_Is less pleasing than the former_
After this solemn parting between Mr. Trueworth and Mrs. Munden, that
lady's mind was in too much disorder to think what was become of the
little picture that had occasioned it; till, an hour or two after, the
maid of the house came running into the chamber with it in her hand.
'Does this pretty picture belong to you, Madam?' said she. Mrs. Munden
started; but, soon recovering herself, answered that it did--said that
it was the picture of her youngest brother--and that she believed she
might pull it out of her pocket with her handkerchief, or some how or
other drop it in the walk. 'Aye, to be sure, it was so,' said the maid;
'for it was there I found it: as I was going to the pump for some water,
I saw something that glittered just by the little arbour, on which I ran
and took it up; but my mistress told me she believed it was yours; for
she knew your ladyship was in the walk this morning.'--'I am glad thou
hast found it,' replied Mrs. Munden; 'for it would have vexed me to the
heart to have lost it.'--'Aye, to be sure, Madam!' cried she; 'for it is
a sweet picture--your brother is a handsome gentleman--I warrant there
are a thousand ladies in love with him.' Mrs. Munden could not forbear
smiling at the simplicity of the wench; but, willing to be rid of her,
rewarded her honesty with a crown-piece, and dismissed her.
She was rejoiced, indeed, to have this picture once more in her
possession; not only because some other might have found and kept it,
but also because she thought she might indulge herself in looking on it
without any breach of that duty to which she was resolved so strictly to
adhere. To be secure, however, from a second rencounter with the
original in that place, she kept close in the house, and stirred not out
of it all the time he was there: but her apprehensions on this score
were needless; Mr. Trueworth religiously observed the promise he had
made her; and, lest he should be under any temptation to break it while
so near her, took leave of his friend that same day, and returned to
London; but carried with him sentiments very different from those he had
brought down, as will hereafter appear.
As to Mrs. Munden, she found that she had no less occasion for exerting
the heroine when alone, than when encircled in the arms of Mr.
Trueworth: the accident which had betrayed the secret of her heart to
him had also discovered it to herself. She was now convinced that it was
something more than esteem--than friendship--than gratitude--his merits
had inspired her with; she was conscious that, while she most resisted
the glowing pressure of his lips, she had felt a guilty pleasure in the
touch which had been near depriving her of doing so; and that, though
she had resolved never to see him more, it would be very difficult to
refrain wishing to be for ever with him.
This she thought so highly criminal in herself, that she ought not to
indulge the remembrance of so dear, so dangerous, an invader of her
duty; yet when she considered that, merely for her sake, and not through
the weak resistance she had made, his own honour had nobly triumphed
over wild desire in a heart so young and amorous as his, it increased
that love and admiration which she in vain endeavoured to subdue: and
she could not help crying out, with Calista in the play--
'Oh, had I sooner known thy wond'rous virtue,
Thy love, thy truth, thou excellent young man!
We might have both been happy.'
But, to banish as much as possible all those ideas which her nicety of
honour made her tremble at, it was her fixed determination to retire
into L----e as soon as she had ended her affairs with her husband, and
pass the remainder of her days, where she should never hear the too dear
name of Trueworth.
She did not, therefore, neglect sending her servant to town; but he
returned that day, and several succeeding ones, without the least
intelligence; no letter nor message from Mr. Munden having been left for
her at her brother's: on which she began to imagine that he never had,
in reality, intended to put his threats in execution.
Mr. Markland, in the mean time, had been twice to wait upon him; but the
servants told him that their master was extremely indisposed, and could
not be seen: this he looked upon as a feint to put off giving him an
answer as he had promised; and both Mr. Thoughtless and his sister were
of the same opinion when they heard it. Mr. Markland went again and
again, however; but was still denied access: near a whole week passing
over in this manner, Mrs. Munden grew very uneasy, fearing she should be
able to obtain as little justice as favour from her husband.
But, guilty as he had been in other respects, he was entirely innocent
in this: the force of the agitation he had of late sustained, joined to
repeated debauches, had over-heated his blood, and thrown him into a
very violent fever, insomuch that in a few days his life was despaired
of; the whispers of all about him--the looks of the physician that
attended him--and, above all, what he felt within himself, convincing
him of the danger he was in--all his vices, all his excesses, now
appeared to him such as they truly were, and filled him with a remorse
which he had been but too much addicted to ridicule in others: in fine,
the horrors of approaching dissolution, rendered him one of those many
examples which daily verify these words of Mr. Dryden--
'Sure there are none but fear a future state!
And when the most obdurate swear they do not,
Their trembling hearts belie their boasting tongues!'
Among the number of those faults which presented him with the most
direful images, that of the ill-treatment he had given a wife, who so
little deserved it, lay not the least heavy upon his conscience: he sent
his servants to Mr. Thoughtless, at whose house he imagined she still
was, to intreat he would prevail on her to see him before he died; but
that gentleman giving a very slight answer, as believing it all
artifice, he engaged the apothecary who administered to him, and was
known by Mr. Thoughtless, to go on the same errand; on which the brother
of Mrs. Munden said she was not with him at present, but he would send
to let her know what had happened. Accordingly, he dispatched one of his
men immediately to her with the following billet.
'To Mrs. Munden.
Dear sister,
Mr. Cardiack, the apothecary, assures me that your husband is in
fact ill, and in extreme danger; he is very pressing to see you: I
will not pretend to advise you what to do on this occasion--you
are the best judge; I shall only say that, if you think fit to
comply with his request, you must be speedy; for, it seems, it is
the opinion of the gentlemen of the faculty, that he is very near
his end. I am, dear sister, yours affectionately,
T. THOUGHTLESS.'
Not all the indifference she had for the person of Mr. Munden--not all
the resentment his moroseness and ill-nature had excited in her--could
hinder her from feeling an extreme shock on hearing his life was in
danger: she sought for no excuses, either to evade or delay what he
desired of her; she went directly to him, equally inclined to do so by
her compassion, as she thought herself obliged to it by her duty.
As she entered the chamber, she met the apothecary coming out: in asking
him some questions, though she spoke very low, Mr. Munden thought he
distinguished her voice; and cried out, as loud as he was able, 'Is my
wife here?' On which, approaching the bed, and gently opening one of the
curtains, 'Yes, Mr. Munden,' replied she; 'I am come to offer all the
assistance in my power; and am sorry to find you are in any need of
it.'--'This is very kind,' said he, and stretched out one of his hands
towards her, which she took between hers with a great deal of
tenderness: 'I have been much to blame,' resumed he; 'I have greatly
wronged you; but forgive me--if I live, I will endeavour to deserve it.'
'I hope,' said she, 'Heaven will restore your health, and that we may
live together in a manner becoming persons united as we are.'--'Then you
will not leave me?' cried he. 'Never,' answered she, 'till your
behaviour shall convince me you do not desire my stay.'
Here he began to make solemn protestations of future amendment; but his
voice failing him, through extreme weakness, a deep sigh, and tender
pressure of his cheek to hers, as she leaned her head upon the pillow,
gave her to understand what more he would have said: on this she assured
him she was ready to believe every thing he would have her--intreated
him to compose himself, and endeavour to get a little rest. 'In the mean
time,' said she, 'I will order things so that I may lie in the same room
with you, and quit your presence neither night nor day.'
Here he pressed his face close to hers again, in token of the
satisfaction he felt in hearing what she said; and the nurse who
attended him that instant presenting him with some things the physician
had ordered should be given him about that hour, joined her entreaties
with those of Mrs. Munden, that he would try to sleep; to which he made
a sign that he would do so: and, the curtains being drawn, they both
retired to the farther end of the room.
As he lay pretty quiet for a considerable time, Mrs. Munden recollected
that there was a thing which friendship and good manners exacted from
her: she had wrote, the very day before, to Lady Loveit, acquainting her
with the motive which had obliged her to quit her brother's house, and
desiring she would favour her with a visit, as soon as convenience would
permit, at the place of her retirement. As she doubted not but the
good-nature of this lady would prevail on her to comply with her
request, she could not dispense with sending her an immediate account of
the sudden revolution in her affairs, and the accident which had
occasioned this second removal.
She had no sooner dispatched a little billet for this purpose, than the
groans of Mr. Munden, testifying that he was awake, drew both her and
the nurse again to the bedside: they found him in very great agonies,
and without the power of speech; the doctor and apothecary were sent for
in a great hurry; but, before either of them came, the unhappy gentleman
had breathed his last.
Mrs. Munden had not affected any thing more in this interview than what
she really felt; her virtue and her compassion had all the effect on her
that love has in most others of her sex; she had been deeply touched at
finding her husband in so deplorable a situation; the tenderness he had
now expressed for her, and his contrition for his past faults, made a
great impression on her mind; and the shock of seeing him depart was
truly dreadful to her: the grief she appeared in was undissembled--the
tears she shed unforced; she withdrew into another room; where, shutting
herself up for some hours, life, death, and futurity, were the subject
of her meditations.