CHAPTER x. -- A GAMESTER'S CONSCIENCE.

From this soothing prospect, Cecilia was presently disturbed by Mrs

Harrel's maid, who came to entreat she would hasten to her lady, whom

she feared was going into fits.

Cecilia flew to her immediately, and found her in the most violent

affliction. She used every kind effort in her power to quiet and console

her, but it was not without the utmost difficulty she could sob out the

cause of this fresh sorrow, which indeed was not trifling. Mr Harrel,

she said, had told her he could not possibly raise money even for his

travelling expences, without risking a discovery of his project, and

being seized by his creditors; he had therefore charged her, through

her brother or her friend, to procure for him £3000, as less would not

suffice to maintain them while abroad, and he knew no method by which

he could have any remittances without danger. And, when she hesitated in

her compliance, he furiously accused her of having brought on all this

distress by her negligence and want of management, and declared that if

she did not get the money, she would only be served as she merited by

starving in a foreign gaol, which he swore would be the fate of them

both.

The horror and indignation with which Cecilia heard this account were

unspeakable. She saw evidently that she was again to be played upon by

terror and distress, and the cautions and opinions of Mr Monckton no

longer appeared overstrained; one year's income was already demanded,

the annuity and the country house might next be required; she rejoiced,

however, that thus wisely forewarned, she was not liable to surprise,

and she determined, be their entreaties or representations what they

might, to be immovably steady in her purpose of leaving them the next

morning.

Yet she could not but grieve at suffering the whole burthen of this

clamorous imposition to fall upon the soft-hearted Mr Arnott, whose

inability to resist solicitation made him so unequal to sustaining its

weight; but when Mrs Harrel was again able to go on with her account,

she heard, to her infinite surprise, that all application to her brother

had proved fruitless. “He will not hear me,” continued Mrs Harrel, “and

he never was deaf to me before! so now I have lost my only and last

resource, my brother himself gives me up, and there is no one else upon

earth who will assist me!”

“With pleasure, with readiness, with joy,” cried Cecilia, “should you

find assistance from me, were it to you alone it were given; but to

supply fuel for the very fire that is consuming you--no, no, my whole

heart is hardened against gaming and gamesters, and neither now nor ever

will I suffer any consideration to soften me in their favour.”

Mrs Harrel only answered by tears and lamentations; and Cecilia, whose

justice shut not out compassion, having now declared her purposed

firmness, again attempted to sooth her, entreating her not to give way

to such immoderate grief, since better prospects might arise from

the very gloom now before her, and a short time spent in solitude and

oeconomy, might enable her to return to her native land with recovered

happiness.

“No, I shall never return!” cried she, weeping, “I shall die, I shall

break my heart before I have been banished a month! Oh Miss Beverley,

how happy are you! able to stay where you please,--rich,--rolling in

wealth which you do not want,--of which had we but one year's income

only, all this misery would be over, and we might stay in our dear,

dear, country!”

Cecilia, struck by a hint that so nearly bordered upon reproach,

and offended by seeing the impossibility of ever doing enough, while

anything remained to be done, forbore not without difficulty enquiring

what next was expected from her, and whether any part of her fortune

might be guarded, without giving room for some censure! but the deep

affliction of Mrs Harrel soon removed her resentment, and scarcely

thinking her, while in a state of such wretchedness, answerable for what

she said, after a little recollection, she mildly replied “As affluence

is all comparative, you may at present think I have more than my share;

but the time is only this moment past, when your own situation seemed as

subject to the envy of others as mine may be now. My future destiny is

yet undetermined, and the occasion I may have for my fortune is unknown

to myself; but whether I possess it in peace or in turbulence, whether

it proves to me a blessing or an injury, so long as I can call it my

own, I shall always remember with alacrity the claim upon that and upon

me which early friendship has so justly given Mrs Harrel. Yet permit

me, at the same time, to add, that I do not hold myself so entirely

independent as you may probably suppose me. I have not, it is true, any

Relations to call me to account, but respect for their memory supplies

the place of their authority, and I cannot, in the distribution of the

fortune which has devolved to me, forbear sometimes considering how they

would have wished it should be spent, and always remembering that what

was acquired by industry and labour, should never be dissipated in

idleness and vanity. Forgive me for thus speaking to the point; you will

not find me less friendly to yourself, for this frankness with respect

to your situation.”

Tears were again the only answer of Mrs Harrel; yet Cecilia, who pitied

the weakness of her mind, stayed by her with the most patient kindness

till the servants announced dinner. She then declared she would not go

down stairs; but Cecilia so strongly represented the danger of awakening

suspicion in the servants, that she at last prevailed with her to make

her appearance.

Mr Harrel was already in the parlour, and enquiring for Mr Arnott, but

was told by the servants he had sent word he had another engagement. Sir

Robert Floyer also kept away, and, for the first time since her arrival

in town, Cecilia dined with no other company than the master and

mistress of the house.

Mrs Harrel could eat nothing; Cecilia, merely to avoid creating surprise

in the servants, forbore following her example; but Mr Harrel ate much

as usual, talked all dinner-time, was extremely civil to Cecilia, and

discovered not by his manners the least alteration in his affairs.

When the servants were gone, he desired his wife to step for a moment

with him into the library. They soon returned, and then Mr Harrel,

after walking in a disordered manner about the room, rang the bell, and

ordered his hat and cane, and as he took them, said “If this fails--”

and, stopping short, without speaking to his wife, or even bowing to

Cecilia, he hastily went out of the house.

Mrs Harrel told Cecilia that he had merely called her to know the event

of her two petitions, and had heard her double failure in total silence.

Whither he was now gone it was not easy to conjecture, nor what was the

new resource which he still seemed to think worth trying; but the manner

of his quitting the house, and the threat implied by if this fails,

contributed not to lessen the grief of Mrs Harrel, and gave to Cecilia

herself the utmost alarm.

They continued together till tea-time, the servants having been ordered

to admit no company. Mr Harrel himself then returned, and returned, to

the amazement of Cecilia, accompanied by Mr Marriot.

He presented that young man to both the ladies as a gentleman whose

acquaintance and friendship he was very desirous to cultivate. Mrs

Harrel, too much absorbed in her own affairs to care about any other,

saw his entrance with a momentary surprise, and then thought of it no

more; but it was not so with Cecilia, whose better understanding led her

to deeper reflection.

Even the visits of Mr Marriot but a few weeks since Mr Harrel had

prohibited, yet he now introduced him into his house with particular

distinction; he came back too himself in admirable spirits, enlivened

in his countenance, and restored to his good humour. A change so

extraordinary both in conduct and disposition convinced her that some

change no less extra-ordinary of circumstance must previously have

happened; what that might be it was not possible for her to divine, but

the lessons she had received from Mr Monckton led her to suspicions of

the darkest kind.

Every part of his behaviour served still further to confirm them; he was

civil even to excess to Mr Marriot; he gave orders aloud not to be at

home to Sir Robert Floyer; he made his court to Cecilia with unusual

assiduity, and he took every method in his power to procure opportunity

to her admirer of addressing and approaching her.

The young man, who seemed enamoured even to madness, could scarce

refrain not merely from prostration to the object of his passion, but

to Mr Harrel himself for permitting him to see her. Cecilia, who not

without some concern perceived a fondness so fruitless, and who knew

not by what arts or with what views Mr Harrel might think proper to

encourage it, determined to take all the means that were in her own

power towards giving it immediate control. She behaved, therefore,

with the utmost reserve, and the moment tea was over, though earnestly

entreated to remain with them, she retired to her own room, without

making any other apology than coldly saying she could not stay.

In about an hour Mrs Harrel ran up stairs to her.

“Oh Miss Beverley,” she cried, “a little respite is now granted me! Mr

Harrel says he shall stay another day; he says, too, one single thousand

pound would now make him a new man.”

Cecilia returned no answer; she conjectured some new deceit was in

agitation to raise money, and she feared Mr Marriot was the next dupe

to be played upon. Mrs Harrel, therefore, with a look of the utmost

disappointment, left her, saying she would send for her brother, and

once more try if he had yet any remaining regard for her.

Cecilia rested quiet till eleven o'clock, when she was summoned to

supper; she found Mr Marriot still the only guest, and that Mr Arnott

made not his appearance.

She now resolved to publish her resolution of going the next morning

to St James's-square. As soon, therefore, as the servants withdrew, she

enquired of Mr Harrel if he had any commands with Mr or Mrs Delvile, as

she should see them the next morning, and purposed to spend some time

with them.

Mr Harrel, with a look of much alarm, asked if she meant the whole day.

Many days, she answered, and probably some months.

Mrs Harrel exclaimed her surprise aloud, and Mr Harrel looked aghast;

while his new young friend cast upon him a glance of reproach and

resentment, which fully convinced Cecilia he imagined he had procured

himself a title to an easiness of intercourse and frequency of meeting

which this intelligence destroyed. Cecilia, thinking after all that had

passed, no other ceremony on her part was necessary but that of simply

speaking her intention, then arose and returned to her own room.

She acquainted her maid that she was going to make a visit to Mrs

Delvile, and gave her directions about packing up her clothes, and

sending for a man in the morning to take care of her books.

This employment was soon interrupted by the entrance of Mrs Harrel, who

desiring to speak with her alone, when the maid was gone, said “O Miss

Beverley, can you indeed be so barbarous as to leave me?”

“I entreat you, Mrs Harrel,” answered Cecilia, “to save both yourself

and me any further discussions. I have delayed this removal very long,

and I can now delay it no longer.”

Mrs Harrel then flung herself upon a chair in the bitterest sorrow,

declaring she was utterly undone; that Mr Harrel had declared he could

not stay even an hour in England if she was not in his house; that he

had already had a violent quarrel with Mr Marriot upon the subject; and

that her brother, though she had sent him the most earnest entreaties,

would not come near her.

Cecilia, tired of vain attempts to offer comfort, now urged the warmest

expostulations against her opposition, strongly representing the real

necessity of her going abroad, and the unpardonable weakness of wishing

to continue such a life as she now led, adding debt to debt, and

hoarding distress upon distress.

Mrs Harrel then, though rather from compulsion than conviction, declared

she would agree to go, if she had not a dread of ill usage; but Mr

Harrel, she said, had behaved to her with the utmost brutality, calling

her the cause of his ruin, and threatening that if she procured not this

thousand pound before the ensuing evening, she should be treated as she

deserved for her extravagance and folly.

“Does he think, then,” said Cecilia with the utmost indignation, “that

I am to be frightened through your fears into what compliances he

pleases?”

“O no,” cried Mrs Harrel, “no; his expectations are all from my brother.

He surely thought that when I supplicated and pleaded to him, he would

do what I wished, for so he always did formerly, and so once again I am

sure he would do now, could I but make him come to me, and tell him

how I am used, and tell him that if Mr Harrel takes me abroad in this

humour, I verily think in his rage he will half murder me.”

Cecilia, who well knew she was herself the real cause of Mr Arnott's

resistance, now felt her resolution waver, internally reproaching

herself with the sufferings of his sister; alarmed, however, for her own

constancy, she earnestly besought Mrs Harrel to go and compose herself

for the night, and promised to deliberate what could be done for her

before morning.

Mrs Harrel complied; but scarce was her own rest more broken than

that of Cecilia, who, though extremely fatigued with a whole night's

watching, was so perturbed in her mind she could not close her eyes. Mrs

Harrel was her earliest, and had once been her dearest friend; she had

deprived her by her own advice of her customary refuge in her brother;

to refuse, therefore, assistance to her seemed cruelty, though to deny

it to Mr Harrel was justice; she endeavoured, therefore, to make a

compromise between her judgment and compassion, by resolving that

though she would grant nothing further to Mr Harrel while he remained in

London, she would contribute from time to time both to his necessities

and comfort, when once he was established elsewhere upon some plan of

prudence and economy.

CHAPTER xi. -- A PERSECUTION.

The next morning by five o'clock Mrs Harrel came into Cecilia's room

to know the result of her deliberation; and Cecilia, with that graceful

readiness which accompanied all her kind offices, instantly assured her

the thousand pound should be her own, if she would consent to seek some

quiet retreat, and receive it in small sums, of fifty or one hundred

pounds at a time, which should be carefully transmitted, and which,

by being delivered to herself, might secure better treatment from Mr

Harrel, and be a motive to revive his care and affection.

She flew, much delighted, with this proposal to her husband; but

presently, and with a dejected look, returning, said Mr Harrel protested

he could not possibly set out without first receiving the money. “I

shall go myself, therefore,” said she, “to my brother after breakfast,

for he will not, I see, unkind as he is grown, come to me; and if I do

not succeed with him, I believe I shall never come back!”

To this Cecilia, offended and disappointed, answered “I am sorry for Mr

Arnott, but for myself I have done!”

Mrs Harrel then left her, and she arose to make immediate preparations

for her removal to St James's-square, whither, with all the speed in her

power, she sent her books, her trunks, and all that belonged to her.

When she was summoned down stairs, she found, for the first time,

Mr Harrel breakfasting at the same table with his wife; they seemed

mutually out of humour and comfortless, nothing hardly was spoken, and

little was swallowed; Mr Harrel, however, was civil, but his wife was

totally silent, and Cecilia the whole time was planning how to take her

leave.

When the tea things were removed, Mr Harrel said, “You have not, I hope,

Miss Beverley, quite determined upon this strange scheme?”

“Indeed I have, Sir,” she answered, “and already I have sent my

clothes.”

At this information he seemed thunderstruck; but, after somewhat

recovering, said with much bitterness, “Well, madam, at least may I

request you will stay here till the evening?”

“No, Sir,” answered she coolly, “I am going instantly.”

“And will you not,” said he, with yet greater asperity, “amuse yourself

first with seeing bailiffs take possession of my house, and your friend

Priscilla follow me to jail?”

“Good God, Mr Harrel!” exclaimed Cecilia, with uplifted hands, “is this

a question, is this behaviour I have merited!”

“O no!” cried he with quickness, “should I once think that way--” then

rising and striking his forehead, he walked about the room.

Mrs Harrel arose too, and weeping violently went away.

“Will you at least,” said Cecilia, when she was gone, “till your affairs

are settled, leave Priscilla with me? When I go into my own house, she

shall accompany me, and mean time Mr Arnott's I am sure will gladly be

open to her.”

“No, no,” answered he, “she deserves no such indulgence; she has not any

reason to complain, she has been as negligent, as profuse, as expensive

as myself; she has practised neither oeconomy nor self-denial, she has

neither thought of me nor my affairs, nor is she now afflicted at any

thing but the loss of that affluence she has done her best towards

diminishing.

“All recrimination,” said Cecilia, “were vain, or what might not Mrs

Harrel urge in return! but let us not enlarge upon so ungrateful a

subject, the wisest and the happiest scheme now were mutually and kindly

to console each other.”

“Consolation and kindness,” cried he, with abruptness, “are out of the

question. I have ordered a post chaise to be here at night, and if

till then you will stay, I will promise to release you without further

petition if not, eternal destruction be my portion if I live to see the

scene which your removal will occasion!”

“My removal,” cried Cecilia, shuddering, “good heaven, and how can my

removal be of such dreadful consequence?”

“Ask me not,” cried he, fiercely, “questions or reasons now; the crisis

is at hand, and you will soon, happen what may, know all; mean time what

I have said is a fact, and immutable; and you must hasten my end, or

give me a chance for avoiding it, as you think fit. I scarce care at

this instant which way you decide; remember, however, all I ask of you

is to defer your departure; what else I have to hope is from Mr Arnott.”

He then left the room.

Cecilia now was again a coward! In vain she called to her support

the advice, the prophesies, the cautions of Mr Monckton, in vain she

recollected the impositions she had already seen practised, for neither

the warnings of her counsellor, nor the lessons of her own experience,

were proofs against the terrors which threats so desperate inspired; and

though more than once she determined to fly at all events from a tyranny

he had so little right to usurp, the mere remembrance of the words if

you stay not till night I will not live, robbed her of all courage; and

however long she had prepared herself for this very attack, when the

moment arrived, its power over her mind was too strong for resistance.

While this conflict between fear and resolution was still undecided, her

servant brought her the following letter from Mr Arnott.

To Miss Beverley, Portman-square.

June 13th, 1779.

MADAM,--Determined to obey those commands which you had the goodness

to honour me with, I have absented myself from town till Mr Harrel is

settled; for though I am as sensible of your wisdom as of your beauty,

I find myself too weak to bear the distress of my unhappy sister, and

therefore I run from the sight, nor shall any letter or message follow

me, unless it comes from Miss Beverley herself, lest she should in

future refuse the only favour I dare presume to solicit, that of

sometimes deigning to honour with her directions, the most humble and

devoted of her servants, J. ARNOTT.

In the midst of her apprehensions for herself and her own interest,

Cecilia could not forbear rejoicing that Mr Arnott, at least, had

escaped the present storm; yet she was certain it would fall the more

heavily upon herself; and dreaded the sight of Mrs Harrel after the

shock which this flight would occasion.

Her expectations were but too quickly fulfilled; Mrs Harrel in a short

time after rushed wildly into the room, calling out “My brother is gone!

he has left me for ever! Oh save me, Miss Beverley, save me from abuse

and insult!” And she wept with so much violence she could utter nothing

more.

Cecilia, quite tortured by this persecution, faintly asked what she

could do for her?

“Send,” cried she, “to my brother, and beseech him not to abandon me!

send to him, and conjure him to advance this thousand pound!--the chaise

is already ordered,--Mr Harrel is fixed upon going,--yet he says without

that money we must both starve in a strange land,--O send to my cruel

brother! he has left word that nothing must follow him that does not

come from you.”

“For the world, then,” cried Cecilia, “would I not baffle his

discretion! indeed you must submit to your fate, indeed Mrs Harrel you

must endeavour to bear it better.”

Mrs Harrel, shedding a flood of tears, declared she would try to follow

her advice, but again besought her in the utmost agony to send after

her brother, protesting she did not think even her life would be safe

in making so long a journey with Mr Harrel in his present state of mind;

his character, she said, was totally changed, his gaiety, good humour,

and sprightliness were turned into roughness and moroseness, and, since

his great losses at play, he was grown so fierce and furious, that to

oppose him even in a trifle, rendered him quite outrageous in passion.

Cecilia, though truly concerned, and almost melted, yet refused to

interfere with Mr Arnott, and even thought it but justice to acknowledge

she had advised his retreat.

“And can you have been so cruel?” cried Mrs Harrel, with still

encreasing violence of sorrow, “to rob me of my only friend, to deprive

me of my Brother's affection, at the very time I am forced out of the

kingdom, with a husband who is ready to murder me, and who says he hates

the sight of me, and all because I cannot get him this fatal, fatal

money!--O Miss Beverley, how could I have thought to have had such an

office from you?”

Cecilia was beginning a justification, when a message came from Mr

Harrel, desiring to see his wife immediately.

Mrs Harrel, in great terror, cast herself at Cecilia's feet, and

clinging to her knees, called out “I dare not go to him! I dare not go

to him! he wants to know my success, and when he hears my brother is run

away, I am sure he will kill me!--Oh Miss Beverley, how could you send

him away? how could you be so inhuman as to leave me to the rage of Mr

Harrel?”

Cecilia, distressed and trembling herself, conjured her to rise and

be consoled; but Mrs Harrel, weak and frightened, could only weep and

supplicate; “I don't ask you,” she cried, “to give the money yourself,

but only to send for my brother, that he may protect me, and beg Mr

Harrel not to treat me so cruelly,--consider but what a long, long

journey I am going to make! consider how often you used to say you would

love me for ever! consider you have robbed me of the tenderest brother

in the world!--Oh Miss Beverley, send for him back, or be a sister to me

yourself, and let not your poor Priscilla leave her native land without

help or pity!”

Cecilia, wholly overcome, now knelt too, and embracing her with tears,

said “Oh Priscilla, plead and reproach no more! what you wish shall be

yours,--I will send for your brother,--I will do what you please!”

“Now you are my friend indeed!” cried Mrs Harrel, “let me but see my

brother, and his heart will yield to my distress, and he will soften Mr

Harrel by giving his unhappy sister this parting bounty.”

Cecilia then took a pen in her hand to write to Mr Arnott; but struck

almost in the same moment with a notion of treachery in calling him from

a retreat which her own counsel made him seek, professedly to expose

him to a supplication which from his present situation might lead him

to ruin, she hastily flung it from her, and exclaimed “No, excellent Mr

Arnott, I will not so unworthily betray you!”

“And can you, Miss Beverley, can you at last,” cried Mrs Harrel, “be so

barbarous as to retract?”

“No, my poor Priscilla,” answered Cecilia, “I cannot so cruelly

disappoint you; my pity shall however make no sufferer but myself,--I

cannot send for Mr Arnott,--from me you must have the money, and may

it answer the purpose for which it is given, and restore to you the

tenderness of your husband, and the peace of your own heart!”

Priscilla, scarce waiting to thank her, flew with this intelligence to

Mr Harrel; who with the same impetuosity, scarce waiting to say he was

glad of it, ran himself to bring the Jew from whom the money was to

be procured. Every thing was soon settled, Cecilia had no time for

retracting, and repentance they had not the delicacy to regard; again,

therefore, she signed her name for paying the principal and interest of

another 1000l. within ten days after she was of age; and having

taken the money, she accompanied Mr and Mrs Harrel into another room.

Presenting it then with an affecting solemnity to Mrs Harrel, “accept,

Priscilla,” she cried, “this irrefragable mark of the sincerity of my

friendship; but suffer me at the same time to tell you, it is the

last to so considerable an amount I ever mean to offer; receive it,

therefore, with kindness, but use it with discretion.”

She then embraced her, and eager now to avoid acknowledgment, as before

she had been to escape importunities, she left them together.

The soothing recompense of succouring benevolence, followed not this

gift, nor made amends for this loss; perplexity and uneasiness, regret

and resentment, accompanied the donation, and rested upon her mind; she

feared she had done wrong; she was certain Mr Monckton would blame

her; he knew not the persecution she suffered, nor would he make any

allowance for the threats which alarmed, or the intreaties which melted

her.

Far other had been her feelings at the generosity she exerted for the

Hills; no doubts then tormented her, and no repentance embittered her

beneficence. Their worth was without suspicion, and their misfortunes

were not of their own seeking; the post in which they had been stationed

they had never deserted, and the poverty into which they had sunk was

accidental and unavoidable.

But here, every evil had been wantonly incurred by vanity and

licentiousness, and shamelessly followed by injustice and fraud; the

disturbance of her mind only increased by reflection, for when the

rights of the creditors with their injuries occurred to her, she

enquired of herself by what title or equity, she had so liberally

assisted Mr Harrel in eluding their claims, and flying the punishment

which the law would inflict.

Startled by this consideration, she most severely reproached herself for

a compliance of which she had so lightly weighed the consequences, and

thought with the utmost dismay, that while she had flattered herself

she was merely indulging the dictates of humanity, she might perhaps be

accused by the world as an abettor of guile and injustice.

“And yet,” she continued, “whom can I essentially have injured but

myself? would his creditors have been benefitted by my refusal? had

I braved the execution of his dreadful threat, and quitted his house

before I was wrought upon to assist him, would his suicide have lessened

their losses, or secured their demands? even if he had no intention but

to intimidate me, who will be wronged by my enabling him to go abroad,

or who would be better paid were he seized and confined? All that

remains of his shattered fortune may still be claimed, though I have

saved him from a lingering imprisonment, desperate for himself and his

wife, and useless for those he has plundered.”

And thus, now soothed by the purity of her intentions, and now uneasy

from the rectitude of her principles, she alternately rejoiced and

repined at what she had done.

At dinner Mr Harrel was all civility and good humour. He warmly thanked

Cecilia for the kindness she had shewn him, and gaily added, “You should

be absolved from all the mischief you may do for a twelvemonth to come,

in reward for the preservation from mischief which you have this day

effected.”

“The preservation,” said Cecilia, “will I hope be for many days. But

tell me, sir, exactly, at what time I may acquaint Mrs Delvile I shall

wait upon her?”

“Perhaps,” he answered, “by eight o'clock; perhaps by nine; you will not

mind half an hour?”

“Certainly not;” she answered, unwilling by disputing about a trifle

to diminish his satisfaction in her assistance. She wrote, therefore,

another note to Mrs Delvile, desiring she would not expect her till near

ten o'clock, and promising to account and apologize for these seeming

caprices when she had the honour of seeing her.

The rest of the afternoon she spent wholly in exhorting Mrs Harrel to

shew more fortitude, and conjuring her to study nothing while abroad

but oeconomy, prudence and housewifery; a lesson how hard for the

thoughtless and negligent Priscilla! she heard the advice with

repugnance, and only answered it with helpless complaints that she knew

not how to spend less money than she had always done.

After tea, Mr Harrel, still in high spirits, went out, entreating

Cecilia to stay with Priscilla till his return, which he promised should

be early.

Nine o'clock, however, came, and he did not appear; Cecilia then grew

anxious to keep her appointment with Mrs Delvile; but ten o'clock also

came, and still Mr Harrel was absent.

She then determined to wait no longer, and rang her bell for her servant

and chair; but when Mrs Harrel desired to be informed the moment that

Mr Harrel returned, the man said he had been come home more than half an

hour.

Much surprised, she enquired where he was.

“In his own room, madam, and gave orders not to be disturbed.”

Cecilia, who was not much pleased at this account, was easily persuaded

to stay a few minutes longer; and, fearing some new evil, she was going

to send him a message, by way of knowing how he was employed, when he

came himself into the room.

“Well, ladies,” he cried in a hurrying manner, “who is for Vauxhall?”

“Vauxhall!” repeated Mrs Harrel, while Cecilia, staring, perceived in

his face a look of perturbation that extremely alarmed her.

“Come, come,” he cried, “we have no time to lose. A hackney coach will

serve us; we won't wait for our own.”

“Have you then given up going abroad?” said Mrs Harrel.

“No, no; where can we go from half so well? let us live while we live! I

have ordered a chaise to be in waiting there. Come, let's be gone.”

“First,” said Cecilia, “let me wish you both good night.”

“Will you not go with me?” cried Mrs Harrel, “how can I go to Vauxhall

alone?”

“You are not alone,” answered she; “but if I go, how am I to return?”

“She shall return with you,” cried Mr Harrel, “if you desire it; you

shall return together.”

Mrs Harrel, starting up in rapture, called out “Oh Mr Harrel, will you

indeed leave me in England?”

“Yes,” answered he reproachfully, “if you will make a better friend than

you have made a wife, and if Miss Beverley is content to take charge of

you.”

“What can all this mean?” exclaimed Cecilia, “is it possible you can be

serious? Are you really going yourself, and will you suffer Mrs Harrel

to remain?”

“I am,” he answered, “and I will.”

Then ringing the bell, he ordered a hackney coach.

Mrs Harrel was scarce able to breathe for extacy, nor Cecilia for

amazement; while Mr Harrel, attending to neither of them, walked for

some time silently about the room.

“But how,” cried Cecilia at last, “can I possibly go? Mrs Delvile must

already be astonished at my delay, and if I disappoint her again she

will hardly receive me.”

“O make not any difficulties,” cried Mrs Harrel in an agony; “if Mr

Harrel will let me stay, sure you will not be so cruel as to oppose

him?”

“But why,” said Cecilia, “should either of us go to Vauxhall? surely

that is no place for a parting so melancholy.”

A servant then came in, and said the hackney coach was at the door.

Mr Harrel, starting at the sound, called out, “come, what do we wait

for? if we go not immediately, we may be prevented.”

Cecilia then again wished them good night, protesting she could fail Mrs

Delvile no longer.

Mrs Harrel, half wild at this refusal, conjured her in the most frantic

manner, to give way, exclaiming, “Oh cruel! cruel! to deny me this last

request! I will kneel to you day and night,” sinking upon the ground

before her, “and I will serve you as the humblest of your slaves, if you

will but be kind in this last instance, and save me from banishment and

misery!”

“Oh rise, Mrs Harrel,” cried Cecilia, ashamed of her prostration, and

shocked by her vehemence, “rise and let me rest!--it is painful to me

to refuse, but to comply for ever in defiance of my judgment--Oh Mrs

Harrel, I know no longer what is kind or what is cruel, nor have I known

for some time past right from wrong, nor good from evil!”

“Come,” cried Mr Harrel impetuously, “I wait not another minute!”

“Leave her then with me!” said Cecilia, “I will perform my promise, Mr

Arnott will I am sure hold his to be sacred, she shall now go with him,

she shall hereafter come to me,--leave her but behind, and depend upon

our care.”

“No, no,” cried he, with quickness, “I must take care of her myself. I

shall not carry her abroad with me, but the only legacy I can leave her,

is a warning which I hope she will remember for ever. You, however, need

not go.”

“What,” cried Mrs Harrel, “leave me at Vauxhall, and yet leave me

alone?”

“What of that?” cried he with fierceness, “do you not desire to be left?

have you any regard for me? or for any thing upon earth but yourself!

cease these vain clamours, and come, I insist upon it, this moment.”

And then, with a violent oath, he declared he would be detained no

longer, and approached in great rage to seize her; Mrs Harrel shrieked

aloud, and the terrified Cecilia exclaimed, “If indeed you are to part

to-night, part not thus dreadfully!--rise, Mrs Harrel, and comply!--be

reconciled, be kind to her, Mr Harrel!--and I will go with her

myself,--we will all go together!”

“And why,” cried Mr Harrel, more gently yet with the utmost emotion,

“why should you go!--you want no warning! you need no terror!--better

far had you fly us, and my wife when I am set out may find you.”

Mrs Harrel, however, suffered her not to recede; and Cecilia, though

half distracted by the scenes of horror and perplexity in which she was

perpetually engaged, ordered her servant to acquaint Mrs Delvile she was

again compelled to defer waiting upon her.

Mr Harrel then hurried them both into the coach, which he directed to

Vauxhall.

“Pray write to me when you are landed,” said Mrs Harrel, who now

released from her personal apprehensions, began to feel some for her

husband.

He made not any answer. She then asked to what part of France he meant

to go; but still he did not reply; and when she urged him by a third

question, he told her in a rage to torment him no more.

During the rest of the ride not another word was said; Mrs Harrel wept,

her husband guarded a gloomy silence, and Cecilia most unpleasantly

passed her time between anxious suspicions of some new scheme, and a

terrified wonder in what all these transactions would terminate.

CHAPTER xii. -- A MAN OF BUSINESS.

When they entered Vauxhall, Mr Harrel endeavoured to dismiss his

moroseness, and affecting his usual gaiety, struggled to recover his

spirits; but the effort was vain, he could neither talk nor look like

himself, and though from time to time he resumed his air of wonted

levity, he could not support it, but drooped and hung his head in

evident despondency.

He made them take several turns in the midst of the company, and walked

so fast that they could hardly keep pace with him, as if he hoped by

exercise to restore his vivacity; but every attempt failed, he sunk and

grew sadder, and muttering between his teeth “this is not to be borne!”

he hastily called to a waiter to bring him a bottle of champagne.

Of this he drank glass after glass, notwithstanding Cecilia, as Mrs

Harrel had not courage to speak, entreated him to forbear. He seemed,

however, not to hear her; but when he had drunk what he thought

necessary to revive him, he conveyed them into an unfrequented part

of the garden, and as soon as they were out of sight of all but a few

stragglers, he suddenly stopt, and, in great agitation, said, “my chaise

will soon be ready, and I shall take of you a long farewell!--all my

affairs are unpropitious to my speedy return;--the wine is now mounting

into my head, and perhaps I may not be able to say much by and by. I

fear I have been cruel to you, Priscilla, and I begin to wish I

had spared you this parting scene; yet let it not be banished your

remembrance, but think of it when you are tempted to such mad folly as

has ruined us.”

Mrs Harrel wept too much to make any answer; and turning from her to

Cecilia, “Oh Madam,” he cried, “to you, indeed, I dare not speak! I have

used you most unworthily, but I pay for it all! I ask you not to pity or

forgive me, I know it is impossible you should do either.”

“No,” cried the softened Cecilia, “it is not impossible, I do both at

this moment, and I hope--”

“Do not hope,” interrupted he, “be not so angelic, for I cannot bear it!

benevolence like yours should have fallen into worthier hands. But come,

let us return to the company. My head grows giddy, but my heart is still

heavy; I must make them more fit companions for each other.”

He would then have hurried them back; but Cecilia, endeavouring to stop

him, said “You do not mean, I hope, to call for more wine?”

“Why not?” cried he, with affected spirit, “what, shall we not be merry

before we part? Yes, we will all be merry, for if we are not, how shall

we part at all?--Oh not without a struggle!--” Then, stopping, he paused

a moment, and casting off the mask of levity, said in accents the most

solemn “I commit this packet to you,” giving a sealed parcel to Cecilia;

“had I written it later, its contents had been kinder to my wife, for

now the hour of separation approaches, ill will and resentment subside.

Poor Priscilla!--I am sorry--but you will succour her, I am sure you

will,--Oh had I known you myself before this infatuation--bright pattern

of all goodness!--but I was devoted,--a ruined wretch before ever you

entered my house; unworthy to be saved, unworthy that virtues such as

yours should dwell under the same roof with me! But come,--come now, or

my resolution will waver, and I shall not go at last.”

“But what is this packet?” cried Cecilia, “and why do you give it to

me?”

“No matter, no matter, you will know by and by;--the chaise waits, and I

must gather courage to be gone.”

He then pressed forward, answering neither to remonstrance nor intreaty

from his frightened companions.

The moment they returned to the covered walk, they were met by Mr

Marriot; Mr Harrel, starting, endeavoured to pass him; but when he

approached, and said “you have sent, Sir, no answer to my letter!” he

stopt, and in a tone of forced politeness, said, “No, Sir, but I shall

answer it to-morrow, and to-night I hope you will do me the honour of

supping with me.”

Mr Marriot, looking openly at Cecilia as his inducement, though

evidently regarding himself as an injured man, hesitated a moment, yet

accepted the invitation.

“To supper?” cried Mrs Harrel, “what here?”

“To supper?” repeated Cecilia, “and how are we to get home?”

“Think not of that these two hours,” answered he; “come, let us look for

a box.”

Cecilia then grew quite urgent with him to give up a scheme which must

keep them so late, and Mrs Harrel repeatedly exclaimed “Indeed people

will think it very odd to see us here without any party;” but he heeded

them not, and perceiving at some distance Mr Morrice, he called out

to him to find them a box; for the evening was very pleasant, and the

gardens were so much crowded that no accommodation was unseized.

“Sir,” cried Morrice, with his usual readiness, “I'll get you one if I

turn out ten old Aldermen sucking custards.”

Just after he was gone, a fat, sleek, vulgar-looking man, dressed in

a bright purple coat, with a deep red waistcoat, and a wig bulging far

from his head with small round curls, while his plump face and person

announced plenty and good living, and an air of defiance spoke the

fullness of his purse, strutted boldly up to Mr Harrel, and accosting

him in a manner that shewed some diffidence of his reception, but none

of his right, said “Sir your humble servant.” And made a bow first to

him, and then to the ladies.

“Sir yours,” replied Mr Harrel scornfully, and without touching his hat

he walked quickly on.

His fat acquaintance, who seemed but little disposed to be offended with

impunity, instantly replaced his hat on his head, and with a look that

implied I'll fit you for this! put his hands to his sides, and following

him, said “Sir, I must make bold to beg the favour of exchanging a few

words with you.”

“Ay, Sir,” answered Mr Harrel, “come to me to-morrow, and you shall

exchange as many as you please.”

“Nothing like the time present, Sir,” answered the man; “as for

to-morrow, I believe it intends to come no more; for I have heard of it

any time these three years. I mean no reflections, Sir, but let every

man have his right. That's what I say, and that's my notion of things.”

Mr Harrel, with a violent execration, asked what he meant by dunning him

at such a place as Vauxhall?

“One place, Sir,” he replied, “is as good as another place; for so as

what one does is good, 'tis no matter for where it may be. A man of

business never wants a counter if he can meet with a joint-stool. For my

part, I'm all for a clear conscience, and no bills without receipts to

them.”

“And if you were all for broken bones,” cried Mr Harrel, angrily, “I

would oblige you with them without delay.”

“Sir,” cried the man, equally provoked, “this is talking quite out

of character, for as to broken bones, there's ne'er a person in all

England, gentle nor simple, can say he's a right to break mine, for I'm

not a person of that sort, but a man of as good property as another man;

and there's ne'er a customer I have in the world that's more his own man

than myself.”

“Lord bless me, Mr Hobson,” cried Mrs Harrel, “don't follow us in this

manner! If we meet any of our acquaintance they'll think us half crazy.”

“Ma'am,” answered Mr Hobson, again taking off his hat, “if I'm treated

with proper respect, no man will behave more generous than myself; but

if I'm affronted, all I can say is, it may go harder with some folks

than they think for.”

Here a little mean-looking man, very thin, and almost bent double with

perpetual cringing, came up to Mr Hobson, and pulling him by the sleeve,

whispered, yet loud enough to be heard, “It's surprizeable to me, Mr

Hobson, you can behave so out of the way! For my part, perhaps I've as

much my due as another person, but I dares to say I shall have it when

it's convenient, and I'd scorn for to mislest a gentleman when he's

taking his pleasure.”

“Lord bless me,” cried Mrs Harrel, “what shall we do now? here's all Mr

Harrel's creditors coming upon us!”

“Do?” cried Mr Harrel, re-assuming an air of gaiety, “why give them

all a supper, to be sure. Come, gentlemen, will you favour me with your

company to supper?”

“Sir,” answered Mr Hobson, somewhat softened by this unexpected

invitation, “I've supped this hour and more, and had my glass too, for

I'm as willing to spend my money as another man; only what I say is

this, I don't chuse to be cheated, for that's losing one's substance,

and getting no credit; however, as to drinking another glass, or such a

matter as that, I'll do it with all the pleasure in life.”

“And as to me,” said the other man, whose name was Simkins, and whose

head almost touched the ground by the profoundness of his reverence,

“I can't upon no account think of taking the liberty; but if I may

just stand without, I'll make bold to go so far as just for to drink my

humble duty to the ladies in a cup of cyder.”

“Are you mad, Mr Harrel, are you mad!” cried his wife, “to think of

asking such people as these to supper? what will every body say? suppose

any of our acquaintance should see us? I am sure I shall die with

shame.”

“Mad!” repeated he, “no, not mad but merry. O ho, Mr Morrice, why have

you been so long? what have you done for us?”

“Why Sir,” answered Morrice, returning with a look somewhat less elated

than he had set out, “the gardens are so full, there is not a box to be

had; but I hope we shall get one for all that; for I observed one of the

best boxes in the garden, just to the right there, with nobody in it but

that gentleman who made me spill the tea-pot at the Pantheon. So I made

an apology, and told him the case; but he only said humph? and hay? so

then I told it all over again, but he served me just the same, for he

never seems to hear what one says till one's just done, and then he

begins to recollect one's speaking to him; however, though I repeated

it all over and over again, I could get nothing from him but just that

humph? and hay? but he is so remarkably absent, that I dare say if we

all go and sit down round him, he won't know a word of the matter.”

“Won't he?” cried Mr Harrel, “have at him, then!”

And he followed Mr Morrice, though Cecilia, who now half suspected that

all was to end in a mere idle frolic, warmly joined her remonstrances to

those of Mrs Harrel, which were made with the utmost, but with fruitless

earnestness.

Mr Meadows, who was seated in the middle of the box, was lolloping upon

the table with his customary ease, and picking his teeth with his usual

inattention to all about him. The intrusion, however, of so large

a party, seemed to threaten his insensibility with unavoidable

disturbance; though imagining they meant but to look in at the box,

and pass on, he made not at their first approach any alteration in his

attitude or employment.

“See, ladies,” cried the officious Morrice, “I told you there was room;

and I am sure this gentleman will be very happy to make way for you, if

it's only out of good-nature to the waiters, as he is neither eating nor

drinking, nor doing any thing at all. So if you two ladies will go in at

that side, Mr Harrel and that other gentleman,” pointing to Mr Marriot,

“may go to the other, and then I'll sit by the ladies here, and those

other two gentlemen--”

Here Mr Meadows, raising himself from his reclining posture, and staring

Morrice in the face, gravely said, “What's all this, Sir!”

Morrice, who expected to have arranged the whole party without a

question, and who understood so little of modish airs as to suspect

neither affectation nor trick in the absence of mind and indolence of

manners which he observed in Mr Meadows, was utterly amazed by this

interrogatory, and staring himself in return, said, “Sir, you seemed so

thoughtful--I did not think--I did not suppose you would have taken any

notice of just a person or two coming into the box.”

“Did not you, Sir?” said Mr Meadows very coldly, “why then now you do,

perhaps you'll be so obliging as to let me have my own box to myself.”

And then again he returned to his favourite position.

“Certainly, Sir,” said Morrice, bowing; “I am sure I did not mean to

disturb you; for you seemed so lost in thought, that I'm sure I did not

much believe you would have seen us.”

“Why Sir,” said Mr Hobson, strutting forward, “if I may speak my

opinion, I should think, as you happen to be quite alone, a little

agreeable company would be no such bad thing. At least that's my

notion.”

“And if I might take the liberty,” said the smooth tongued Mr Simkins,

“for to put in a word, I should think the best way would be, if the

gentleman has no peticklar objection, for me just to stand somewhere

hereabouts, and so, when he's had what he's a mind to, be ready for to

pop in at one side, as he comes out at the t'other; for if one does not

look pretty 'cute such a full night as this, a box is whipt away before

one knows where one is.”

“No, no, no,” cried Mrs Harrel impatiently, “let us neither sup in this

box nor in any other; let us go away entirely.”

“Indeed we must! indeed we ought!” cried Cecilia; “it is utterly

improper we should stay; pray let us be gone immediately.”

Mr Harrel paid not the least regard to these requests; but Mr Meadows,

who could no longer seem unconscious of what passed, did himself so much

violence as to arise, and ask if the ladies would be seated.

“I said so!” cried Morrice triumphantly, “I was sure there was no

gentleman but would be happy to accommodate two such ladies!”

The ladies, however, far from happy in being so accommodated, again

tried their utmost influence in persuading Mr Harrel to give up this

scheme; but he would not hear them, he insisted upon their going into

the box, and, extending the privilege which Mr Meadows had given, he

invited without ceremony the whole party to follow.

Mr Meadows, though he seemed to think this a very extraordinary

encroachment, had already made such an effort from his general languor

in the repulse he had given to Morrice, that he could exert himself no

further; but after looking around him with mingled vacancy and contempt,

he again seated himself, and suffered Morrice to do the honours without

more opposition. Morrice, but too happy in the office, placed Cecilia

next to Mr Meadows, and would have made Mr Marriot her other neighbour,

but she insisted upon not being parted from Mrs Harrel, and therefore,

as he chose to sit also by that lady himself, Mr Marriot was obliged

to follow Mr Harrel to the other side of the box; Mr Hobson, without

further invitation, placed himself comfortably in one of the corners,

and Mr Simkins, who stood modestly for some time in another, finding

the further encouragement for which he waited was not likely to arrive,

dropt quietly into his seat without it.

Supper was now ordered, and while it was preparing Mr Harrel sat totally

silent; but Mr Meadows thought proper to force himself to talk with

Cecilia, though she could well have dispensed with such an exertion of

his politeness.

“Do you like this place, ma'am?”

“Indeed I hardly know,--I never was here before.”

“No wonder! the only surprise is that any body can come to it at all. To

see a set of people walking after nothing! strolling about without view

or object! 'tis strange! don't you think so, ma'am?”

“Yes,--I believe so,” said Cecilia, scarce hearing him.

“O it gives me the vapours, the horrors,” cried he, “to see what poor

creatures we all are! taking pleasure even from the privation of it!

forcing ourselves into exercise and toil, when we might at least have

the indulgence of sitting still and reposing!”

“Lord, Sir,” cried Morrice, “don't you like walking?”

“Walking?” cried he, “I know nothing so humiliating; to see a rational

being in such mechanical motion! with no knowledge upon what principles

he proceeds, but plodding on, one foot before another, without even any

consciousness which is first, or how either--”

“Sir,” interrupted Mr Hobson, “I hope you won't take it amiss if I make

bold to tell my opinion, for my way is this, let every man speak his

maxim! But what I say as to this matter, is this, if a man must always

be stopping to consider what foot he is standing upon, he had need have

little to do, being the right does as well as the left, and the left as

well as the right. And that, Sir, I think is a fair argument.”

Mr Meadows deigned no other answer to this speech than a look of

contempt.

“I fancy, Sir,” said Morrice, “you are fond of riding, for all your good

horsemen like nothing else.”

“Riding!” exclaimed Mr Meadows, “Oh barbarous! Wrestling and boxing

are polite arts to it! trusting to the discretion of an animal less

intellectual than ourselves! a sudden spring may break all our limbs,

a stumble may fracture our sculls! And what is the inducement? to get

melted with heat, killed with fatigue, and covered with dust! miserable

infatuation!--Do you love riding, ma'am?”

“Yes, very well, Sir.”

“I am glad to hear it,” cried he, with a vacant smile; “you are quite

right; I am entirely of your opinion.”

Mr Simkins now, with a look of much perplexity, yet rising and bowing,

said “I don't mean, Sir, to be so rude as to put in my oar, but if I did

not take you wrong, I'm sure just now I thought you seemed for to make

no great 'count of riding, and yet now, all of the sudden, one would

think you was a speaking up for it!”

“Why, Sir,” cried Morrice, “if you neither like riding nor walking, you

can have no pleasure at all but only in sitting.”

“Sitting!” repeated Mr Meadows, with a yawn, “O worse and worse! it

dispirits me to death! it robs me of all fire and life! it weakens

circulation, and destroys elasticity.”

“Pray then, Sir,” said Morrice, “do you like any better to stand?”

“To stand? O intolerable! the most unmeaning thing in the world! one had

better be made a mummy!”

“Why then, pray Sir,” said Mr Hobson, “let me ask the favour of you to

tell us what it is you do like?”

Mr Meadows, though he stared him full in the face, began picking his

teeth without making any answer.

“You see, Mr Hobson,” said Mr Simkins, “the gentleman has no mind for

to tell you; but if I may take the liberty just to put in, I think if he

neither likes walking, nor riding, nor sitting, nor standing, I take it

he likes nothing.”

“Well, Sir,” said Morrice, “but here comes supper, and I hope you will

like that. Pray Sir, may I help you to a bit of this ham?”

Mr Meadows, not seeming to hear him, suddenly, and with an air of

extreme weariness, arose, and without speaking to anybody, abruptly

made his way out of the box. -- Mr Harrel now, starting from the gloomy

reverie into which he had sunk, undertook to do the honours of the

table, insisting with much violence upon helping every body, calling

for more provisions, and struggling to appear in high spirits and good

humour.

In a few minutes Captain Aresby, who was passing by the box, stopt to

make his compliments to Mrs Harrel and Cecilia.

“What a concourse!” he cried, casting up his eyes with an expression of

half-dying fatigue, “are you not accablé? for my part, I hardly respire.

I have really hardly ever had the honour of being so obsedé before.”

“We can make very good room, Sir,” said Morrice, “if you chuse to come

in.”

“Yes,” said Mr Simkins, obsequiously standing up, “I am sure the

gentleman will be very welcome to take my place, for I did not mean for

to sit down, only just to look agreeable.”

“By no means, Sir,” answered the Captain; “I shall be quite au desespoir

if I derange any body.”

“Sir,” said Mr Hobson, “I don't offer you my place, because I take

it for granted if you had a mind to come in, you would not stand upon

ceremony; for what I say is, let every man speak his mind, and then we

shall all know how to conduct ourselves. That's my way, and let any man

tell me a better!”

The Captain, after looking at him with a surprise not wholly unmixt with

horror, turned from him without making any answer, and said to Cecilia,

“And how long, ma'am, have you tried this petrifying place?”

“An hour,--two hours, I believe,” she answered.

“Really? and nobody here! assez de monde, but nobody here! a blank

partout!”

“Sir,” said Mr Simkins, getting out of the box that he might bow

with more facility, “I humbly crave pardon for the liberty, but if I

understood right, you said something of a blank? pray, Sir, if I may

be so free, has there been any thing of the nature of a lottery, or a

raffle, in the garden? or the like of that?”

“Sir!” said the Captain, regarding him from head to foot, “I am quite

assommé that I cannot comprehend your allusion.”

“Sir, I ask pardon,” said the man, bowing still lower, “I only thought

if in case it should not be above half a crown, or such a matter as

that, I might perhaps stretch a point once in a way.”

The Captain, more and more amazed, stared at him again, but not thinking

it necessary to take any further notice of him, he enquired of Cecilia

if she meant to stay late.

“I hope not,” she replied, “I have already stayed later than I wished to

do.”

“Really!” said he, with an unmeaning smile, “Well, that is as horrid a

thing as I have the malheur to know. For my part, I make it a principle

not to stay long in these semi-barbarous places, for after a certain

time, they bore me to that degree I am quite abimé. I shall, however, do

mon possible to have the honour of seeing you again.”

And then, with a smile of yet greater insipidity, he protested he was

reduced to despair in leaving her, and walked on.

“Pray, ma'am, if I may be so bold,” said Mr Hobson, “what countryman may

that gentleman be?”

“An Englishman, I suppose, Sir,” said Cecilia.

“An Englishman, ma'am!” said Mr Hobson, “why I could not understand one

word in ten that came out of his mouth.”

“Why indeed,” said Mr Simkins, “he has a mighty peticklar way of

speaking, for I'm sure I thought I could have sworn he said something of

a blank, or to that amount, but I could make nothing of it when I come

to ask him about it.”

“Let every man speak to be understood,” cried Mr Hobson, “that's my

notion of things; for as to all those fine words that nobody can make

out, I hold them to be of no use. Suppose a man was to talk in that

manner when he's doing business, what would be the upshot? who'd

understand what he meant? Well, that's the proof; what i'n't fit for

business, i'n't of no value; that's my way of judging, and that's what I

go upon.”

“He said some other things,” rejoined Mr Simkins, “that I could not make

out very clear, only I had no mind to ask any more questions, for fear

of his answering me something I should not understand; but as well as I

could make it out, I thought I heard him say there was nobody here! what

he could mean by that, I can't pretend for to guess, for I'm sure the

garden is so stock full, that if there was to come many more, I don't

know where they could cram 'em.”

“I took notice of it at the time,” said Mr Hobson, “for it i'n't many

things are lost upon me; and, to tell you the truth, I thought he had

been making pretty free with his bottle, by his seeing no better.”

“Bottle!” cried Mr Harrel, “a most excellent hint, Mr Hobson! come! let

us all make free with the bottle!”

He then called for more wine, and insisted that every body should pledge

him. Mr Marriot and Mr Morrice made not any objection, and Mr Hobson and

Mr Simkins consented with much delight.

Mr Harrel now grew extremely unruly, the wine he had already drunk being

thus powerfully aided; and his next project was to make his wife and

Cecilia follow his example. Cecilia, more incensed than ever to see

no preparation made for his departure, and all possible pains taken

to unfit him for setting out, refused him with equal firmness and

displeasure, and lamented, with the bitterest self-reproaches, the

consent which had been forced from her to be present at a scene of such

disorder; but Mrs Harrel would have opposed him in vain, had not his

attention been called off to another object. This was Sir Robert Floyer,

who perceiving the party at some distance, no sooner observed Mr Marriot

in such company, than advancing to the box with an air of rage and

defiance, he told Mr Harrel he had something to say to him.

“Ay,” cried Harrel, “say to me? and so have I to say to you! Come

amongst us and be merry! Here, make room, make way! Sit close, my

friends!”

Sir Robert, who now saw he was in no situation to be reasoned with,

stood for a moment silent; and then, looking round the box, and

observing Messrs Hobson and Simkins, he exclaimed aloud “Why what queer

party have you got into? who the d---l have you picked up here?”

Mr Hobson, who, to the importance of lately acquired wealth, now added

the courage of newly drunk Champagne, stoutly kept his ground, without

seeming at all conscious he was included in this interrogation; but Mr

Simkins, who had still his way to make in the world, and whose habitual

servility would have resisted a larger draught, was easily intimidated;

he again, therefore stood up, and with the most cringing respect offered

the Baronet his place; who, taking neither of the offer nor offerer the

smallest notice, still stood opposite to Mr Harrel, waiting for some

explanation.

Mr Harrel, however, who now grew really incapable of giving any, only

repeated his invitation that he would make one among them.

“One among you?” cried he, angrily, and pointing to Mr Hobson, “why you

don't fancy I'll sit down with a bricklayer?”

“A bricklayer?” said Mr Harrel, “ay, sure, and a hosier too; sit down,

Mr Simkins, keep your place, man!”

Mr Simkins most thankfully bowed; but Mr Hobson, who could no longer

avoid feeling the personality of this reflection, boldly answered,

“Sir, you may sit down with a worse man any day in the week! I have done

nothing I'm ashamed of, and no man can say to me why did you so? I don't

tell you, Sir, what I'm worth; no one has a right to ask; I only say

three times five is fifteen! that's all.”

“Why what the d----l, you impudent fellow,” cried the haughty Baronet,

“you don't presume to mutter, do you?”

“Sir,” answered Mr Hobson, very hotly, “I sha'n't put up with abuse from

no man! I've got a fair character in the world, and wherewithal to live

by my own liking. And what I have is my own, and all I say is, let

every one say the same, for that's the way to fear no man, and face the

d----l.”

“What do you mean by that, fellow?” cried Sir Robert.

“Fellow, Sir! this is talking no how. Do you think a man of substance,

that's got above the world, is to be treated like a little scrubby

apprentice? Let every man have his own, that's always my way of

thinking; and this I can say for myself, I have as good a right to shew

my head where I please as ever a member of parliament in all England;

and I wish every body here could say as much.”

Sir Robert, fury starting into his eyes, was beginning an answer; but

Mrs Harrel with terror, and Cecilia with dignity, calling upon them both

to forbear, the Baronet desired Morrice to relinquish his place to him,

and seating himself next to Mrs Harrel, gave over the contest.

Meanwhile Mr Simkins, hoping to ingratiate himself with the company,

advanced to Mr Hobson, already cooled by finding himself unanswered, and

reproachfully said “Mr Hobson, if I may make so free, I must needs be

bold to say I am quite ashamed of you! a person of your standing and

credit for to talk so disrespectful! as if a gentleman had not a right

to take a little pleasure, because he just happens to owe you a little

matters of money; fie, fie, Mr Hobson! I did not expect you to behave so

despiseable!”

“Despiseable!” answered Mr Hobson, “I'd scorn as much to do anything

despiseable as yourself, or any thing misbecoming of a gentleman; and as

to coming to such a place as this may be, why I have no objection to it.

All I stand to is this, let every man have his due; for as to taking a

little pleasure, here I am, as one may say, doing the same myself; but

where's the harm of that? who's a right to call a man to account that's

clear of the world? Not that I mean to boast, nor nothing like it, but,

as I said before; five times five is fifteen; [Footnote; I hardly

know whether the authoress has here forgotten her arithmetic, or

intentionally suffered Mr Hobson to forget his, from the effects of

champagne.--Ed.]--that's my calculation.”

Mr Harrel, who, during this debate, had still continued drinking,

regardless of all opposition from his wife and Cecilia, now grew more

and more turbulent; he insisted that Mr Simkins should return to his

seat, ordered him another bumper of champagne, and saying he had not

half company enough to raise his spirits, desired Morrice to go and

invite more.

Morrice, always ready to promote a frolic, most chearfully consented;

but when Cecilia, in a low voice, supplicated him to bring no one back,

with still more readiness he made signs that he understood and would

obey her.

Mr Harrel then began to sing, and in so noisy and riotous a manner, that

nobody approached the box without stopping to stare at him; and those

who were new to such scenes, not contented with merely looking in,

stationed themselves at some distance before it, to observe what was

passing, and to contemplate with envy and admiration an appearance of

mirth and enjoyment which they attributed to happiness and pleasure!

Mrs Harrel, shocked to be seen in such mixed company, grew every instant

more restless and miserable; and Cecilia, half distracted to think how

they were to get home, had passed all her time in making secret vows

that if once again she was delivered from Mr Harrel she would never see

him more.

Sir Robert Floyer perceiving their mutual uneasiness, proposed to escort

them home himself; and Cecilia, notwithstanding her aversion to him,

was listening to the scheme, when Mr Marriot, who had been evidently

provoked and disconcerted since the junction of the Baronet, suspecting

what was passing, offered his services also, and in a tone of voice that

did not promise a very quiet acquiescence in a refusal.

Cecilia, who, too easily, in their looks, saw all the eagerness of

rivalry, now dreaded the consequence of her decision, and therefore

declined the assistance of either; but her distress was unspeakable,

as there was not one person in the party to whose care she could commit

herself, though the behaviour of Mr Harrel, which every moment grew

more disorderly, rendered the necessity of quitting him urgent and

uncontroulable.

When Morrice returned, stopping in the midst of his loud and violent

singing, he vehemently demanded what company he had brought him?

“None at all, sir,” answered Morrice, looking significantly at Cecilia;

“I have really been so unlucky as not to meet with any body who had a

mind to come.”

“Why then,” answered he, starting up, “I will seek some for myself.”

“O no, pray, Mr Harrel, bring nobody else,” cried his wife. “Hear us in

pity,” cried Cecilia, “and distress us no further.”

“Distress you?” cried he, with quickness, “what shall I not bring you

those pretty girls? Yes, one more glass, and I will teach you to welcome

them.”

And he poured out another bumper.

“This is so insupportable!” cried Cecilia, rising, “[that] I can remain

here no longer.”

“This is cruel indeed,” cried Mrs. Harrel, bursting into tears; “did you

only bring me here to insult me?”

“No!” cried he, suddenly embracing her, “by this parting kiss!” then

wildly jumping upon his seat, he leapt over the table, and was out of

sight in an instant.

Amazement seized all who remained; Mrs Harrel and Cecilia, indeed,

doubted not but he was actually gone to the chaise he had ordered; but

the manner of his departure affrighted them, and his preceding behaviour

had made them cease to expect it; Mrs Harrel, leaning upon Cecilia,

continued to weep, while she, confounded and alarmed, scarce knew

whether she should stay and console her, or fly after Mr Harrel, whom

she feared had incapacitated himself from finding his chaise, by the

very method he had taken to gather courage for seeking it.

This, however, was but the apprehension of a moment; another and a far

more horrible one drove it from her imagination; for scarcely had Mr

Harrel quitted the box and their sight, before their ears were suddenly

struck with the report of a pistol.

Mrs Harrel gave a loud scream, which was involuntarily echoed by,

Cecilia; everybody arose, some with officious zeal to serve the ladies,

and others to hasten to the spot whence the dreadful sound proceeded.

Sir Robert Floyer again offered his services in conducting them home;

but they could listen to no such proposal; Cecilia, with difficulty

refrained from rushing out herself to discover what was passing; but

her dread of being followed by Mrs Harrel prevented her; they both,

therefore, waited, expecting every instant some intelligence, as all but

the Baronet and Mr Marriot were now gone to seek it.

Nobody, however, returned; and their terrors encreased every moment;

Mrs Harrel wanted to run out herself, but Cecilia, conjuring her to keep

still, begged Mr Marriot to bring them some account. Mr Marriot, like

the messengers who had preceded him, came not back; an instant seemed an

age, and Sir Robert Floyer was also entreated to procure information.

Mrs Harrel and Cecilia were now left to themselves, and their horror

was too great for speech or motion; they stood close to each other,

listening to every sound and receiving every possible addition to their

alarm, by the general confusion which they observed in the gardens, in

which, though both gentlemen and waiters were running to and fro, not a

creature was walking, and all amusement seemed forgotten.

From this dreadful state they were at length removed, though not

relieved, by the sight of a waiter, who, as he was passing shewed

himself almost covered with blood! Mrs Harrel vehemently called after

him, demanding whence it came? “From the gentleman, ma'am,” answered he

in haste, “that has shot himself,” and then ran on.

Mrs Harrel uttered a piercing scream, and sunk on the ground; for

Cecilia, shuddering with horror, lost all her own strength, and could no

longer lend her any support.

So great at this time was the general confusion of the place, that for

some minutes their particular distress was unknown, and their situation

unnoticed; till at length an elderly gentleman came up to the box, and

humanely offered his assistance.

Cecilia, pointing to her unfortunate friend, who had not fallen into a

fainting fit, but merely from weakness and terror, accepted his help in

raising her. She was lifted up, however, without the smallest effort on

her own part, and was only kept upon her seat by being held there by the

stranger, for Cecilia, whose whole frame was shaking, tried in vain to

sustain her.

This gentleman, from the violence of their distress, began now to

suspect its motive, and addressing himself to Cecilia, said, “I am

afraid, madam, this unfortunate gentleman was some Relation to you?”

Neither of them spoke, but their silence was sufficiently expressive.

“It is pity, madam,” he continued, “that some friend can't order him out

of the crowd, and have him kept quiet till a surgeon can be brought.”

“A surgeon!” exclaimed Cecilia, recovering from one surprize by the

effect of another; “is it then possible he may be saved?”

And without waiting to have her question answered, she ran out of the

box herself, flying wildly about the garden, and calling for help as she

flew, till she found the house by the entrance; and then, going up

to the bar, “Is a surgeon sent for?” she exclaimed, “let a surgeon be

fetched instantly!” “A surgeon, ma'am,” she was answered, “is not the

gentleman dead?” “No, no, no!” she cried; “he must be brought in; let

some careful people go and bring him in.” Nor would she quit the bar,

till two or three waiters were called, and received her orders. And

then, eager to see them executed herself, she ran, fearless of being

alone, and without thought of being lost, towards the fatal spot whither

the crowd guided her. She could not, indeed, have been more secure from

insult or molestation if surrounded by twenty guards; for the scene of

desperation and horror which many had witnessed, and of which all had

heard the signal, engrossed the universal attention, and took, even from

the most idle and licentious, all spirit for gallantry and amusement.

Here, while making vain attempts to penetrate through the multitude,

that she might see and herself judge the actual situation of Mr Harrel,

and give, if yet there was room for hope, such orders as would best

conduce to his safety and recovery, she was met by Mr Marriot, who

entreated her not to press forward to a sight which he had found too

shocking for himself, and insisted upon protecting her through the

crowd.

“If he is alive,” cried she, refusing his aid, “and if there is any

chance he may be saved, no sight shall be too shocking to deter me from

seeing him properly attended.”

“All attendance,” answered he, “will be in vain; he is not indeed,

yet dead, but his recovery is impossible. There is a surgeon with him

already; one who happened to be in the gardens, and he told me himself

that the wound was inevitably mortal.”

Cecilia, though greatly disappointed, still determined to make way to

him, that she might herself enquire if, in his last moments, there was

any thing he wished to communicate, or desired to have done; but, as she

struggled to proceed, she was next met and stopt by Sir Robert Floyer,

who, forcing her back, acquainted her that all was over!

The shock with which she received this account, though unmixed with any

tenderness of regret, and resulting merely from general humanity,

was yet so violent as almost to overpower her. Mr Harrel, indeed, had

forfeited all right to her esteem, and the unfeeling selfishness of

his whole behaviour had long provoked her resentment and excited her

disgust; yet a catastrophe so dreadful, and from which she had herself

made such efforts to rescue him, filled her with so much horror, that,

turning extremely sick, she was obliged to be supported to the nearest

box, and stop there for hartshorn and water.

A few minutes, however, sufficed to divest her of all care for herself,

in the concern with which she recollected the situation of Mrs Harrel;

she hastened, therefore, back to her, attended by the Baronet and Mr

Marriot, and found her still leaning upon the stranger, and weeping

aloud.

The fatal news had already reached her; and though all affection between

Mr Harrel and herself had mutually subsided from the first two or three

months of their marriage, a conclusion so horrible to all connection

between them could not be heard without sorrow and distress. Her

temper, too, naturally soft, retained not resentment, and Mr Harrel, now

separated from her for ever, was only remembered as the Mr Harrel who

first won her heart.

Neither pains nor tenderness were spared on the part of Cecilia to

console her; who finding her utterly incapable either of acting or

directing for herself, and knowing her at all times to be extremely

helpless, now summoned to her own aid all the strength of mind she

possessed, and determined upon this melancholy occasion, both to think

and act for her widowed friend to the utmost stretch of her abilities

and power.

As soon, therefore, as the first effusions of her grief were over, she

prevailed with her to go to the house, where she was humanely offered

the use of a quiet room till she should be better able to set off for

town. Cecilia, having seen her thus safely lodged, begged Mr Marriot to

stay with her, and then, accompanied by the Baronet, returned herself

to the bar, and desiring the footman who had attended them to be called,

sent him instantly to his late master, and proceeded next with great

presence of mind, to inquire further into the particulars of what had

passed, and to consult upon what was immediately to be done with the

deceased; for she thought it neither decent nor right to leave to chance

or to strangers the last duties which could be paid him.

He had lingered, she found, about a quarter of an hour, but in a

condition too dreadful for description, quite speechless, and, by all

that could be judged, out of his senses; yet so distorted with pain, and

wounded so desperately beyond any power of relief, that the surgeon, who

every instant expected his death, said it would not be merely useless

but inhuman, to remove him till he had breathed his last. He died,

therefore, in the arms of this gentleman and a waiter.

“A waiter!” cried Cecilia, reproachfully looking at Sir Robert, “and was

there no friend who for the few poor moments that remained had patience

to support him?”

“Where would be the good,” said Sir Robert, “of supporting a man in his

last agonies?”

This unfeeling speech she attempted not to answer, but, suffering

neither her dislike to him, nor her scruples for herself, to interfere

with the present occasion, she desired to have his advice what was now

best to be done.

Undertaker's men must immediately, he said, be sent for, to remove the

body.

She then gave orders for that purpose, which were instantly executed.

Whither the body was to go was the next question; Cecilia wished the

removal to be directly to the townhouse, but Sir Robert told her it must

be carried to the nearest undertaker's, and kept there till it could be

conveyed to town in a coffin.

For this, also, in the name of Mrs Harrel, she gave directions. And then

addressing herself to Sir Robert, “You will now Sir, I hope,” she said,

“return to the fatal spot, and watch by your late unfortunate friend

till the proper people arrive to take charge of him?”

“And what good will that do?” cried he; “had I not better watch by you?”

“It will do good,” answered she, with some severity, “to decency and to

humanity; and surely you cannot refuse to see who is with him, and in

what situation he lies, and whether he has met, from the strangers with

whom he was left, the tenderness and care which his friends ought to

have paid him.”

“Will you promise, then,” he answered, “not to go away till I come back?

for I have no great ambition to sacrifice the living for the dead.”

“I will promise nothing, Sir,” said she, shocked at his callous

insensibility; “but if you refuse this last poor office, I must apply

elsewhere; and firmly I believe there is no other I can ask who will a

moment hesitate in complying.”

She then went back to Mrs Harrel, leaving, however, an impression

upon the mind of Sir Robert, that made him no longer dare dispute her

commands.

Her next solicitude was how they should return to town; they had no

equipage of their own, and the only servant who came with them was

employed in performing the last duties for his deceased master. Her

first intention was to order a hackney coach, but the deplorable state

of Mrs Harrel made it almost impossible she could take the sole care of

her, and the lateness of the night, and their distance from home, gave

her a dread invincible to going so far without some guard or assistant.

Mr Marriot earnestly desired to have the honour of conveying them to

Portman-square in his own carriage, and notwithstanding there were many

objections to such a proposal, the humanity of his behaviour upon the

present occasion, and the evident veneration which accompanied his

passion, joined to her encreasing aversion to the Baronet, from whom

she could not endure to receive the smallest obligation, determined her,

after much perplexity and hesitation, to accept his offer.

She begged him, therefore, to immediately order his coach, and, happy to

obey her, he went out with that design; but, instantly coming back,

told her, in a low voice, that they must wait some time longer, as the

Undertaker's people were then entering the garden, and if they stayed

not till the removal had taken place, Mrs Harrel might be shocked with

the sight of some of the men, or perhaps even meet the dead body.

Cecilia, thanking him for this considerate precaution, readily agreed to

defer setting out; devoting, mean time, all her attention to Mrs Harrel,

whose sorrow, though violent, forbad not consolation. But before the

garden was cleared, and the carriage ordered, Sir Robert returned;

saying to Cecilia, with an air of parading obedience which seemed to

claim some applause, “Miss Beverley, your commands have been executed.”

Cecilia made not any answer, and he presently added, “Whenever you chuse

to go I will order up my coach.”

“My coach, Sir,” said Mr Marriot, “will be ordered when the ladies are

ready, and I hope to have the honour myself of conducting them to town.”

“No, Sir,” cried the Baronet, “that can never be; my long acquaintance

with Mrs Harrel gives me a prior right to attend her, and I can by no

means suffer any other person to rob me of it.”

“I have nothing,” said Mr Marriot, “to say to that, Sir, but Miss

Beverley herself has done me the honour to consent to make use of my

carriage.”

“Miss Beverley, I think,” said Sir Robert, extremely piqued, “can never

have sent me out of the way in order to execute her own commands, merely

to deprive me of the pleasure of attending her and Mrs Harrel home.”

Cecilia, somewhat alarmed, now sought to lessen the favour of her

decision, though she adhered to it without wavering.

“My intention,” said she, “was not to confer, but to receive an

obligation; and I had hoped, while Mr. Marriot assisted us, Sir Robert

would be far more humanely employed in taking charge of what we

cannot superintend, and yet are infinitely more anxious should not be

neglected.”

“That,” said Sir Robert, “is all done; and I hope, therefore, after

sending me upon such an errand, you don't mean to refuse me the pleasure

of seeing you to town?”

“Sir Robert,” said Cecilia, greatly displeased, “I cannot argue with

you now; I have already settled my plan, and I am not at leisure to

re-consider it.”

Sir Robert bit his lips for a moment in angry silence; but not enduring

to lose the victory to a young rival he despised, he presently said, “If

I must talk no more about it to you, madam, I must at least beg leave

to talk of it to this gentleman, and take the liberty to represent to

him--”

Cecilia now, dreading how his speech might be answered, prevented its

being finished, and with an air of the most spirited dignity, said, “Is

it possible, sir, that at a time such as this, you should not be wholly

indifferent to a matter so frivolous? little indeed will be the pleasure

which our society can afford! your dispute however, has given it some

importance, and therefore Mr Marriot must accept my thanks for his

civility, and excuse me for retracting my consent.”

Supplications and remonstrances were, however, still poured upon her

from both, and the danger, the impossibility that two ladies could go to

town alone, in a hackney coach, and without even a servant, at near four

o'clock in the morning, they mutually urged, vehemently entreating that

she would run no such hazard.

Cecilia was far other than insensible to these representations; the

danger, indeed, appeared to her so formidable, that her inclination the

whole time opposed her refusal; yet her repugnance to giving way to the

overbearing Baronet, and her fear of his resentment if she listened to

Mr Marriot, forced her to be steady, since she saw that her preference

would prove the signal of a quarrel.

Inattentive, therefore, to their joint persecution, she again

deliberated by what possible method she could get home in safety; but

unable to devise any, she at last resolved to make enquiries of the

people in the bar, who had been extremely humane and civil, whether they

could assist or counsel her. She therefore desired the two gentlemen to

take care of Mrs Harrel, to which neither dared dissent, as both could

not refuse, and hastily arising, went out of the room; but great

indeed was her surprize when, as she was walking up to the bar, she was

addressed by young Delvile!

Approaching her with that air of gravity and distance which of late

he had assumed in her presence, he was beginning some speech about his

mother; but the instant the sound of his voice reached Cecilia, she

joyfully clasped her hands, and eagerly exclaimed, “Mr Delvile!--O now

we are safe!--this is fortunate indeed!”

“Safe, Madam,” cried he astonished, “yes I hope so!--has any thing

endangered your safety?”

“O no matter for danger,” cried she, “we will now trust ourselves with

you, and I am sure you will protect us.”

“Protect you!” repeated he again, and with warmth, “yes, while I

live!--but what is the matter?--why are you so pale?--are you ill?--are

you frightened?--what is the matter?”

And losing all coldness and reserve, with the utmost earnestness he

begged her to explain herself.

“Do you not know,” cried she, “what has happened? Can you be here and

not have heard it?”

“Heard what?” cried he, “I am but this moment arrived; my mother grew

uneasy that she did not see you, she sent to your house, and was told

that you were not returned from Vauxhall; some other circumstances also

alarmed her, and therefore, late as it was, I came hither myself. The

instant I entered this place, I saw you here. This is all my

history; tell me now yours. Where is your party? where are Mr and Mrs

Harrel?--Why are you alone?”

“O ask not!” cried she, “I cannot tell you!--take us but under your

care, and you will soon know all.”

She then hurried from him, and returning to Mrs Harrel, said she had now

a conveyance at once safe and proper, and begged her to rise and come

away.

The gentlemen, however, rose first, each of them declaring he would

himself attend them.

“No,” said Cecilia, steadily, “that trouble will now be superfluous; Mrs

Delvile herself has sent for me, and her son is now waiting till we join

him.”

Amazement and disappointment at this intelligence were visible in the

faces of them both; Cecilia waited not a single question, but finding

she was unable to support Mrs Harrel, who rather suffered herself to

be carried than led, she entrusted her between them, and ran forward to

enquire of Delvile if his carriage was ready.

She found him with a look of horror that told the tale he had been

hearing, listening to one of the waiters; the moment she appeared,

he flew to her, and with the utmost emotion exclaimed, “Amiable Miss

Beverley! what a dreadful scene have you witnessed! what a cruel task

have you nobly performed! such spirit with such softness! so much

presence of mind with such feeling!--but you are all excellence! human

nature can rise no higher! I believe indeed you are its most perfect

ornament!”

Praise such as this, so unexpected, and delivered with such energy,

Cecilia heard not without pleasure, even at a moment when her whole mind

was occupied by matters foreign to its peculiar interests. She made,

however, her enquiry about the carriage, and he told her that he had

come in a hackney coach, which was waiting for him at the door.

Mrs Harrel was now brought in, and little was the recompense her

assistants received for their aid, when they saw Cecilia so contentedly

engaged with young Delvile, whose eyes were rivetted on her face, with

an expression of the most lively admiration; each, however, then quitted

the other, and hastened to the fair mourner; no time was now lost, Mrs

Harrel was supported to the coach, Cecilia followed her, and Delvile,

jumping in after them, ordered the man to drive to Portman-square.

Sir Robert and Mr Marriot, confounded though enraged, saw their

departure in passive silence; the right of attendance they had so

tenaciously denied to each other, here admitted not of dispute; Delvile

upon this occasion, appeared as the representative of his father, and

his authority seemed the authority of a guardian. Their only consolation

was that neither had yielded to the other, and all spirit of altercation

or revenge was sunk in their mutual mortification. At the petition of

the waiters, from sullen but proud emulation, they paid the expences of

the night, and then throwing themselves into their carriages, returned

to their respective houses.

CHAPTER xiii. -- A SOLUTION.

During the ride to town, not merely Cecilia, but Delvile himself

attended wholly to Mrs Harrel, whose grief as it became less violent,

was more easy to be soothed.

The distress of this eventful night was however not yet over; when they

came to Portman-square, Delvile eagerly called to the coachman not to

drive up to the house, and anxiously begged Cecilia and Mrs Harrel to

sit still, while he went out himself to make some enquiries. They were

surprised at the request, yet immediately consented; but before he had

quitted them, Davison, who was watching their return, came up to them

with information that an execution was then in the house.

Fresh misery was now opened for Mrs Harrel, and fresh horror and

perplexity for Cecilia; she had no longer, however, the whole weight

either of thought or of conduct upon herself; Delvile in her cares took

the most animated interest, and beseeching her to wait a moment and

appease her friend, he went himself into the house to learn the state of

the affair.

He returned in a few minutes, and seemed in no haste to communicate

what he had heard, but entreated them both to go immediately to St

James's-square.

Cecilia felt extremely fearful of offending his father by the

introduction of Mrs Harrel; yet she had nothing better to propose, and

therefore, after a short and distressed argument, she complied.

Delvile then told her that the alarm of his mother, at which he had

already hinted, proceeded from a rumour of this very misfortune, to

which, though they knew not whether they might give credit, was owing

the anxiety which at so late an hour, had induced him to go to Vauxhall

in search of her. They gained admittance without any disturbance, as

the servant of young Delvile had been ordered to sit up for his master.

Cecilia much disliked thus taking possession of the house in the

night-time, though Delvile, solicitous to relieve her, desired she would

not waste a thought upon the subject, and making his servant shew her

the room which had been prepared for her reception, he begged her to

compose her spirits, and to comfort her friend, and promised to acquaint

his father and mother when they arose with what had happened, that she

might be saved all pain from surprise or curiosity when they met.

This service she thankfully accepted, for she dreaded, after the

liberty she had taken, to encounter the pride of Mr Delvile without some

previous apology, and she feared still more to see his lady without the

same preparation, as her frequent breach of appointment might reasonably

have offended her, and as her displeasure would affect her more deeply.

It was now near six o'clock, yet the hours seemed as long as they were

melancholy till the family arose. They settled to remain quiet till some

message was sent to them, but before any arrived, Mrs Harrel, who was

seated upon the bed, wearied by fatigue and sorrow, cried herself to

sleep like a child.

Cecilia rejoiced in seeing this reprieve from affliction, though her

keener sensations unfitted her from partaking of it; much indeed was

the uneasiness which kept her awake; the care of Mrs Harrel seemed to

devolve upon herself, the reception she might meet from the Delviles

was uncertain, and the horrible adventures of the night, refused for a

moment to quit her remembrance.

At ten o'clock, a message was brought from Mrs Delvile, to know whether

they were ready for breakfast. Mrs Harrel was still asleep, but Cecilia

carried her own answer by hastening down stairs.

In her way she was met by young Delvile, whose air upon first

approaching her spoke him again prepared to address her with the most

distant gravity; but almost the moment he looked at her, he forgot his

purpose; her paleness, the heaviness of her eyes, and the fatigue of

long watching betrayed by her whole face, again, surprised him into all

the tenderness of anxiety, and he enquired after her health not as a

compliment of civility, but as a question in which his whole heart was

most deeply interested.

Cecilia thanked him for his attention to her friend the night before,

and then proceeded to his mother.

Mrs Delvile, coming forward to meet her, removed at once all her fears

of displeasure, and banished all necessity of apology, by instantly

embracing her, and warmly exclaiming “Charming Miss Beverley! how shall

I ever tell you half the admiration with which I have heard of your

conduct! The exertion of so much fortitude at a juncture when a weaker

mind would have been overpowered by terror, and a heart less under the

dominion of well-regulated principles, would have sought only its own

relief by flying from distress and confusion, shews such propriety of

mind as can only result from the union of good sense with virtue. You

are indeed a noble creature! I thought so from the moment I beheld you;

I shall think so, I hope, to the last that I live!”

Cecilia, penetrated with joy and gratitude, felt in that instant the

amplest recompense for all that she had suffered, and for all that she

had lost. Such praise from Mrs Delvile was alone sufficient to make

her happy; but when she considered whence it sprung, and that the

circumstances with which she was so much struck, must have been related

to her by her son, her delight was augmented to an emotion the most

pleasing she could experience, from seeing how high she was held in the

esteem of those who were highest in her own.

Mrs Delvile then, with the utmost cordiality, began to talk of her

affairs, saving her the pain of proposing the change of habitation that

now seemed unavoidable, by an immediate invitation to her house, which

she made with as much delicacy as if Mr Harrel's had still been open

to her, and choice, not necessity, had directed her removal. The whole

family, she told her, went into the country in two days, and she hoped

that a new scene, with quietness and early hours, would restore both

the bloom and sprightliness which her late cares and restlessness had

injured. And though she very seriously lamented the rash action of Mr

Harrel, she much rejoiced in the acquisition which her own house and

happiness would receive from her society.

She next discussed the situation of her widowed friend, and Cecilia

produced the packet which had been entrusted to her by her late husband.

Mrs Delvile advised her to open it in the presence of Mr Arnott, and

begged her to send for any other of her friends she might wish to see or

consult, and to claim freely from herself whatever advice or assistance

she could bestow.

And then, without waiting for Mr Delvile, she suffered her to swallow

a hasty breakfast, and return to Mrs Harrel, whom she had desired the

servants to attend, as she concluded that in her present situation she

would not chuse to make her appearance.

Cecilia, lightened now from all her cares, more pleased than ever with

Mrs Delvile, and enchanted that at last she was settled under her roof,

went back with as much ability as inclination to give comfort to Mrs

Harrel. She found her but just awaking, and scarce yet conscious where

she was, or why not in her own house.

As her powers of recollection returned, she was soothed with the softest

compassion by Cecilia, who in pursuance of Mrs Delvile's advice,

sent her servant in search of Mr Arnott, and in consequence of her

permission, wrote a note of invitation to Mr Monckton.

Mr Arnott, who was already in town, soon arrived; his own man, whom he

had left to watch the motions of Mr Harrel, having early in the morning

rode to the place of his retreat, with the melancholy tidings of the

suicide and execution.

Cecilia instantly went down stairs to him. The meeting was extremely

painful to them both. Mr Arnott severely blamed himself for his flight,

believing it had hastened the fatal blow, which some further sacrifices

might perhaps have eluded; and Cecilia half repented the advice she had

given him, though the failure of her own efforts proved the situation of

Mr Harrel too desperate for remedy.

He then made the tenderest enquiries about his sister, and entreated

her to communicate to him the minutest particulars of the dreadful

transaction; after which, she produced the packet, but neither of them

had the courage to break the seal; and concluding the contents would be

no less than his last will, they determined some third person should be

present when they opened it. Cecilia wished much for Mr Monckton, but as

his being immediately found was uncertain, and the packet might consist

of orders which ought not to be delayed, she proposed, for the sake of

expedition, to call in Mr Delvile.

Mr Arnott readily agreed, and she sent to beg a moment's audience with

that gentleman.

She was desired to walk into the breakfast-room, where he was sitting

with his lady and his son.

Not such was now her reception as when she entered that apartment

before; Mr Delvile looked displeased and out of humour, and, making her

a stiff bow, while his son brought her a chair, coldly said, “If you

are hurried, Miss Beverley, I will attend you directly; if not, I will

finish my breakfast, as I shall have but little time the rest of the

morning, from the concourse of people upon business, who will crowd upon

me till dinner, most of whom will be extremely distressed if I leave

town without contriving to see them.”

“There is not the least occasion, Sir,” answered Cecilia, “that I should

trouble you to quit the room I merely came to beg you would have the

goodness to be present while Mr Arnott opens a small packet which was

last night put into my hands by Mr Harrel.”

“And has Mr Arnott,” answered he, somewhat sternly, “thought proper to

send me such a request?”

“No, Sir,” said Cecilia, “the request is mine; and if, as I now fear, it

is impertinent, I must entreat you to forget it.”

“As far as relates merely to yourself,” returned Mr Delvile, “it is

another matter; but certainly Mr Arnott can have no possible claim upon

my time or attention; and I think it rather extraordinary, that a young

man with whom I have no sort of connection or commerce, and whose very

name is almost unknown to me, should suppose a person in my style of

life so little occupied as to be wholly at his command.”

“He had no such idea, Sir,” said Cecilia, greatly disconcerted; “the

honour of your presence is merely solicited by myself, and simply from

the apprehension that some directions may be contained in the papers

which, perhaps, ought immediately to be executed.”

“I am not, I repeat,” said Mr Delvile, more mildly, “displeased at your

part of this transaction; your want of experience and knowledge of the

world makes you not at all aware of the consequences which may follow my

compliance; the papers you speak of may perhaps be of great importance,

and hereafter the first witness to their being read may be publickly

called upon. You know not the trouble such an affair may occasion, but

Mr Arnott ought to be better informed.”

Cecilia, making another apology for the error which she had committed,

was in no small confusion, quitting the room; but Mr Delvile,

perfectly appeased by seeing her distress, stopt her, to say, with much

graciousness, “For your sake, Miss Beverley, I am sorry I cannot act in

this business; but you see how I am situated! overpowered with affairs

of my own, and people who can do nothing without my orders. Besides,

should there hereafter be any investigation into the matter, my name

might, perhaps, be mentioned, and it would be superfluous to say how ill

I should think it used by being brought into such company.”

Cecilia then left the rooms secretly vowing that no possible exigence

should in future tempt her to apply for assistance to Mr Delvile, which,

however ostentatiously offered, was constantly withheld when claimed.

She was beginning to communicate to Mr Arnott her ill success, when

young Delvile, with an air of eagerness, followed her into the room.

“Pardon me,” he cried, “for this intrusion,--but, tell me, is it

impossible that in this affair I can represent my father? may not the

office you meant for him, devolve upon me? remember how near we are to

each other, and honour me for once with supposing us the same!”

Ah who, or what, thought Cecilia, can be so different? She thanked him,

with much sweetness, for his offer, but declined accepting it, saying “I

will not, now I know the inconveniencies of my request, be so selfish as

even to suffer it should be granted.”

“You must not deny me,” cried he; “where is the packet? why should you

lose a moment?”

“Rather ask,” answered she, “why I should permit you to lose a moment

in a matter that does not concern you? and to risk, perhaps, the loss of

many moments hereafter, from a too incautious politeness.”

“And what can I risk,” cried he, “half so precious as your smallest

satisfaction? do you suppose I can flatter myself with a possibility of

contributing to it, and yet have the resolution to refuse myself so

much pleasure? no, no, the heroic times are over, and self-denial is no

longer in fashion!”

“You are very good,” said Cecilia; “but indeed after what has passed--”

“No matter for what has passed,” interrupted he, “we are now to think

of what is to come. I know you too well to doubt your impatience in the

execution of a commission which circumstances have rendered sacred; and

should any thing either be done or omitted contrary to the directions

in your packet, will you not be apt, blameless as you are, to disturb

yourself with a thousand fears that you took not proper methods for the

discharge of your trust?”

There was something in this earnestness so like his former behaviour,

and so far removed from his late reserve, that Cecilia, who perceived

it with a pleasure she could hardly disguise, now opposed him no longer,

but took up the packet, and broke the seal.

And then, to her no small amazement, instead of the expected will, she

found a roll of enormous bills, and a collection of letters from various

creditors, threatening the utmost severity of the law if their demands

were longer unanswered.

Upon a slip of paper which held these together, was written, in Mr

Harrel's hand, To be all paid to-night with a BULLET.

Next appeared two letters of another sort; the first of which was from

Sir Robert Floyer, and in these words;

Sir,--As all prospects are now over of the alliance, I hope you will

excuse my reminding you of the affair at Brookes's of last Christmas. I

have the honour to be, Sir, yours R. FLOYER.

The other was from Mr Marriot.

Sir,--Though I should think £2000 nothing for the smallest hope, I must

take the liberty to say I think it a great deal for only ten minutes;

you can't have forgot, Sir, the terms of our agreement, but as I find

you cannot keep to them, I must beg to be off also on my side, and I

am persuaded you are too much a man of honour to take advantage of my

over-eagerness in parting with my money without better security. I am,

Sir, your most humble servant, A. Marriot.

What a scene of fraud, double-dealing, and iniquity was here laid open!

Cecilia, who at first meant to read every thing aloud, found the attempt

utterly vain, for so much was she shocked, that she could hardly read on

to herself.

Last of all appeared a paper in Mr Harrel's own hand-writing, containing

these words.

For Mrs Harrel, Miss Beverley, and Mr Arnott.

I can struggle no longer, the last blow must now be struck! another day

robs me of my house and my liberty, and blasts me by the fatal discovery

of my double attempts.

This is what I have wished; wholly to be freed, or ruined past all

resource, and driven to the long-projected remedy.

A burthen has my existence been these two years, gay as I have appeared;

not a night have I gone to bed, but heated and inflamed from a gaming

table; not a morning have I awaked, but to be soured with a dun!

I would not lead such a life again, if the slave who works hardest at

the oar would change with me.

Had I a son, I would bequeath him a plough; I should then leave him

happier than my parents left me.

Idleness has been my destruction; the want of something to do led me

into all evil.

A good wife perhaps might have saved me,--mine, I thank her! tried not.

Disengaged from me and my affairs, her own pleasures and amusements

have occupied her solely. Dreadful will be the catastrophe she will see

to-night; let her bring it home, and live better!

If any pity is felt for me, it will be where I have least deserved it!

Mr Arnott--Miss Beverley! it will come from you!

To bring myself to this final resolution, hard, I confess, have been my

conflicts; it is not that I have feared death, no, I have long wished

it, for shame and dread have embittered my days; but something there

is within me that causes a deeper horror, that asks my preparation for

another world! that demands my authority for quitting this!--what may

hereafter--O terrible!--Pray for me, generous Miss Beverley!--kind,

gentle Mr Arnott, pray for me!--

Wretch as Mr Harrel appeared, without religion, principle, or honour,

this incoherent letter, evidently written in the desperate moment of

determined suicide, very much affected both Cecilia and Mr Arnott, and

in spite either of abhorrence or resentment, they mutually shed tears

over the address to themselves.

Delvile, to whom every part of the affair was new, could only consider

these papers as so many specimens of guilt and infamy; he read them,

therefore, with astonishment and detestation, and openly congratulated

Cecilia upon having escaped the double snares that were spread for her.

While this was passing, Mr Monckton arrived; who felt but little

satisfaction from beholding the lady of his heart in confidential

discourse with two of his rivals, one of whom had long attacked her

by the dangerous flattery of perseverance, and the other, without any

attack, had an influence yet more powerful.

Delvile, having performed the office for which he came, concluded, upon

the entrance of Mr Monckton, that Cecilia had nothing further to wish

from him; for her long acquaintance with that gentleman, his being a

married man, and her neighbour in the country, were circumstances well

known to him; he merely, therefore, enquired if she would honour him

with any commands, and upon her assuring him she had none, he quietly

withdrew.

This was no little relief to Mr Monckton, into whose hands Cecilia then

put the fatal packet; and while he was reading it, at the desire of Mr

Arnott, she went up stairs to prepare Mrs Harrel for his admission.

Mrs Harrel, unused to solitude, and as eager for company when unhappy

to console, as when easy to divert her, consented to receive him with

pleasure; they both wept at the meeting, and Cecilia, after some words

of general comfort, left them together.

She had then a very long and circumstantial conversation with Mr

Monckton, who explained whatever had appeared dark in the writings

left by Mr Harrel, and who came to her before he saw them, with full

knowledge of what they contained.

Mr Harrel had contracted with Sir Robert Floyer a large debt of honour

before the arrival in town of Cecilia; and having no power to discharge

it, he promised that the prize he expected in his ward should fall

to his share, upon condition that the debt was cancelled. Nothing was

thought more easy than to arrange this business, for the Baronet was

always to be in her way, and the report of the intended alliance was to

keep off all other pretenders. Several times, however, her coldness made

him think the matter hopeless; and when he received her letter, he

would have given up the whole affair; but Mr Harrel, well knowing his

inability to satisfy the claims that would follow such a defection,

constantly persuaded him the reserve was affected, and that his own

pride and want of assiduity occasioned all her discouragement.

But while thus, by amusing the Baronet with false hopes, he kept off his

demands, those of others were not less clamorous; his debts increased,

his power of paying them diminished; he grew sour and desperate, and in

one night lost £3000 beyond what he could produce, or offer any security

for.

This, as he said, was what he wished; and now he was, for the present,

to extricate himself by doubling stakes and winning, or to force himself

into suicide by doubling such a loss. For though, with tolerable ease,

he could forget accounts innumerable with his tradesmen, one neglected

debt of honour rendered his existence insupportable!

For this last great effort, his difficulty was to raise the £3000

already due, without which the proposal could not be made; and, after

various artifices and attempts, he at length contrived a meeting with Mr

Marriot, intreated him to lend him £2000 for only two days, and offered

his warmest services in his favour with Cecilia.

The rash and impassioned young man, deceived by his accounts into

believing that his ward was wholly at his disposal, readily advanced the

money, without any other condition than that of leave to visit freely

at his house, to the exclusion of Sir Robert Floyer. “The other £1000,”

continued Mr Monckton, “I know not how he obtained, but he certainly had

three. You, I hope, were not so unguarded--”

“Ah, Mr Monckton,” said Cecilia, “blame me not too severely! the attacks

that were made,--the necessity of otherwise betraying the worthy and

half ruined Mr. Arnott--”

“Oh fie,” cried he, “to suffer your understanding to be lulled asleep,

because the weak-minded Mr Arnott's could not be kept awake! I thought,

after such cautions from me, and such experience of your own, you could

not again have been thus duped.”

“I thought so too,” answered she, “but yet when the trial came

on,--indeed you know not how I was persecuted.”

“Yet you see,” returned he, “the utter inutility of the attempt; you

see, and I told you beforehand, that nothing could save him.”

“True; but had I been firmer in refusal, I might not so well have known

it; I might then have upbraided myself with supposing that my compliance

would have rescued him.”

“You have indeed,” cried Mr Monckton, “fallen into most worthless hands,

and the Dean was much to blame for naming so lightly a guardian to a

fortune such as yours.”

“Pardon me,” cried Cecilia, “he never entrusted him with my fortune, he

committed it wholly to Mr Briggs.”

“But if he knew not the various subterfuges by which such a caution

might be baffled, he ought to have taken advice of those who were better

informed. Mr Briggs, too! what a wretch! mean, low, vulgar, sordid!--the

whole city of London, I believe, could not produce such another! how

unaccountable to make you the ward of a man whose house you cannot enter

without disgust!”

“His house,” cried Cecilia, “my uncle never wished me to enter; he

believed, and he was right, that my fortune would be safe in his hands;

but for myself, he concluded I should always reside at Mr Harrel's.”

“But does not the city at this time,” said Mr Monckton, “abound in

families where, while your fortune was in security, you might yourself

have lived with propriety? Nothing requires circumspection so minute as

the choice of a guardian to a girl of large fortune, and in general one

thing only is attended to, an appearance of property. Morals, integrity,

character, are either not thought of, or investigated so superficially,

that the enquiry were as well wholly omitted.” He then continued his

relation.

Mr Harrel hastened with his £3000 to the gaming table; one throw of

the dice settled the business, he lost, and ought immediately to have

doubled the sum. That, however, was never more likely to be in his

power; he knew it; he knew, too, the joint claims of Cecilia's deceived

admirers, and that his house was again threatened with executions

from various quarters;--he went home, loaded his pistols, and took the

methods already related to work himself into courage for the deed.

The means by which Mr Monckton had procured these particulars were many

and various, and not all such as he could avow; since in the course of

his researches, he had tampered with servants and waiters, and scrupled

at no methods that led but to discovery.

Nor did his intelligence stop here; he had often, he said, wondered at

the patience of Mr Harrel's creditors, but now even that was cleared

up by a fresh proof of infamy; he had been himself at the house in

Portmansquare, where he was informed that Mr Harrel had kept them quiet,

by repeated assurances that his ward, in a short time, meant to lend him

money for discharging them all.

Cecilia saw now but too clearly the reason her stay in his house was so

important to him; and wondered less at his vehemence upon that subject,

though she detested it more.

“Oh how little,” cried she, “are the gay and the dissipated to be

known upon a short acquaintance! expensive, indeed, and thoughtless

and luxurious he appeared to me immediately; but fraudulent,

base, designing, capable of every pernicious art of treachery and

duplicity,--such, indeed, I expected not to find him, his very

flightiness and levity seemed incompatible with such hypocrisy.”

“His flightiness,” said Mr Monckton, “proceeded not from gaiety of

heart, it was merely the effect of effort; and his spirits were as

mechanical as his taste for diversion. He had not strong parts, nor

were his vices the result of his passions; had oeconomy been as much in

fashion as extravagance, he would have been equally eager to practice

it; he was a mere time-server, he struggled but to be something, and

having neither talents nor sentiment to know what, he looked around him

for any pursuit, and seeing distinction was more easily attained in the

road to ruin than in any other, he gallopped along it, thoughtless of

being thrown when he came to the bottom, and sufficiently gratified in

shewing his horsemanship by the way.”

And now, all that he had either to hear or to communicate upon this

subject being told, he enquired, with a face strongly expressive of his

disapprobation, why he found her at Mr Delvile's, and what had become of

her resolution to avoid his house?

Cecilia, who, in the hurry of her mind and her affairs, had wholly

forgotten that such a resolution had been taken, blushed at the

question, and could not, at first, recollect what had urged her to

break it; but when he proceeded to mention Mr Briggs, she was no longer

distressed; she gave a circumstantial account of her visit to

him, related the mean misery in which he lived, and told him the

impracticability of her residing in such a house.

Mr Monckton could now in decency make no further opposition, however

painful and reluctant was his acquiescence; yet before he quitted

her, he gave himself the consolation of considerably obliging her, and

softened his chagrin by the sweetness of her acknowledgments.

He enquired how much money in all she had now taken up of the Jew; and

hearing it was £9050, he represented to her the additional loss she

must suffer by paying an exorbitant interest for so large a sum, and

the almost certainty with which she might be assured of very gross

imposition; he expatiated, also, upon the injury which her character

might receive in the world, were it known that she used such methods

to procure money, since the circumstances which had been her inducement

would probably either be unnoticed or misrepresented; and when he had

awakened in her much uneasiness and regret upon this subject, he offered

to pay the Jew without delay, clear her wholly from his power, and

quietly receive the money when she came of age from herself.

A proposal so truly friendly made her look upon the regard of Mr

Monckton in a higher and nobler point of view than her utmost esteem and

reverence had hitherto placed it; yet she declined at first accepting

the offer, from an apprehension it might occasion him inconvenience; but

when he assured her he had a yet larger sum lying at present useless

in a Banker's hands, and promised to receive the same interest for his

money he should be paid from the funds, she joyfully listened to

him; and it was settled that they should send for the Jew, take his

discharge, and utterly dismiss him.

Mr Monckton, however, fearful of appearing too officious in her affairs,

wished not to have his part in the transaction published, and advised

Cecilia not to reveal the matter to the Delviles. But great as was his

[ascendancy] over her mind, her aversion to mystery and hypocrisy were

still greater; she would not, therefore, give him this promise, though

her own desire to wait some seasonable opportunity for disclosing it,

made her consent that their meeting with the Jew should be at the house

of Mrs Roberts in Fetter-lane, at twelve o'clock the next morning; where

she might also see Mrs Hill and her children before she left town.

They now parted, Cecilia charmed more than ever with her friend, whose

kindness, as she suspected not his motives, seemed to spring from the

most disinterested generosity.

That, however, was the smallest feature in the character of Mr Monckton,

who was entirely a man of the world, shrewd, penetrating, attentive

to his interest, and watchful of every advantage to improve it. In the

service he now did Cecilia, he was gratified by giving her pleasure, but

that was by no means his only gratification; he still hoped her fortune

would one day be his own, he was glad to transact any business with

her, and happy in making her owe to him an obligation; but his principal

inducement was yet stronger; he saw with much alarm the facility of her

liberality; and he feared while she continued in correspondence with

the Jew, that the easiness with which she could raise money would be a

motive with her to continue the practice whenever she was softened by

distress, or subdued by entreaty; but he hoped, by totally concluding

the negociation, the temptation would be removed; and that the hazard

and inconvenience of renewing it, would strengthen her aversion to such

an expedient, till, between difficulties and disuse, that dangerous

resource would be thought of no more.

Cecilia then returned to Mrs Harrel, whom she found as she had left,

weeping in the arms of her brother. They consulted upon what was best

to be done, and agreed that she ought instantly to leave town; for which

purpose a chaise was ordered directly. They settled also that Mr Arnott,

when he had conveyed her to his country house, which was in Suffolk,

should hasten back to superintend the funeral, and see if anything could

be saved from the creditors for his sister.

Yet this plan, till Cecilia was summoned to dinner, they had not the

resolution to put in practice. They were then obliged to be gone, and

their parting was very melancholy. Mrs Harrel wept immoderately, and

Mr Arnott felt a concern too tender for avowal, though too sincere

for concealment. Cecilia, however glad to change her situation, was

extremely depressed by their sorrow, and entreated to have frequent

accounts of their proceedings, warmly repeating her offers of service,

and protestations of faithful regard.

She accompanied them to the chaise, and then went to the dining parlour,

where she found Mr and Mrs Delvile, but saw nothing more of their son

the whole day.

The next morning after breakfast, Mrs Delvile set out upon some

leave-taking visits, and Cecilia went in a chair to Fetter-lane; here,

already waiting for her, she met the punctual Mr Monckton, and the

disappointed Jew, who most unwillingly was paid off, and relinquished

his bonds; and who found in the severe and crafty Mr Monckton, another

sort of man to deal with than the necessitous and heedless Mr Harrel.

As soon as he was dismissed, other bonds were drawn and signed, the old

ones were destroyed; and Cecilia, to her infinite satisfaction, had no

creditor but Mr Monckton. Her bookseller, indeed, was still unpaid, but

her debt with him was public, and gave her not any uneasiness.

She now, with the warmest expressions of gratitude, took leave of Mr

Monckton, who suffered the most painful struggles in repressing the

various apprehensions to which the parting, and her establishment at the

Delviles gave rise.

She then enquired briefly into the affairs of Mrs Hill, and having heard

a satisfactory account of them, returned to St James's-square.