenity. Her robe was everywhere edged with the finest Valencienne

lace; her lilac shoes, sash, and gloves, were richly spangled with

silver, and finished with a silver fringe; her ear-rings and necklace

were of lilac and gold beads; her fan and shoe roses were brilliant with

lilac foil, and her bouquet of artificial lilac flowers, and her plumes

of lilac feathers, were here and there tipt with the most tiny

transparent white beads, to give them the effect of being glittering

with the dew.

Of the cost of all this she was no judge, but, certain its amount must

be high, a warm displeasure arose against the incorrigible Mrs. Mittin,

who had not only taken the pattern, but the value of Mrs. Berlinton's

dress for her guide: and a yet greater dissatisfaction ensued with

herself, for trusting the smallest commission to so vain and

ungovernable an agent. She could only hope to hoard the payment from the

whole of her next year's allowance, by living in so forbearing and

retired a manner, as to require nothing for herself.

The new, but all powerful guest which now assailed her, unhappiness, had

still kept her eyes from closing, when she was called up to Mr. Tennet,

the landlord of Higden. Her fuller knowledge of her own hopeless debts,

could not make her faithless to her engagement; for her acquaintance

with misery awakened but more pity for the misery of others. She

admitted him, therefore, without demur; and found he was a land

surveyor, who had often been employed by Sir Hugh at Cleves. He accepted

her verbal promise to be answerable for the rent now due, declining her

note of hand, which her minority made illegal, and engaging not to hurry

her for the money; well satisfied, by the Tyrold character in the whole

county, he might abide by her word of honour, founded upon the known

munificence of her uncle.

This delay was a relief, as it saved a partial demand, that must have

forced an abrupt confession of her own debts, or have deceived the

baronet into a belief she had nothing to solicit.

When this business was transacted, she hastened to Eugenia, to console

whose sufferings was all that could mitigate her own.

One of the maids then came to say she had forgotten to inform her, that,

some time after she had set out for Lord Pervil's a stranger, much

muffled up, and with a hat flapped over his face so as wholly to hide

it, had enquired for her, and seemed much disturbed when he heard she

was at the ball, but said he would call again the next day at noon.

No conjecture occurred to Camilla but that this must be Edgar; it was

contrary to all probability; but no other image could find way to her

mind. She hastened, inexpressibly perturbed, to her sister, determining

to be at home before twelve o'clock, and fashioning to herself all the

varieties such a meeting could afford; every one of which, however they

began, ended regularly with a reconciliation.

She found Eugenia weeping in bed. She embraced her with the extremest

tenderness: 'Ah my sister!' said the unhappy mourner, 'I weep not for my

disappointment, great as it may be--and I do not attempt describing

it!--it is but my secondary sorrow. I weep, Camilla, for my own

infatuation! for the folly, the blindness of which I find myself

culpable. O Camilla! is it possible I could ever--for a moment, a single

moment, suppose Melmond could willingly be mine! could see his exquisite

susceptibility of every thing that is most perfect, yet persuade myself,

he could take, by choice, the poor Eugenia for his wife! the mangled,

deformed,--unfortunate Eugenia!'

Camilla, touched to the heart, wept now more than her sister. 'That

Eugenia,' she cried, 'has but to be known, to leave all beauty, all

figure, every exterior advantage aloof, by the nobler, the more just

superiority of intrinsic worth. Let our estimates but be mental, and who

will not be proud to be placed in parallel with Eugenia?'

She was then beginning her own sad relation, when an unopened letter

upon the toilette table caught her eye. It had been placed there by

Molly Mill, who thought her mistress asleep. Struck by the shape of the

seal, Camilla rose to examine it: what was her palpitation, then, to see

the cypher E M, and, turning to the other side, to perceive the hand

writing of Edgar!

She put it into her sister's hand, with expectation too big for speech.

Eugenia opened it, and they read it silently together.

_To Miss_ EUGENIA TYROLD.

Southampton.

'Tis yet but a short time--in every account but my own--since I

thought myself forming a legal claim to address Miss Eugenia Tyrold

as my sister. Every other claim to that affectionate and endearing

title has been hers beyond her own memory; hers by the filial love

I bear her venerated parents; hers, by the tender esteem due to the

union of almost every virtue. These first and early ties must

remain for ever. Disappointment here cannot pierce her barbarous

shafts, fortune cannot wanton in reversing, nor can time dissolve

them.----

'O Edgar!' exclaimed Camilla, stopping the reading, and putting her

hand, as in benediction, upon the paper, 'do you deign to talk of

disappointment? do you condescend to intimate you are unhappy? Ah, my

Eugenia, you shall clear this dreadful error!--'tis to you he

applies--you shall be peace-maker; restorer!'

Eugenia dried her tears at the thought of so sweet an office, and they

read on.

Of the other--yet nearer claim, I will not speak. You have probably

known longer than myself, its annihilation, and I will not pain

your generous heart with any view of my sufferings in such a

deprivation. I write but to take with my pen the leave I dare not

trust myself to take by word of mouth; to wish to your opening

prospects all the happiness that has flown mine, and to entreat you

to answer for me to the whole of your loved family, that its name

is what, through life, my ear with most reverence will hear, my

heart with most devotion will love.

EDGAR MANDLEBERT.

At the kind wish upon her own opening prospects, Eugenia wept afresh;

but when Camilla took the letter to press to her lips and her heart what

he said of his sufferings, she perceived at the doubling down, two lines

more:--

I am this moment leaving Southampton for the Isle of Wight, whence

I shall sail to the first port, that the first vessel with which I

may meet shall be bound.

'No, my dear Eugenia,' cried she, then colouring, and putting down the

letter, 'your mediation will be spared. He acquaints us he is quitting

England. He can only mention it to avoid the persecution of an answer.

Certainly none shall be obtruded upon him.'

Eugenia pleaded that still a letter might overtake him at the Isle of

Wight, and all misunderstanding might be rectified. 'And then, my

sister, all may be well, and your happiness renewed.--It has not flown

you--like that of Eugenia--from any radical cause. Her's is not only

gone, past all resource, but has left behind it disgrace with sorrow,

derision with disappointment!'

Camilla strove to soothe her, but would no longer listen to any

mediation; she resolved, at once, to write of the separation to her

father, and beseech him to send for her to Etherington, and never again

suffer her to quit that roof, where alone her peace was without

disturbance, her conduct without reproach. Even her debts, now, she felt

equal to avowing, for as, far from contracting new ones, she meant in

future to reside in complete obscurity, she hoped the feelings of this

moment would procure pardon for her indiscretions, which her own

sedulous future oeconomy should be indefatigable to repair.

Eugenia would not strive longer against a procedure which she deemed

dignified, and the departure of Camilla was hurried by a messenger, who

brought word that the strange man, with the flapped hat, was returned,

and entreated her, for Heaven's sake, to let him speak with her one

moment.

Dead, now, to the hope she had entertained of this enquirer, she merely

from his own urgency complied with his call; for her curiosity was gone

since she now knew it could not be Edgar.

* * * * *

Edgar, indeed, was actually departed. His heart was loaded with sorrow,

his prospect seemed black with despondence; but Camilla was lost to that

perfect confidence, and unbounded esteem, he required to feel for his

wife, and no tenderness without them, no partial good opinion, nor

general admiration, could make him wish to lead her to the altar. 'No!'

cried he, 'Dr. Marchmont; you judged me better than my first passion,

and her untried steadiness enabled me to judge myself. Misery only could

have followed my view of her in the mixt society in which the thousand

accidents of life might occasionally have placed us. I can only be happy

with a character as simple in the world, as in retirement; as artless at

an assembly, as in a cottage. Without that heavenly simplicity, the

union of all else that renders life desirable, were vain! without

that--all her enchanting qualities, with which nothing can vie, and

which are entwined around my heart-strings, were ineffectual to my

peace.'

'You are right,' said the Doctor, 'and your timely caution, and early

wisdom, will protect you from the bitterness of a personal experience

like mine. With all the charms she assembles, her character seems too

unstable for private domestic life. When a few years more have blunted

the wild vivacity, the floating ambition, the changing propensities

which now render her inconsistent to others, and fluctuating even to

herself, she may yet become as respectable, as she must always be

amiable. But now, ... whoever takes her from the circle in which she is

playing, will see her lost to all gaiety, though without daring to

complain, from the restraint of bidden duties, which make the bidder a

tyrant.'

Edgar shrunk from such a part, and immediately prepared for his long

projected tour.

He had, originally, purposed visiting Mr. Tyrold before he set out, and

conversing with him upon the state of danger in which he thought his

daughter; but his tenderness for her feelings, during his last adieu,

had beguiled him of this plan, lest it should prove painful, injurious,

or inauspicious to her own views or designs in breaking to her friends

their breach. He now addressed a few lines to his revered guardian, to

be delivered by Dr. Marchmont; to whom he gave discretionary powers, if

any explanation should be demanded; though clogged with an earnest

clause, that he would neither advance, nor confess any thing that could

hurt Camilla, even a moment, unless to avert from her some danger, or

substantiate some good.

Dr. Marchmont determined to accompany him to the Isle of Wight, whither

he resolved to go, and wait for his baggage; and undertook the

superintendance of his estate and affairs in his absence.

When they were summoned to the little vessel, Edgar changed colour, his

heart beat quick, and he sighed rather than breathed. He held his hand

upon his eyes and forehead for a few minutes, in agony inexpressible,

then silently gave his servant the letter he had written for Eugenia,

took the Doctor by the arm, walked to the beach, and got aboard; his

head still turned wholly towards the town, his eyes looking above it, as

if seeking to fix the habitation of Camilla. Dr. Marchmont sought to

draw his attention another way, but it was rivetted to the spot they

were quitting.

'I feel truly your unhappiness, my dear Mandlebert,' said he, 'that this

young creature, with defects of so cruel a tendency, mingles qualities

of so endearing a nature. Judge, however, the predominance of what is

faulty, since parents so exemplary have not been able to make the scales

weigh down on the side of right. Alas! Mr. Tyrold has himself erred, in

committing, at so early a period, her conduct into her own reins. The

very virtues, in the first youth, are so little regulated by reflection,

that, were [they] not watched nor aided, they run into extremes nearly

as pernicious, though not so unamiable as the vices. What instance more

than this now before us can shew the futility of education, and the

precariousness of innate worth, when the contaminating world is allowed

to seize its inexperienced prey, before the character is fixed as well

as formed?'

A deeply assenting sigh broke from the bosom of Edgar, whose strained

eyes held their purpose, till neither beach, nor town, nor even a spire

of Southampton, were discernible. Again, then, for a moment, he covered

them with his hand, and exclaimed: 'Farewell! Camilla, farewell!'

CHAPTER IV

_A modest Request_

Quick, though without a wish of speed, was the return home of Camilla;

she felt at this moment in that crushed and desolate state, where the

sudden extinction of hope leaves the mind without energy to form even a

wish. She was quick only because too nervous to be slow, and hurried on,

so little knowing why, that when she came to Mrs. Berlinton's, she was

running to her own room, wholly forgetting what had called her from

Eugenia, till the servant said, 'this is the man, ma'am.'

She then saw, parading up and down the hall, a figure wrapt round in a

dark blue roquelo, with no part of his face visible, from the flaps of

his hat.

At another time she might have been startled: but she was now

indifferent to everything, and only enquired what was his business.

He made no answer but by a low bow, pointing, at the same time to the

door of one of the parlours, and then, in a supplicating manner, putting

together his hands, as if begging to speak to her in private.

Careless, rather than courageous, she was going into an empty room with

him, when the servant whispered her to be upon her guard, as the man had

a very suspicious look.

Stopping short, then, she again repeated her question, adding, 'I can

hear anything you have to say where we now are.'

The stranger shook his head, with a motion towards the servant, that

seemed to demand his absence.

Alas! thought she, it is some gentleman in distress, who wants to beg

and is ashamed. I have nothing to give him! I will, at least, therefore,

not insist upon his exposing himself. She then whispered the footman to

keep in the hall, and near the parlour, which she entered, telling the

incognito he might follow.

But she was seriously alarmed out of her apathy, upon seeing him

cautiously shut the door, and sedulously examine the apartment.

She wanted not presence of mind, when not robbed of it by some peculiar

and poignant feelings. She turned immediately to the bell, certain its

first touch would bring in the footman: but, perceiving her purpose, the

stranger seized her by the arm, and in a hoarse low voice said: 'Are you

mad, Camilla? don't you know me?' and she recognized her brother.

She expostulated upon his having so causelessly terrified her, and

enquired why he came so disguised.

He laughed heartily at her affright, and extolled his own skill in

personating a subtle ruffian; declaring he liked to have a touch at all

trades, in case of accidents.

'And have you come hither, Lionel, only for this foolish and very

unpleasant trick?'

'O no, my dear! this was only for my opening. I have an hundred smart

freaks in my head, any one of them worth a little trip to Southampton.

Besides, I wanted to know what you were about. How does a certain master

Edgar Mandlebert do? Don't blush, child. What a little sly rogue you

have been! hey ho? Tears?--My dear Camilla! what's all this?'

She entreated him to make his enquiries of Eugenia.

'Well, you took me in, I promise you. I fully thought the young Baronet

had been the man. And, really he's as fine a fellow as I ever saw.'

'Do not speak of him, I beg! O Lionel!--if you knew--' She was going to

say, how through your means, that affair has injured me--but she checked

complaints which she now regarded as useless, and therefore degrading;

and, wiping her eyes, asked if he had yet considered the large sum, for

the obligation of which he had made her seem responsible to Sir Sedley,

whom she should not know how ever to meet, nor consequently, how ever to

visit in the county, till some payment, if not made, were at least

arranged.

'Pho, pho, my dear child, don't be so Vellum-like; you'll be fit for

nothing, soon, but to file bills and score accounts. What's two hundred

to him? Hang him! I wish 'twere as much again--I hate making a fuss

about nothing. But come, tell me something to raise my spirits--I am

horribly melancholy. I've some notion of making a little sport here with

Miss Scare-crow. How does she go on? Waspish as ever?'

'Do tell me, seriously, Lionel, what it is has brought you hither?'

'Two things, my dear. The first of which is the pleasure of seeing you;

and the second, is a little amusement I propose myself with old Dr. Hic,

Hæc, Hoc. I find Clermont's had rare sport with him already. It's deuced

unlucky I did not come sooner.'

'Clermont? When did you see Clermont?'

'Don't be curious, child. I never encourage curiosity. It always leads

to disagreeable questions. You may tell me any thing you please, but ask

nothing. That's my manner of dealing with little girls. How did you like

my sending the Major to you? Was not that good fudge? What do you look

so grave for, my dear? You're enough to give one the vapours.'

Camilla attempted not to rally; she felt pierced as by a poniard at the

very sight of Lionel. The debt he had made her contract with Sir Sedley,

the secrecy it exacted, the correspondence it had drawn on, the cruel

circumstances it had produced, and the heart-breaking event to which it

had, ultimately, led, made his view excite sensations too corrosive, and

reflections too bitter, for any enjoyment of a gaiety, which her utmost

partiality could not disentangle from levity the most unfeeling.

'Come, come, for pity's sake, be a little less stupid, I conjure you.

How terribly you want a good shaking! shall I give you one? By the way,

you have never thanked me for sending you that smart young tinker. You

are horribly ungrateful to all my tender care to provide you a good

spouse. What! not a smile? Not one dear little dimple for all my rattle?

Nay, then, if that's the case, let's to business at once. Anything is

better than mawkishness. I always preferred being flogged for a frolic,

to being told I was a good boy, at the expence of sitting still, and

learning my lesson.'

'And what business, my dear Lionel? Have you really any?'

'O yes, always; nobody has more; only I do it so briskly, people always

suppose it nothing but pleasure. However, just at this minute, I am

really in rather an ugly dilemma. You know, my dear girl, there is a

certain little rather awkward affair of mine, which I once hinted to

you.'--

'Lionel, I hope, at least,----'

'O, none of your hopes with that grave face! Hope, with a grave face,

always means fear. Now, as I am already half shoes over in the slough

of despond, 'twill be horrid ungenerous to poke me still lower.'

Camilla now began to tremble, and would ask no questions--Lionel, when

he had silenced her, seemed at a loss how to proceed; he walked about

the room with quick jerks, opened and shut the window, seated himself

upon every chair, and every table; and then, in a half passion, said:

'so you don't want to hear any more? and you don't care a fig if I'm

hanged or drowned?'

'My spirits are not high, my dear Lionel; and my head is full, and my

heart is oppressed: if you have any thing, therefore, important to say,

speak, I beg without trifling.'

'Nay, there's nothing new; so don't look frightened; it's all the same

old story.'

'You continue, then, that dark, mysterious connexion? O brother!'

'Why she's so pretty! so monstrous pretty! besides, she doats upon me.

You don't half conceive what a pretty fellow I am, Camilla. A sister

never knows how to judge a man. All the women like me prodigiously.'

'Indeed, Lionel, you take an undue advantage of my affection. I must

seriously insist that you mention this subject to me no more.'

'I don't intend it. I intend to finish with this once--provided you do

me one last good turn. Will you, now? Come, don't be queer.'

'I will do nothing, absolutely nothing in so improper--so shocking a

business. Indeed, I know not how to forgive you for naming it again.'

'Well, then, I'll pledge you my word and honour you shall never hear of

it more, if you'll only grant me this one favour.'

Displeased at the past, and frightened for what might be to come, she

protested she would immediately leave the room, if he continued this

persecution: adding, 'how affectionately I love you, I need not, I am

sure, say; but a confidence such as this, from a brother to a sister,

disgraces us both: and let me penetrate, but not irritate you, if I own,

that I much doubt whether I ought not from the beginning, to have

revealed this transaction at Etherington. Do not be angry Lionel: has

not every consideration been surmounted by the fear of giving you pain?'

Finding he still would be heard, she was peremptorily quitting the

room; but when she had her hand upon the door, he effectually stopt her,

by saying, 'Nay, then, if nothing will content you but getting the whole

out at once, you may make yourself easy, the business is at end,

for----we're blown!'

'I must certainly be glad if such a business is at an end, Lionel; but

how do you mean blown? to whom? in what manner?'

'To every body, I'm afraid; for the husband's upon the point of getting

at it.'

'Husband?'

'O, the deuce! I did not mean to say that: however, it's out! and as it

must have been known sooner or later----'

Camilla now had an air the nearest to severity she had ever worn:

'Adieu, Lionel!' she cried, 'I am sorry for you, indeed; but you must

find another hearer for this guilty history.--I will listen no more!'

Lionel now detained her by force. 'How can you take up the thing so

wrong,' said he; 'when I tell you it's over, isn't that enough? Besides,

I promise you I have not wanted for my punishment: when you hear all,

you'll find that.'

Too sick for speech, yet too weak for resistance, she was constrained to

return to her seat, and hear what he pleased to relate.

'My adventure, my dear, was discovered entirely by the want of a little

hush money. 'Tis the very deuce and all for a man to be in love when he

is poor. If I had only had a little hush-money--yes, yes, I understand

that eye! but as to those paltry sums I have had, from time to time,

since this affair, why they could not be expected to last for ever: And

the first went to a housemaid,--and the second to the groom,--and the

third----'

'Lionel! Lionel! is this a communication--are these particulars for me?'

'Nay, I only mention it to let you know it's all gone fairly. Besides,

as to her being a married woman, which, I see, is what you think so much

the worst of all, I assure you, if you knew her husband, you would not

wonder; he deserves every thing. Such a tiresome quiz! It was often

hours before we could get rid of him. You never knew such a blockhead.

The poor thing can't bear him. But she's fond of me to distraction. Nay,

nay, don't frown so! If you'll believe me, Camilla, you'll quite spoil

your face. Well, the fellow that threatens to betray us, won't keep our

secret under three hundred pounds! There's an unconscionable knave!

However, I thought that better than a trial too; not that she would have

broken her heart at a separation, you'll believe; but then ... there's a

certain horrid thing called damages! And then my father's

particularities,--and my mother's seeing things in such strong

lights--and a parson's son,--and all that.'--

Camilla, shaking and pale, now entreated him to get her a glass of

water, and, for a while, at least, to forbear continuing this terrible

story.

He consented to ring for the water, and then, more briefly, went on.

'Finding it vain to hope any longer for entire concealment, I thought a

private discovery less shocking than a public one; and therefore,

telling my story as well as I could, I stated that three hundred pounds

would save both the expences and publicity of a trial; and, with every

possible profession of contrition and reformation, I humbly petitioned

for that sum from my uncle.'

'My poor uncle! alas! what unreasonable--unmerciful claims every way

surround him!'

'He's well revenged for mine, I promise you! There's no plague lost

between us, as you'll own, when you've heard the end of my poor

petition. I followed up my letter, according to my usual custom, the

next day, in order to receive my money, knowing poor uncle hates writing

worse than giving: well, and when I arrived, my mind just made up to a

few gentle reprimands against naughtiness, and as many gentle promises

to do so no more; out pops me the old butler, and says his master can't

see me! Not see me? Why, who's with him? Your father, Sir! O,--then for

your life, cries I, don't say I have been here--but now--Camilla will

you think me punished or not?--My uncle had a little gout in his

right-hand, and had made my father open and read--that very day,--all

his letters! If ever you knew old Nick serve a poor young fellow a worse

turn than that, tell me so? I owe him such a grudge for it, I could

almost find [it] in my heart to turn parson myself.'

Camilla could not utter a word. She dropt her head over her folded arms

upon the table, to hide her offending brother from her sight, whom now,

placed in opposition to her all-excellent father, she blamed beyond her

powers, beyond what she conceived even her rights of expression.

'Why now, my dear Camilla, what do you hide your face for? Do you think

I'm not as sorry for this thing as you can be for the life of you?

However, now comes the worst; and if you don't pity me when you hear

this, you may depend upon it you have no bowels. I was making off as

fast as I could, mum the word to the servants, when in comes old Jacob

with a letter. I snatched it from him, hoping my uncle had privately

sent me a draft--but the direction was written by my father! Don't you

begin to feel a little for me now?'

She could only raise her head to ejaculate, 'My poor--poor father!' and

then, nearly in an agony, drop it again.

'Hey-day, Camilla? how's this? what! not one word of poor, poor brother,

too? why you are harder than flint. However, read that letter. And then,

if you don't think me the most unhappy young fellow in existence, you

are fit to devise tortures for the inquisition.'

She took the letter eagerly, yet awfully, kissed in weeping the

hand-writing, and read what follows:

_To_ LIONEL TYROLD, _Esq._

To have brought up my family with the purity of principle which the

holy profession of their father ought to inspire him to teach, has

been, from the hour that my paternal solicitudes commenced, the

most fervent of my prayers. How my hopes have been deluded you have

but too long known; how grossly they have failed has reached my own

knowledge but this moment. I here resign the vain expectation, that

through my son the community might bless me: may a forfeiture so

dread not extend to me, also, through my daughters!--

Camilla stopt, sunk upon her knees, and devoutly repeated the last

sentence, with her own ardent supplications joined to it before she

could proceed.

A few words more must, for the present, suffice between us.

Accident, by throwing into my hands this last letter to the uncle

whose goodness you have most unwarrantably and unfeelingly abused,

has given birth to an investigation, by which I have arrived at the

discovery of the long course of rapacity by which you have

pillaged from the same source. Henceforth, you will find it dry. I

have stated to my brother the mistake of his compliance, and

obtained his solemn word, that all intercourse between you, that

has not my previous approbation, shall here finally cease. You will

now, therefore, empty no more those coffers which, but for you,

have only been opened to the just claims of benevolence.

You will regard this detection as the wrath of ill-fortune; I view

it, on the contrary, as the mercy of Providence. What were further

pecuniary exonerations, but deeper plunges into vilifying

dissoluteness? If, as you intimate, the refusal of your present

demands will expose you to public shame, may its shock awaken

feelings that may restore you to private virtue! I cannot spare you

from disgrace, by aiding you in corruption; I cannot rescue you

from worldly dishonour, by hiding and abetting crimes that may

unfold to eternal misery. To errour I would be lenient; to

penitence I would be consoling; to reformation I would open my

arms: but to him who confesses his guilt only to save himself from

punishment, to him who would elude the incurred penalties of his

wickedness, by shamelessly soliciting a respectable old relation to

use bribery for its concealment,--to him, I can only say, since all

precepts of virtue have failed to shew thee its excellence, go!

learn of misfortune the evils, at least of vice! Pay to the laws of

society what retribution they require for their violation--and if

suffering should lead to contrition, and seclusion from the world

bring thee back to rectitude, then thou may'st find again thy

father

AUGUSTUS TYROLD.

Another name I mention not. I present not to this sullied page an

image of such purity: yet, if thy own thoughts dare paint it to thy

view, will not thy heart, O Lionel! smite thee and say,--From her

native land, from her sorrowing husband, from daughters just

opening into life, by my follies and indiscretions I have driven my

mother--by my guilt I shall make her blush to return to them?--

Camilla wept over this letter till its characters were almost effaced by

her tears. To withhold from her father the knowledge of the misconduct

of Lionel, what had she not suffered? what not sacrificed? yet to find

it all unavailing, to find him thus informed of his son's wanton calls

for money, his culpable connection, and his just fears of seeing it

published and punished,--and to consider with all this, that Edgar,

through these unpardonable deviations from right, was irretrievably lost

to her, excited sorrow the most depressing for her father, and regrets

scarce supportable for herself.

'Well,' cried Lionel, 'what do you think of my case now? Don't you allow

I pay pretty handsomely for a mere young man's gambol? I assure you I

don't know what might have been the consequence, if Jacob had not

afforded me a little comfort. He told me you were going to be married to

'squire Mandlebert, and that you were all at Southton, and that he was

sure you would do any thing in the world to get me out of jeopardy; and

so, thinking pretty much the same myself, here I am! Well, what say you,

Camilla? Will you speak a little word for me to Edgar?'

Shame, now taking place of affliction, stopt her tears, which dried upon

her burning cheeks, as she answered, 'He is well known to you,

Lionel:--you can address him yourself!'

'No; that's your mistake, my dear. I have a little odd money matter to

settle with him already; and besides, we have had a sort of a falling

out upon the subject; for when I spoke to him about it last, he gave

himself the airs of an old justice of the peace, and said if he did not

find the affair given up, nothing should induce him ever to help me

again. What a mere codger that lad has turned out!'

'Ah, noble Edgar! just, high-principled, and firm!' half pronounced

Camilla, while again the icicles dissolved, and trickled down her face.

'See but the different way in which things strike people! however, it is

not very pretty in you, Camilla, to praise him for treating me so

scurvily. But come, dost think he'll lend me the money?'

'Lend,' repeated she, significantly.

'Ay lend; for I shall pay it every farthing; and every thing else.'

'And how? And when?'

'Why,--with old unky Relvil's fortune.'

'For shame, brother!'

'Nay, nay, you know as well as I do, I must have it at last. Who else

has he to leave it to? Come, will you beg the three hundred for me? He

dare not refuse you, you know, in your day of power.'

'Lionel,' cried she, with extreme emotion, 'I shall see him no more!

nor, perhaps may you!--He has left England.'

'Impossible! why Jacob told me unky was working night and day at

preparations for your keeping the wedding at Cleves.'

'I cannot talk upon this subject. I must beseech you to reserve your

enquiries for Eugenia.'

'I must go to her then, directly. I have not a moment to lose. If you

won't make Edgar help me in this business--and I know he won't do it of

his own accord, I am utterly done up. There will remain but one single

thing for me. So now for my roquelo. But do only tell me, Camilla, if

you ever knew such a poor unlucky wight? for before I came to you,

certain it would not be easy to make that young prig do any thing he had

already declared against, I found out cousin Clermont. What a handsome

coxcomb that is! Well, I told him my case, for one young fellow soon

comprehends the difficulties of another, and begged him to ask for the

money of uncle Hugh, as if for himself, telling him, that as he was a

new-comer, and a new beginner, he could not so readily be refused; and

promising to serve him as good a turn myself, when he had got a little

into our ways, and wanted it, with my good uncle Relvil. Well! what do

you think was the next news? It's enough to make a man's hair stand on

end, to see what a spite fortune has taken to me! Do you know he has got

debts of his own, of one sort or another, that poor unky has never heard

of, to the amount of upwards of a thousand pounds?'

He then muffled himself up and departed.

CHAPTER V

_A Self-dissection_

Camilla remained in a state of accumulated distress, that knew not upon

what object most to dwell: her father, shocked and irritated beyond the

mild endurance of his character; her brother, wantonly sporting with his

family's honour, and his own morals and reputation; her uncle, preparing

for nuptials broken off without his knowledge; Edgar, by a thousand

perversities of accident, of indiscretion, of misunderstanding, for ever

parted from her;--rushed all together upon her mind, each combating for

precedence, each individually foiled, yet all collectively triumphant.

Nor were even these her sole subjects of affliction: yet another cause

was added, in debts contracted from mingled thoughtlessness,

inexperience, and generosity, augmented to she knew not what sum, and to

be paid by she knew not what means. And this topic, which in itself

seemed to her the least interesting, soon, by the circumstances with

which it was connected, grew the most pressing of any. How, at a moment

like this, could she make her purposed confession to her father, whose

wounded mind demanded all she could offer of condolement? How call upon

her uncle to be responsible for what she owed, when she now knew the

enormous accounts preparing for him from Clermont, of which he was

himself yet uninformed?

* * * * *

Lionel soon returned. 'So it's really all off?' he cried; 'dame Fortune,

methinks, has a mind to give me a taste of her art that I shan't easily

forget. Eugenia would tell me no particulars. But, since things are

thus, there is only one step left for poor Pillgarlick. I must whisk

over to the Continent.'

'To the Continent? without consulting my father? without--'

'My father?--Why, you see he gives me up. He thinks--I thank him!--a

little wholesome discipline will do me good. Don't you understand what

he means by _seclusion from the world_? A prison, my dear! a gaol!

However, I'm not quite of that opinion. I really think a man's as well

off in a little open air. So fare thee well, child. As soon as ever my

dear uncle Relvil says good night, I'll come home again, and wish you

all good morning.'

'Lionel! Lionel!--'

'Well, well! I know it's very wrong, and all that; so say nothing. Don't

distress me, I beg, for I hate to be hipped. Besides, old Relvil don't

deserve much better; why can't he behave like a man, and settle an

annuity upon himself, and an old servant, and a dog, and a cat, and a

parrot, and then let an honest young fellow see a little of the world

handsomely, and like a gentleman? But your bachelor uncles, and maiden

aunts, are the most tantalizing fellows and fellowesses in the

creation.'

He then kissed her, and was going; but, earnestly detaining him, she

conjured that he would let her first hint his design to their father,

that at least it might be set aside, if it would still more deeply

disturb him.

'No, child, no; I know his way of reasoning already. He thinks every man

should pay for what he owes, either with money or stripes. Now my poor

dear little body is not of that opinion. And what would they get by

having me shut up in prison? And I'll defy 'em to cast me in any other

damages. I've a few debts, too, of my own, that make me a little uneasy.

I don't mean to trades people; they can wait well enough; our credit is

good: but a man looks horrid small, walking about, when he can't pay his

debts of honour. However, when I disappear, perhaps my father will take

compassion upon my character. If not, the Relvil estate shall wipe off

all in the long run.'

'And is it possible, Lionel, thus lightly, thus negligently, thus

unmoved, you can plan such a journey? such an exile?'

'Why what can I do? what can I possibly do? I am obliged to be off in my

own defence. Unless, indeed, I marry little Miss Dennel, which I have

once or twice thought of; for she's a monstrous fool. But then she is

very rich. How should you like her for a sister? Nay, nay, I'm serious.

Don't shake your head as if I was joking. What do you think of her for

my spouse?'

'She is a good girl, I believe, Lionel, though a simple one; and I

should be sorry to see her unhappy; and how could either of you be

otherwise, with contempt such as this?'

'Bless thy heart, my little dear, what have husbands and wives to do

with making one another unhappy? Prithee don't set about forming thy

notions of married people from the parsonage-house, and conclude a wife

no better than a real rib, sticking always close to a man's side. You

grow so horrid sententious, I really begin to believe you intend to take

out your diploma soon, and put on the surplice my father meant for his

poor son.'

'Alas, Lionel!--how changed, how hard--forgive me if I say how hard must

you be grown, to be capable of gaiety and rattle at this period!'

'You'll die an old maid, Camilla, take my word for it. And I'm really

sorry, for you're not an ugly girl. You might have been got off. But

come, don't look so melancholy at a little silly sport. The world is so

full of sorrow, my dear girl, so little visited by happiness, that

cheerfulness is almost as necessary as existence, in such a vale of

tears.'

'What can induce you to laugh, Lionel, at such words?'

'I can't help it, faith! I was thinking I spoke so like a parson's son!'

Camilla cast up her eyes and hands: 'Lionel,' she cried, 'what have you

done with your heart? has it banished every natural feeling? has the

affecting letter of the best of fathers, his cruel separation from the

most excellent of mothers, and even your own dreadfully censurable

conduct, served but to amuse you with ridicule and derision?'

'Camilla,' cried he, taking her hands, 'you wrong me! you think I have

no feeling, because I am not always crying. However, shall I tell you

the truth? I hate myself! and so completely hate myself at this moment,

that I dare not be grave! dare not suffer reflection to take hold of me,

lest it should make life too odious for me to bear it. I have run on

from folly to wickedness for want of thought; and now thought is ready

to come back, I must run from that, for want of fortitude. What has

bewitched me, I know no more than you; but I never meant to play this

abominable part. And now, if I did not flog up my spirits to prevent

their flagging, I suppose I should hang or drown. And, believe me, if I

were condemned to the galleys, I should think it less than I deserve;

for I hate myself, I repeat--I honour my father, though I have used him

so ill; I love my mother,--for all her deuced severity,--to the bottom

of my soul; I would cut off my left arm for Lavinia and Eugenia; and for

thee, Camilla, I would lop off my right!--But yet, when some frolic or

gambol comes into my way, I forget you all! clear out of my memory you

all walk, as if I had never beheld you!'

Camilla now embraced him with a deluge of tears, entreated him to

forgive the asperity his seeming want of all feeling had drawn from her,

and frequently to write to her, and acquaint her how he went on, and

send his direction for her answers; that so, at least, their father

might know how he employed himself, and have the power to give him

counsel.

'But how, my poor Lionel,' she added, 'how will you live abroad? How

will you even travel?'

'Why as to how I shall live there, I don't know; but as well as I

deserve easily: however, as to how I shall get there, look here,' taking

from his pocket a handful of guineas, 'that good little Eugenia has

given me every thing, even to the last half crown, that she had at

Southampton, to help me forward.'

'Dear excellent, ever generous Eugenia! O that I could follow her

example! but alas! I have nothing!--and worse than nothing!'

They then affectionately embraced each other, and parted.

CHAPTER VI

_A Reckoning_

What Camilla experienced at this juncture she believed inadmissible of

aggravation. Even the breaking off with Edgar seemed as a new misfortune

from the new force which circumstances gave to its affliction. With his

sympathising aid, how might she have softened the sorrows of her father!

how have broken the shock of the blow Clermont was preparing for her

uncle? But now, instead of lessening their griefs, she must herself

inflict upon them a heavier evil than any they had yet suffered. And how

could she reveal tidings for which they were so wholly unprepared? how

be even intelligible in the history, without exposing the guilty Lionel

beyond all chance of pardon?

Again she went to counsel with Eugenia, who, with her usual

disinterested affection, proposed taking the painful business upon

herself at their return home. Camilla with tears of gratitude accepted

the sisterly office, and resolved to devote the rest of her short time

for Southampton to Mrs. Berlinton; who, shocked to see her evident

unhappiness, hung over her with the most melting tenderness: bewailing

alike the disappointment of Eugenia, and the conduct of her brother; who

now, with exquisite misery, shut himself wholly up in his room.

This compassionate kindness somewhat softened her anguish; but when the

engagements of Mrs. Berlinton called her away, Mrs. Mittin burst briskly

into her chamber.

'Well, my dear,' cried she, 'I come with better news now than ever! only

guess what it is!'

Nothing could less conduce to the tranquillity of Camilla than such a

desire; her conjectures always flowed into the channels of her wishes;

and she thought immediately that Mrs. Mittin had been informed of her

situation, and came to her with some intelligence of Edgar.

Mrs. Mittin, after keeping her a full quarter of an hour in suspence, at

last said: 'Do you know Miss Dennel's going to be married?--though she

was fifteen only yesterday!--and I am invited to the wedding?'

No surprise had ever yet produced less pleasure to Camilla, who now

ceased to listen, though Mrs. Mittin by no means ceased to speak, till

her attention was awakened by the following sentence: 'So, as I am to go

to town, to shop with her, at her own papa's desire, you can give me the

money, you know, my dear, and I can pay off your Tunbridge bills for

you.'

She then took out of her pockets some accounts, which, she said, she had

just received; though, in fact, they had been in her possession more

than a week: but till the invitation of Miss Dennel called her so

pleasantly away, she had thought it prudent to keep every motive in

reserve, that added importance to her stay.

Camilla, with the utmost apprehension, took the papers into her hands;

they were the bills from Tunbridge, of the milliner, the shoe-maker, the

haberdasher, and the glover, and amounted altogether to sixteen pounds.

The chief articles had been nearly forced upon her by Mrs. Mittin, with

assurances of their cheapness, and representations of their necessity,

that, joined to her entire ignorance of the enormous charges of fashion,

had led her to imagine four or five guineas the utmost sum at which they

could be estimated.

What now, then, was her horror! if to sixteen pounds amounted the

trifles she had had at Tunbridge, what calculation must she make of

articles, so infinitely more valuable, that belonged to her debts at

Southampton? And to whom now could she apply? The unhappy situation of

her father was no longer an only reason to forbear such a call upon him:

Lionel, still under age, was flying the kingdom with debts, which, be

they small as they might, would, to Mr. Tyrold's limited income, be as

heavy as the more considerable ones of her cousin upon Sir Hugh; yet who

besides could give her aid? Eugenia, whose yearly allowance, according

to her settled future fortune, was five times that of her sisters, had

given what help she had in her power, before she quitted Cleves, upon

the affair of the horse; and all that remained of a considerable present

made for her Southampton expedition by her uncle, who in every thing

distinguished her as his successor and heiress, she had just bestowed

upon Lionel, even, as he had declared, to her last half crown. Mrs.

Berlinton, whose tender friendship might, in this emergence, have

encouraged solicitation, was involved in debts of honour, and wanted

money for herself; and to Mrs. Arlbery, her only other acquaintance rich

enough to give assistance, and with whom she was intimate enough to ask

it, she already owed five guineas; and how, in conscience or decency,

could she address her for so much more, when she saw before her no time,

no term, upon which she could fix for restitution?

In this terrible state, with no one to counsel her, and no powers of

self-judgment, she felt a dread of going home, that rendered the coming

day a day of horror, though to a home to which, hitherto, she had turned

as the first joy of her happiness, or softest solace of any disturbance.

Her filial affections were in their pristine force; her short commerce

with the world had robbed them of none of their vivacity; her regard for

Edgar, whom she delighted to consider as a younger Mr. Tyrold, had

rather enlarged than divided them; but to return a burthen to an already

burthened house, an affliction to an already afflicted parent--'No!' she

broke out, aloud, 'I cannot go home!--I cannot carry calamity to my

father!--He will be mild--but he will look unhappy; and I would not see

his face in sorrow--sorrow of my own creating--for years of after joy!'

She threw herself down upon the bed, hid her face with the counterpane,

and wept, in desperate carelessness of the presence of Mrs. Mittin, and

answering nothing that she said.

In affairs of this sort, Mrs. Mittin had a quickness of apprehension,

which, though but the attribute of ready cunning, was not inferior to

the keenest penetration, possessed, for deeper investigations, by

characters of more solid sagacity. From the fear which Camilla, in her

anguish, had uttered of seeing her father, she gathered, there must be

some severe restriction in money concerns; and, without troubling

herself to consider what they might be, saw that to aid her at this

moment would be the highest obligation; and immediately set at work a

brain as fertile in worldly expedients, as it was barren of intellectual

endowments, in forming a plan of present relief, which she concluded

would gain her a rich and powerful friend for life.

She was not long in suggesting a proposition, which Camilla started up

eagerly to hear, almost breathless with the hope of any reprieve to her

terrors.

Mrs. Mittin, amongst her numerous friends, counted a Mr. Clykes, a

money-lender, a man, she said, of the first credit for such matters with

people of fashion in any difficulty. If Camilla, therefore, would

collect her debts, this gentleman would pay them, for a handsome

premium, and handsome interest, till she was able, at her own full

leisure, to return the principal, with a proper present.

Camilla nearly embraced her with rapture for this scheme. The premium

she would collect as she could, and the interest she would pay from her

allowance, certain that when her uncle was cleared from his

embarrassments, her own might be revealed without any serious distress.

She put, therefore, the affair wholly into the hands of Mrs. Mittin,

besought her, the next morning, to demand all her Southampton bills, to

add to them those for the rent and the stores of Higden, and then to

transact the business with Mr. Clykes; promising to agree to whatever

premium, interest, and present, he should demand, with endless

acknowledgments to herself for so great a service.

She grieved to employ a person so utterly disagreeable to Edgar; but to

avert immediate evil was ever resistless to her ardent mind.

The whole of the Southampton accounts were brought her early the next

morning by the active Mrs. Mittin, who now concluded, that what she had

conceived to be covetousness in Camilla, was only the fear of a hard

tyrant of a father, who kept her so parsimoniously, that she could allow

herself no indulgence, till the death of her uncle should endow her with

her own rich inheritance.

Had this arrangement not taken place before the arrival of the bills,

Camilla, upon beholding them, thought she should have been driven to

complete distraction. The ear-rings and necklace, silver fringes and

spangles, feathers, nosegay, and shoe-roses, with the other parts of the

dress, and the fine Valencienne edging, came to thirty-three pounds. The

cloak also, that cheapest thing in the world, was nine guineas; and

various small articles, which Mrs. Mittin had occasionally brought in,

and others with which Camilla could not dispense, came to another five

pounds. To this, the rent for Higden added eighteen; and the bill of

stores, which had been calculated at thirty, was sent in at

thirty-seven.

The whole, therefore, with the sixteen pounds from Tunbridge, amounted

to one hundred and eighteen pounds nine shillings.

Struck to the very soul with the idea of what she must have endured to

have presented, at such a period, so large an account, either at Cleves

or at Etherington, she felt lifted into paradise by the escape of this

expedient, and lost sight of every possible future difficulty, in the

relief of avoiding so severe a present penalty.

By this means, also, the tradesmen would not wait; and she had been

educated with so just an abhorrence of receiving the goods, and

benefiting from the labours of others, without speeding them their

rights and their rewards, that she felt despicable as well as miserable,

when she possessed what she had not repaid.

Mrs. Mittin was now invested with full powers for the agency, which her

journey to London would give her immediate means to execute. She was to

meet Miss Dennel there in two days, to assist in the wedding purchases,

and then to accompany that young lady to her father's house in

Hampshire, whence she could visit Etherington, and finally arrange the

transaction.

Camilla, again thanking, took leave of her, to consign her few remaining

hours to Mrs. Berlinton, who was impatient at losing one moment of the

society she began sincerely to regret she had not more uniformly

preferred to all other. As sad now with cares as Camilla was with

afflictions, she had robbed her situation of nearly the only good which

belonged to it--an affluent power to gratify every luxury, whether of

generosity or personal indulgence. Her gaming, to want of happiness,

added now want of money; and Camilla, with a sigh, saw something more

wretched, because far deeper and more wilful in error than herself.

They mingled their tears for their separate personal evils, with the

kindest consolation that either could suggest for the other, till

Camilla was told that Eugenia desired to see her in the parlour.

Mrs. Berlinton, ashamed, yet delighted to meet her again, went down at

the same time. She embraced her with fondness, but ventured not to utter

either apology or concern. Eugenia was serious but composed, sighed

often, yet both accepted and returned her caresses.

Camilla enquired if Miss Margland expected them immediately.

'Yes,' she answered; 'but I have first a little business of my own to

transact.' Then, turning to Mrs. Berlinton, and forcing a smile, 'You

will be surprised,' she said, 'to hear me ask for ... your brother!...

but I must see him before I can leave Southampton.'

Mrs. Berlinton hung her head: 'There is certainly,' she cried,

'no reproach he does not merit ... yet, if you knew ... the

respect ... the ... the....'

Eugenia rang the bell, making a slight apology, but not listening to

what Mrs. Berlinton strove to say; who, colouring and uneasy, still

attempted to utter something softening to what had passed.

'Be so good,' said Eugenia, when the footman appeared, 'to tell Mr.

Melmond I beg to speak with him.'

Camilla astonished, and Mrs. Berlinton silenced, waited, in an

unpleasant pause, the event.

Eugenia, absorbed in thought, neither spoke to, nor looked at them, nor

moved, till the door opened, and Melmond, who durst not refuse so direct

a summons, though he would have preferred any punishment to obeying it,

blushing, bowing, and trembling, entered the room.

She then started, half heaved, and half checked a sigh, took a folded

note out of her pocket-book, and with a faint smile, said, 'I fear my

desire must have been painful to you; but you see me now for the last

time--I hope!--with any ill-will.'

She stopt for breath to go on; Melmond, amazed, striving vainly to

articulate one word of excuse, one profession even of respect.

'Believe me, Sir,' she then continued, 'surprise was the last sensation

I experienced upon a late ... transaction. My extraordinary personal

defects and deformity have been some time known to me, though--I cannot

tell how--I had the weakness or vanity not to think of them as I ought

to have done!----But I see I give you uneasiness, and therefore I will

be more concise.'

Melmond, confounded, had bowed down his head not to look at her, while

Camilla and Mrs. Berlinton both wept.

'The sentiments, Sir,' she then went on, 'of my cousin have never been

declared to me; but it is not very difficult to me to divine what they

may be. All that is certain, is the unkindness of Fortune, which forbids

her to listen, or you to plead to them. This, Sir, shall be my

care'--she stopt a moment, looking paler, and wanting voice; but

presently recovering, proceeded--'my happiness, let me say, to

endeavour to rectify. I have much influence with my kind uncle; can I

doubt, when I represent to him that I have just escaped making two

worthy people wretched, he will deny aiding me to make them happy? No!

the residence already intended at Cleves will still be open, though one

of its parties will be changed. But as my uncle, in a manner unexampled,

has bound himself, in my favour, from any future disposition of what he

possesses, I have ventured, Sir, upon this paper, to obviate any

apprehensions of your friends, for the unhappy time when that generous

uncle can no longer act for himself.'

She then unfolded, and gave him the paper, which contained these words:

'I here solemnly engage myself, if Miss Indiana Lynmere accepts,

with the consent of Sir Hugh Tyrold, the hand of Frederic Melmond,

to share with them, so united, whatever fortune or estate I may be

endowed with, to the end of my life, and to bequeath them the same

equal portion by will after my death.

Signed. EUGENIA TYROLD.'

Unable to read, yet conceiving the purport of the writing, Melmond was

at her feet. She endeavoured to raise him, and though extremely

affected, said, with an air of some pleasantry, 'Shew less surprise,

Sir, or I shall conclude you thought me as frightful within as without!

But no! Providence is too good to make the mind necessarily deformed

with the body.'

'Ah, Madam!' exclaimed Melmond, wholly overcome, 'the noblest as well as

softest of human hearts I perceive to be yours----and were mine at my

own disposal--it must find you resistless!'--

'No more, no more!' interrupted she, penetrated with a pleasure in these

words which she durst not indulge, 'you shall hear from me

soon.--Meanwhile, be Hope your motto, Friendship shall be mine.'

She was then going to hold out her hand to him; but her courage failed;

she hastily embraced Mrs. Berlinton, took the arm of Camilla, and

hurried out of the house, followed by the footman who had attended her.

Melmond, who had seen the motion of her hand now advancing, now

withdrawn, would have given the universe to have stamped upon it his

grateful reverence; but his courage was still less than her own; she

seemed to him, on the sudden, transformed to a deity, benignly employed

to rescue and bless him, but whose transcendent goodness he could only,

at a distance, and in all humility, adore.

Mrs. Berlinton was left penetrated nearly as much as her brother, and

doubtful if even the divine Indiana could render him as happy as the

exalted, the incomparable Eugenia.

* * * * *

The two sisters found Miss Margland in extreme ill-humour waiting their

arrival, and the whole party immediately quitted Southampton.

It not seldom occurred to Miss Margland to be cross merely as a mark of

consequence; but here the displeasure was as deep with herself as with

others. She had entered Southampton with a persuasion her fair pupil

would make there the establishment so long the promised mede of her

confinement; and Indiana herself, not knowing where to stop her sanguine

and inflated hopes, imagined that the fame of her beauty would make the

place where it first was exhibited the resort of all of fashion in the

nation. And the opening of the scene had answered to their fullest

expectations: no other name was heard but Indiana Lynmere, no other

figure was admired, no other face could bear examination.

But her triumph, though splendid, was short; she soon found that the

overtures of eyes were more ready than those of speech; and though one

young baronet, enchanted with her beauty, immediately professed himself

her lover, when he was disdained, in the full assurance of higher

offers, and because a peer had addressed himself to Eugenia, she saw not

that he was succeeded by any other, nor yet that he broke his own heart.

Men of taste, after the first conversation, found her more admirable to

look at than speak with; adventurers soon discovered that her personal

charms were her only dower; the common herd were repulsed from

approaching her by the repulsive manners of Miss Margland; and all

evinced, that though a passion for beauty was still as fashionable as it

was natural, the time was past when the altar of Hymen required no other

incense to blaze upon it.

The governess, therefore, and the pupil, quitted Southampton with equal

disappointment and indignation; the first foreseeing another long and

yawning sojourn at Cleves; the second firmly believing herself the most

unaccountably ill-used person in the creation, that one offer only had

reached her, and that without repetition, though admired nearly to

adoration, she literally rather than metaphorically conceived herself a

demi-goddess.

One solitary offer to Eugenia, of an every way ruined young nobleman,

though a blast both to the settlement and the peace of Indiana, was to

herself wholly nugatory. Intent, at that period, upon dedicating for

ever to Melmond her virgin heart, she was sorry, upon his account, for

the application, but gave it not, upon her own, a moment's

consideration. This proposition was made upon her first arrival, and was

followed by no other. She was then, by the account given to the master

of the ceremonies by Miss Margland, regarded as the heiress of Cleves:

but, almost immediately after, the report spread by Mrs. Mittin, that

Camilla was the true heiress, gained such ground amongst the

shopkeepers, and thence travelled so rapidly from gossip to gossip, and

house to house, that Eugenia was soon no more thought of; though a

species of doubt was cast upon the whole party, from the double

assertion, that kept off from Camilla, also, the fortune seekers of the

place.

But another rumour got abroad, that soon entirely cleared Eugenia, not

merely of lovers but acquaintances; namely, her studies with Dr.

Orkborne. This was a prevailing theme of spite with Miss Margland, when

the Doctor had neglected and displeased her; and a topic always at hand

for her spleen, when it was angered by other circumstances not so easy

of blame or of mention.

This, shortly, made Eugenia stared at still more than her peculiar

appearance. The misses, in tittering, ran away from the learned lady;

the beaux contemptuously sneering, rejoiced she was too ugly to take in

any poor fellow to marry her. Some imagined her studies had stinted her

growth; and all were convinced her education had made her such a fright.

Of the whole party, the only one who quitted Southampton in spirits was

Dr. Orkborne. He was delighted to be no longer under the dominion of

Miss Margland, who, though she never left him tranquil in the possession

of all he valued, his leisure, and his books and papers, eternally

annoyed him with reproaches upon his absence, non-attendance, and

ignorance of high life; asking always, when angry, 'If any one had ever

heard who was his grandfather?'

The doctor, in return, despising, like most who have it not, whatever

belonged to noble birth, regarded her and her progenitors as the pest of

the human race; frequently, when incensed by interruption, exclaiming,

'Where intellect is uncultivated, what is man better than a brute, or

woman than an idiot?'

Nor was his return to his own room, books, and hours, under the roof of

the indulgent Sir Hugh, the only relief of this removal: he knew not of

the previous departure of Dr. Marchmont, and he was glad to quit a spot

where he was open to a comparison which he felt to be always to his

disadvantage.

So much more powerful and more prominent is character than education,

that no two men could be more different than Dr. Marchmont and Dr.

Orkborne, though the same university had finished their studies, and the

same passion, pursuit, and success in respect to learning, had raised

and had spread their names and celebrity. The first, with all his

scholastic endowments, was a man of the world, and a grace to society;

the second, though in erudition equally respectable, was wholly lost to

the general community, and alive only with his pen and his books. They

enjoyed, indeed, in common, that happy and often sole reward of learned

labours, the privilege of snatching some care from time, some repining

from misfortune, by seizing for themselves, and their own exclusive use,

the whole monopoly of mind; but they employed it not to the same

extension. The things and people of this lower sphere were studiously,

by Dr. Orkborne, sunk in oblivion by the domineering prevalence of the

alternate transport and toil of intellectual occupation; Dr. Marchmont,

on the contrary, though his education led to the same propensities,

still held his fellow creatures to be of higher consideration than their

productions. Without such extravagance in the pursuit of his studies, he

knew it the happy province of literary occupations, where voluntary, to

absorb worldly solicitudes, and banish for a while even mental

anxieties; and though the charm may be broken by every fresh intrusion

of calamity, it unites again with the first retirement, and, without

diminishing the feelings of social life, has a power, from time to time,

to set aside their sufferings.

CHAPTER VII

_Brides and no Brides_

In the hall of the Cleves mansion the party from Southampton were

received by Sir Hugh, Mr. Tyrold, and Lavinia. The baronet greeted in

particular the two nieces he regarded as brides elect, with an elation

that prevented him from observing their sadness; while their confusion

at his mistake he attributed to the mere bashfulness of their situation.

He enquired, nevertheless, with some surprise, why the two bridegrooms

did not attend them? which, he owned, he thought rather odd; though he

supposed it might be only the new way.

The changing colour and starting tears of the two sisters still escaped

his kindly occupied but undiscerning eyes: while Mr. Tyrold, having

tenderly embraced, avoided looking at them from the fear of adding to

their blushes, and sat quiet and grave, striving to alleviate his

present new and deep sorrow, by participating in the revived happiness

of his brother. But Lavinia soon saw their mutual distress, and with

apprehensive affection watched an opportunity to investigate its cause.

'But come,' cried Sir Hugh, 'I sha'n't wait for those gentlemen to shew

you what I've done for you, seeing they don't wait for me, by their

following their own way, which, however, I suppose they may be with

their lawyers, none of those gentleman having been here, which I think

rather slow, considering the rooms are almost ready.'

He would now have taken them round the house; but, nearly expiring with

shame, they entreated to be excused; and, insupportably oppressed by the

cruel discovery they had to divulge, stole apart to consult upon what

measures they should take. They then settled that Camilla should

accompany Mr. Tyrold to Etherington, but keep off all disclosure till

the next morning, when Eugenia would arrive, and unfold the sad tidings.

When they returned to the parlour, they found Sir Hugh, in the innocency

of his heart, had forced Indiana, Miss Margland, and even Dr. Orkborne,

to view his improvements for the expected nuptials, judging the

disinterestedness of their pleasure by his own; though to the two

ladies, nothing could be less gratifying than preparations for a scene

in which they were to bear no part, and the Doctor thought every evil

genius at work to detain him from his study and his manuscripts.

'But what's the oddest' cried the Baronet, 'of all, is nobody's coming

for poor Indiana; which I could never have expected, especially in the

point of taking off little Eugenia first, whom her own cousin did not

think pretty enough; which I can never think over and above good natured

in him, being so difficult. However, I hope we shall soon forget that,

now for which reason, I forgive him.'

Indiana was so much piqued, she could scarce refrain from relating the

portico history at Lord Pervil's; but the Baronet, not remarking her

discomposure, turned to Camilla and Eugenia, smilingly exclaiming:

'Well, my dear girls, I sha'n't mention what we have been looking at in

your absence, because of your blushes, which I hope you approve. But we

shall soon, I hope, see it all together, without any of your modesty's

minding it. I shall have to pinch a little for it the rest of the year,

which, God knows, will be a pleasure to me, for the sake of my two dear

girls, as well as of Mr. Edgar; not to mention the new young gentleman;

who seems a pretty kind of person too, though he is not one of our own

relations.'

He was rather disappointed when he found Camilla was to go to

Etherington, but desired there might be a general meeting the next day,

when he should also invite Dr. Marchmont. 'For I think' said he, 'he's

as little proud as the best dunce amongst us; which makes me like him as

well. And I can't say but I was as much obliged to him that day about

the mad bull, as if he had been one of my nephews or nieces himself:

which is what I sha'n't forget.'

In the way back to Etherington, Camilla could scarce utter a word; and

Lavinia, who had just gathered from her, in a whisper 'All is over with

Edgar!' with divided, but silent pity, looked from her father to her

sister, thought of her brother, and wept for all three. Mr. Tyrold alone

was capable of any exertion. Unwilling to give Camilla, whom he

concluded impressed with the thousand solicitudes of her impending

change of situation, any abrupt account of her brother's cruel conduct,

he spoke with composure though not with cheerfulness, and hoped, by a

general gravity, to prepare, without alarming her, for the ill news he

must inevitably relate. But he soon, however, observed an excess of

sadness upon her countenance, far deeper than what he could attribute to

the thoughts he had first suggested, and wholly different from an

agitation in which though fear bears a part, hope preponderates.

It now struck him that probably Lionel had been at Southampton: for so

wide was every idea from supposing any mischief with Edgar, that, like

Sir Hugh, upon his non-appearance, he had concluded him engaged with his

lawyer. But of Melmond, less sure, he had been more open in enquiry, and

with inexpressible concern, for his beloved and unfortunate Eugenia,

gathered that the affair was ended: though her succeeding plan, by her

own desire, Camilla left for her own explanation.

When they arrived at Etherington, taking her into his study, 'Camilla,'

he said, 'tell me, I beg ... do you know anything of Lionel?'

An unrestrained burst of tears convinced him his conjecture was right,

and he soon obtained all the particulars of the meeting, except its

levity and flightiness. Where directly questioned, no sisterly

tenderness could induce her to filial prevarication; but she rejoiced to

spare her brother all exposure that mere silence could spare; and as Mr.

Tyrold suspected not her former knowledge of his extravagance and ill

conduct, he neither asked, nor heard, any thing beyond the last

interview.

At the plan of going abroad, he sighed heavily, but would take no

measures to prevent it. Lionel, he saw was certain of being cast in any

trial; and though he would not stretch out his arm to avert the

punishment he thought deserved, he was not sorry to change the languid

waste of imprisonment at home, for the hardships with which he might

live upon little abroad.

A calamity such as this seemed cause full sufficient for the distress of

Camilla; Mr. Tyrold sought no other; but though she wept, now, at

liberty, his very freedom from suspicion and enquiry increased her

anguish. 'Your happy fate,' cried he, 'is what most, at this moment

supports me; and to that I shall chiefly owe the support of your mother;

whom a blow such as this will more bitterly try than the loss of our

whole income, or even than the life itself of your brother. Her virtue

is above misfortune, but her soul will shudder at guilt.'

The horror of Camilla was nearly intolerable at this speech, and the

dreadful disappointment which she knew yet to be awaiting her loved

parents. 'Take comfort, my dearest girl,' said Mr. Tyrold, who saw her

suffering, 'it is yours, for all our sakes to be cheerful, for to you we

shall owe the worthiest of sons, at the piercing juncture when the

weakest and most faulty fails us.'

'O my father!' she cried, 'speak not such words! Lionel himself ...' she

was going to say: has made you less unhappy than you will be made by me:

but she durst not finish her phrase; she turned away from him her

streaming eyes, and stopt.

'My dearest child,' he cried, 'let not your rising prospects be thus

dampt by this cruel event. The connection you have formed will be a

consolation to us all. It binds to us for life a character already so

dear to us; it will afford to our Lavinia, should we leave her single, a

certain asylum; it will give to our Eugenia a counsellor that may save

her hereafter from fraud and ruin; it may aid poor Lionel, when, some

time hence, he returns to his country, to return to the right path,

whence so widely he has strayed; and it will heal with lenient balm the

wounded, bleeding bosom of a meritorious but deeply afflicted mother!

While to your father, my Camilla....'

These last words were not heard; such a mention of her mother had

already overpowered her, and unable to let him keep up his delusion, she

supported her shaking frame against his shoulder, and exclaimed in a

tone of agony: 'O my father! you harrow me to the soul!--Edgar has left

me!--has left England!--left us all!----'

Shocked, yet nearly incredulous, he insisted upon looking at her: her

countenance impelled belief. The woe it expressed could be excited by

nothing less than the deprivation of every worldly expectation, and a

single glance was an answer to a thousand interrogatories.

Mr. Tyrold now sat down, with an air between calmness and despondence,

saying, 'And how has this come to pass?'

Again she got behind him, and in a voice scarce audible, said, Eugenia

would, the next morning, explain all.

'Very well, I will wait;' he quietly, but with palpably stifled

emotions, answered: 'Go, my love, go to Lavinia; open to her your heart;

you will find consolation in her kindness. My own, I confess, is now

weighed down with sorrow! this last and unexpected stroke will demand

some time, some solitude, to be yielded to as it ought.' He then held

out to her his hand, which she could scarcely approach from trembling,

and scarcely kiss for weeping, and added: 'I know what you feel for

me--and know, too, that my loss to yours is nothing,--for yours is not

to be estimated! you are young, however, and, with yourself, it may pass

away ... but your mother--my heart, Camilla, is rent for your

unfortunate mother!'

He then embraced her, called Lavinia, and retired for the night.

Terribly it passed with them all.

The next morning, before they assembled to breakfast, Eugenia was in the

chamber of Camilla.

She entered with a bright beam upon her countenance, which, in defiance

of the ravaging distemper that had altered her, gave it an expression

almost celestial. It was the pure emanation of virtue, of disinterested,

of even heroic virtue. 'Camilla!' she cried, 'all is settled with my

uncle! Indiana ... you will not wonder--consents; and already this

morning I have written to Mr. Mel....'

With all her exaltation, her voice faltered at the name, and, with a

faint smile, but deep blush, she called for the congratulations of her

sister upon her speedy success.

'Ah, far more than my congratulations, my esteem, my veneration is

yours, dear and generous Eugenia! true daughter of my mother! and

proudest recompence of my father!'

She was not sufficiently serene to give any particulars of the

transaction; and Mr. Tyrold soon sent for her to his room.

Camilla, trembling and hanging over her, said: 'You will do for me, I

know better than I could do for myself:--but spare poor Lionel--and be

just to Edgar!'--

Eugenia strictly obeyed: in sparing Lionel she spared also her father,

whom his highly unfeeling behaviour with regard to Sir Sedley would yet

further have incensed and grieved; and, in doing justice to Edgar, she

flattered herself she prevented an alienation from one yet destined to

be nearly allied to him, since time, she still hoped, would effect the

reconciliation of Camilla with the youth whom--next to Melmond--she

thought the most amiable upon earth.

Mr. Tyrold, by this means, gathered no further intelligence than that

they had parted upon some mutual, though slight dissatisfaction. He

hoped, therefore, with Eugenia, they might soon meet again; and

resolved, till he could better judge what might prove the event, to keep

this distress from Sir Hugh.

He then met Camilla with the most consolatory kindness; yet would not

trust her ardent mind with the hopes he cherished himself, dreading

infinitely more to give than to receive disappointment. He blamed her

for admitting any doubts of the true regard of Edgar, in whom promise

was always short of performance, and whom he conceived displeased by

unjust suspicions, or offended by undue expectations of professions,

which the very sincerity of his rational and manly character prevented

him from making.

Camilla heard in silence suggestions she could not answer, without

relating the history of Sir Sedley: 'No, Lionel, no!' she said to

herself, 'I will not now betray you! I have lost all!--and now the loss

to me is irreparable, shall I blast you yet further to my poor father,

whose deepest sigh is already for your misconduct?'

The story of Eugenia herself he learnt with true admiration, and gave to

her magnanimity its dearest mede, in her mother's promised, and his own

immediate approbation.

But Sir Hugh, notwithstanding all Eugenia could urge in favour of

Melmond, had heard her account with grief and resentment. All, however,

being actually ready for the double wedding, he could not, he said,

answer to his conscience doing so much for the rest, and refusing the

same for Indiana, whom he called upon to accept or reject the

preparations made for her cousin.

Indiana stood fluttering for a few minutes between the exultation of

being the first bride, and the mortification of marrying a man without

fortune or title. But the observation of Sir Hugh, upon the oddity of

her marrying the last, she was piqued with a most earnest ambition to

reverse. Nor did Melmond himself go for nothing in this affair, as all

she had of heart he had been the first to touch.

She retired for a short conference with Miss Margland, who was nearly in

an equal dilemma, from unwillingness to dispose of her beautiful pupil

without a title, and from eagerness to quit Cleves, which she thought a

convent for dullness, and a prison for confinement. Melmond had strongly

in his favour the received maxim amongst match-makers, that a young

lady without fortune has a less and less chance of getting off upon

every public appearance, which they call a public failure: their joint

deliberations were, however, interrupted by an abrupt intrusion of Molly

Mill, who announced she had just heard that Miss Dennel was going to be

married.

This information ended the discussion. The disgrace of a bridal

appearance anticipated in the neighbourhood by such a chit, made Indiana

hastily run down stairs, and tell her uncle that the merit of Melmond

determined her to refuse every body for his sake.

A man and horse, therefore, at break of day the next morning, was sent

off by Eugenia to Southampton with these words:

_To_ FREDERIC MELMOND, _Esq._;

You will be welcome, Sir, at Cleves, where you will forget, I hope,

every painful sensation, in the happiness which awaits you, and

dismiss all retrospection, to return with sincerity the serene

friendship of

EUGENIA TYROLD.

Mr. Tyrold now visited Cleves with only his younger daughter, and

excused the non-appearance there, for the present, of Camilla;

acknowledging that some peculiar incidents, which he could not yet

explain, kept Mandlebert away, and must postpone the celebration of the

marriage.

The vexation this gave Sir Hugh, redoubled his anxiety to break to him

the evil by degrees, if to break it to him at all should become

indispensable.

CHAPTER VIII

_A Hint for Debtors_

Mr. Tyrold was well aware that to keep from Sir Hugh the affliction of

Camilla, he must keep from him Camilla herself: for though her sighs she

could suppress, and her tears disperse, her voice had lost its tone, her

countenance its gaiety; her eyes no longer sparkled, her very smiles

betrayed anguish. He was the last to wonder at her sufferings, for Edgar

was nearly as dear to him as herself; but he knew not, that, added to

this annihilation of happiness, her peace was consumed by her secret

knowledge of the blows yet impending for himself and for her uncle.

Concealment, always abhorrent to her nature, had, till now, been unknown

even to her thoughts; and its weight, from a species of culpability that

seemed attached to its practice, was, at times, more dreadful to bear

than the loss even of Edgar himself. The latter blackened every prospect

of felicity; but the former, still more tremendous to the pure

principles in which she had been educated, seemed to strike even at her

innocence. The first wish of an ingenuous mind is to anticipate even

enquiry; the feeling, therefore, that most heavily weighs it down, is

any fear of detection.

While they were at breakfast the following morning, the servant brought

in the name of Dr. Marchmont.

Camilla felt nearly fainting. Why he was come--whence--whether Edgar

accompanied him--or sent by him any message--whether he were returned to

Beech Park--or sailed for the Continent----were doubts that pressed so

fast, and so vehemently upon her mind, that she feared to quit the room

lest she should meet Edgar in the passage, and feared still more to

continue in it, lest Dr. Marchmont should enter without him. Mr. Tyrold,

who participated in all her feelings, and shared the same ideas, gently

committed her to Lavinia, and went into his study to the doctor.

His own illusion was there quickly destroyed. The looks of Dr. Marchmont

boded nothing that was happy. They wore not their customary expression.

The gravity of Mr. Tyrold shewed a mind prepared for ill news, if not

already oppressed with it, and the doctor, after a few general speeches,

delivered the letter from Edgar.

Mr. Tyrold received it with a secret shuddering: 'Where,' he said, 'is

Mandlebert at present?'

'I believe, by this time--at the Hague.'

This sentence, with the grieved, yet still air and tone of voice which

accompanied it, was death at once to every flattering hope: he

immediately read the letter, which, conceived in the tenderest terms of

reverence and affection, took a short and simple, though touchingly

respectful leave of the purposed connection, and demolished at once

every distant view of future conciliation.

He hung his head a moment, and sighed from the bottom of his heart; but

the resignation which he summoned upon every sorrow was never deaf to

his call, and when he had secretly ejaculated a short and silent prayer

for fortitude to his beloved wife, he turned calmly to the doctor, and

began conversing upon other affairs.

Dr. Marchmont presumed not to manifest the commiseration with which he

was filled. He saw the true Christian, enduring with humility

misfortune, and the respectable parent supporting the dignity of his

daughter by his own. To the first character, complaint was forbidden; to

the second, it would have been degrading. He looked at him with

veneration, but to spare further useless and painful efforts, soon took

leave.

Mr. Tyrold, shaking hands with him, said, as they were parting, 'when

you write to Mandlebert, assure him of my constant affection. The world,

Dr. Marchmont is too full of real evil, for me at least, to cause one

moment of unnecessary uneasiness to any of its poor pilgrims. 'Tis

strange, my dear doctor, this is not more generally considered, since

the advantage would be so reciprocal from man to man. But wrapt up in

our own short moment, we forget our neighbour's long hour! and existence

is ultimately embittered to all, by the refined susceptibility for

ourselves that monopolizes our feelings.'

Doctor Marchmont, who in this last sentence construed a slight

reflection upon Edgar, expressively answered, 'Our sensibility for

others is not always dormant, because not apparent. How much of worth

and excellence may two characters separately possess, where yet there

are disuniting particles which impede their harmonizing with each

other!'

Mr. Tyrold, powerfully struck, saw now the general nature of the

conceptions which had caused this lamented breach. He could not concur,

but he would not attempt to controvert: opinion in this case must have

even the precedence of justice. If Edgar thought his daughter of a

disposition with which his own could not sympathise, it were vain to

expatiate upon her virtues or her sweetness; that one doubt previously

taken might mar their assimilating efficacy. Comprehending, therefore,

the cause at large, he desired no detail; the words of Dr. Marchmont,

though decisive, were not offensive, and they parted perfect friends,

each perceiving, yet forgiving, that each cast upon the other the error

of false reasoning; Edgar to the one, and Camilla to the other,

appearing faultless in the separation.

But not in the tasks which succeeded were their offices as easily to be

compared. Dr. Marchmont wrote to Edgar that all was quietly

relinquished, and his measures were honourably acquitted; while Mr.

Tyrold, shut up in his study, spent there some of the severest minutes

of his life, in struggling for the equanimity he coveted to pronounce to

his daughter this last doom. Pity for her suspence accelerated his

efforts, and he then sent for her down stairs.

His utmost composure, in such an interview, was highly necessary for

both. The pale and trembling Camilla advanced with downcast eyes; but

when he took her in his arms, and kissed her, a sudden ray of hope shot

across her quick imagination, and she looked up: an instant was now

sufficient to rectify her mistake. The tenderness of her father wore no

air of congratulation, it was the mere offspring of compassion, and the

woe with which it was mixt, though mild, though patient, was too potent

to require words for explanation.

The glance sufficed; her head dropt, her tears in torrents bathed his

bosom; and she retired to Lavinia while yet neither of them had spoken.

Mr. Tyrold, contented with virtuous exertions, demanded not

impossibilities; he left to nature that first grief which too early

exhortation or controul rather inflames than appeases. He then brought

her back to his apartment.

He conjured her, there, to remember that she grieved not alone; that

where the tears flowed not so fast from the eyes, the sources were not

dry whence they sprung, and that bridled sorrow was sometimes the most

suffering.

'Alas, my dearest father, to think you mourn too--and for me!--will that

lessen what I feel?'

'Yes, my dear child, by a generous duty it will point out to watch that

the excess of one affliction involve you not in another.'

'What a motive,' she answered, 'for exertion! If the smallest part of

your happiness--of my honoured mother's--depends upon mine, I shall be

unhappy, I think, no more!'

A gush of tears ill accorded with this fond declaration; but Mr. Tyrold,

without noticing them, kindly replied, 'Let your filial affection, my

child, check the inordinacy of your affliction, and I will accept with

pleasure for your virtuous mother, and with thanks for myself, the

exertion which, beginning for our sakes, may lead you to that self

denial which is the parent of our best human actions, and approximates

us the most to what is divine.'

Broken-hearted as was Camilla, her sorrows would, at least apparently,

have abated from consolation so tender, if all she felt had been known;

if no latent and lurking evil had hung upon her spirits, defeating all

argument, and blighting all comfort, by the cruel consciousness of

concealed mischief, which while incessantly she studied the best moment

for revealing, accident might prematurely betray.

Upon this subject her thoughts were unremittingly bent, till, in a few

days time, she received a letter from Mrs. Mittin, informing her she had

just seen the money-lender, Mr. Clykes, who, finding her so much under

age, would not undertake the business for less than ten per cent, nor

without a free premium of at least twenty pounds.

The latter demand, so entirely out of her power to grant, gave to her

the mental strength she had yet sought in vain; and determining to end

this baneful secret, she seized her own first moment of emotion to

relate to her father the whole of her distresses, and cast herself upon

his mercy.

I shall be happier, she cried, much happier, as, with tottering steps,

she hurried to the study; he will be lenient, I know;--and even if not,

what displeasure can I incur so severe as the eternal apprehension of

doing wrong?

But her plan, though well formed, had fixed upon an ill-timed moment for

its execution. She entered the room with an agitation which rather

sought than shunned remark, that some enquiry might make an opening for

her confession: but Mr. Tyrold was intently reading a letter, and

examining some papers, from which he raised not his eyes at her

approach. She stood fearfully before him till he had done; but then,

still not looking up, he leant his head upon his hand, with a

countenance so disturbed, that, alarmed from her design, by the

apprehension he had received some ill tidings from Lisbon, she asked, in

a faint voice, if the foreign post were come in?

'I hope not!' he answered: 'I should look with pain, at this moment,

upon the hand of your unhappy mother!'

Camilla, affrighted, knew not now what to conjecture; but gliding into

her pocket the letter of Mrs. Mittin, stood suspended from her purpose.

'What a reception,' he presently added, 'is preparing for that noblest

of women when her exile may end! That epoch, to which I have looked

forward as the brightener of my every view upon earth--how is it now

clouded!'

Giving her, then, the letter and papers; 'The son,' he said, 'who once I

had hoped would prove the guardian of his sisters, the honour of his

mother's days, the future prop of my own--See, Camilla, on how sandy a

foundation mortal man builds mortal hopes!'

The letter was from a very respectable tradesman, containing a complaint

that, for the three years Lionel had been at the University, he had

never paid one bill, though he continually ordered new articles: and

begging Mr. Tyrold would have the goodness to settle the accounts he

enclosed; the young gentleman, after fixing a day for payment, having

suddenly absconded without notice to any one.

'The sum, you see,' continued Mr. Tyrold, 'amounts to one hundred and

seventy-one pounds; a sum, for my income, enormous. The allowance I made

this cruel boy, was not only adequate to all his proper wants, and

reasonable desires, but all I could afford without distressing myself,

or injuring my other children: yet it has served him, I imagine, but for

pocket money! The immense sums he has extorted from both his uncles,

must have been swallowed up at a gaming table. Into what wretched

courses has he run! These bills, large as they are, I regard but as

forerunners of others; all he has received he has squandered upon his

vices, and to-morrow, and the next day, and the next, I may expect an

encreasing list of his debts, from his hatter, his hosier, his

shoe-maker, his taylor,--and whoever he has employed.

Camilla, overwhelmed with internal shame, yet more powerful than grief

itself, stood motionless. These expences appeared but like a second part

of her own, with her milliner, her jeweller, and her haberdasher; which

now seemed to herself not less wanton in extravagance.

Surprised by her entire silence, Mr. Tyrold looked up. Her cheeks,

rather livid than pale, and the deep dismay of her countenance,

extremely affected him. The kindness of his embraces relieved her by

melting her into tears, though the speech which accompanied them was, to

her consciousness, but reproach: 'Let not your sisterly feelings thus

subdue you, my dearest Camilla. Be comforted that you have given us no

affliction yourself, save what we must feel for your own undeservedly

altered prospects. No unthinking imprudence, no unfeeling selfishness,

has ever, for an instant, driven from your thoughts what you owe to your

duty, or weakened your pleasure in every endearing filial tie. Let this

cheer you, my child; and let us all try to submit calmly to our general

disappointment.'

Praise thus ill-timed, rather probed than healed her wounds. Am I

punished? am I punished? She internally exclaimed; but could not bear to

meet the eyes of her father, whose indulgence she felt as if abusing,

and whose good opinion seemed now but a delusion. Again, he made her

over to the gentle Lavinia for comfort, and fearing serious ill effects

from added misery, exerted himself, from this time, to appear cheerful

when she was present.

His predictions failed not to be fulfilled: the application made by one

creditor, soon reached every other, and urged similar measures. Bills,

therefore, came in daily, with petitions for payment; and as Lionel

still wanted a month or two of being of age, his creditors depended with

confidence upon the responsibility of his father.