from Sibella, and also the letters that have passed between Mr. Murden
and myself. I lay them before you, with the confidence that you will
afford them a patient and temperate perusal; for I think they will serve
to convince you, as they have already convinced me by the unfortunate
event to which they have led, that, however plausible and even necessary
in appearance, yet artifice and secresy are dangerous vicious tools.
Your secrets were the preparatory step to the errors of Clement and
Sibella. Had Sibella never departed from strict truth and sincerity, she
had never formed her rash engagement with Clement. Had Murden never
(with his dangerous refinements of fancy) longed secretly to view this
rare child of seclusion, he had not battered his life and happiness for
a sigh. And lastly, had I not given way to the fatal mistake that
secresy could repair the inability of reason, I had, instead of availing
myself of the ruin on the rock, ere now perhaps released Sibella by
convincing you. And we had all been comparatively happy.
Murden's unfinished letter from the village of Hipsley will show you his
deplorable situation, and all that we know concerning the loss of our
Sibella.
I have six agents employed to discover her. But they wander blindly, for
I have neither trace, nor supposition, to guide them. What can I do,
Sir? if you have any advice to offer, I hope you will not withhold it,
from animosity to me. Excessively do I love the friend I have helped to
sacrifice, yet I can readily and sincerely forgive you the errors of
your conduct towards her. Oh then, Sir, pardon mine, and in pity to the
anxiety of my heart aid me with your advice and assistance.
I do not even hate Mr. Montgomery; though I do despise him altogether.
You suspected him of taking Sibella from the castle. I suspected him of
stealing her from Mr. Murden. He was otherwise employed.
I arrived in town, with my poor patient under my protection, yesterday
evening, and resigned Mr. Murden to the care of his uncle, Sir Thomas
Barlowe. When I drove up to my mother's door, I found it more than
usually crowded with carriages and servants; hung upon the pillars; and,
when several of my mother's footmen stepped from among the crowd, I
perceived they were in new liveries adorned in the highest stile of
elegant expence. Though it was impossible not to notice the uncommon
glare of splendor that saluted my eyes, yet our changes have always been
so various and profuse, I never thought of enquiring into the cause of
the present. Unfitted by my dress, but still more by weariness of limbs
and depression of mind, to encounter company, I retired to my chamber
and to bed.
This morning my maid attended me; and, with the natural hesitation of
good nature in relating disagreeable tidings, she informed me--Mr.
Montgomery was married to my mother.
Sir, it is the fact. Last Saturday, my mother became the bride of your
son; and the parade I witnessed last night was to do honour to the first
complimentors of this extraordinary hymeneal.
The tidings stunned me, for I was no way prepared from the conduct of
either to expect such an event. Uninvited and assuredly unwelcome, I
visited their apartment the hour of breakfast, and my mother collected
the utmost of her haughtiness and Mr. Montgomery his gay indifference,
to repel the reproaches they expected I should be prompted to bestow on
them. But, Sir, they mistook me. I went only to deliver to them a plain
history of the mischiefs I have heaped on Mr. Murden and my Sibella, to
remind them how early, and, alas! how severe a punishment has followed
my deviation from rectitude.
I saw Montgomery's countenance become pale and ghastly. It was, Sir,
when I spoke of Miss Valmont's independent fortune. Then, I believe,
all the force of his situation was present with him. May it often recur,
and be the preservative against future follies.
Allow me, Sir, to say a word or two of him who most loved your niece and
best deserved her. Mr. Murden intruded on your domain, and destroyed
some of your unripe projects; yet I persuade myself you will feel a pity
for his misfortunes. His life pays the forfeiture of his curiosity and
secresy. A romantic love of Miss Valmont sapped its foundation, and his
nights of watching amidst the chilling damps of the Ruin hastened the
progress of its destruction. Sibella's unaccountable escape from him at
a time when his high toned feelings were wrought upon, in a way that I
cannot express, by the _alteration_ in her person, drove him to madness.
Then it was that I saw him who once possessed every advantage of manly
grace and beauty changed to a living skeleton, whose eyes starting from
their sockets glanced around with wild horror and insanity. Oh, Sir, it
was indeed a scene that called forth all my fortitude!
As his delirium had no mischievous tendencies, it was judged better to
remove him to London; and whether change of air and place had the
salutary effect, or the delirium had exhausted its force I know not, but
he became perfectly restored to reason before we reached London. That
restoration was almost beyond my hopes; and there hope rests, it dares
not presume further. The most certain indications of speedy dissolution
now appear; and all my time must be given to the endeavour of tracing my
beloved Sibella, and consoling the anxious Murden for her loss. On his
own account, consolation pains him. All his wishes centre in death; and
the irrevocable union will soon take place.
Will you be kind enough to inform me of the name of Sibella's other
guardian?--Adieu, Sir, may that peace which is only to be purchased by
rectitude become an inmate of your abode.
CAROLINE ASHBURN
LETTER XXXVI
LORD FILMAR
TO
SIR WALTER BOYER
Faith, Walter, I have secured a rich prize, indeed. Hear but its
estimate.
In the first place, a very lovely and adorable woman.
In the second, a fine estate.
In the third,----an heir (in embrio) to inherit it.
True, by the Gods!--Nevertheless, stop your rash conclusions, for I have
heard her whole story, therefore I tell you that Miss Ashburn is an
angel, Mr. Murden a fine fellow, Mr. Valmont an idiot, Sibella a saint,
and Montgomery--a scoundrel: though on my soul she talked so movingly of
his _never fading faith_ I could not for my life persuade myself to tell
her my true opinion of him.
From the little she knows of Murden, (her hermit and deliverer) I long
to know more. I burn to tell you of her wonderful escape, of the
marvellous Ruin on the rock, but I have resolved to wave explanations
till I come.--I charge you, by your friendship, breathe not a whisper of
the adventure till you see me. I am going to restore her to her friends;
her eloquence did part, but truly her condition did more.--I never
bargained to pay off such a mortgage. I could love her dearly; but then
you know my name is Filmar, and as a Lord I am bound in duty to love and
cherish no son but a son of my own begetting.
I have dispatched two messengers, one for carriages and another to that
inn at Hipsley (_which I don't love at all now_) to make enquiries after
Mr. Murden. I wonder how he and I shall adjust our accounts.--I fear
there is a long balance in his favour.
You perceive, Walter, all my secret plottings and contrivings have
brought me to a fine heritage at last! Murden cannot call me any thing
less than a _thief_, and will say I deserve a thief's punishment.
Valmont too will want a peck at me, neither for the credit of love nor
integrity but only because Sibella is the great great great
granddaughter of some one or other of his _great_ grandfather's.
Montgomery may pretend the honour of _his wife_ (her own phrase)
impeached by her residence with me, and if he won't believe that until
two hours since I never forced myself into her presence, why I shall be
obliged by all the laws of honour and gentlemanship to prove it by the
length of a sword.
Heigh ho! and this pretty wisdom-speaking mortal has actually prevailed
on me to endure the brunt and carry her back to Miss Ashburn! She has
offered high bribes,--solid comforts,--made up of duty and justice;--but
I have a sickly palate--spoiled by other viands,--I want a modern
seasoned fricassee.
Alas! I have no alternative--unless I shoot her and bury her under a
tree. I don't know what of that sort I may be tempted to for myself! for
when I have no longer her and her concerns to think of I must turn to my
own--a pretty prospect!
Do you know, Walter, any way that a Lord turned plain man can get a
living? for unless I _get it_ heaven knows I must go without it.
You are admiring my forbearance in keeping such a distance, Walter; but
the fact is, I was a coward. Daily almost hourly Miss Valmont intreated
she might speak with me, and I as constantly with a great many civil
excuses declined the conversation. What could I have said but what had
amounted to this: 'Miss Valmont, I ran away with you, because I wanted
your estate, for want of a better.--As to yourself, I know nothing about
you, therefore how can I care for you?' Methought, Walter, when I had
your cash in hand I should be bold. Your cash came; I pocketed it; and I
proudly strutted up to Miss Valmont.----The former pages will tell you
the result.
* * * * *
The plot thickens, and I am more of Montgomery's sort than I believed I
was.--Mr. Murden is dying.--Good God, Walter! who would have thought on
this?--They told my messenger that he has been raving mad! and that a
lady took him away for London yesterday morning.--I dare not relate to
Miss Valmont these cursed tidings.--I am impatient to yield her up.--We
shall travel as fast as I think her condition may allow without danger.
FILMAR
LETTER XXXVII
FROM GEORGE VALMONT
TO
CAROLINE ASHBURN
Madam,
I am certainly obliged to you for your intentions; and though I allow
you have sometimes reason on your side, I think you make too little
allowance for the proper obedience due from children to parents. As a
parent I certainly stood both to Clement and Sibella, and they ought
implicitly to have obeyed my commands. However, she poor child suffers
sufficiently, and I am willing to forgive though I can never be
reconciled to her. Her pregnancy will now be known to the world; and,
were I again to receive her, I should co-operate in disgracing my
family. I heartily wish your search may be successful; and I am ready to
reimburse your expences; and also, if you find my niece, to allow her a
proper establishment.
My Lord of Elsings, joint guardian with me in the trust of Miss Valmont,
resides at present in this neighbourhood. I have had an interview with
him on the business; but I do not discover that either himself, or any
one related to him, is any way concerned in taking Sibella.
Will you take the trouble, in my name, to wish Clement Montgomery all
the _felicity_ he may expect to find in his union with old age, folly,
and affectation?
Madam,
Your very obedient servant,
G. VALMONT
LETTER XXXVIII
FROM LORD FILMAR
TO
SIR WALTER BOYER
Your Pardon, Walter, that I should pass your lodgings as I drove out of
town without stopping to say a single how-do-ye. But, let pity and
humanity plead their cause with ever so much eloquence, yet the
prejudices of custom are so potent that a man becomes ashamed if his
eyes give their tribute to the feelings of his heart. Truly, Walter, I
should have blushed to-day at my insensibility if I had not wept
yesterday. Yet, for weeping, I coward-like drew up the blinds of my
chaise, and, to hide myself from the finger of scorn, bade the driver
carry me with all expedition to my aunt's retreat at Hayley lodge.
I must suppose, for your own sake, Boyer, that when you wrote me your
hasty letter to the farm, you were uninformed of Montgomery's marriage
with Mrs. Ashburn. Haste could not excuse such an over-sight, as little
as you knew of Miss Valmont. No! no! it was not possible you could be
informed of it and not send me the tidings.
I am an ass, I have not the common discernment of a school boy, or I had
never talked of accommodating her condition by tardy travelling when I
was bearing Miss Valmont to her beloved though perfidious Clement.
Speed, flying speed, was alone necessary to her safety. I spared neither
money nor command, yet to her foundered. Not that she complained. Never!
She even thanked my zeal, when her gasping sensations would give way to
utterance. But I saw it, Walter, in her eyes. I saw the speed of her
affections in the convulsive swells of her bosom. Do not call me
ridiculous, but upon my soul there were moments of the journey that
while gazing on her I was on the point of grasping her in my arms, lest
her very form should dissolve into feeling and vanish from my
protection.
Once I refused to proceed unless she would take refreshment. She did not
plead; and taking from me a cup of chocolate, her shaking hand raised it
half way to her lips then returned it untasted to the table. I drew a
chair, and deliberately seated myself, as if resolved to put my threat
in practice. After a short silence, 'Sir,' said she, 'have you ever
known what it is to love?' I was looking on the fire; and, recollecting
some odd sensations that had occasionally crept to my heart, was about
to reply in the affirmative, but turning my head and meeting the full
gaze of her eloquent eye, an honest and prompt reply sprang to my
lips--'By my soul and salvation, never, Madam!--Griffiths, see the
horses instantly put to the chaise. We alight no more, till we alight in
London.'
Montgomery showed you a silly portrait that he painted. To say it was
the likeness of Miss Valmont was a falsehood. 'Twas a mere passive
representation of fine features. Let him paint me their energy, their
force, the fulness of hope that beamed from them yesterday morning, and
I will say he is worthy of Miss Valmont's love!--He cannot do it,
Walter! He could as soon be a god! She never was beautiful till then.
Not, in the fullest bloom of her vigour and prosperity, did she ever
equal herself such as I saw her yesterday morning.
'This, Madam is Miss Ashburn's residence,' I said as we drove to the
door.
'I shall see my Caroline first then,' said Miss Valmont:--'next my
Clement.'
Agitated as I was at the time by her impatience and expectations, I
cannot suppose I enquired for any one else than Miss Ashburn. Whether
the servant imagined she was of the party or concluded my visit must be
to his mistress I know not, but he announced Lord Filmar in the drawing
room; and I led in the loveliest spectre with golden threaded hair to an
apartment where Montgomery lolled negligently on one sopha and his
portly bride on another.
Shall I tell you how they looked? No! for their best looks are
worthless! But I will tell you that Miss Valmont looked ardor love and
truth.--She raised her clasped hands one instant, then rushed into the
arms of Montgomery, which involuntarily opened to receive and were
compelled to sustain her. A confused suspicion of something more than
usually wrong in Montgomery darted upon my mind. I looked wistfully
around the apartment, as it were for a relief from danger, and my heart
bounded as I saw Miss Ashburn enter the room.--Charming woman! She
could make astonishment yield to better feelings with admirable presence
of mind, she instantly approached Miss Valmont, saying, 'Sibella,
dearest Sibella, have you no tokens for your Caroline?'
'Oh yes,' replied Miss Valmont, 'many, many! Love and gratitude also for
my Caroline! happy happy world! I will live with you in it for ever!'
Miss Ashburn endeavoured to retain Sibella in her embrace; and began
hurryingly to enquire of her where she had been, and by what means she
had got hither. But Miss Valmont knew nothing of the past. She was alive
only to the present, to her own anticipation of the future. She turned
back to him.
'I say for ever, Clement!'--She would have given herself a second time
to his arms, but an averted look and staggering retreat forbad her.
Good God, Walter, methinks I see her now! Never shall I cease to
remember the changes of her countenance--from rapture to
astonishment--from dumb astonishment to doubt:--and from doubt, the
quick transition, to despair!
Thus spoke to her the hesitating cold blooded villain--'Miss Valmont,
you have used me very ill----once--I--I could have--it was barbarous of
you who knew your uncle's severe disposition----a little longer
concealment might--'
He paused. Miss Ashburn's tears began to flow for her friend, who showed
no symptom of common sorrow. Miss Ashburn endeavoured to take her hands;
but Sibella shrunk as if the kind emotions of her nature were congealed.
A tear that had lingered on her cheek, the last of her tears of
happiness, died away. Her asking eye still fixed itself on Montgomery,
nor could he forbear answering to it.
'You know, Miss Valmont----'
'Hear me! listen only to me!' exclaimed Miss Ashburn. Sibella pushed her
firmly aside, and bent forward to him.
'I would, Miss Valmont--'continued he in the same irresolute, cowardly,
cruel tone, 'I should be glad to serve you.--It will be best that you
return to your uncle. It might have been otherwise--but you were always
rash and premature.--This is not time for explanations. I am sorry, but
I cannot now give you any protection, for I--I am, indeed----Yes, Madam,
I am married.'
'Are we not both married?' said she, with an emphasis that thrilled
him.--'What is this?--speak Clement!'
'Nay, now, Miss Valmont, you are childish,' said Mrs. Ashburn coldly
(Montgomery's bride I mean). 'What man of taste marries a woman after an
affair with her?'
'I can bear this no longer,' cried Miss Ashburn. 'Silence,
Madam!--Sibella, dear Sibella, turn your eyes on me! Let not their pure
rays beam on a wretch so worthless!'
Devoured by emotions over which friendship had no control, she was still
deaf to Miss Ashburn. Still those pure eyes bent their gaze on
Montgomery, who now trembled, who now could not ever articulate his
broken sentences, who, fainting with guilt, supported himself by leaning
on the back of that couch on which he had so lately reclined in the ease
of his basely purchased triumph. Suddenly starting from this posture, he
rushed towards the door.
'Whither, whither, Clement!' exclaimed Miss Valmont. 'Oh, you'll take me
with you, Clement!'--And while, without daring to look on her, he
disengaged his hand which she had seized, she rapidly uttered in a
softened tone of voice--'Clement, lover, husband, all!'
The door shut upon Montgomery, she shrieked. Miss Ashburn would have
embraced her, but she would not suffer it. She sunk upon the floor. She
crossed her arms upon her bosom, with a violent pressure, as if to bind
the agony; her teeth grated against each other; and every limb
shuddered.
I had approached her with Miss Ashburn, and, scarcely less affected than
Miss Ashburn herself, I was turning away to hide my emotions when she
sprang upon her feet in an instant; and, grasping my arm, 'you shall not
go without me,' she said. 'Come, Sir: I have told you the way, carry me
back to the castle.'
'Then you have forgotten your Caroline, forgotten the kind Murden who
hazarded so much to save you?'
'No,' replied Miss Valmont, 'I never forgot any one.'
She took her hand from my arm, and lifted both hands to her forehead.
She stood immoveable in deep musing for some time. 'Take me to the
castle!' at length she exclaimed, without changing her posture or
looking at any person. 'Bid Mr. Valmont provide a dungeon where I can
die. I will not go to the wood! Oh, no! nor to my chamber!' She groaned
and started.--'For whom is it that you weep, thus?' she asked, abruptly
turning round to Miss Ashburn.
'For my Sibella.'
She bent forward; and gazed intently in Miss Ashburn's face, as if in
search of something.
'It is Caroline!' said she, drawing back. Spreading her arms wide, she
looked down upon herself: 'Sibella!'--then, every muscle of her face
convulsed with anguish, she bent her eyes upon the door--'and that was
Clement!--Oh!'
In short, Walter, a thousand tender touches followed which wrung my
heart to pity--while that----woman had the insolence and brutality to
call herself Montgomery's wife. But Sibella did not understand her, or
if she did, 'twas nothing. His look, his tones had completed the work,
and her mind could feel nothing beyond. Other dreadful agonies followed,
but under the suffering of those she was patience itself. She was
conveyed to her friend's chamber; and in three hours delivered of a dead
child.
I waited the result alone in Miss Ashburn's library, canvassing over all
the exquisite concern I had in producing such misery to this injured
Sibella. Had I been buried in a quick sand on the road to Hipsley, her
noble minded Caroline and the tender Murden might by due preparation
have robbed Clement's perfidy of half its sting. But to come upon her
thus, to hurl her down such a precipice from the felicity of her
expectations--Oh, no wonder her life should be in danger! And think,
Walter, what I must have felt when they came to tell me so.
In such a moment, who could palliate? Not, I indeed! I did not conceal
from Miss Ashburn an atom of the truth; and she talked like an angel,
for she not only told me I should amend but taught me how to amend.
One little satisfaction, indeed, visited me under that roof. I saw
Janetta Laundy disgracefully dismissed. She it was, I doubt not, that
made this match to satisfy her own grasping avarice by Montgomery's
folly. Would you believe that she had so far imposed on the credulity of
Mrs. Ashburn that she dared sneer at my assertions? Luckily, I had some
letters in my pocket-book lately written by her to me, and such proofs
could neither be denied nor parried. As the letters pretty fully
displayed the commerce with Montgomery, Mrs. Ashburn poured on her a
torrent of abuses; but scarcely had Janetta withdrawn when she
complained that her daughter had made her house odious to her, had
brought a rival to insult her; and finally she ordered a servant to
enquire if Mr. Montgomery would attend her to the opera. Mr. Montgomery
was no where to be found.
And, next, Miss Ashburn gave me a commission. No less, Walter, than to
relate my worthy exploits to Mr. Murden. By the interest of Miss
Ashburn's name, I was admitted to his chamber. When I saw the wasted
form and heard the hollow voice of Murden, and knew, for Miss Ashburn
had told me, that love of Miss Valmont had brought him thus near the
grave, I shuddered at the idea of my commission. He heard me with a
composure which shocked while it astonished me, till I mentioned our
entering Mrs. Ashburn's drawing room. 'Hold Sir,' cried he, 'has she
then seen him?' I replied, 'she has indeed.'
'Enough, Sir,' said he, 'I know all that remains already.'
Not another syllable passed between us, till I rose to go. He then
offered me his hand, and said if I would promise not to pity him he
would ask to see me again.
And so he shall. I will, if possible, see him before he dies. My
messenger, who brings you this letter, travels for tidings respecting
Miss Valmont. Adieu,
FILMAR
LETTER XXXIX
FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN
TO
GEORGE VALMONT
Sir,
Our Sibella is found.--I write at her bed-side; and, if after one hour's
cool investigation of the past, you can lay your hand on your heart and
say, _though Sibella offended me I was ever just to her_, I will yield
up the earnest wish I have, that you should come to London to extend the
forgiveness you have already granted, to see, to bless her, e'er she
dies. Those convulsive starts tell me nature cannot long support the
struggle.
She was the only child of your brother, Sir, and one among the fairest
among the daughters of men.