_Louisa Clifton to Anna Wenbourne St. Ives_
_Rose-Bank_
An odd circumstance, my dear Anna, has happened here, of which I think
it necessary to inform you immediately.
Honest Aby has again been with us. He came and enquired for my mamma.
Disappointment, chagrin, and ill-humour were broadly legible on his
countenance. He talked in his odd dialect; which I cannot remember
accurately enough to repeat; said he had just received a letter from
Sir Arthur, from which he understood something that to him appeared to
be matter of great surprise; which was that Sir Arthur intended to
bestow your hand on my brother; and, in a half submissive half
authoritative way, wanted to know whether it were true; and whether my
mamma knew any thing of the business.
She acknowledged that such were the intentions of the two families: and
he answered that, for his part, he thought they might as well think no
more of the matter; muttering the words _wherewithal_, and _coal_.
Mrs. Clifton desired him to be explicit; but he continued in half
sentences, repeating that the ready was not so easy to be had, and
rhino was a scarce commodity. Neither could he tell what might happen.
There were foreclosures, and docking of entails, and many things to be
settled; and cash must come from where it could be got; but not from
him, he believed.
My mamma, mild as she is, was obliged to check his growling inclination
to be insolent; and then he had his whole bead-roll of fine words, with
which he has so often tickled the ear of Sir Arthur, at his tongue's
end; and ran them off with his usual gracious, and very humble obedient
volubility.
Had I not received your last,[1] his discourse would have been more
enigmatical to me: but, as it was, I understood him tolerably well. The
bitterness of gall is at his heart. The greatness of his visible
disappointment shows how high his hopes had been raised; and I suspect
he is determined they shall not be very easily pulled down. For, after
having acted all his abject humility, he could not forbear again to
murmur over his threats, as he was leaving the room; and there was an
air of self-sufficient confidence so apparent in his face that, I am
persuaded, the obstacles he has the power to raise are much greater
than you, my dear friend, have ever supposed.
[Footnote 1: Letter LVIII: whence we may conclude that the letter
immediately preceding this was not come to hand.]
I cannot describe to you, my best Anna, how deeply my mind is agitated,
at times, concerning this marriage. I censure myself very severely, for
seeming to indulge improper fears, one minute; and perhaps, the next,
am more angry with myself for not disinterestedly pleading the cause of
Frank Henley. If there could be a miracle in nature, I should think his
being the son of _honest Aby_ one. What can I say? My doubts are too
mighty for me! I know not how, or what, to advise. The reasons you have
urged are indeed weighty: yet they have never made an impression so
deep upon my mind, as not to take flight, and leave their opponent
arguments in some sort the victors.
Nor can I be more angry with myself, on any occasion, than I am at this
moment. I distress and trouble you with my fears, when I ought to keep
them to myself; unless I could determine whether they were or were not
well founded. They are even increased by the recollection that, in all
probability, Clifton could now much less bear disappointment than the
strong-minded and generous Frank.
Then, my Anna! Should ill happen to her, from an undertaking the motive
of which is so worthy, so dignified, what should I say? Should
misfortune come, how could I excuse myself, for having neglected to
dissuade, and to urge such reasons as have appeared to me the
strongest? What could I say, but repeat the diffidence of my mind, the
want of full and satisfactory conviction, and the fear of mistake?
The only buckler, with which I oppose these insurrections of reason, is
the omnipotence of truth, and Anna St. Ives! And, when I recollect
this, my terrors are hushed, and I think her sure of conquest.
The very affirmative tokens which Aby displayed of his own consequence,
convince me however that there will be delay. How Clifton will submit
to it is to be seen. His letter to my mamma is all impatience, and
expectation. But I have talked with her, and she appears to be
determined that nothing can be done, till Sir Arthur is ready to pay
the sum he proposed.
My Anna will not be very ready to attribute this to avarice; for no one
can think more highly of her than Mrs. Clifton does. But my father, at
his death, left the family in absolute distress, from which she has
retrieved it, by her economy and good sense: retrieved it, that is, in
part; for there are still many heavy debts to pay, and mortgages to be
cleared. Her plans have been severe; and of long continuance; deeply
thought on, and perseveringly executed. To convince her that any part
of them ought to be relinquished scarcely appears possible. Nor am I
sure that, obliged as we are to conform to the present system of
things, they are not all just. Beside which she is not in a state of
health to support the fatigue of argument, or the pain of
contradiction.
She likewise considers Sir Arthur as a weak old gentleman; who, if this
opportunity were abandoned, would perhaps never have the spirit or the
power, hereafter, to do his daughter justice: and she thinks that, for
your sake, she ought not in the least to relax. Should you, my dear
Anna, reason differently, I am still certain that you will reason
charitably.
With respect to my brother, it may perhaps be fortunate, should the
suspense afford you time for further trials; and we may have cause to
rejoice at the accident, which had checked the precipitate impatience
of passion.
Though I expect a letter from you by tomorrow's post, I think this of
too much consequence to suffer any delay: I shall therefore seal it,
and send it off immediately.
Heaven bless and eternally preserve my dear Anna!