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                        FANNY BURNEY

                         _Camilla_

                            OR

                   _A Picture of Youth_




CONTENTS


    CAMILLA, OR A PICTURE OF YOUTH

    DEDICATION                                             3

    ADVERTISEMENT                                          5


    VOLUME I

      BOOK I

        I. A Family Scene                                  7

       II. Comic Gambols                                  14

      III. Consequences                                   26

       IV. Studies of a grown Gentleman                   33

        V. Schooling of a young Gentleman                 41

       VI. Tuition of a young Lady                        44

      VII. Lost Labour                                    49


      BOOK II

        I. New Projects                                   53

       II. New Characters                                 60

      III. A Family Breakfast                             78

       IV. A Public Breakfast                             82

        V. A Raffle                                       96

       VI. A Barn                                        109

      VII. A Declaration                                 112

     VIII. An answer                                     117

       IX. An Explication                                123

        X. A Panic                                       125

       XI. Two Lovers                                    133

      XII. Two Doctors                                   139

     XIII. Two Ways of looking at the same Thing         147

      XIV. Two Retreats                                  152

       XV. Two Sides of a Question                       157


    VOLUME II

      BOOK III

        I. A few kind Offices                            163

       II. A Pro and a Con                               173

      III. An Author's Notion of Travelling              180

       IV. An internal Detection                         189

        V. An Author's Opinion of Visiting               197

       VI. An Author's Idea of Order                     206

      VII. A Maternal Eye                                215

     VIII. Modern Ideas of Duty                          222

       IX. A Few Embarrassments                          230

        X. Modern Ideas of Life                          238

       XI. Modern Notions of Penitence                   244

      XII. Airs and Graces                               249

     XIII. Attic Adventures                              257


      BOOK IV

        I. A few Explanations                            266

       II. Specimens of Taste                            274

      III. A few Compliments                             283

       IV. The Danger of Disguise                        291

        V. Strictures on Deformity                       299

       VI. Strictures on Beauty                          305

      VII. The Pleadings of Pity                         311

     VIII. The disastrous Buskins                        317

       IX. Three Golden Maxims                           324


    VOLUME III

      BOOK V

        I. A Pursuer                                     333

       II. An Adviser                                    338

      III. Various Confabulations                        343

       IV. A Dodging                                     351

        V. A Sermon                                      355

       VI. A Chat                                        362

      VII. A Recall                                      369

     VIII. A Youth of the Times                          375


      BOOK VI

        I. A Walk by Moonlight                           386

       II. The Pantiles                                  391

      III. Mount Ephraim                                 400

       IV. Knowle                                        408

        V. Mount Pleasant                                419

       VI. The accomplished Monkies                      427

      VII. The Rooms                                     438

     VIII. Ways to the Heart                             446

       IX. Counsels for Conquest                         453

        X. Strictures upon the Ton                       462

       XI. Traits of Character                           469

      XII. Traits of Eccentricity                        482

     XIII. Traits of Instruction                         490

      XIV. A Demander                                    496

       XV. An Accorder                                   503

      XVI. An Helper                                     512


    VOLUME IV

      BOOK VII

        I. The right Style of Arguing                    521

       II. A Council                                     525

      III. A Proposal of Marriage                        531

       IV. A Bull-Dog                                    535

        V. An Oak Tree                                   541

       VI. A Call of the House                           547

      VII. The Triumph of Pride                          555

     VIII. A Summons to Happiness                        561

       IX. Offs and Ons                                  570

        X. Resolutions                                   576

       XI. Ease and Freedom                              583

      XII. Dilemmas                                      590

     XIII. Live and Learn                                596


      BOOK VIII

        I. A Way to make Friends                         604

       II. A Rage of Obliging                            612

      III. A Pleasant Adventure                          621

       IV. An Author's Time-keeper                       628

        V. An agreeable Hearing                          633

       VI. Ideas upon Marriage                           642

      VII. How to treat a Defamer                        646

     VIII. The Power of Prepossession                    655

       IX. A Scuffle                                     661

        X. A Youthful Effusion                           669

       XI. The Computations of Self-Love                 679

      XII. Juvenile Calculations                         685


    VOLUME V

      BOOK IX

        I. A Water Party                                 695

       II. Touches of Wit and Humour                     710

      III. An Adieu                                      720

       IV. A modest Request                              727

        V. A Self-dissection                             736

       VI. A Reckoning                                   740

      VII. Brides and no Brides                          750

     VIII. A Hint for Debtors                            757

       IX. A Lover's Eye                                 766

        X. A Bride's Resolves                            776

       XI. The Workings of Sorrow                        784


      BOOK X

        I. A Surprise                                    793

       II. A Narrative                                   799

      III. The Progress of Dissipation                   808

       IV. Hints upon National Prejudice                 816

        V. The Operation of Terror                       827

       VI. The Reverse of a Mask                         840

      VII. A new View of an Old Mansion                  849

     VIII. A last Resource                               855

       IX. A Spectacle                                   865

        X. A Vision                                      874

       XI. Means to still Agitation                      878

      XII. Means to obtain a Boon                        885

     XIII. Questions and Answers                         892

      XIV. The last Touches of the Picture               903




CAMILLA:

OR,

A PICTURE OF YOUTH

BY

THE AUTHOR OF

_EVELINA_ and _CECILIA_




TO THE

QUEEN


MADAM,

That Goodness inspires a confidence, which, by divesting respect of
terror, excites attachment to Greatness, the presentation of this little
Work to Your Majesty must truly, however humbly, evince; and though a
public manifestation of duty and regard from an obscure Individual may
betray a proud ambition, it is, I trust, but a venial--I am sure it is a
natural one.

       *       *       *       *       *

In those to whom Your Majesty is known but by exaltation of Rank, it may
raise, perhaps, some surprise, that scenes, characters, and incidents,
which have reference only to common life, should be brought into so
august a presence; but the inhabitant of a retired cottage, who there
receives the benign permission which at Your Majesty's feet casts this
humble offering, bears in mind recollections which must live there while
'memory holds its seat,' of a benevolence withheld from no condition,
and delighting in all ways to speed the progress of Morality, through
whatever channel it could flow, to whatever port it might steer. I blush
at the inference I seem here to leave open of annexing undue importance
to a production of apparently so light a kind--yet if my hope, my
view--however fallacious they may eventually prove, extended not beyond
whiling away an idle hour, should I dare seek such patronage?

With the deepest gratitude, and most heart-felt respect, I am,

MADAM,

Your MAJESTY'S

Most obedient, most obliged,

And most dutiful servant,

F. d'ARBLAY.

BOOKHAM,

June 28, 1796




ADVERTISEMENT


The Author of this little Work cannot, in the anxious moment of
committing it to its fate, refuse herself the indulgence of expressing
some portion of the gratitude with which she is filled, by the highly
favourable reception given to her _TWO_ former attempts in this species
of composition; nor forbear pouring forth her thanks to the many Friends
whose kind zeal has forwarded the present undertaking:--from amongst
whom she knows not how to resist selecting and gratifying herself by
naming the Hon. Mrs. BOSCAWEN, Mrs. CREWE, and Mrs. LOCKE.




VOLUME I

BOOK I


The historian of human life finds less of difficulty and of intricacy to
develop, in its accidents and adventures, than the investigator of the
human heart in its feelings and its changes. In vain may Fortune wave
her many-coloured banner, alternately regaling and dismaying, with hues
that seem glowing with all the creation's felicities, or with tints that
appear stained with ingredients of unmixt horrors; her most rapid
vicissitudes, her most unassimilating eccentricities, are mocked,
laughed at, and distanced by the wilder wonders of the Heart of man;
that amazing assemblage of all possible contrarieties, in which one
thing alone is steady--the perverseness of spirit which grafts desire on
what is denied. Its qualities are indefinable, its resources
unfathomable, its weaknesses indefensible. In our neighbours we cannot
judge, in ourselves we dare not trust it. We lose ere we learn to
appreciate, and ere we can comprehend it we must be born again. Its
capacity o'er-leaps all limit, while its futility includes every
absurdity. It lives its own surprise--it ceases to beat--and the void is
inscrutable! In one grand and general view, who can display such a
portrait? Fairly, however faintly, to delineate some of its features, is
the sole and discriminate province of the pen which would trace nature,
yet blot out personality.




CHAPTER I

_A Family Scene_


Repose is not more welcome to the worn and to the aged, to the sick and
to the unhappy, than danger, difficulty, and toil to the young and
adventurous. Danger they encounter but as the forerunner of success;
difficulty, as the spur of ingenuity; and toil, as the herald of honour.
The experience which teaches the lesson of truth, and the blessings of
tranquillity, comes not in the shape of warning nor of wisdom; from such
they turn aside, defying or disbelieving. 'Tis in the bitterness of
personal proof alone, in suffering and in feeling, in erring and in
repenting, that experience comes home with conviction, or impresses to
any use.

In the bosom of her respectable family resided Camilla. Nature, with a
bounty the most profuse, had been lavish to her of attractions; Fortune,
with a moderation yet kinder, had placed her between luxury and
indigence. Her abode was in the parsonage-house of Etherington,
beautifully situated in the unequal county of Hampshire, and in the
vicinity of the varied landscapes of the New Forest. Her father, the
rector, was the younger son of the house of Tyrold. The living, though
not considerable, enabled its incumbent to attain every rational object
of his modest and circumscribed wishes; to bestow upon a deserving wife
whatever her own forbearance declined not; and to educate a lovely race
of one son and three daughters, with that expansive propriety, which
unites improvement for the future with present enjoyment.

In goodness of heart, and in principles of piety, this exemplary couple
was bound to each other by the most perfect unison of character, though
in their tempers there was a contrast which had scarce the gradation of
a single shade to smooth off its abrupt dissimilitude. Mr. Tyrold,
gentle with wisdom, and benign in virtue, saw with compassion all
imperfections but his own, and there doubled the severity which to
others he spared. Yet the mildness that urged him to pity blinded him
not to approve; his equity was unerring, though his judgment was
indulgent. His partner had a firmness of mind which nothing could shake:
calamity found her resolute; even prosperity was powerless to lull her
duties asleep. The exalted character of her husband was the pride of her
existence, and the source of her happiness. He was not merely her
standard of excellence, but of endurance, since her sense of his worth
was the criterion for her opinion of all others. This instigated a
spirit of comparison, which is almost always uncandid, and which here
could rarely escape proving injurious. Such, at its very best, is the
unskilfulness of our fallible nature, that even the noble principle
which impels our love of right, misleads us but into new deviations,
when its ambition presumes to point at perfection. In this instance,
however, distinctness of disposition stifled not reciprocity of
affection--that magnetic concentration of all marriage felicity;--Mr.
Tyrold revered while he softened the rigid virtues of his wife, who
adored while she fortified the melting humanity of her husband.

Thus, in an interchange of happiness the most deserved, and of parental
occupations the most promising, passed the first married years of this
blest and blessing pair. An event then came to pass extremely
interesting at the moment, and yet more important in its consequences.
This was the receipt of a letter from the elder brother of Mr. Tyrold,
containing information that he meant to remove into Hampshire.

Sir Hugh Tyrold was a baronet, who resided upon the hereditary estate of
the family in Yorkshire. He was many years older than Mr. Tyrold, who
had never seen him since his marriage; religious duties, prudence, and
domestic affairs having from that period detained him at his benefice;
while a passion for field sports had, with equal constancy, kept his
brother stationary.

The baronet began his letter with kind enquiries after the welfare of
Mr. Tyrold and his family, and then entered upon the state of his own
affairs, briefly narrating, that he had lost his health, and, not
knowing what to do with himself, had resolved to change his habitation,
and settle near his relations. The Cleves' estate, which he heard was
just by Etherington, being then upon sale, he desired his brother to
make the purchase for him out of hand; and then to prepare Mrs. Tyrold,
with whom he was yet unacquainted, though he took it for granted she was
a woman of great learning, to receive a mere poor country squire, who
knew no more of hic, hæc, hoc, than the baby unborn. He begged him to
provide a proper apartment for their niece Indiana Lynmere, whom he
should bring with him, and another for their nephew Clermont, who was to
follow at the next holidays; and not to forget Mrs. Margland, Indiana's
governess, she being rather the most particular in point of pleasing
amongst them.

Mr. Tyrold, extremely gratified by this unexpected renewal of fraternal
intercourse, wrote the warmest thanks to his brother, and executed the
commission with the utmost alacrity. A noble mansion, with an extensive
pleasure-ground, scarce four miles distant from the parsonage-house of
Etherington, was bought, fitted up, and made ready for his reception in
the course of a few months. The baronet, impatient to take possession of
his new territory, arrived speedily after, with his niece Indiana, and
was welcomed at the gate of the park by Mr. Tyrold and his whole family.

Sir Hugh Tyrold inherited from his ancestors an unincumbered estate of
£.5000 per annum; which he enjoyed with ease and affluence to himself,
and disseminated with a good will so generous, that he appeared to think
his personal prosperity, and that of all who surrounded him, bestowed
but to be shared in common, rather from general right, than through his
own dispensing bounty. His temper was unalterably sweet, and every
thought of his breast was laid open to the world with an almost
infantine artlessness. But his talents bore no proportion to the
goodness of his heart, an insuperable want of quickness, and of
application in his early days, having left him, at a later period,
wholly uncultivated, and singularly self-formed.

A dearth of all sedentary resources became, when his youth passed away,
his own constant reproach. Health failed him in the meridian of his
life, from the consequences of a wound in his side, occasioned by a fall
from his horse; exercise, therefore, and active diversions, were of
necessity relinquished, and as these had hitherto occupied all his time,
except that portion which he delighted to devote to hospitality and
neighbourly offices, now equally beyond his strength, he found himself
at once deprived of all employment, and destitute of all comfort. Nor
did any plan occur to him to solace his misfortunes, till he
accidentally read in the newspapers that the Cleves' estate was upon
sale.

Indiana, the niece who accompanied him, a beautiful little girl, was the
orphan daughter of a deceased sister, who, at the death of her parents,
had, with Clermont, an only brother, been left to the guardianship of
Sir Hugh; with the charge of a small estate for the son of scarce £.200
a-year, and the sum of £.1000 for the fortune of the daughter.

The meeting was a source of tender pleasure to Mr. Tyrold; and gave
birth in his young family to that eager joy which is so naturally
attached, by our happiest early prejudices, to the first sight of near
relations. Mrs. Tyrold received Sir Hugh with the complacency due to the
brother of her husband; who now rose higher than ever in her
estimation, from a fraternal comparison to the unavoidable disadvantage
of the baronet; though she was not insensible to the fair future
prospects of her children, which seemed the probable result of his
change of abode.

Sir Hugh himself, notwithstanding his best affections were all opened by
the sight of so many claimants to their kindness, was the only dejected
person of the group.

Though too good in his nature for envy, a severe self-upbraiding
followed his view of the happiness of his brother; he regretted he had
not married at the same age, that he might have owned as fine a family,
and repined against the unfortunate privileges of his birth-right,
which, by indulging him in his first youth with whatever he could covet,
drove from his attention that modest foresight, which prepares for later
years the consolation they are sure to require.

By degrees, however, the satisfaction spread around him found some place
in his own breast, and he acknowledged himself sensibly revived by so
endearing a reception; though he candidly avowed, that if he had not
been at a loss what to do, he should never have had a thought of taking
so long a journey. 'But the not having made,' cried he, 'the proper
proficiency in my youth for the filling up my time, has put me quite
behind-hand.'

He caressed all the children with great fondness, and was much struck
with the beauty of his three nieces, particularly with that of Camilla,
Mr. Tyrold's second daughter; 'yet she is not,' he cried, 'so pretty as
her little sister Eugenia, nor much better than t'other sister Lavinia;
and not one of the three is half so great a beauty as my little Indiana;
so I can't well make out what it is that's so catching in her; but
there's something in her little mouth that quite wins me; though she
looks as if she was half laughing at me too: which can't very well be,
neither; for I suppose, as yet, at least, she knows no more of books and
studying than her uncle. And that's little enough, God knows, for I
never took to them in proper season; which I have been sorry enough for,
upon coming to discretion.'

Then addressing himself to the boy, he exhorted him to work hard while
yet in his youth, and related sundry anecdotes of the industry and merit
of his father when at the same age, though left quite to himself, as, to
his great misfortune, he had been also, 'which brought about,' he
continued, 'my being this present _ignoramus_ that you see me; which
would not have happened, if my good forefathers had been pleased to keep
a sharper look out upon my education.'

Lionel, the little boy, casting a comic glance at Camilla, begged to
know what his uncle meant by a sharper look out?

'Mean, my dear? why correction, to be sure; for all that, they tell me,
is to be done by the rod; so there, at least, I might have stood as good
a chance as my neighbours.'

'And pray, uncle,' cried Lionel, pursing up his mouth to hide his
laughter, 'did you always like the thoughts of it so well?'

'Why no, my dear, I can't pretend to that; at your age I had no more
taste for it than you have: but there's a proper season for every thing.
However, though I tell you this for a warning, perhaps you may do
without it; for, by what I hear, the rising generation's got to a much
greater pitch since my time.'

He then added, he must advise him, as a friend, to be upon his guard, as
his Cousin, Clermont Lynmere, who was coming home from Eton school next
Christmas for the holidays, would turn out the very mirror of
scholarship; for he had given directions to have him study both night
and day, except what might be taken off for eating and sleeping:
'Because,' he continued, 'having proved the bad of knowing nothing in my
own case, I have the more right to intermeddle with others. And he will
thank me enough when once he has got over his classics. And I hope, my
dear little boy, you see it in the same light too; which, however, is
what I can't expect.'

The house was now examined; the fair little Indiana took possession of
her apartment; Miss Margland was satisfied with the attention that had
been paid her; and Sir Hugh was rejoiced to find a room for Clermont
that had no window but a skylight, by which means his studies, he
observed, would receive no interruption from gaping and staring about
him. And, when the night advanced, Mr. Tyrold had the happiness of
leaving him with some prospect of recovering his spirits.

The revival, however, lasted but during the novelty of the scene;
depression returned with the feelings of ill health; and the happier lot
of his brother, though born to almost nothing, filled him with incessent
repentance of his own mismanagement.

In some measure to atone for this, he resolved to collect himself a
family in his own house; and the young Camilla, whose dawning archness
of expression had instinctively caught him, he now demanded of her
parents, to come and reside with him and Indiana at Cleves; 'for
certainly,' he said, 'for such a young little thing, she looks full of
amusement.'

Mrs. Tyrold objected against reposing a trust so precious where its
value could so ill be appreciated. Camilla was, in secret, the fondest
hope of her mother, though the rigour of her justice scarce permitted
the partiality to beat even in her own breast. Nor did the happy little
person need the avowed distinction. The tide of youthful glee flowed
jocund from her heart, and the transparency of her fine blue veins
almost shewed the velocity of its current. Every look was a smile, every
step was a spring, every thought was a hope, every feeling was joy! and
the early felicity of her mind was without allay. O blissful state of
innocence, purity, and delight, why must it fleet so fast? why scarcely
but by retrospection is its happiness known?

Mr. Tyrold, while his tenderest hopes encircled the same object, saw the
proposal in a fairer light, from the love he bore to his brother. It
seemed certain such a residence would secure her an ample fortune; the
governess to whom Indiana was entrusted would take care of his little
girl; though removed from the hourly instructions, she would still be
within reach of the general superintendance of her mother, into whose
power he cast the uncontrolled liberty to reclaim her, if there started
any occasion. His children had no provision ascertained, should his life
be too short to fulfil his own personal schemes of economy in their
favour: and while to an argument so incontrovertible Mrs. Tyrold was
silent, he begged her also to reflect, that, persuasive as were the
attractions of elegance and refinement, no just parental expectations
could be essentially disappointed, where the great moral lessons were
practically inculcated, by a uniform view of goodness of heart, and
firmness of principle. These his brother possessed in an eminent degree;
and if his character had nothing more from which their daughter could
derive benefit, it undoubtedly had not a point from which she could
receive injury.

Mrs. Tyrold now yielded; she never resisted a remonstrance of her
husband; and as her sense of duty impelled her also never to murmur, she
retired to her own room, to conceal with how ill a grace she complied.

Had this lady been united to a man whom she despised, she would yet
have obeyed him, and as scrupulously, though not as happily, as she
obeyed her honoured partner. She considered the vow taken at the altar
to her husband, as a voluntary vestal would have held one taken to her
Maker; and no dissent in opinion exculpated, in her mind, the least
deviation from his will.

But here, where an admiration almost adoring was fixt of the character
to which she submitted, she was sure to applaud the motives which swayed
him, however little their consequences met her sentiments: and even
where the contrariety was wholly repugnant to her judgment, the genuine
warmth of her just affection made every compliance, and every
forbearance, not merely exempt from pain, but if to him any
satisfaction, a sacrifice soothing to her heart.

Mr. Tyrold, whose whole soul was deeply affected by her excellencies,
gratefully felt his power, and religiously studied not to abuse it: he
respected what he owed to her conscience, he tenderly returned what he
was indebted to her affection. To render her virtues conducive to her
happiness, to soften her duties by the highest sense of their merit,
were the first and most sacred objects of his solicitude in life.

When the lively and lovely little girl, mingling the tears of separation
with all the childish rapture which novelty, to a much later period
inspires, was preparing to change her home, 'Remember,' cried Mr.
Tyrold, to her anxious mother, 'that on you, my Georgiana, devolves the
sole charge, the unlimited judgment, to again bring her under this roof,
the first moment she appears to you in any danger from having quitted
it.'

The prompt and thankful acceptance of Mrs. Tyrold did justice to the
sincerity of this offer: and the cheerful acquiescence of lessened
reluctance, raised her higher in that esteem to which her constant mind
invariably looked up, as the summit of her chosen ambition.




CHAPTER II

_Comic Gambols_


Delighted with this acquisition to his household, Sir Hugh again
revived. 'My dear brother and sister,' he cried, when next the family
visited Cleves, 'this proves the most fortunate step I have ever taken
since I was born. Camilla's a little jewel; she jumps and skips about
till she makes my eyes ache with looking after her, for fear of her
breaking her neck. I must keep a sharp watch, or she'll put poor
Indiana's nose quite out of joint, which God forbid. However, she's the
life of us all, for I'm sorry to say it, but I think, my dear brother,
poor Indiana promises to turn out rather dull.'

The sprightly little girl, thus possessed of the heart, soon guided the
will of her uncle. He could refuse nothing to her endearing entreaty,
and felt every indulgence repaid by the enchantment of her gaiety.
Indiana, his first idol, lost her power to please him, though no
essential kindness was abated in his conduct. He still acknowledged that
her beauty was the most complete; but he found in Camilla a variety that
was captivation. Her form and her mind were of equal elasticity. Her
playful countenance rekindled his spirits, the cheerfulness of her
animated voice awakened him to its own joy. He doated upon detaining her
by his side, or delighted to gratify her if she wished to be absent. She
exhilarated him with pleasure, she supplied him with ideas, and from the
morning's first dawn to the evening's latest close, his eye followed her
lightspringing figure, or his ear vibrated with her sportive sounds;
catching, as it listened, in successive rotation, the spontaneous laugh,
the unconscious bound, the genuine glee of childhood's fearless
happiness, uncurbed by severity, untamed by misfortune.

This ascendance was soon pointed out by the servants to Indiana, who
sometimes shewed her resentment in unexplained and pouting sullenness,
and at others, let all pass unnoticed, with unreflecting forgetfulness.
But her mind was soon empoisoned with a jealousy of more permanent
seriousness; in less than a month after the residence of Camilla at
Cleves, Sir Hugh took the resolution of making her his heiress.

Even Mr. Tyrold, notwithstanding his fondness for Camilla, remonstrated
against a partiality so injurious to his nephew and niece, as well as to
the rest of his family. And Mrs. Tyrold, though her secret heart
subscribed, without wonder, to a predilection in favour of Camilla, was
maternally disturbed for her other children, and felt her justice
sensibly shocked at a blight so unmerited to the hopes cherished by
Indiana and Clermont Lynmere: for though the fruits of this change of
plan would be reaped by her little darling, they were robbed of all
their sweetness to a mind so correct, by their undeserved bitterness
towards the first expectants.

Sir Hugh, however, was immoveable; he would provide handsomely, he said,
for Indiana and Clermont, by settling a thousand pounds a year between
them; and he would bequeath capital legacies amongst the rest of his
nephews and nieces: but as to the bulk of his fortune, it should all go
to Camilla; for how else could he make her amends for having amused him?
or how, when he was gone, should he prove to her he loved her the best?

Sir Hugh could keep nothing secret; Camilla was soon informed of the
riches she was destined to inherit; and servants, who now with added
respect attended her, took frequent opportunities of impressing her with
the expectation, by the favours they begged from her in reversion.

The happy young heiress heard them with little concern: interest and
ambition could find no room in a mind, which to dance, sing, and play
could enliven to rapture. Yet the continued repetition of requests soon
made the idea of patronage familiar to her, and though wholly uninfected
with one thought of power or consequence, she sometimes regaled her
fancy with the presents she should make amongst her friends; designing a
coach for her mamma, that she might oftener go abroad; an horse for her
brother Lionel, which she knew to be his most passionate wish; a new
bureau, with a lock and key, for her eldest sister Lavinia; innumerable
trinkets for her cousin Indiana; dolls and toys without end for her
little sister Eugenia; and a new library of new books, finely bound and
gilt, for her papa. But these munificent donations looked forward to no
other date than the anticipation of womanhood. If an hint were surmised
of her surviving her uncle, an impetuous shower of tears dampt all her
gay schemes, deluged every airy castle, and shewed the instinctive
gratitude which kindness can awaken, even in the unthinking period of
earliest youth, in those bosoms it has ever the power to animate.

Her ensuing birth-day, upon which she would enter her tenth year, was to
announce to the adjoining country her uncle's splendid plan in her
favour. Her brother and sisters were invited to keep it with her at
Cleves; but Sir Hugh declined asking either her father or mother, that
his own time, without restraint, might be dedicated to the promotion of
her festivity; he even requested of Miss Margland, that she would not
appear that day, lest her presence should curb the children's spirits.

The gay little party, consisting of Lavinia, who was two years older,
and Eugenia, who was two years younger than Camilla, with her beautiful
cousin, who was exactly of her own age, her brother Lionel, who counted
three years more, and Edgar Mandlebert, a ward of Mr. Tyrold's, all
assembled at Cleves upon this important occasion, at eight o'clock in
the morning, to breakfast.

Edgar Mandlebert, an uncommonly spirited and manly boy, now thirteen
years of age, was heir to one of the finest estates in the county. He
was the only son of a bosom friend of Mr. Tyrold, to whose guardianship
he had been consigned almost from his infancy, and who superintended the
care of his education with as much zeal, though not as much oeconomy,
as that of his own son. He placed him under the tuition of Dr.
Marchmont, a man of consummate learning, and he sent for him to
Etherington twice in every year, where he assiduously kept up his
studies by his own personal instructions. 'I leave him rich, my dear
friend,' said his father, when on his death-bed he recommended him to
Mr. Tyrold, 'and you, I trust, will make him good, and see him happy;
and should hereafter a daughter of your own, from frequent intercourse,
become mistress of his affections, do not oppose such a union from a
disparity of fortune, which a daughter of yours, and of your
incomparable partner's, can hardly fail to counterbalance in merit.' Mr.
Tyrold, though too noble to avail himself of a declaration so generous,
by forming any plan to bring such a connection to bear, felt
conscientiously absolved from using any measures of frustration, and
determined, as the young people grew up, neither to promote nor impede
any rising regard.

The estate of Beech Park was not all that young Mandlebert inherited;
the friendship of its late owner for Mr. Tyrold, seemed instinctively
transfused into his breast, and he paid back the parental tenderness
with which he was watched and cherished, by a fondness and veneration
truly filial.

Whatever could indulge or delight the little set was brought forth upon
this joyous meeting; fruits, sweetmeats, and cakes; cards, trinkets, and
blind fidlers, were all at the unlimited command of the fairy mistress
of the ceremonies. But unbounded as were the transports of the jovial
little group, they could scarcely keep pace with the enjoyment of Sir
Hugh; he entered into all their plays, he forgot all his pains, he
laughed because they laughed, and suffered his darling little girl to
govern and direct him at her pleasure. She made him whiskers of cork,
powdered his brown bob, and covered a thread paper with black ribbon to
hang to it for a queue. She metamorphosed him into a female, accoutring
him with her fine new cap, while she enveloped her own small head in his
wig; and then, tying the maid's apron round his waist, put a rattle into
his hand, and Eugenia's doll upon his lap, which she told him was a baby
that he must nurse and amuse.

The excess of merriment thus excited spread through the whole house.
Lionel called in the servants to see this comical sight, and the
servants indulged their numerous guests with a peep at it from the
windows. Sir Hugh, meanwhile, resolved to object to nothing, performed
every part assigned him, joined in their hearty laughs at the grotesque
figure they made of him, and cordially encouraged all their proceedings,
assuring them he had not been so much diverted himself since his fall
from his horse, and advising them, with great zeal, to be merry while
they could: 'For you will never, my dears,' said he, 'be younger, never
while you live; no more, for that matter, shall I, neither, for all I am
so much older, which, in that point, makes no difference.'

He grew weary, however, first; and stretching himself his full length,
with a prodigious yawn, 'Heigh ho!' he cried, 'Camilla, my dear, do take
away poor Doll, for fear I should let it slip.'

The little gigglers, almost in convulsions of laughter, entreated him to
nurse it some time longer; but he frankly answered, 'No, my dears, no; I
can play no more now, if I'd ever so fain, for I'm tired to death, which
is really a pity; so you must either go out with me my airing, for a
rest to your merry little sides, or stay and play by yourselves till I
come back, which I think will put you all into fevers; but, however,
nobody shall trouble your little souls with advice to-day; there are
days enough in the year for teazing, without this one.'

Camilla instantly decided for the airing, and without a dissentient
voice: so entirely had the extreme good humour of Sir Hugh won the
hearts of the little party, that they felt as if the whole of their
entertainment depended upon his presence. The carriage, therefore, was
ordered for the baronet and his four nieces, and Lionel and Edgar
Mandlebert, at the request of Camilla, were gratified with horses.

Camilla was desired to fix their route, and while she hesitated from the
variety in her choice, Lionel proposed to Edgar that they should take a
view of his house, park, and gardens, which were only three miles from
Cleves. Edgar referred the matter to Indiana, to whose already exquisite
beauty his juvenile admiration paid its most early obeisance. Indiana
approved; the little heroine of the day assented with pleasure and they
immediately set out upon the happy expedition.

The two boys the whole way came with offerings of wild honeysuckle and
sweetbriar, the grateful nosegays of all-diffusing nature, to the coach
windows, each carefully presenting the most fragrant to Indiana; for
Lionel, even more than sympathising with Edgar, declared his sisters to
be mere frights in comparison with his fair cousin. Their partiality,
however, struggled vainly against that of Sir Hugh, who still, in every
the most trivial particular, gave the preference to Camilla.

The baronet had ordered that his own garden chair should follow him to
young Mandlebert's park, that he might take Camilla by his side, and go
about the grounds without fatigue; the rest were to walk. Here Indiana
received again the homage of her two young beaus; they pointed out to
her the most beautiful prospects, they gathered her the fairest flowers,
they loaded her with the best and ripest fruits.

This was no sooner observed by Sir Hugh, than hastily stopping his
chair, he called after them aloud, 'Holloa! come hither, my boys! here,
you Mr. young Mandlebert, what are you all about? Why don't you bring
that best bunch of grapes to Camilla?'

'I have already promised it to Miss Lynmere, Sir.'

'O ho, have you so? well, give it her then if you have. I have no right
to rob you of your choice. Indiana, my dear, how do you like this
place?'

'Very much, indeed, uncle; I never saw any place I liked so much in my
life.'

'I am sure else,' said Edgar, 'I should never care for it again myself.'

'O, I could look at it for ever,' cried Indiana, 'and not be tired!'

Sir Hugh gravely paused at these speeches, and regarded them in turn
with much steadiness, as if settling their future destinies; but ever
unable to keep a single thought to himself, he presently burst forth
aloud with his new mental arrangement, saying: 'Well, my dears, well;
this is not quite the thing I had taken a fancy to in my own private
brain, but it's all for the best, there's no doubt; though the estate
being just in my neighbourhood, would have made it more suitable for
Camilla; I mean provided we could have bought, among us, the odd three
miles between the Parks; which how many acres they make, I can't pretend
to say, without the proper calculation; but if it was all joined, it
would be the finest domain in the county, as far as I know to the
contrary: nevertheless, my dear young Mr. Mandlebert, you have a right
to choose for yourself; for as to beauty, 'tis mere fancy; not but what
Indiana has one or other the prettiest face I ever saw, though I think
Camilla's so much prettier; I mean in point of winningness. However,
there's no fear as to my consent, for nothing can be a greater pleasure
to me than having two such good girls, both being cousins, live so near
that they may overlook one another from park to park, all day long, by
the mode of a telescope.'

Edgar, perfectly understanding him, blushed deeply, and, forgetting what
he had just declared, offered his grapes to Lavinia. Indiana, conceiving
herself already mistress of so fine a place, smiled with approving
complacency; and the rest were too much occupied with the objects around
them, to listen to so long a speech.

They then all moved on; but, soon after, Lionel, flying up to his
uncle's chair, informed Camilla he had just heard from the gardener,
that only half a mile off, at Northwick, there was a fair, to which he
begged she would ask to go. She found no difficulty in obliging him; and
Sir Hugh was incapable of hesitating at whatever she could desire. The
carriage and the horses for the boys were again ordered, and to the
regret of only Edgar and Indiana, the beautiful plantations of Beech
Park were relinquished for the fair.

They had hardly proceeded twenty yards, when the smiles that had
brightened the face of Lavinia, the eldest daughter of Mr. Tyrold, were
suddenly overcast, giving place to a look of dismay, which seemed the
effect of some abruptly painful recollection; and the moment Sir Hugh
perceived it, and enquired the cause, the tears rolled fast down her
cheeks, and she said she had been guilty of a great sin, and could never
forgive herself.

They all eagerly endeavoured to console her, Camilla fondly taking her
hand, little Eugenia sympathetically crying over and kissing her,
Indiana begging to know what was the matter, and Sir Hugh, holding out
to her the finest peach from his stores for Camilla, and saying, 'Don't
cry so, my dear, don't cry: take a little bit of peach; I dare say you
are not so bad as you think for.'

The weeping young penitent besought leave to get out of the coach with
Camilla, to whom alone she could explain herself. Camilla almost opened
the door herself, to hasten the discovery; and the moment they had run
up a bank by the road side, 'Tell me what it is, my dear Lavinia,' she
cried, 'and I am sure my uncle will do anything in the world to help
you.'

'O Camilla,' she answered, 'I have disobeyed mamma! and I did not mean
it in the least--but I have forgot all her commands!--She charged me not
to let Eugenia stir out from Cleves, because of the small pox--and she
has been already at Beech Park--and now, how can I tell the poor little
thing she must not go to the fair?'

'Don't vex yourself about that,' cried Camilla, kindly kissing the tears
off her cheeks, 'for I will stay behind, and play with Eugenia myself,
if my uncle will drive us back to Beech Park; and then all the rest may
go to the fair, and take us up again in the way home.'

With this expedient she flew to the coach, charging the two boys, who
with great curiosity had ridden to the bank side, and listened to all
that had passed, to comfort Lavinia.

'Lionel,' cried Edgar, 'do you know, while Camilla was speaking so
kindly to Lavinia, I thought she looked almost as pretty as your
cousin?' Lionel would by no means subscribe to this opinion, but Edgar
would not retract.

Camilla, jumping into the carriage, threw her arms around the neck of
her uncle, and whispered to him all that had passed. 'Poor innocent
little dear!' cried he, 'is that all?' it's just nothing, considering
her young age.'

Then, looking out of the window, 'Lavinia,' he said, 'you have done no
more harm than what's quite natural; and so I shall tell your mamma; who
is a woman of sense, and won't expect such a young head as yours to be
of the same age as hers and mine. But come into the coach, my dear;
we'll just drive as far as Northwick, for an airing, and then back
again.'

The extreme delicacy of the constitution of Eugenia had hitherto
deterred Mrs. Tyrold from innoculating her; she had therefore
scrupulously kept her from all miscellaneous intercourse in the
neighbourhood: but as the weakness of her infancy was now promising to
change into health and strength, she meant to give to that terrible
disease its best chance, and the only security it allows from perpetual
alarm, immediately after the heats of the present autumn should be over.

Lavinia, unused to disobedience, could not be happy in practising it:
she entreated, therefore, to return immediately to Cleves. Sir Hugh
complied; premising only that they must none of them expect him to be of
their play-party again till after dinner.

The coachman then received fresh orders: but, the moment they were
communicated to the two boys, Lionel, protesting he would not lose the
fair, said he should soon overtake them, and, regardless of all
remonstrances, put spurs to his horse, and galloped off.

Sir Hugh, looking after him with great alarm, exclaimed, 'Now he is
going to break all his bones! which is always the case with those young
boys, when first they get a horseback.'

Camilla, terrified that she had begged this boon, requested that the
servant might directly ride after him.

'Yes, my dear, if you wish it,' answered Sir Hugh; 'only we have but
this one man for us all, because of the rest staying to get the ball and
supper ready; so that if we should be overturned ourselves, here's never
a soul to pick us up.'

Edgar offered to ride on alone, and persuade the truant to return.

'Thank you, my dear, thank you,' answered Sir Hugh, 'you are as good a
boy as any I know, but, in point of horsemanship, one's as ignorant as
t'other, as far as I can tell; so we may only see both your sculls
fractured instead of one, in the midst of your galloping; which God
forbid for either.'

'Then let us all go together,' cried Indiana, 'and bring him back.'

'But do not let us get out of the coach, uncle,' said Lavinia; 'pray do
not let us get out!'

Sir Hugh agreed; though he added, that as to the small pox, he could by
no means see it in the same light, for he had no notion of people's
taking diseases upon themselves. 'Besides,' continued he, 'she will be
sure to have it when her time comes, whether she is moped up or no; and
how did people do before these new modes of making themselves sick of
their own accord?'

Pitying, however, the uneasiness of Lavinia, when they came near the
town, he called to the footman, and said, 'Hark'ee, Jacob, do you ride
on first, and keep a sharp look out that nobody has the small pox.'

The fair being held in the suburbs, they soon arrived at some straggling
booths, and the coach, at the instance of Lavinia, was stopt.

Indiana now earnestly solicited leave to alight and see the fair; and
Edgar offered to be her esquire. Sir Hugh consented, but desired that
Lavinia and Camilla might be also of the party. Lavinia tried vainly to
excuse herself; he assured her it would raise her spirits, and bid her
be under no apprehension, for he would stay and amuse the little Eugenia
himself, and take care that she came to no harm.

They were no sooner gone, however, than the little girl cried to follow;
Sir Hugh, compassionately kissing her, owned she had as good a right as
any of them, and declared it was a hard thing to have her punished for
other people's particularities. This concession served only to make her
tears flow the faster; till, unable to bear the sight, he said he could
not answer to his conscience the vexing such a young thing, and,
promising she should have whatever she liked, if she would cry no more,
he ordered the coachman to drive to the first booth where there were any
toys to be sold.

Here, having no footman to bring the trinkets to the coach, he alighted,
and, suffering the little girl, for whom he had not a fear himself, to
accompany him, he entered the booth, and told her to take whatever hit
her fancy, for she should have as many playthings as she could carry.

Her grief now gave way to ecstasy, and her little hands could soon
scarcely sustain the loaded skirt of her white frock. Sir Hugh,
determining to make the rest of the children equally happy, was
selecting presents for them all, when the little group, ignorant whom
they should encounter, advanced towards the same booth: but he had
hardly time to exclaim, 'Oho! have you caught us?' when the innocent
voice of Eugenia, calling out, 'Little boy; what's the matter with your
face, little boy?' drew his attention another way, and he perceived a
child apparently just recovering from the small pox.

Edgar, who at the same instant saw the same dreaded sight, darted
forward, seized Eugenia in his arms, and, in defiance of her playthings
and her struggles, carried her back to the coach; while Lavinia, in an
agony of terror, ran up to the little boy, and, crying out, 'O go away!
go away!' dragged him out of the booth, and, perfectly unconscious what
she did, covered his head with her frock, and held him fast with both
her hands.

Sir Hugh, all aghast, hurried out of the booth, but could scarce support
himself from emotion; and, while he leaned upon his stick, ejaculating,
'Lord help us! what poor creatures we are, we poor mortals!' Edgar had
the presence of mind to make Indiana and Camilla go directly to the
carriage. He then prevailed with Sir Hugh to enter it also, and ran back
for Lavinia. But when he perceived the situation into which distress and
affright had driven her, and saw her sobbing over the child, whom she
still held confined, with an idea of hiding him from Eugenia, he was
instantly sensible of the danger of her joining her little sister.
Extremely perplexed for them all, and afraid, by going from the sick
child, he might himself carry the infection to the coach, he sent a man
to Sir Hugh to know what was to be done.

Sir Hugh, totally overset by the unexpected accident, and
conscience-struck at his own wilful share in risking it, was utterly
helpless, and could only answer, that he wished young Mr. Edgar would
give him his advice.

Edgar, thus called upon, now first felt the abilities which his short
life had not hitherto brought into use: he begged Sir Hugh would return
immediately to Cleves, and keep Eugenia there for a few days with
Camilla and her cousin; while he undertook to go himself in search of
Lionel, with whose assistance he would convey Lavinia back to
Etherington, without seeing her little sister; since she must now be as
full of contagion as the poor object who had just had the disease.

Sir Hugh, much relieved, sent him word he had no doubt he would become
the first scholar of the age; and desired he would get a chaise for
himself and Lavinia, and let the footman take charge of his horse.

He then ordered the coach to Cleves.

Edgar fulfilled the injunctions of Sir Hugh with alacrity; but had a
very difficult task to find Lionel, and one far more painful to appease
Lavinia, whose apprehensions were so great as they advanced towards
Etherington, that, to sooth and comfort her, he ordered the postilion to
drive first to a farm-house near Cleves, whence he forwarded a boy to
Sir Hugh, with entreaties that he would write a few lines to Mrs.
Tyrold, in exculpation of her sorrowing daughter.

Sir Hugh complied, but was so little in the habit of writing, that he
sent over a messenger to desire they would dine at the farm-house, in
order to give him time to compose his epistle.

Early in the afternoon, he conveyed to them the following letter:

     _To Mrs._ Tyrold _at the Parsonage House, belonging to the Reverend
     Rector, Mr._ Tyrold, _for the Time being, at_ Etherington _in_
     Hampshire.

     DEAR SISTER,

     I am no remarkable good writer, in comparison with my brother,
     which you will excuse from my deficiencies, as it is my only
     apology. I beg you will not be angry with little Lavinia, as she
     did nothing in the whole business, except wanting to do right, only
     not mentioning it in the beginning, which is very excusable in the
     light of a fault; the wisest of us having been youths ourselves
     once, and the most learned being subject to do wrong, but how much
     so the ignorant? of which I may speak more properly. However, as
     she would certainly have caught the small pox herself, except from
     the lucky circumstance of having had it before, I think it best to
     keep Eugenia a few days at Cleves, for the sake of her infection.
     Not but what if she should have it, I trust your sense won't fret
     about it, as it is only in the course of Nature; which, if she had
     been innoculated, is more than any man could say; even a physician.
     So the whole being my own fault, without the least meaning to
     offend, if any thing comes of it, I hope, my dear sister, you won't
     take it ill, especially of poor little Lavinia, for 'tis hard if
     such young things may not be happy at their time of life, before
     having done harm to a human soul. Poor dears! 'tis soon enough to
     be unhappy after being wicked; which, God knows, we are all liable
     to be in the proper season. I beg my love to my brother; and
     remain,

     Dear sister,

     Your affectionate brother,

     HUGH TYROLD.

     _P.S._ It is but justice to my brother to mention that young Master
     Mandlebert's behaviour has done the greatest honour to the
     classics; which must be a great satisfaction to a person having the
     care of his education.

The rest of the day lost all its delights to the young heiress from this
unfortunate adventure. The deprivation of three of the party, with the
well-grounded fear of Mrs. Tyrold's just blame, were greater
mortifications to those that remained, than even the ball and supper
could remove. And Sir Hugh, to whom their lowered spirits were
sufficiently depressing, had an additional, though hardly to himself
acknowledged, weight upon his mind, relative to Eugenia and the small
pox.

The contrition of the trembling Lavinia could not but obtain from Mrs.
Tyrold the pardon it deserved: but she could make no allowance for the
extreme want of consideration in Sir Hugh; and anxiously waited the time
when she might call back Eugenia from the management of a person whom
she considered as more childish than her children themselves.




CHAPTER III

_Consequences_


Every precaution being taken with regard to Lavinia and her clothes, for
warding off infection to Eugenia, if as yet she had escaped it; Mrs.
Tyrold fixed a day for fetching her little daughter from Cleves. Sir
Hugh, at the earnest entreaty of Camilla, invited the young party to
come again early that morning, that some amends might be made them for
their recent disappointment of the ball and supper, by a holiday, and a
little sport, previous to the arrival of Mrs. Tyrold; to whom he
voluntarily pledged his word, that Eugenia should not again be taken
abroad, nor suffered to appear before any strangers.

Various gambols were now again enacted by the once more happy group; but
all was conducted with as much security as gaiety, till Lionel proposed
the amusement of riding upon a plank in the park.

A plank was immediately procured by the gardener, and placed upon the
trunk of an old oak, where it parted into two thick branches.

The boys and the three eldest girls balanced one another in turn, with
great delight and dexterity; but Sir Hugh feared committing the little
Eugenia, for whom he was grown very anxious, amongst them, till the
repinings of the child demolished his prudence. The difficulty how to
indulge her with safety was, nevertheless, considerable: and, after
various experiments, he resolved to trust her to nobody but himself;
and, placing her upon his lap, occupied one end of the plank, and
desired that as many of the rest as were necessary to make the weight
equal, would seat themselves upon the other.

This diversion was short, but its consequences were long. Edgar
Mandlebert, who superintended the balance, poised it with great
exactness; yet no sooner was Sir Hugh elevated, than, becoming
exceedingly giddy, he involuntarily loosened his hold of Eugenia, who
fell from his arms to the ground.

In the agitation of his fright, he stooped forward to save her, but lost
his equilibrium; and, instead of rescuing, followed her.

The greatest confusion ensued; Edgar, with admirable adroitness,
preserved the elder girls from suffering by the accident; and Lionel
took care of himself by leaping instantly from the plank: Sir Hugh,
extremely bruised, could not get up without pain; but all concern and
attention soon centred in the little Eugenia, whose incessant cries
raised apprehensions of some more than common mischief.

She was carried to the house in the arms of Edgar, and delivered to the
governess. She screamed the whole time she was undressing; and Edgar,
convinced she had received some injury, galloped off, unbid, for a
surgeon: but what was the horror of Sir Hugh, upon hearing him
pronounce, that her left shoulder was put out, and that one of her knees
was dislocated!

In an agony of remorse, he shut himself up in his room, without power
to issue a command, or listen to a question: nor could he be prevailed
upon to open his door, till the arrival of Mrs. Tyrold.

Hastily then rushing out, he hurried to meet her; and, snatching both
her hands, and pressing them between his own, he burst into a passionate
flood of tears, and sobbed out: 'Hate me, my dear sister, for you can't
help it! for I am sorry to tell it you, but I believe I have been the
death of poor Eugenia, that never hurt a fly in her life!'

Pale, and struck with dread, yet always possessing her presence of mind,
Mrs. Tyrold disengaged herself, and demanded where she might find her?
Sir Hugh could make no rational answer; but Edgar, who had run down
stairs, purposing to communicate the tidings more gently, briefly stated
the misfortune, and conducted her to the poor little sufferer.

Mrs. Tyrold, though nearly overpowered by a sight so affecting, still
preserved her faculties for better uses than lamentation. She held the
child in her arms while the necessary operations were performing by the
surgeon; she put her to bed, and watched by her side the whole night;
during which, in defiance of all precautions, a high fever came on, and
she grew worse every moment.

The next morning, while still in this alarming state, the unfortunate
little innocent exhibited undoubted symptoms of the small pox.

Mr. Tyrold now also established himself at Cleves, to share the parental
task of nursing the afflicted child, whose room he never left, except to
give consolation to his unhappy brother, who lived wholly in his own
apartment, refusing the sight even of Camilla, and calling himself a
monster too wicked to look at any thing that was good; though the
affectionate little girl, pining at the exclusion, continually presented
herself at his door.

The disease bore every prognostic of fatal consequences, and the fond
parents soon lost all hope, though they redoubled every attention.

Sir Hugh then gave himself up wholly to despair: he darkened his room,
refused all food but bread and water, permitted no one to approach him,
and reviled himself invariably with the contrition of a wilful murderer.

In this state of self-punishment he persevered, till the distemper
unexpectedly took a sudden and happy turn, and the surgeon made known,
that his patient might possibly recover.

The joy of Sir Hugh was now as frantic as his grief had been the moment
before: he hastened to his drawing-room, commanded that the whole house
should be illuminated; promised a year's wages to all his servants; bid
his house-keeper distribute beef and broth throughout the village; and
sent directions that the bells of the three nearest parish churches
should be rung for a day and a night. But when Mr. Tyrold, to avert the
horror of any wholly unprepared disappointment, represented the still
precarious state of Eugenia, and the many changes yet to be feared; he
desperately reversed all his orders, returned sadly to his dark room,
and protested he would never more rejoice, till Mrs. Tyrold herself
should come to him with good news.

This anxiously waited æra at length arrived; Eugenia, though seamed and
even scarred by the horrible disorder, was declared out of danger; and
Mrs. Tyrold, burying her anguish at the alteration, in her joy for the
safety of her child, with an heart overflowing from pious gratitude,
became the messenger of peace; and, holding out her hand to Sir Hugh,
assured him the little Eugenia would soon be well.

Sir Hugh, in an ecstasy which no power could check, forgot every pain
and infirmity to hurry up to the apartment of the little girl, that he
might kneel, he said, at her feet, and there give thanks for her
recovery: but the moment he entered the room, and saw the dreadful havoc
grim disease had made on her face; not a trace of her beauty left, no
resemblance by which he could have known her; he shrunk back, wrung his
hands, called himself the most sinful of all created beings, and in the
deepest despondence, sunk into a chair and wept aloud.

Eugenia soon began to cry also, though unconscious for what cause; and
Mrs. Tyrold remonstrated to Sir Hugh upon the uselessness of such
transports, calmly beseeching him to retire and compose himself.

'Yes, sister,' he answered, 'yes, I'll go away, for I am sure, I do not
want to look at her again; but to think of its being all my doing!--O
brother! O sister! why don't you both kill me in return? And what amends
can I make her? what amends, except a poor little trifle of money?--And
as to that, she shall have it, God knows, every penny I am worth, the
moment I am gone; ay, that she shall, to a single shilling, if I die
tomorrow!'

Starting up with revived courage from this idea, he ventured again to
turn his head towards Eugenia, exclaiming: 'O, if she does but get well!
does but ease my poor conscience by making me out not to be a murderer,
a guinea for every pit in that poor face will I settle on her out of
hand; yes, before I so much as breathe again, for fear of dying in the
mean time!'

Mrs. Tyrold scarce noticed this declaration; but his brother endeavoured
to dissuade him from so sudden and partial a measure: he would not,
however, listen; he made what speed he could down stairs, called hastily
for his hat and stick, commanded all his servants to attend him, and
muttering frequent ejaculations to himself, that he would not trust to
changing his mind, he proceeded to the family chapel, and approaching
with eager steps to the altar, knelt down, and bidding every one hear
and witness what he said, made a solemn vow, 'That if he might be
cleared of the crime of murder, by the recovery of Eugenia, he would
atone what he could for the ill he had done her, by bequeathing to her
every thing he possessed in the world, in estate, cash, and property,
without the deduction of a sixpence.'

He told all present to remember and witness this, in case of an apoplexy
before his new will could be written down.

Returning then to the house, lightened, he said, from a load of
self-reproach, which had rendered the last fortnight insupportable to
him, he sent for the attorney of a neighbouring town, and went upstairs,
with a firmer mind, to wait his arrival in the sick room.

'O my dear uncle,' cried his long banished Camilla, who hearing him upon
the stairs, skipt lightly after him, 'how glad I am to see you again! I
almost thought I should see you no more!'

Here ended at once the just acquired tranquility of Sir Hugh; all his
satisfaction forsook him at the appearance of his little darling; he
considered her as an innocent creature whom he was preparing to injure;
he could not bear to look at her; his heart smote him in her favour; his
eyes filled with tears; he was unable to go on, and with slow and
trembling steps, he moved again towards his own room.

'My dearest uncle!' cried Camilla, holding by his coat, and hanging upon
his arm, 'won't you speak to me?'

'Yes, my dear, to be sure I will,' he answered, endeavouring to hide his
emotion, 'only not now; so don't follow me Camilla, for I'm going to be
remarkably busy!'

'O uncle!' she cried, plaintively, 'and I have not seen you so long!
And I have wished so to see you! and I have been so unhappy about
Eugenia! and you have always locked your door; and I would not rap hard
at it, for fear you should be asleep: But why would you not see me,
uncle? and why will you send me away?'

'My dear Camilla,' he replied, with increased agitation, 'I have used
you very ill; I have been your worst enemy, which is the very reason I
don't care to see you; so go away, I beg, for I am bad enough without
all this. But I give you my thanks for all your little playful gambols,
having nothing better now to offer you; which is but a poor return from
an uncle to a niece!'

He then shut himself into his room, leaving Camilla drowned in tears at
the outside of the door.

Wretched in reflecting upon the shock and disappointment which the new
disposition of his affairs must occasion her, he had not fortitude to
inform her of his intention. He desired to speak with Edgar Mandlebert,
who, with all the Tyrold family, resided, for the present, at Cleves,
and abruptly related to him the new destination he had just vowed of his
wealth; beseeching that he would break it in the softest manner to his
poor little favourite, assuring her she would be always the first in his
love, though a point of mere conscience had forced him to make choice of
another heiress.

Edgar, whose zeal to serve and oblige had never been put to so severe a
test, hesitated how to obey this injunction; yet he would not refuse it,
as he found that all the servants of the house were enabled, if they
pleased, to anticipate more incautiously the ill news. He followed her,
therefore, into the garden, whither she had wandered to weep unobserved;
but he stopt short at sight of her distress, conceiving his errand to be
already known to her, and determined to consult with Indiana, to whom he
communicated his terrible embassy, entreating her to devise some
consolation for her poor cousin.

Indiana felt too much chagrined at her own part in this transaction, to
give her attention to Camilla; she murmured without scruple at the
deprivation of what she had once expected for herself, and at another
time for her brother; and expressed much resentment at the behaviour of
her uncle, mingled with something very near repining, not merely at his
late preference of Camilla, but even at the recovery of the little
Eugenia. Edgar heard her with surprise, and wondered to find how much
less her beauty attracted him from the failure of her good nature.

He now pursued the weeping Camilla, who, dispersing her tears at his
approach, pretended to be picking some lavender, and keeping her eyes
steadfastly upon the bush, asked him if he would have any? He took a
sprig, but spoke to her in a voice of such involuntary compassion, that
she soon lost her self-command, and the big drops again rolled fast down
her cheeks. Extremely concerned, he strove gently to sooth her; but the
expressions of regret at her uncle's avoidance, which then escaped her,
soon convinced him his own task was still to be performed. With anxious
fear of the consequences of a blow so unlooked for, he executed it with
all the speed, yet all the consideration in his power. Camilla, the
moment she understood him, passionately clasped her hands, and
exclaimed: 'O if that is all! If my uncle indeed loves me as well as
before all this; I am sure I can never, never be so wicked, as to envy
poor little Eugenia, who has suffered so much, and almost been dying,
because she will be richer than I shall be!'

Edgar, delighted and relieved, thought she was grown a thousand times
more beautiful than Indiana; and eagerly taking her hand, ran with her
to the apartment of the poor disconsolate Sir Hugh; where his own eyes
soon overflowed from tenderness and admiration, at the uncommon scene he
witnessed, of the generous affection with which Camilla consoled the
fond distress of her uncle, though springing from her own disappointment
and loss.

They stayed till the arrival of the attorney, who took the directions of
Sir Hugh, and drew up, for his immediate satisfaction, a short deed,
making over, according to his vow, all he should die possessed of,
without any let or qualification whatsoever, to his niece Eugenia. This
was properly signed and sealed, and Sir Hugh hastened up stairs with a
copy of it to Mr. Tyrold.

All remonstrance was ineffectual; his conscience, he protested, could no
other way be appeased; his noble little Camilla had forgiven him her ill
usage, and he could now bear to look at the change for the worse in
Eugenia, without finding his heart-strings ready to burst at the sight.
'You,' he cried, 'brother, who do not know what it is I have suffered
through my conscience, can't tell what it is to get a little ease; for
if she had died, you might all have had the comfort to say 'twas I
murdered her, which would have given you the satisfaction of having had
no hand in it. But then, what would have become of poor me, having it
all upon my own head? However, now thank Heaven, I have no need to care
about the matter; for as to the mere loss of beauty, pretty as it is to
look at, I hope it is no such great injury, as she'll have a splendid
fortune, which is certainly a better thing, in point of lasting. For as
to beauty, Lord help us! what is it? except just to the eye.'

He then walked up to the child, intending to kiss her, but stopt and
sighed involuntarily as he looked at her, saying: 'After all, she's not
like the same thing! no more than I am myself. I shall never think I
know her again, never as long as I live! I can't so much as believe her
to be the same, though I am sure of its being true. However, it shall
make no change in my love for her, poor little dear, for it's all my own
doing; though innocently enough, as to any meaning, God knows!'

It was still some time before the little girl recovered, and then a new
misfortune became daily more palpable, from some latent and incurable
mischief, owing to her fall, which made her grow up with one leg shorter
than the other, and her whole figure diminutive and deformed: These
additional evils reconciled her parents to the partial will of her
uncle, which they now, indeed, thought less wanting in equity, since no
other reparation could be offered to the innocent sufferer for ills so
insurmountable.




CHAPTER IV

_Studies of a grown Gentleman_


When the tumult of this affair subsided, Mr. Tyrold and his family
prepared to re-establish themselves at Etherington; and Mrs. Tyrold, the
great inducement for the separation being over, was earnest to take home
again the disinherited Camilla. Sir Hugh, whose pleasure in her sight
was how embittered by regret and remorse, had not courage to make the
smallest opposition; yet he spent the day of her departure in groans and
penitence. He thought it right, however, to detain Eugenia, who, as his
decided heiress, was left to be brought up at Cleves.

The loss of the amusing society of his favourite; the disappointment he
had inflicted upon her, and the sweetness with which she had borne it,
preyed incessantly upon his spirits; and he knew not how to employ
himself, which way to direct his thoughts, nor in what manner to beguile
one moment of his time, after the children were gone to rest.

The view of the constant resources which his brother found in
literature, augmented his melancholy at his own imperfections; and the
steady industry with which Mr. Tyrold, in early youth, had attained
them, and which, while devoted to field sports, he had often observed
with wonder and pity, he now looked back to with self-reproach, and
recognised in its effect with a reverence almost awful.

His imagination, neither regulated by wisdom, nor disciplined by
experience, having once taken this turn, he soon fancied that every
earthly misfortune originated in a carelessness of learning, and that
all he wished, and all he wanted, upbraided him with his ignorance. If
disease and pain afflicted him, he lamented the juvenile inattention
that had robbed him of acquirements which might have taught him not to
regard them; if the word scholar was named in his presence, he heaved
the deepest sigh; if an article in a newspaper, with which he was
unacquainted, was discussed, he reviled his early heedlessness of study;
and the mention of a common pamphlet, which was unknown to him, gave him
a sensation of disgrace: even inevitable calamities he attributed to the
negligence of his education, and construed every error, and every evil
of his life, to his youthful disrespect of Greek and Latin.

Such was the state of his mind, when his ordinary maladies had the
serious aggravation of a violent fit of the gout.

In the midst of the acute anguish, and useless repentance, which now
alternately ravaged his happiness, it suddenly occurred to him, that,
perhaps, with proper instruction, he might even yet obtain a sufficient
portion of this enviable knowledge, to enable him to pass his evenings
with some similarity to his brother.

Revived by this suggestion, he sent for Mr. Tyrold, to communicate to
him his idea, and to beg he would put him into a way to recover his lost
time, by recommending to him a tutor, with whom he might set about a
course of studies:--'Not that I want,' cried he, 'to make any particular
great figure as a scholar; but if I could only learn just enough to
amuse me at odd hours, and make me forget the gout, it's as much as I
desire.'

The total impossibility that such a project should answer its given
purpose, deterred not Mr. Tyrold from listening to his request. The mild
philosophy of his character saw whatever was lenient to human sufferings
as eligible, and looked no further for any obstacles to the wishes of
another, than to investigate if their gratification would be compatible
with innocence. He wrote, therefore, to a college associate of his
younger years, whom he knew to be severely embarrassed in his affairs,
and made proposals for settling him in the house of his brother. These
were not merely gratefully accepted by his old friend, but drew forth a
confession that he was daily menaced with a public arrest for debts,
which he had incurred without luxury or extravagance, from mere
ignorance of the value of money, and of oeconomy.

In the award of cool reason, to attend to what is impracticable, appears
a folly which no inducement can excuse. Mrs. Tyrold treated this scheme
with calm, but complete contempt. She allowed no palliation for a
measure of which the abortive end was glaring; to hearken to it
displeased her, as a false indulgence of childish vanity; and her
understanding felt shocked that Mr. Tyrold would deign to humour his
brother in an enterprise which must inevitably terminate in a fruitless
consumption of time.

Sir Hugh soon, but without anger, saw her disapprobation of his plan;
her opinions, from a high superiority to all deceit, were as unreserved
as those of the baronet, from a nature incapable of caution. He told her
he was sorry to perceive that she thought he should make no proficiency,
but entreated her to take notice there was at least no great presumption
in his attempt, as he meant to begin with the very beginning, and to go
no farther at the first than any young little school-boy; for he should
give himself fair play, by trying his hand with the rudiments, which
would no sooner be run over, than the rest would become plain sailing:
'And if once,' he added, 'I should conquer the mastery of the classics,
I shall make but very short work of all the rest.'

Mr. Tyrold saw, as forcibly as his wife, the utter impossibility that
Sir Hugh could now repair the omissions of his youth; but he was willing
to console his want of knowledge, and sooth his mortifications; and
while he grieved for his bodily infirmities, and pitied his mental
repinings, he considered his idea as not illaudable, though injudicious,
and in favour of its blamelessness, forgave its absurdity.

He was gratified, also, in offering an honourable provision to a man of
learning in distress, whose time and attention could not fail to deserve
it, if dedicated to his brother, in whatever way they might be bestowed.

He took care to be at Cleves on the day Dr. Orkborne, this gentleman,
was expected, and he presented him to Sir Hugh with every mark of
regard, as a companion in whose conversation, he flattered himself, pain
might be lightened, and seclusion from mixt company cheerfully
supported.

Dr. Orkborne expressed his gratitude for the kindness of Mr. Tyrold, and
promised to make it his first study to merit the high consideration with
which he had been called from his retirement.

A scholastic education was all that had been given to Dr. Orkborne by
his friends; and though in that their hopes were answered, no prosperity
followed. His labours had been seconded by industry, but not enforced by
talents; and they soon found how wide the difference between acquiring
stores, and bringing them into use. Application, operating upon a
retentive memory, had enabled him to lay by the most ample hoards of
erudition; but these, though they rendered him respectable amongst the
learned, proved nearly nugatory in his progress through the world, from
a total want of skill and penetration to know how or where they might
turn to any account. Nevertheless, his character was unexceptionable,
his manners were quiet, and his fortune was ruined. These were the
motives which induced rather the benevolence than the selection of Mr.
Tyrold to name him to his brother, in the hope that, while an asylum at
Cleves would exonerate him from all pecuniary hardships, his very
deficiency in brilliancy of parts, and knowledge of mankind, which
though differently modified, was equal to that of Sir Hugh himself,
would obviate regret of more cultivated society, and facilitate their
reciprocal satisfaction.

The introduction over, Mr. Tyrold sought by general topics to forward
their acquaintance, before any allusion should be made to the professed
plan of Sir Hugh; but Sir Hugh was too well pleased with its ingenuity
to be ashamed of its avowal; he began, therefore, immediately to descant
upon the indolence of his early years, and to impeach the want of
timely severity in his instructors: 'For there is an old saying,' he
cried, 'but remarkably true, That learning is better than house or land;
which I am an instance of myself, for I have house and land plenty, yet
don't know what to do with them properly, nor with myself neither, for
want of a little notion of things to guide me by.' His brother, he
added, had been too partial in thinking him already fitted for such a
master as Dr. Orkborne; though he promised, notwithstanding his time of
life, to become the most docile of pupils, and he hoped before long to
do no discredit to the Doctor as his tutor.

Mr. Tyrold, whose own benign countenance could scarce refrain from a
smile at this unqualified opening, endeavoured to divert to some other
subject the grave astonishment of Dr. Orkborne, who, previously aware of
the age and ill health of the baronet, naturally concluded himself
called upon to solace the privacy of his life by reading or discourse,
but suggested not the most distant surmise he could be summoned as a
preceptor.

Sir Hugh, however, far from palliating any design, disguised not even a
feeling; he plunged deeper and deeper in the acknowledgment of his
ignorance, and soon set wholly apart the delicate circumspection of his
brother, by demanding of Dr. Orkborne what book he thought he had best
buy for a beginning?

Receiving from the wondering Doctor no answer, he good humouredly added,
'Come, don't be ashamed to name the easiest, for this reason; you must
know my plan is one of my own, which it is right to tell you. As fast as
I get on, I intend, for the sake of remembering my lesson, to send for
one of my nephews, and teach it all over again to him myself; which will
be doing service to us all at once.'

Mr. Tyrold now, though for a few moments he looked down, thought it best
to leave the matter to its own course, and Dr. Orkborne to his own
observations; fully persuaded, that the smiles Sir Hugh might excite
would be transient, and that no serious or lasting ridicule could be
attached to his character, in the mind of a worthy man, to whom time and
opportunity would be allowed for an acquaintance with its habitual
beneficence. He excused himself, therefore, from staying any longer,
somewhat to the distress of Dr. Orkborne, but hardly with the notice of
the baronet, whose eagerness in his new pursuit completely engrossed
him.

His late adventure, and his new heiress, now tormented him no more;
Indiana was forgotten, Camilla but little thought of, and his whole mind
became exclusively occupied by this fruitful expedient for retrieving
his lost time.

Dr. Orkborne, whose life had been spent in any study rather than that of
human nature, was so little able to enter into the character of Sir
Hugh, that nothing less than the respect he knew to be due to Mr.
Tyrold, could have saved him, upon his first reception, from a suspicion
that he had been summoned in mere mockery. The situation, however, was
peculiarly desirable to him, and the experiment, in the beginning,
corresponded with the hopes of Mr. Tyrold. Placed suddenly in ease and
affluence, Dr. Orkborne, with the most profound desire to please, sought
to sustain so convenient a post, by obliging the patron, whom he soon
saw it would be vain to attempt improving; while Sir Hugh, in return,
professed himself the most fortunate of men, that he had now met with a
scholar who had the good nature not to despise him.

Relief from care thus combining with opportunity, Dr. Orkborne was
scarce settled, ere he determined upon the execution of a long,
critical, and difficult work in philology, which he had often had in
contemplation, but never found leisure to undertake. By this means he
had a constant resource for himself; and the baronet, observing that
time never hung heavy upon his hands, conceived a yet higher admiration
of learning, and felt his spirits proportionably re-animated by the fair
prospect of participating in such advantages.

From this dream, however, he was soon awakened; a parcel, by the
direction of Dr. Orkborne, arrived from his bookseller, with materials
for going to work.

Sir Hugh then sent off a message to the parsonage-house, informing his
brother and his family, that they must not be surprised if they did not
see or hear of him for some time, as he had got his hands quite full,
and should be particularly engaged for a week or two to come.

Dr. Orkborne, still but imperfectly conceiving the extent, either of the
plan, or of the simplicity of his new pupil, proposed, as soon as the
packet was opened, that they should read together; but Sir Hugh replied,
that he would do the whole in order, and by no means skip the
rudiments.

The disappointment which followed, may be easily imagined; with neither
quickness to learn, nor memory to retain, he aimed at being initiated in
the elements of a dead language, for which youth only can find time and
application, and even youth but by compulsion. His head soon became
confused, his ideas were all perplexed, his attention was vainly
strained, and his faculties were totally disordered.

Astonished at his own disturbance, which he attributed solely to not
getting yet into the right mode, he laughed off his chagrin, but was
steady in his perseverance; and continued wholly shut up from his family
and friends, with a zeal worthy better success.

Lesson after lesson, however, only aggravated his difficulties, till his
intellects grew so embarrassed he scarce knew if he slept or waked. His
nights became infected by the perturbation of the day; his health
visibly suffered from the restlessness of both, and all his flattering
hopes of new and unknown happiness were ere long exchanged for despair.

He now sent for his brother, and desired to speak with him alone; when,
catching him fast by the hand, and looking piteously in his face, 'Do
you know, my dear brother,' he cried, 'I find myself turning out as
sheer a blockhead as ever, for all I have got so many more years over my
head than when I began all this hard jingle jangle before?'

Mr. Tyrold, with greater concern than surprise, endeavoured to re-assure
and console him, by pointing out a road more attainable for reaping
benefit from the presence of Dr. Orkborne, than the impracticable path
into which he had erroneously entered.

'Ah! no, my dear brother,' he answered; 'if I don't succeed this way, I
am sure I shall succeed no other; for as to pains, I could not have
taken more if I had been afraid to be flogged once a-day: and that
gentleman has done all he can, too, as far as I know to the contrary.
But I really think whatever's the meaning of it, there's some people
can't learn.'

Then, shaking his head, he added, in a low voice: 'To say the truth, I
might as well have given it up from the very first, for any great
comfort I found in it, if it had not been for fear of hurting that
gentleman; however, don't let the poor gentleman know that; for I've no
right to turn him off upon nothing, merely for the fault of my having no
head, which how can he help?'

Mr. Tyrold agreed in the justice of this reflection, and undertook to
deliberate upon some conciliatory expedient.

Sir Hugh heartily thanked him; 'But only in the mean time that you are
thinking,' cried he, 'how shall I bring it about to stop him from coming
to me with all those books for my study? For, do you know, my dear
brother, because I asked him to buy me one for my beginning, he sent for
a full score? And when he comes to me about my lesson, he brings them
all upon me together: which is one thing, for ought I know, that helps
to confuse me; for I am wondering all the while when I shall get through
with them. However, say nothing of all this before the poor gentleman,
for fear he should take it as a hint; which might put him out of heart:
for which reason I'd rather take another lesson, Lord help me!--than vex
him.'

Mr. Tyrold promised his best consideration, and to see him again the
next morning. But he had hardly left Cleves ten minutes, when a man and
horse came galloping after him, with a petition that he would return
without delay.

The baronet received him with a countenance renovated with
self-complacency. 'I won't trouble you,' he cried, 'to think any more;
for now I have got a plan of my own, which I will tell you. Not to throw
this good gentleman entirely away, I intend having a sort of a kind of
school set up here in my sick room, and so to let all my nephews come,
and say their tasks to him in my hearing; and then, who knows but I may
pick up a little amongst them myself, without all this hard study?'

Mr. Tyrold stated the obvious objections to so wild a scheme; but he
besought him not to oppose it, as there was no other way for him to get
rid of his tutoring, without sending off Dr. Orkborne. He desired,
therefore, that Lionel might come instantly to Cleves; saying, 'I shall
write myself to Eton, by the means of the Doctor, to tell the Master I
shall take Clermont entirely home after the next holidays, for the sake
of having him study under my own eye.'

He then entreated him to prepare Dr. Orkborne for his new avocation.

Mr. Tyrold, who saw that in this plan the inventor alone could be
disappointed, made no further remonstrance, and communicated the design
to Dr. Orkborne; who, growing now deeply engaged in his own undertaking,
was perfectly indifferent to whom or to what his occasional attendance
might be given.




CHAPTER V

_Schooling of a young Gentleman_


Mrs. Tyrold expressed much astonishment that her husband could afford
any countenance to this new plan. 'Your expectations from it,' she
cried, 'can be no higher than my own; you have certainly some influence
with your brother; why, then, will you suffer him thus egregiously to
expose himself?'

'I cannot protect his pride,' answered Mr. Tyrold, 'at the expence of
his comfort. His faculties want some object, his thoughts some
employment. Inaction bodily and intellectual pervading the same
character, cannot but fix disgust upon every stage and every state of
life. Vice alone is worse than such double inertion. Where mental vigour
can be kept alive without offence to religion and virtue, innocence as
well as happiness is promoted; and the starter of difficulties with
regard to the means which point to such an end, inadvertently risks
both. To save the mind from preying inwardly upon itself, it must be
encouraged to some outward pursuit. There is no other way to elude
apathy, or escape discontent; none other to guard the temper from that
quarrel with itself, which ultimately ends in quarrelling with all
mankind.'

'But may you not, by refusing to send him your son, induce him to seek
recreation in some more rational way?'

'Recreation, my dear Georgiana, must be spontaneous. Bidden pleasures
fly the perversity of our tastes. Let us take care, then, scrupulously,
of our duties, but suffer our amusements to take care of themselves. A
project, a pastime, such as this, is, at least, as harmless as it is
hopeless, since the utmost sport of wit, or acrimony of malice, can only
fasten a laugh upon it: and how few are the diversions of the rich and
indolent that can so lightly be acquitted!'

Lionel, the new young student, speedily, though but little to her
satisfaction, abetted the judgment of his mother. He was no sooner
summoned to Cleves, than, enchanted to find himself a fellow-pupil with
his uncle, he conceived the highest ideas of his own premature genius:
and when this vanity, from the avowed ignorance of the artless baronet,
subsided, it was only replaced by a sovereign contempt of his new
associate. He made the most pompous display of his own little
acquirements; he took every opportunity to ask questions of Sir Hugh
which he knew he could not answer; and he would sometimes, with an arch
mock solemnity, carry his exercise to him, and beg his assistance.

Sir Hugh bore this juvenile impertinence with unshaken good humour. But
the spirits of Lionel were too mutinous for such lenity: he grew bolder
in his attacks, and more fearless of consequences; and in a very short
time, his uncle seemed to him little more than the butt at which he
might level the shafts of his rising triumph; till tired, at length,
though not angry, the baronet applied to Dr. Orkborne, and begged he
would teach him, out of hand, some small little smattering of Latin
sentences, by which he might make the young pedant think better of him.

Dr. Orkborne complied, and wrote him a few brief exercises; but these,
after toiling day and night to learn, he pronounced so ill, and so
constantly mis-applied, that, far from impressing his fellow-labourer
with more respect, the moment he uttered a single word of his new
lesson, the boy almost rolled upon the floor with convulsive merriment.

Sir Hugh, with whom these phrases neither lost nor gained by mistaking
one word for another, appealed to Dr. Orkborne to remedy what he
conceived to be an unaccountable failure. Dr. Orkborne, absorbed in his
new personal pursuit, to which he daily grew more devoted, was earnest
to be as little as possible interrupted, and therefore only advised him
to study his last lesson, before he pressed for any thing new.

Study, however, was unavailing, and he heard this injunction with
despair; but finding it constantly repeated upon every application for
help, he was seized again with a horror of the whole attempt, and begged
to consult with Mr. Tyrold.

'This gentleman you have recommended to me for my tutor,' he cried, 'is
certainly a great scholar; I don't mean to doubt that the least in the
world, being no judge: and he is complaisant enough too, considering all
that; but yet I have rather a suspicion he is afraid I shall make no
hand of it; which is a thing so disheartening to a person in the line of
improvement, that, to tell you the honest truth, I am thinking of giving
the whole up at a blow; for, Lord help me! what shall I be the better
for knowing Latin and Greek? It's not worth a man's while to think of
it, after being a boy. And so, if you please, I'd rather you'd take
Lionel home again.'

Mr. Tyrold agreed; but asked what he meant to do further concerning the
Doctor?

'Why that, brother, is the very thing my poor ignorant head wants your
advice for: because, as to that plan about our learning all together, I
see it won't do; for either the boys will grow up to be no better
scholars than their uncle, which is to say, none at all; or else they'll
hold everybody cheap, when they meet with a person knowing nothing; so
I'll have no more hand in it. And I shall really be glad enough to get
such a thing off my mind; for it's been weight enough upon it from the
beginning.'

He then desired the opinion of Mr. Tyrold what step he should take to
prevent the arrival of Clermont Lynmere, whom, he said, he dreaded to
see, being determined to have no more little boys about him for some
time to come.

Mr. Tyrold recommended re-settling him at Eton: but Sir Hugh declared he
could not possibly do that, because the poor little fellow had written
him word he was glad to leave school. 'And I don't doubt,' he added,
'but he'll make the best figure of us all; because I had him put in the
right mode from the first; though, I must needs own, I had as lieve see
him a mere dunce all his life, supposing I should live so long, which
God forbid in regard to his dying, as have him turn out a mere coxcomb
of a pedant, laughing and grinning at everybody that can't spell a Greek
noun.'

Mr. Tyrold promised to take the matter into consideration; but early the
next morning, the baronet again summoned him, and joyfully made known,
that a scheme had come into his own head, which answered all purposes.
In the first place, he said, he had really taken so prodigious a dislike
to learning, that he was determined to send Clermont over the seas, to
finish his Greek and Latin; not because he was fond of foreign parts,
but for fear, if he should let him come to Cleves, the great distaste he
had now conceived against those sort of languages, might disgust the
poor boy from his book. And he had most luckily recollected, in the
middle of the night, that he had a dear friend, one Mr. Westwyn, who was
going the very next month to carry his own son to Leipsic; which was
just what had put the thought into his head; because, by that means,
Clermont might be removed from one studying place to t'other, without
loss of time.

'But for all that,' he continued, 'as this good gentleman here has been
doing no harm, I won't have him become a sufferer for my changing my
mind: and so, not to affront him by giving him nothing to do, which
would be like saying, "You may go your ways," I intend he should try
Indiana.'

Observing Mr. Tyrold now look with the extremest surprise, he added; 'To
be sure, being a girl, it is rather out of the way; but as there is
never another boy, what can I do? Besides I shan't so much mind her
getting a little learning, because she's not likely to make much hand of
it. And this one thing, I can tell you, which I have learnt of my own
accord; I'll never press a person to set about studying at my time of
life as long as I live, knowing what a plague it is.'

Lionel returned to Etherington with his father, and the rest of the
scheme was put into execution without delay. Mr. Westwyn conveyed
Clermont from Eton to Leipsic, where he settled him with the preceptor
and masters appointed for his own son; and Dr. Orkborne was desired to
become the tutor of Indiana.

At first, quitting his learned residence, the Doctor might indignantly
have blushed at the proposition of an employment so much beneath his
abilities: but he now heard it without the smallest emotion; sedately
revolving in his mind, that his literary work would not be affected by
the ignorance or absurdity of his several pupils.




CHAPTER VI

_Tuition of a young Lady_


The fair Indiana participated not in the philosophy of her preceptor.
The first mention of taking lessons produced an aversion unconquerable
to their teacher; and the first question he asked her at the appointed
hour for study, was answered by a burst of tears.

To Dr. Orkborne this sorrow would have proved no impediment to their
proceeding, as he hardly noticed it; but Sir Hugh, extremely affected,
kindly kissed her, and said he would beg her off for this time. The next
day, however, gave rise but to a similar scene; and the next which
followed would precisely have resembled it, had not the promise of some
new finery of attire dispersed the pearly drops that were preparing to
fall.

The uncommon beauty of Indiana had made her infancy adored, and her
childhood indulged by almost all who had seen her. The brilliant picture
she presented to the eye by her smiles and her spirits, rendered the
devastation caused by crying, pouting, or fretfulness so striking, and
so painful to behold, that not alone her uncle, but every servant in the
house, and every stranger who visited it, granted to her lamentations
whatever they demanded, to relieve their own impatience at the loss of
so pleasing an image. Accustomed, therefore, never to weep without
advantage, she was in the constant habit of giving unbridled vent to her
tears upon the smallest contradiction, well knowing that not to spoil
her pretty eyes by crying, was the current maxim of the whole house.

Unused, by this means, to any trouble or application, the purposed
tuition of Dr. Orkborne appeared a burden to her intolerable; yet
weeping, her standing resource, was with him utterly vain; her tears
were unimportant to one who had taken no notice of her smiles; and
intent upon his own learned ruminations, he never even looked at her.

Bribery, day after day, could procure but a few instants' attention,
given so unwillingly, and so speedily withdrawn, that trinkets, dress,
and excursions were soon exhausted, without the smallest advancement.
The general indulgence of the baronet made partial favours of small
efficacy; and Indiana was sooner tired of receiving, than he of
presenting his offerings.

She applied, therefore, at length, to the governess, whose
expostulations, she knew by experience, were precisely what Sir Hugh
most sedulously aimed to avoid.

Miss Margland was a woman of family and fashion, but reduced, through
the gaming and extravagance of her father, to such indigence, that,
after sundry failures in higher attempts, she was compelled to acquiesce
in the good offices of her friends, which placed her as a governess in
the house of Sir Hugh.

To Indiana, however, she was but nominally a tutress; neglected in her
own education, there was nothing she could teach, though, born and bred
in the circle of fashion, she imagined she had nothing to learn. And,
while a mind proudly shallow kept her unacquainted with her own
deficiencies, her former rank in society imposed an equal ignorance of
them upon Sir Hugh. But, notwithstanding he implicitly gave her credit
for possessing whatever she assumed, he found her of a temper so
unpleasant, and so irritable to offence, that he made it a rule never to
differ from her. The irksomeness of this restraint induced him to keep
as much as possible out of her way; though respect and pity for her
birth and her misfortunes, led him to resolve never to part with her
till Indiana was married.

The spirit of Miss Margland was as haughty as her intellects were weak;
and her disposition was so querulous, that, in her constant suspicion of
humiliation, she seemed always looking for an affront, and ready primed
for a contest.

She seized with pleasure the opportunity offered her by Indiana, of
remonstrating against this new system of education; readily allowing,
that any accomplishment beyond what she had herself acquired, would be
completely a work of supererogation. She represented dictatorily her
objections to the baronet. Miss Lynmere, she said, though both beautiful
and well brought up, could never cope with so great a disadvantage as
the knowledge of Latin: 'Consider, Sir,' she cried, 'what an obstacle it
will prove to her making her way in the great world, when she comes to
be of a proper age for thinking of an establishment. What gentleman will
you ever find that will bear with a learned wife? except some mere
downright fogrum, no young lady of fashion could endure.'

She then spoke of the danger of injuring her beauty by study; and ran
over all the qualifications really necessary for a young lady to attain,
which consisted simply of an enumeration of all she had herself
attempted; a little music, a little drawing, and a little dancing; which
should all, she added, be but slightly pursued, to distinguish a lady of
fashion from an artist.

Sir Hugh, a good deal disturbed, because unable to answer her, thought
it would be best to interest Dr. Orkborne in his plan, and to beg him to
reconcile her to its execution. He sent, therefore, a message to the
Doctor, to beg to speak with him immediately.

Dr. Orkborne promised to wait upon him without delay: but he was at that
moment hunting for a passage in a Greek author, and presently forgot
both the promise and the request.

Sir Hugh, concluding nothing but sickness could detain him, went to his
apartment; where, finding him perfectly well, he stared at him a moment;
and then, sitting down, begged him to make no apology, for he could
tell his business there as well as any where else.

He gave a long and copious relation of the objections of Miss Margland,
earnestly begging Dr. Orkborne would save him from such another
harangue, it being bad for his health, by undertaking to give her the
proper notion of things himself.

The Doctor, who had just found the passage for which he had been
seeking, heard not one word that he said.

Sir Hugh, receiving no answer, imagined him to be weighing the substance
of his narration; and, therefore, bidding him not worry his brain too
much, offered him half an hour to fix upon what should be done; and
returned quietly to his own room.

Here he sat, counting the minutes, with his watch in his hand, till the
time stipulated arrived: but finding Dr. Orkborne let it pass without
any notice, he again took the trouble of going back to his apartment.

He then eagerly asked what plan he had formed?

Dr. Orkborne, much incommoded by this second interruption, coldly begged
to know his pleasure.

Sir Hugh, with great patience, though much surprise, repeated the whole,
word for word, over again: but the history was far too long for Dr.
Orkborne, whose attention, after the first sentence or two, was
completely restored to his Greek quotation, which he was in the act of
transcribing when Sir Hugh re-entered the room.

The baronet, at length, more categorically said, 'Don't be so shy of
speaking out, Doctor; though I am afraid, by your silence, you've rather
a notion poor Indiana will never get on; which, perhaps, makes you think
it not worth while contradicting Mrs. Margland? Come, speak out!--Is
that the case with the poor girl?'

'Yes, sir,' answered Dr. Orkborne, with great composure; though
perfectly unconscious of the proposition to which he assented.

'Lack a-day! if I was not always afraid she had rather a turn to being a
dunce! So it's your opinion it won't do, then?'

'Yes, sir,' again replied the Doctor; his eye the whole time fastened
upon the passage which occupied his thoughts.

'Why then we are all at a stand again! This is worse than I thought for!
So the poor dear girl has really no head?--Hay, Doctor?--Do speak,
pray?--Don't mind vexing me. Say so at once, if you can't help thinking
it.'

Another extorted, 'Yes, sir,' completely overset Sir Hugh; who, imputing
the absent and perplexed air with which it was pronounced to an
unwillingness to give pain, shook him by the hand, and, quitting the
room, ordered his carriage, and set off for Etherington.

'Oh, brother,' he cried; 'Indiana's the best girl in the world, as well
as the prettiest; but, do you know, Dr. Orkborne says she has got no
brains! So there's an end of that scheme! However, I have now thought of
another that will settle all differences.'

Mr. Tyrold hoped it was an entire discontinuance of all pupilage and
tutorship; and that Dr. Orkborne might henceforth be considered as a
mere family friend.

'No, no, my dear brother, no! 'tis a better thing than that, as you
shall hear. You must know I have often been concerned to think how glum
poor Clermont will look when he hears of my will in favour of Eugenia;
which was my chief reason in my own private mind, for not caring to see
him before he went abroad; but I have made myself quite easy about him
now, by resolving to set little Eugenia upon learning the classics.'

'Eugenia! and of what benefit will that prove to Clermont?'

'Why, as soon as she grows a little old, that is to say, a young woman,
I intend, with your good will and my sister's, to marry her to
Clermont.'

Mr. Tyrold smiled, but declared his entire concurrence, if the young
people, when they grew up, wished for the alliance.

'As to that,' said he, 'I mean to make sure work, by having them
educated exactly to fit one another. I shall order Clermont to think of
nothing but his studies till the proper time; and as to Eugenia, I shall
make her a wife after his own heart, by the help of this gentleman; for
I intend to bid him teach her just like a man, which, as she's so young,
may be done from the beginning, the same as if she was a boy.'

He then enumerated the advantages of this project, which would save
Clermont from all disappointment, by still making over to him his whole
fortune, with a wife ready formed into a complete scholar for him into
the bargain. It would also hinder Eugenia from being a prey to some sop
for her money, who, being no relation, could not have so good a right to
it; and it would prevent any affront to Dr. Orkborne, by keeping him a
constant tight task in hand.

Mr. Tyrold forbore to chagrin him with any strong expostulation, and he
returned, therefore, to Cleves in full glee. He repaired immediately to
the apartment of the Doctor, who, only by what was now said, was
apprized of what had passed before. Somewhat, therefore, alarmed, to
understand that the studies of Indiana were to be relinquished, he
exerted all the alacrity in his power for accepting his new little
pupil: not from any idea of preference; for he concluded that incapacity
of Indiana to be rather that of her sex than of an individual; but from
conceiving that his commodious abode at Cleves depended upon his
retaining one scholar in the family. Eugenia therefore was called, and
the lessons were begun.

The little girl, who was naturally of a thoughtful turn, and whose state
of health deprived her of most childish amusements, was well contented
with the arrangement, and soon made a progress so satisfactory to Dr.
Orkborne, that Sir Hugh, letting his mind now rest from all other
schemes, became fully and happily occupied by the prosecution of his
last suggestion.




CHAPTER VII

_Lost Labour_


From this period, the families of Etherington and Cleves lived in the
enjoyment of uninterrupted harmony and repose, till Eugenia, the most
juvenile of the set, had attained her fifteenth year.

Sir Hugh then wrote to Leipsic, desiring his nephew Lynmere to return
home without delay. 'Not that I intend,' he said to Mr. Tyrold,
'marrying them together at this young age, Eugenia being but a child,
except in point of Latin; though I assure you, my dear brother, she's
the most sensible of the whole, poor Indiana being nothing to her, for
all her prettiness; but the thing is, the sooner Clermont comes over,
the sooner they may begin forming the proper regard.'

The knowledge of this projected alliance was by no means confined to Sir
Hugh and Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold; it was known throughout the family, though
never publicly announced, and understood from her childhood by Eugenia
herself, though Mrs. Tyrold had exerted her utmost authority to prevent
Sir Hugh from apprizing her of it in form. It was nevertheless, the joy
of his heart to prepare the young people for each other: and his scheme
received every encouragement he could desire, from the zeal and uncommon
progress in her studies made by Eugenia; which most happily corresponded
with all his injunctions to Leipsic, for the application and
acquirements of Clermont.

Thus circumstanced, it was a blow to him the most unexpected, to receive
from the young bridegroom elect, in answer to his summons home, a
petition to make the tour of Europe, while yet on the continent.

'What!' cried Sir Hugh, 'and is this all his care for us? after so many
years separation from his kin and kind, has he no natural longings to
see his native land? no yearnings to know his own relations from
strangers?'

Eugenia, notwithstanding her extreme youth, secretly applauded and
admired a search of knowledge she would gladly have participated [in];
though she was not incurious to see the youth she considered as her
destined partner for life, and to whom all her literary labours had been
directed: for the never-failing method of Sir Hugh to stimulate her if
she was idle, had been to assure her that, unless she worked harder, her
cousin Clermont would eclipse her.

She had now acquired a decided taste for study, which, however unusual
for her age, most fortunately rescued from weariness or sadness the
sedentary life, which a weak state of health compelled her to lead. This
induced her to look with pleasure upon Clermont as the object of her
emulation, and to prosecute every plan for her improvement, with that
vigour which accompanies a pursuit of our own choice; the only labour
that asks no relaxation.

Steady occupations, such as these, kept off all attention to her
personal misfortunes, which Sir Hugh had strictly ordered should never
be alluded to; first, he said, for fear they should vex her; and next,
lest they should make her hate him, for being their cause. Those
incidents, therefore, from never being named, glided imperceptibly from
her thoughts; and she grew up as unconscious as she was innocent, that,
though born with a beauty which surpassed that of her lovely sisters,
disease and accident had robbed her of that charm ere she knew she
possessed it. But neither disease nor accident had power over her mind;
there, in its purest proportions, moral beauty preserved its first
energy. The equanimity of her temper made her seem, though a female,
born to be a practical philosopher; her abilities and her sentiments
were each of the highest class, uniting the best adorned intellects with
the best principled virtues.

The dissatisfaction of Sir Hugh with his nephew reached not to
prohibition: his consent was painful, but his remittances were generous,
and Clermont had three years allowed him for his travels through Europe.

Yet this permission was no sooner granted than the baronet again became
dejected. Three years appeared to him to be endless: he could hardly
persuade himself to look forward to them with expectation of life; and
all the learned labours he had promoted seemed vain and unpromising, ill
requiting his toils, and still less answering his hopes. Even the
studious turn of Eugenia, hitherto his first delight, he now thought
served but to render her unsociable; and the time she devoted to study,
he began to regret as lost to himself; nor could he suggest any possible
consolation for his drooping spirits, till it occurred to him that
Camilla might again enliven him.

This idea, and the order for his carriage, were the birth of the same
moment; and, upon entering the study of Mr. Tyrold, he abruptly
exclaimed, 'My dear brother, I must have Camilla back! Indiana says
nothing to amuse me; and Eugenia is so bookish, I might as well live
with an old woman; which God forbid I should object to, only I like
Camilla better.'

This request was by no means welcome to Mr. Tyrold, and utterly
distasteful to his lady. Camilla was now just seventeen years of age,
and attractively lovely; but of a character that called for more
attention to its developement than to its formation; though of a
disposition so engaging, that affection kept pace with watchfulness, and
her fond parents knew as little for their own sakes as for her's how to
part with her.

Her qualities had a power which, without consciousness how, or
consideration why, governed her whole family. The airy thoughtlessness
of her nature was a source of perpetual amusement; and, if sometimes her
vivacity raised a fear for her discretion, the innocence of her mind
reassured them after every alarm. The interest which she excited served
to render her the first object of the house; it was just short of
solicitude, yet kept it constantly alive. Her spirits were volatile,
but her heart was tender; her gaiety had a fascination; her persuasion
was irresistible.

To give her now up to Sir Hugh, seemed to Mrs. Tyrold rather impossible
than disagreeable; but he was too urgent with his brother to be wholly
refused. She was granted him, therefore, as a guest, for the three
ensuing months, to aid him to dissipate his immediate disappointment,
from the procrastinated absence of Clermont.

Sir Hugh received back his first favourite with all the fond glee of a
ductile imagination, which in every new good sees a refuge from every
past or present evil. But, as the extremest distaste of all literature
now succeeded those sanguine views which had lately made it his
exclusive object, the first words he spoke upon her arrival were, to
inform her she must learn no Latin; and the first step which followed
her welcome, was a solemn charge to Dr. Orkborne, that he must give her
no lessons.

The gaiety, the spirit, the playful good humour of Camilla, had lost
nothing of their charm by added years, though her understanding had been
sedulously cultivated, and her principles modelled by the pure and
practical tenets of her exemplary parents. The delight of Sir Hugh in
regaining her, consisted not merely of the renovation of his first
prejudice in her favour; it was strengthened by the restoration it
afforded his own mind to its natural state, and the relief of being
disburthened of a task he was so ill calculated to undertake, as
superintending, in any sort, intellectual pursuits.




BOOK II




CHAPTER I

_New Projects_


The baronet would, at length, have enjoyed perfect contentment, had he
not been molested by the teasing spirit of Miss Margland, now daily at
work in proposing a journey to London, and in representing as an
indispensable duty, that the young ladies should see and be seen, in a
manner suitable to their situation in life.

Miss Margland, equally void either of taste or of resources for the
country, had languished and fretted away twelve years in its bosom, with
no other opening to any satisfaction beyond a maintenance, except what
she secretly nourished in her hopes, that, when her beautiful pupil was
grown up, she should accompany her to the metropolis. Her former
connections and acquaintance in high life still continued to be the
stationary pride of her heart, the constant theme of her discourse, and
the perpetual allusion of some lamentation and regret. This excursion,
therefore, in prospect, had been her sole support during her retirement;
nor had she failed to instruct her fair disciple to aid her scheme,
though she had kept from her its private motive.

Most successfully, indeed, had she instilled into the youthful breast of
Indiana, a wondering curiosity to see the place which she described as
the sole residence of elegance and fashion, and an eager impatience to
exhibit there a person which she was assured would meet with universal
homage.

But neither the exhortations of the governess, nor the wishes of her
pupil, could in this point move Sir Hugh. He had a fixt aversion to
London, and to all public places, and had constantly some disaster to
relate of every visit he had accidentally made to them. The amusements
which had decided his partiality for the country were now, indeed, no
longer within his reach; but his sanguine temper, which occasionally
entertained him with hopes of a recovery, determined him always to keep
upon the right spot, he said, for sport, in the case of any sudden and
favourable change in his health.

Upon the visit of Camilla, Miss Margland grew yet more urgent, expecting
through her powerful influence to gain her point. She strove, therefore,
to engage her intercession, but Camilla, careless, easy, and gay, had no
wish about the matter, and could not be brought into the cabal.

This disappointment so much soured and provoked Miss Margland, that she
lost the usual discretion she had hitherto practised, of confining her
remonstrances to those times when she saw Sir Hugh alone. Such
opportunities, indeed, weary of the use she made of them, the baronet
contrived daily to lessen; but every meeting now, whether public or
private, was seized alike for the same purpose, and the necessity of
_bringing the young ladies out_, and the duty of _thinking of their
establishment_, were the sentences with which he was so regularly
assailed, that the moment he saw her he prepared to hear them, and
commonly with a heavy sigh anticipated their fatigue to his spirits.

No arguments, however, relative to disposing of the young ladies, had
any weight with him; he had long planned to give Eugenia to Clermont
Lynmere, and he depended upon Edgar Mandlebert for Indiana, while with
regard to Camilla, to keep her unmarried, that he might detain her under
his own roof, was the favourite wish of his heart. Nevertheless, this
perpetual persecution became by degrees insupportable, and, unused to be
deaf to any claimant, he was upon the point of constrained compliance,
when his passion for forming schemes came again to his aid, upon hearing
that Edgar Mandlebert, after a twelvemonth's absence, was just returned
to Etherington.

This youth had been making the tour of England, Wales, and Scotland,
with Dr. Marchmont, who had been induced by Mr. Tyrold to relinquish all
other avocations, and devote to him his whole time.

Sir Hugh hastening, upon this news, to the parsonage-house, said: 'Don't
imagine, brother, I am going to make any complaint against Mrs.
Margland, for she is an excellent governess, and I have no fault to find
with her, except her making too many objections, which I take to be her
worst part; but as every body has something, it would be very unfair to
quarrel with her for such a mere nothing, especially as she can't help
it, after so many years going on the same way, without coming to a stop;
but the thing I have thought of now may set it all to rights, which I
hope you'll approve, and especially my sister.'

He then explained, that as he had fixt upon marrying Eugenia to Clermont
Lynmere, she was put so completely under the care of Dr. Orkborne, in
order to make her fit for the young scholar, that Miss Margland was of
little or no use to her. He meant, therefore, to bring forward
immediately the marriage of Indiana with young Mandlebert, and then to
ask Miss Margland to go and live with them entirely, as he could very
well spare her: 'This,' he continued, 'Indiana can't object to, from the
point of having had her so long; and young Mr. Edgar's remarkably
complaisant, for such a young youth, which I saw a great while ago. By
this means, Mrs. Margland will get her main end of going to London,
which she may show off to the young bride, without my budging from home,
Lord help me! being a thing I don't much like, to be taken about to
dances and shews, now that I am not a boy; so then Camilla will be left
to stay with me, for my own companion; which I assure you I desire no
better, though she knows no more, as the Doctor tells me, of the
classics, than my old spaniel; which, to give every one his due, is much
the same with myself.'

Mr. Tyrold, with a very unpleasant astonishment, enquired further into
his meaning concerning Mandlebert; but his surprise ended in a smile,
when he heard the juvenile circumstances upon which alone Sir Hugh built
his expectations. To argue with him, however, was always fruitless; he
had found out, he said, the intentions of Edgar from the first, and he
came now to invite him to pass a month at Cleves, for the sake of
cutting the courtship short, by letting him see Indiana every day, so
that no time might be lost in coming to the conclusion.

The first wish of the secret heart of Mr. Tyrold was, that one of his
own daughters should be the choice of his ward; he did not, therefore,
totally unmoved, hear this project for Indiana, though its basis was so
little alarming.

Edgar, who was now just of age, was receiving the last cares of his
guardian, and taking into his own hands his fortune and affairs. He was
at Etherington, at present, only for that purpose, Beech Park being
already fitted up for his residence.

Sir Hugh, desiring to speak with him, most cordially made his
invitation: 'Besides myself,' he cried, 'whom I only mention first, as
being master of the house, which I hope is my excuse for it, you will
meet three very good young girls, not to mention Dr. Orkborne and Miss
Margland, who are rather not of the youngest at present, whatever they
may have been in former times; and they will all, myself included, make
you as welcome as themselves.'

Edgar accepted the proposal with pleasure, and agreed to wait upon him
the next day, Mr. Tyrold consenting that they should transact their
mutual business at Etherington, by morning rides.

At dinner Sir Hugh told the family at Cleves the new guest they were so
soon to expect, assuring them he was become a very fine young gentleman,
and bidding Indiana, with a significant nod, hold up her head.

Indiana wanted no charge upon this subject; she fully understood the
views of her uncle, and it was now some years since she had heard the
name of Beech Park without a smile or a blush.

Upon the arrival of the young man, Sir Hugh summoned his household to
meet him in the hall, where he received him with an hearty welcome, and,
in the flutter of his spirits, introduced him to them all, as if this
had been his first appearance in the family; remarking, that a full week
of shyness might be saved, by making acquaintance with the whole set in
a clump.

From eagerness irrepressible, he began with Indiana, apologising when he
had done, by saying it was only because she was oldest, having the
advantage of three weeks over Camilla: 'For which, however,' he added,
'I must beg pardon of Mrs. Margland and Dr. Orkborne, who, to be sure,
must be pretty much older.'

He next presented him to Camilla; and then, taking him apart, begged, in
a whisper, that he would not seem to notice the ugliness of Eugenia,
which, he said, was never mentioned in her hearing, by his particular
order; 'though, to be sure,' he added, 'since that small-pox, she's
grown plain enough, in point of beauty, considering how pretty she was
before. However, she's a remarkable good girl, and with regard to Virgil
and those others will pose you in a second, for aught I know to the
contrary, being but an indifferent judge in things of that sort, from
leaving off my own studies rather short, on account of the gout; besides
some other reasons.'

Edgar assured him these introductions were by no means necessary, a
single twelvemonth's absence being very insufficient to obliterate from
his memory his best and earliest friends.

Edgar Mandlebert was a young man who, if possessed neither of fortune
nor its expectations, must from his person and his manners have been as
attractive to the young, as from his morals and his conduct to those of
riper years. His disposition was serious and meditative; but liberal,
open, and candid. He was observant of the errors of others, and watched
till he nearly eradicated his own. But though with difficulty he
bestowed admiration, he diffused, both in words and deeds, such general
amity and good will, that if the strictness of his character inspired
general respect, its virtues could no less fail engaging the kinder mede
of affection. When to merit of a species so rare were added a fine
estate and a large independent fortune, it is not easy to decide whether
in prosperity or desert he was most distinguished.

The first week which he spent at Cleves, was passed with a gaiety as
unremitting as it was innocent. All parties felt his arrival as an
acquisition: Indiana thought the hour of public exhibition, long
promised by Miss Margland, at length fast approaching; Camilla, who
escaped all expectation for herself, from being informed of what was
entertained by her cousin, enjoyed the tranquil pleasure of undesigning
friendship, unchequered either by hope or fear; Eugenia met with a
respect for her acquirements that redoubled her ambition to increase
them; Sir Hugh looked forward with joy to the happy disposal of Indiana,
and a blameless riddance of Miss Margland; who, on her part, with an
almost boundless satisfaction, saw her near return to a town life, from
the high favour in which she stood with the supposed bride elect; even
Dr. Orkborne, though he disdained with so young a scholar to enter into
much philological disquisition, was gratified by a presence which
afforded a little relief to the stores of his burdened memory, from
authorizing some occasional utterance of the learned recollections,
which for many years had encumbered it without vent. Edgar, meanwhile,
obliging and obliged, received pleasure from them all; for though not
blind to any of their imperfections, they had not a merit which he
failed to discern.

The second week opened with a plan which promised a scene more lively,
though it broke into the calm retirement of this peaceful party. Lionel,
who was now at Etherington, to spend his university vacation, rode over
to Cleves, to inform Edgar, that there would be a ball the next evening
at Northwick, at which the officers of the ---- regiment, which was
quartered in the neighbourhood, and all the beaux and belles of the
county, were expected to assemble.

Miss Margland, who was present, struck with a desire that Indiana might
make her first public appearance in the county, at a ball where Edgar
might be her partner, went instantly to Sir Hugh to impart the idea. Sir
Hugh, though averse to all public places, consented to the plan, from
the hope of accelerating the affair; but declared, that if there was any
amusement, his little Camilla should not be left out. Eugenia, won by
the novelty of a first expedition of this sort, made her own request to
be included; Lionel undertook to procure tickets, and Miss Margland had
the welcome labour of arranging their dress, for which Sir Hugh, to
atone for the shortness of the time, gave her powers unlimited.

Indiana was almost distracted with joy at this event. Miss Margland
assured her, that now was the moment for fixing her conquest of
Mandlebert, by adroitly displaying to him the admiration she could not
but excite, in the numerous strangers before whom she would appear; she
gave her various instructions how to set off her person to most
advantage, and she delighted Sir Hugh with assurances of what this
evening would effect: 'There is nothing, Sir,' said she, 'so conducive
towards a right understanding between persons of fashion, as a ball. A
gentleman may spend months and months in this drowsy way in the country,
and always think one day will do as well as another for his declaration;
but when he sees a young lady admired and noticed by others, he falls
naturally into making her the same compliments, and the affair goes into
a regular train, without his almost thinking of it.'

Sir Hugh listened to this doctrine with every desire to give it credit;
and though the occupations of the toilette left him alone the whole of
the assembly day, he was as happy in the prospect of their diversion, as
they were themselves in its preparation.

When the young ladies were ready, they repaired to the apartment of the
baronet, to shew themselves, and to take leave. Edgar and Lionel were
waiting to meet them upon the stairs. Indiana had never yet looked so
lovely; Camilla, with all her attractions, was eclipsed; and Eugenia
could only have served as a foil, even to those who had no pretensions
to beauty.

Edgar, nevertheless, asked Camilla to dance with him; she willingly,
though not without wonder, consented. Lionel desired the hand of his
fair cousin; but Indiana, self-destined to Edgar, whose address to
Camilla, she had not heard, made him no answer, and ran on to present
herself to her uncle; who, struck with admiration as he beheld her,
cried, 'Indiana, my dear, you really look prettier than I could even
have guessed; and yet I always knew there was no fault to be found with
the outside; nor indeed with the inside neither, Mr. Mandlebert, so I
don't mean anything by that; only, by use, one is apt to put the outside
first.'

Lionel was now hurrying them away, when Sir Hugh calling to Edgar, said:
'Pray, young Mr. Mandlebert, take as much care of her as possible; which
I am sure you will do of your own accord.'

Edgar, with some surprise, answered, he should be happy to take whatever
care was in his power of all the ladies; 'but,' added he, 'for my own
particular charge to-night, I have engaged Miss Camilla.'

'And how came you to do that? Don't you know I let them all go on
purpose for the sake of your dancing with Indiana, which I mean as a
particular favour?'

'Sir,' replied Edgar, a little embarrassed, 'you are very good; but as
Lionel cannot dance with his sisters, he has engaged Miss Lynmere
himself.'

'Pho, pho, what do you mind Lionel for? not but what he's a very good
lad; only I had rather have you and Indiana dance together, which I dare
say so had she.'

Edgar, somewhat distressed, looked at Camilla: 'O, as to me,' cried she,
gaily, 'pray let me take my chance; if I should not dance at all, the
whole will be so new to me, that I am sure of entertainment.'

'You are the best good girl, without the smallest exception,' said Sir
Hugh, 'that ever I have known in the world; and so you always were; by
which I mean nothing as to Indiana, who is just such another, except in
some points; and so here's her hand, young Mr. Mandlebert, and if you
think you shall meet a prettier partner at the ball, I beg when you get
her there, you will tell her so fairly, and give her up.'

Edgar, who had hardly yet looked at her, was now himself struck with the
unusual resplendence of her beauty, and telling Camilla he saw she was
glad to be at liberty, protested he could not but rejoice to be spared a
decision for himself, where the choice would have been so difficult.

'Well then, now go,' cried the delighted baronet; 'Lionel will find
himself a partner, I have no doubt, because he is nothing particular in
point of shyness; and as to Camilla, she'll want nothing but to hear the
fiddlers to be as merry as a grig, which what it is I never knew: so I
have no concern,' added he, in a low voice, to Edgar, 'except for little
Eugenia, and poor Mrs. Margland; for Eugenia being so plain, which is no
fault of her's, on account of the small-pox, many a person may overlook
her from that objection; and as to Mrs. Margland, being with all these
young chickens, I am afraid people will think her rather one of the
oldest for a dancing match; which I say in no disrespect, for oldness
gives one no choice.'




CHAPTER II

_New Characters_


The dancing was not yet begun, but the company was met, and the
sprightly violins were employed to quicken their motions, when the
Cleves party entered the ball room. They were distinguished immediately
by a large party of officers, who assured Lionel, with whom they were
acquainted, that they had impatiently been expected.

'I shall recompense you for waiting,' answered he, in a whisper, 'by
introducing you to the rich heiress of Cleves, who now makes her first
appearance from the nursery; though no! upon farther thoughts, I will
only tell you she is one of our set, and leave it to your own ingenuity
to find her out.'

While this was passing, Indiana, fluttering with all the secret triumph
of conscious beauty, attended by Edgar, and guarded by Miss Margland,
walked up the room, through a crowd of admiring spectators; in whom a
new figure, without half her loveliness, would have excited the same
curiosity, that her extreme inexperience attributed solely to her
peculiar charms. Camilla and Eugenia followed rather as if in her train,
than of her party; but Lionel kept entirely with the officers, insisting
upon their guessing which was the heiress; to whom, while he purposely
misled their conjectures, he urged them to make their court, by
enumerating the present possessions of Sir Hugh, and her future
expectations.

Camilla, however, passed not long unnoticed, though the splendor of
Indiana's appearance cast her at first on the back ground; a
circumstance which, by impressing her with a sensation of inferiority,
divested her mind of all personal considerations, and gave to her air
and countenance a graceful simplicity, a disengaged openness, and a
guileless freedom from affectation, that rendered her, to the observant
eye, as captivating upon examination, as Indiana, from the first glance,
was brilliant and alluring. And thus, as they patrolled the room,
Indiana excited an unmixt admiration, Camilla awakened an endless
variety of remark; while each being seen for the first time, and every
one else of the company for at least the second, all attention was their
own, whether for criticism or for praise. To Indiana this answered, in
fulfilling her expectations; by Camilla, it was unheeded, for, not
awaiting, she did not perceive it; yet both felt equal satisfaction. The
eyes of Camilla sparkled with delight as she surveyed all around her the
gay novelty of the scene; the heart of Indiana beat with a pleasure
wholly new, as she discovered that all surrounding her regarded her as
the principal object.

Eugenia, meanwhile, had not even the negative felicity to pass
unobserved; impertinent witticisms upon her face, person, and walk,
though not uttered so audibly as to be distinctly heard, ran round the
room in a confused murmur, and produced a disposition for sneering in
the satirical, and for tittering in the giddy, that made her as valuable
an acquisition to the company at large, who collect for any amusement,
indifferent to its nature, as her fair cousin proved to the admirers of
beauty, and her sister to the developers of expression. She was
shielded, however, herself, from all undeserved mortifications, by not
suspecting any were meant for her, and by a mind delightedly
pre-occupied with that sudden expansion of ideas, with which new scenery
and new objects charm a youthful imagination.

When they had taken two or three turns up and down the room, the
saunterers were called upon to give place to the dancers. Edgar then led
out Indiana, and the master of the ceremonies brought Major Cerwood to
Camilla.

Eugenia, wholly left out, became the exclusive charge of Miss Margland;
she felt no resentment of neglect, for she had formed no species of
expectation. She looked on with perfect contentment, and the motley and
quick changing group afforded her ample entertainment.

Miss Margland was not so passive; she seized the opportunity of
inveighing very angrily against the mismanagement of Sir Hugh: 'If you
had all,' she cried, 'been taken to town, and properly brought out,
according to my advice, such a disgrace as this could never have
happened; everybody would have known who you were, and then, there is no
doubt, you might have had partners enough; however, I heartily hope you
won't be asked to dance all the evening, that he may be convinced who
was in the right; besides, the more you are tired, the more you may see,
against another time, Miss Eugenia, that it is better to listen a little
to people's opinions, when they speak only for your own advantage, than
to go on with just the same indifference, as if you had no proper person
to consult with.'

Eugenia was too well amused to heed this remonstrance; and long
accustomed to hear the voice of Miss Margland without profit or
pleasure, her ear received its sound, but her attention included not its
purpose.

Indiana and Camilla, in this public essay, acquitted themselves with all
the merits, and all the faults common to a first exhibition. The
spectators upon such occasions, though never equally observant, are
never afterwards so lenient. Whatever fails is attributed to modesty,
more winning than the utmost success of excellence. Timidity solicits
that mercy which pride is most gratified to grant; the blushes of
juvenile shame atone for the deficiencies which cause them; and
awkwardness itself, in the unfounded terrors of youth, is perhaps more
interesting than grace.

Indiana could with difficulty keep to the figure of the dance, from the
exulting, yet unpractised certainty of attracting all eyes; and Camilla
perpetually turned wrong, from the mere flutter of fear, which made her
expect she should never turn right. Major Cerwood, her partner, with a
view to encourage her, was profuse in his compliments; but, as new to
what she heard as what she performed, she was only the more confused by
the double claim to her attention.

Edgar, meanwhile, was most assiduous to aid his fair partner. Miss
Margland, though scarcely even superficial in general knowledge, was
conversant in the practical detail of the hackneyed mode of forming
matrimonial engagements; she judged, therefore, rightly, that her pupil
would be seen to most advantage, in the distinction of that adulation by
which new beholders would stamp new value on her charms. From the time
of his first boyish gallantry, on the ill-fated birth-day of Camilla,
Indiana had never so much struck young Mandlebert, as while he attended
her up the assembly-room. Miss Margland observed this with triumph, and
prophesied the speediest conclusion to her long and weary sojourn at
Cleves, in the much wished-for journey to London, with a bride ready
made, and an establishment ready formed.

When the two first dances were over, the gentlemen were desired to
change partners. Major Cerwood asked the hand of Indiana, and Edgar
repaired to Camilla: 'Do you bear malice?' he cried, with a smile, 'or
may I now make the claim that Sir Hugh relinquished for me?'

'O yes,' answered she, with alacrity, when informed of the plan of
change; 'and I wish there was any body else, that would dance with me
afterwards, instead of that Major.'

'I dare believe,' said he, laughing 'there are many bodies else, who
would oblige you, if your declaration were heard. But what has the Major
done to you? Has he admired you without knowing how to keep is own
counsel?'

'No, no; only he has treated me like a country simpleton, and made me as
many fine speeches, as if he had been talking to Indiana.'

'You think, then, Indiana would have swallowed flattery with less
difficulty?'

'No, indeed! but I think the same things said to her would no longer
have been so extravagant.'

Edgar, to whom the sun-beams of the mind gave a glow which not all the
sparkling rays of the brightest eyes could emit, respected her modesty
too highly to combat it, and, dropping the subject, enquired what was
become of Eugenia.

'O poor Eugenia!' cried she, 'I see nothing of her, and I am very much
afraid she has had no better partner all this time than Miss Margland.'

Edgar, turning round, presently discerned her; she was still looking on,
with an air of the most perfect composure, examining the various
parties, totally without suspicion of the examination she was herself
sustaining; while Miss Margland was vainly pouring in her ears
observations, or exhortations, evidently of a complaining nature.

'There is something truly respectable,' said Edgar, 'in the innate
philosophy with which she bears such neglect.'

'Yet I wish it were put less to the proof;' said Camilla. 'I would give
the world somebody would take her out!'

'You don't think she would dance?'

'O yes she would! her lameness is no impediment; for she never thinks of
it. We all learnt together at Cleves. Dancing gives her a little more
exertion, and therefore a little more fatigue than other people, but
that is all.'

'After these two dances then--'

'Will you be her partner?' interrupted Camilla, 'O go to her at once!
immediately! and you will give me twenty times more pleasure than I can
have in dancing myself.'

She then flew to a form, and eagerly seated herself where she perceived
the first vacancy, to stop any debate, and enforce his consent.

The dance, which had been delayed by a dispute about the tune, was now
beginning. Edgar, looking after her with affected reproach, but real
admiration, asked the hand of Eugenia; who gave it with readiness and
pleasure; for, though contented as a spectatress, she experienced an
agreeable surprise in becoming a party engaged.

Camilla, happy in her own good humour, now looked at her neighbours; one
of which was an elderly lady, who, wholly employed in examining and
admiring the performance of her own daughters, saw nothing else in the
room. The other was a gentleman, much distinguished by his figure and
appearance, and dressed so completely in the extreme of fashion, as more
than to border upon foppery. The ease and negligence of his air denoted
a self-settled superiority to all about him; yet, from time to time,
there was an archness in the glance of his eye, that promised, under a
deep and wilful veil of conceit and affectation, a secret disposition to
deride the very follies he was practising. He was now lounging against
the wainscoat; with one hand on his side, and the other upon his
eye-lids, occupying the space, without using the seat, to the left of
Camilla.

Miss Margland, perceiving what she regarded as a fair vacancy, made up
to the spot, and saying, 'Sir, by your leave,' was preparing to take
possession of the place, when the gentleman, as if without seeing her,
dropt suddenly into it himself, and, pouring a profusion of _eau suave_
upon his handkerchief, exclaimed: 'What a vastly bad room this is for
dancing!'

Camilla, concluding herself addressed, turned round to him; but, seeing
he was sniffing up the _eau suave_, without looking at her, imagined he
meant to speak to Miss Margland.

Miss Margland was of the same opinion, and, with some pique at his
seizing thus her intended seat, rather sharply answered: 'Yes, sir, and
it's a vast bad room for _not_ dancing; for if every body would dance
that ought, there would be accommodation sufficient for other people.'

'Incomparably well observed!' cried he, collecting some bonbons from a
bonboniere, and swallowing one after another with great rapidity: 'But
won't you sit down? You must be enormously tired. Let me supplicate you
to sit down.'

Miss Margland, supposing he meant to make amends for his inattention, by
delivering up the place, civilly thanked him, and said she should not be
sorry, for she had stood a good while.

'Have you, indeed?' cried he, sprinkling some jessamine drops upon his
hands; 'how horribly abominable? Why don't some of those Mercuries,
those Ganymedes, those waiters, I believe you call them, get you a
chair?'

Miss Margland, excessively affronted, turned her back to him; and
Camilla made an offer of her own seat; but, as she had been dancing, and
would probably dance again, Miss Margland would not let her rise.

'Shall I call to one of those Barbarians, those Goths, those Vandals?'
cried the same gentleman, who now was spirting lavender water all about
him, with grimaces that proclaimed forcibly his opinion of the want of
perfume in the room: 'Do pray let me harangue them a little for you upon
their inordinate want of sensibility.'

Miss Margland deigned not any answer; but of that he took no notice, and
presently called out, though without raising his voice, 'Here, Mr.
Waiter! Purveyor, Surveyor, or whatsoever other title "_please thine
ear_," art thou deaf? why dost not bring this lady a chair? Those people
are most amazing hard of hearing! Shall I call again? Waiter, I say!'
still speaking rather lower than louder; 'Don't I stun you by this
shocking vociferation?'

'Sir, you're vastly--obliging!' cried Miss Margland, unable longer to
hold silence, yet with a look and manner that would much better have
accorded with vastly--_impertinent_.

She then pursued a waiter herself, and procured a chair.

Casting his eyes next upon Camilla, he examined her with much attention.
Abashed, she turned away her head; but not choosing to lose his object,
he called it back again, by familiarly saying, 'How is Sir Hugh?'

A good deal surprised, she exclaimed, 'Do you know my uncle, sir?'

'Not in the least, ma'am,' he coolly answered.

Camilla, much wondering, was then forced into conversation with Miss
Margland: but, without paying any regard to her surprise, he presently
said, 'It's most extremely worth your while to take a glance at that
inimitably good figure. Is it not exquisite? Can you suppose any thing
beyond it?'

Camilla, looking at the person to whom he pointed, and who was
sufficiently ludicrous, from an air of vulgar solemnity, and a dress
stiffly new, though completely old-fashioned, felt disposed to join in
his laugh, had she not been disconcerted by the mingled liberty and
oddity of his attack.

'Sir,' said Miss Margland, winking at her to be silent, though eager to
answer in her stead, 'the mixt company one always meets at these public
balls, makes them very unfit for ladies of fashion, for there's no
knowing who one may either dance with or speak to.'

'Vastly true, ma'am,' cried he, superciliously dropping his eyes, not to
look at her.

Miss Margland, perceiving this, bridled resentfully, and again talked on
with Camilla; till another exclamation interrupted them. 'O pray,' cried
he, 'I do entreat you look at that group! Is it not past compare? If
ever you held a pencil in your life, I beg and beseech you to take a
memorandum of that tall may-pole. Have you ever seen any thing so
excessively delectable?'

Camilla could not forbear smiling; but Miss Margland, taking all reply
upon herself, said: 'Caricatures, sir, are by no means pleasing for
young ladies to be taking, at their first coming out: one does not know
who may be next, if once they get into that habit!'

'Immeasurably well spoken, ma'am,' returned he; and, rising with a look
of disgust, he sauntered to another part of the room.

Miss Margland, extremely provoked, said she was sure he was some Irish
fortune-hunter, dressed out in all he was worth; and charged Camilla to
take no manner of notice of him.

When the two second dances were over, Edgar, conducting Eugenia to Miss
Margland, said to Camilla: 'Now, at least, if there is not a spell
against it, will you dance with me?'

'And if there is one, too,' cried she, gaily; 'for I am perfectly
disposed to help breaking it.'

She rose, and they were again going to take their places, when Miss
Margland, reproachfully calling after Edgar, demanded what he had done
with Miss Lynmere?

At the same moment, led by Major Cerwood, who was paying her in full all
the arrears of that gallantry Miss Margland had taught her to regret
hitherto missing, Indiana joined them; the Major, in making his bow,
lamenting the rules of the assembly, that compelled him to relinquish
her hand.

'Mr. Mandlebert,' said Miss Margland, 'you see Miss Lynmere is again
disengaged.'

'Yes, ma'am,' answered Edgar, drawing Camilla away; 'and every gentleman
in the room will be happy to see it too.'

'Stop, Miss Camilla!' cried Miss Margland; 'I thought, Mr. Mandlebert,
Sir Hugh had put Miss Lynmere under your protection?'

'O it does not signify!' said Indiana, colouring high with a new raised
sense of importance; 'I don't at all doubt but one or other of the
officers will take care of me.'

Edgar, though somewhat disconcerted, would still have proceeded; but
Camilla, alarmed by the frowns of Miss Margland, begged him to lead out
her cousin, and, promising to be in readiness for the next two dances,
glided back to her seat. He upbraided her in vain; Miss Margland looked
pleased, and Indiana was so much piqued, that he found it necessary to
direct all his attention to appeasing her, as he led her to join the
dance.

A gentleman now, eminently distinguished by personal beauty, approached
the ladies that remained, and, in the most respectful manner, began
conversing with Miss Margland; who received his attentions so
gratefully, that, when he told her he only waited to see the master of
the ceremonies at leisure, in order to have the honour of begging the
hand of one of her young ladies, his civilities so conquered all her
pride of etiquette, that she assured him there was no sort of occasion
for such a formality, with a person of his appearance and manners; and
was bidding Camilla rise, who was innocently preparing to obey, when, to
the surprise of them all, he addressed himself to Eugenia.

'There!' cried Miss Margland, exultingly, when they were gone; 'that
gentleman is completely a gentleman. I saw it from the beginning. How
different to that impertinent fop that spoke to us just now! He has the
politeness to take out Miss Eugenia, because he sees plainly nobody else
will think of it, except just Mr. Mandlebert, or some such old
acquaintance.'

Major Cerwood was now advancing towards Camilla, with that species of
smiling and bowing manner, which is the usual precursor of an invitation
to a fair partner; when the gentleman whom Miss Margland had just called
an impertinent fop, with a sudden swing, not to be eluded, cast himself
between the Major and Camilla, as if he had not observed his approach;
and spoke to her in a voice so low, that, though she concluded he asked
her to dance, she could not distinctly hear a word he said.

A good deal confused, she looked at him for an explanation; while the
Major, from her air of attention, supposing himself too late, retreated.

Her new beau then, carelessly seating himself by her side, indolently
said: 'What a heat! I have not the most distant idea how you can bear
it!'

Camilla found it impossible to keep her countenance at such a result of
a whisper, though she complied with the injunctions of Miss Margland, in
avoiding mutual discourse with a stranger of so showy an appearance.

'Yet they are dancing on,' he continued, 'just as if the Greenland snows
were inviting their exercise! I should really like to find out what
those people are made of. Can you possibly imagine their composition?'

Heedless of receiving no answer, he soon after added: 'I am vastly glad
you don't like dancing.'

'Me?' cried Camilla, surprised out of her caution.

'Yes; you hold it in antipathy, don't you?'

'No, indeed! far from it.'

'Don't you really?' cried he, starting back; 'that's amazingly
extraordinary! surprising in the extreme! Will you have the goodness to
tell me what you like in it?'

'Sir,' interfered Miss Margland, 'there's nothing but what's very
natural in a young lady's taking pleasure in an elegant accomplishment;
provided she is secure from any improper partner, or company.'

'Irrefragably just, ma'am!' answered he; affecting to take a pinch of
snuff, and turning his head another way.

Here Lionel, hastily running up to Camilla, whispered, 'I have made a
fine confusion among the red-coats about the heiress of Cleves! I have
put them all upon different scents.'

He was then going back, when a faint laugh from the neighbour of Camilla
detained him; 'Look, I adjure you,' cried he, addressing her, 'if
there's not that delightful creature again, with his bran-new clothes?
and they sit upon him so tight, he can't turn round his vastly droll
figure, except like a puppet with one jerk for the whole body. He is
really an immense treat: I should like of all things in nature, to know
who he can be.'

A waiter then passing with a glass of water for a lady, he stopt him in
his way, exclaiming: 'Pray, my extremely good friend, can you tell me
who that agreeable person is, that stands there, with the air of a
poker?'

'Yes, sir,' answered the man; 'I know him very well. His name is
Dubster. He's quite a gentleman to my knowledge, and has very good
fortunes.'

'Camilla,' cried Lionel, 'will you have him for a partner?' And,
immediately hastening up to him, he said two or three words in a low
voice, and skipped back to the dance.

Mr. Dubster then walked up to her, and, with an air conspicuously
aukward, solemnly said, 'So you want to dance, ma'am?'

Convinced he had been sent to her by Lionel, but by no means chusing to
display herself with a figure distinguished only as a mark for ridicule;
she looked down to conceal her ever-ready smiles, and said she had been
dancing some time.

'But if you like to dance again, ma'am,' said he, 'I am very ready to
oblige you.'

She now saw that this offer had been requested as a favour; and, while
half provoked, half diverted, grew embarrassed how to get rid of him,
without involving a necessity to refuse afterwards Edgar, and every
other; for Miss Margland had informed her of the general rules upon
these occasions. She looked, therefore, at that lady for counsel; while
her neighbour, sticking his hands in his sides, surveyed him from head
to foot, with an expression of such undisguised amusement, that Mr.
Dubster, who could not help observing it, cast towards him, from time to
time, a look of the most angry surprise.

Miss Margland approving, as well understanding the appeal, now
authoritatively interfered, saying: 'Sir, I suppose you know the
etiquette in public places?'

'The what, ma'am?' cried he, staring.

'You know, I suppose, sir, that no young lady of any consideration
dances with a gentleman that is a stranger to her, without he's brought
to her by the master of the ceremonies?'

'O as to that, ma'am, I have no objection. I'll go see for him, if
you've a mind. It makes no difference to me.'

And away he went.

'So you really intend dancing with him?' cried Camilla's neighbour.
''Twill be a vastly good sight. I have not the most remote conception
how he will bear the pulling and jostling about. Bend he cannot; but I
am immensely afraid he will break. I would give fifty guineas for his
portrait. He is indubitably put together without joints.'

Mr. Dubster now returned, and, with a look of some disturbance, said to
Miss Margland: 'Ma'am, I don't know which is the master of the
ceremonies. I can't find him out; for I don't know as ever I see him.'

'O pray,' cried Camilla eagerly, 'do not take the trouble of looking for
him; 'twill answer no purpose.'

'Why I think so too, ma'am,' said he, misunderstanding her; 'for as I
don't know the gentleman myself, he could go no great way towards making
us better acquainted with one another: so we may just as well take our
skip at once.'

Camilla now looked extremely foolish; and Miss Margland was again
preparing an obstacle, when Mr. Dubster started one himself. 'The worst
is,' cried he, 'I have lost one of my gloves, and I am sure I had two
when I came. I suppose I may have dropt it in the other room. If you
shan't mind it, I'll dance without it; for I don't mind those things
myself of a straw.'

'O! sir,' cried Miss Margland, 'that's such a thing as never was heard
of. I can't possibly consent to let Miss Camilla dance in such a manner
as that.'

'Why then, if you like it better, ma'am, I'll go back and look for it.'

Again Camilla would have declined giving him any trouble; but he seemed
persuaded it was only from shyness, and would not listen. 'Though the
worst is,' he said, 'you're losing so much time. However, I'll give a
good hunt; unless, indeed, that gentleman, who is doing nothing himself,
except looking on at us all, would be kind enough to lend me his.'

'I rather fancy, sir,' cried the gentleman, immediately recovering from
a laughing fit, and surveying the requester with supercilious contempt;
'I rather suspect they would not perfectly fit you.'

'Why then,' cried he, 'I think I'll go and ask Tom Hicks to lend me a
pair; for it's a pity to let the young lady lose her dance for such a
small trifle as that.'

Camilla began remonstrating; but he tranquilly walked away.

'You are superlatively in the good graces of fortune to-night,' cried
her new friend, 'superlatively to a degree: you may not meet with such
an invaluably uncommon object in twenty lustres.'

'Certainly,' said Miss Margland, 'there's a great want of regulation at
balls, to prevent low people from asking who they will to dance with
them. It's bad enough one can't keep people one knows nothing of from
speaking to one.'

'Admirably hit off! admirable in the extreme!' he answered; suddenly
twisting himself round, and beginning a whispering conversation with a
gentleman on his other side.

Mr. Dubster soon came again, saying, somewhat dolorously, 'I have looked
high and low for my glove, but I am no nearer. I dare say somebody has
picked it up, out of a joke, and put it in their pocket. And as to Tom
Hicks, where he can be hid, I can't tell, unless he has hanged himself;
for I can't find him no more than my glove. However, I've got a boy to
go and get me a pair; if all the shops a'n't shut up.'

Camilla, fearing to be involved in a necessity of dancing with him,
expressed herself very sorry for this step; but, again misconceiving her
motive, he begged her not to mind it; saying, 'A pair of gloves here or
there is no great matter. All I am concerned for is, putting you off so
long from having a little pleasure, for I dare say the boy won't come
till the next two batches; so if that gentleman that looks so
particular at me, has a mind to jig it with you a bit himself, in the
interim, I won't be his hindrance.'

Receiving no answer, he bent his head lower down, and said, in a louder
voice, 'Pray, sir, did you hear me?'

'Sir, you are ineffably good!' was the reply; without a look, or any
further notice.

Much affronted, he said no more, but stood pouting and stiff before
Camilla, till the second dance was over, and another general separation
of partners took place. 'I thought how it would be, ma'am,' he then
cried; 'for I know it's no such easy matter to find shops open at this
time of night; for if people's 'prentices can't take a little pleasure
by now, they can't never.'

Tea being at this time ordered, the whole party collected to remove to
the next room. Lionel, seeing Mr. Dubster standing by Camilla, with a
rapturous laugh, cried, 'Well, sister, have you been dancing?'

Camilla, though laughing too, reproachfully shook her head at him; while
Mr. Dubster gravely said, 'It's no fault of mine, sir, that the lady's
sitting still; for I come and offered myself to her the moment you told
me she wanted a partner; but I happened of the misfortune of losing one
of my gloves, and not being able to find Tom Hicks, I've been waiting
all this while for a boy as has promised to get me a pair; though, I
suppose he's fell down in the dark and broke his skull, by his not
coming. And, indeed, if that elderly lady had not been so particular, I
might as well have done without; for, if I had one on, nobody would have
been the wiser but that t'other might have been in my pocket.'

This speech, spoken without any ceremony in the hearing of Miss
Margland, to the visible and undisguised delight of Lionel, so much
enraged her, that, hastily calling him aside, she peremptorily demanded
how he came to bring such a vulgar partner to his sister?

'Because you took no care to get her a better,' he answered, heedlessly.

Camilla also began to remonstrate; but, without hearing her, he
courteously addressed himself to Mr. Dubster, and told him he was sure
Miss Margland and his sister would expect the pleasure of his company to
join their party at tea.

Miss Margland frowned in vain; Mr. Dubster bowed, as at a compliment but
his due; observing he should then be close at hand for his partner; and
they were proceeding to the tea-room, when the finer new acquaintance of
Camilla called after Mr. Dubster: 'Pray, my good sir, who may this
Signor Thomaso be, that has the honour to stand so high in your good
graces?'

'Mine, sir?' cried Mr. Dubster; 'I know no Signor Thomaso, nor Signor
nothing else neither: so I don't know what you mean.'

'Did not I hear you dilating, my very good sir, upon a certain Mr. Tom
somebody?'

'What, I suppose then, sir, if the truth be known, you would say Tom
Hicks?'

'Very probably, sir: though I am not of the first accuracy as the
gentleman's nomenclator.'

'What? don't you know him, sir? why he's the head waiter!'

Then, following the rest of the party, he was placed, by the assistance
of Lionel, next to Camilla, in utter defiance of all the angry glances
of Miss Margland, who herself invited the handsome partner of Eugenia to
join their group, and reaped some consolation in his willing civilities;
till the attention of the whole assembly was called, or rather commanded
by a new object.

A lady, not young, but still handsome, with an air of fashion easy
almost to insolence, with a complete but becoming undress, with a
work-bag hanging on her arm, whence she was carelessly knotting, entered
the ball-room alone, and, walking straight through it to the large
folding glass doors of the tea-room, there stopt, and took a general
survey of the company, with a look that announced a decided superiority
to all she saw, and a perfect indifference to what opinion she incurred
in return.

She was immediately joined by all the officers, and several other
gentlemen, whose eagerness to shew themselves of her acquaintance marked
her for a woman of some consequence; though she took little other notice
of them, than that of giving to each some frivolous commission; telling
one to hold her work-bag; bidding another fetch her a chair; a third,
ask for a glass of water; and a fourth, take care of her cloak. She then
planted herself just without the folding-doors, declaring there could be
no breathing in the smaller apartment, and sent about the gentlemen for
various refreshments; all which she rejected when they arrived, with
extreme contempt, and a thousand fantastic grimaces.

The tea-table at which Miss Margland presided being nearest to these
folding-doors, she and her party heard, from time to time, most of what
was said, especially by the newly arrived lady; who, though she now and
then spoke for several minutes in a laughing whisper, to some one she
called to her side, uttered most of her remarks, and all her commands
quite aloud, with that sort of deliberate ease which belongs to the most
determined negligence of who heard, or who escaped hearing her, who were
pleased, or who were offended.

Camilla and Eugenia were soon wholly engrossed by this new personage;
and Lionel, seeing her surrounded by the most fashionable men of the
assembly, forgot Mr. Dubster and his gloves, in an eagerness to be
introduced to her.

Colonel Andover, to whom he applied, willingly gratified him: 'Give me
leave, Mrs. Arlbery,' cried he, to the lady, who was then conversing
with General Kinsale, 'to present to you Mr. Tyrold.'

'For Heaven's sake don't speak to me just now,' cried she; 'the General
is telling me the most interesting thing in the world. Go on, dear
General!'

Lionel, who, if guided by his own natural judgment, would have conceived
this to be the height of ill-breeding or of ignorance, no sooner saw
Colonel Andover bow in smiling submission to her orders, than he
concluded himself all in the dark with respect to the last licences of
fashion: and, while contentedly he waited her leisure for his reception,
he ran over in his own mind the triumph with which he should carry to
Oxford the newest flourish of the _bon ton_.

In a few minutes, after gaily laughing with the General, she turned
suddenly to Colonel Andover, and, striking him on the arm with her fan,
exclaimed: 'Well, now, Colonel, what is it you would say?'

'Mr. Tyrold,' he answered, 'is very ambitious of the honour of being
introduced to you.'

'With all my heart. Which is he?' And then, nodding to Lionel's bow,
'You live, I think,' she added, 'in this neighbourhood? By the way,
Colonel, how came you never to bring Mr. Tyrold to me before? Mr.
Tyrold, I flatter myself you intend to take this very ill.'

Lionel was beginning to express his sense of the loss he had suffered by
the delay, when, again, patting the Colonel, 'Only look, I beg you,' she
cried, 'at that insupportable Sir Sedley Clarendel! how he sits at his
ease there! amusing his ridiculous fancy with every creature he sees.
Yet what an elegant posture the animal has found out! I make no doubt he
would as soon forfeit his estate as give up that attitude. I must make
him come to me immediately for that very reason;--do go to him, good
Andover, and say I want him directly.'

The Colonel obeyed; but not so the gentleman he addressed, who was the
new acquaintance of Camilla. He only bowed to the message, and, kissing
his hand across the room to the lady, desired the Colonel to tell her he
was ineffably tired; but would incontestably have the honour to throw
himself at her feet the next morning.

'O, intolerable!' cried she, 'he grows more conceited every hour. Yet
what an agreeable wretch it is! There's nothing like him. I cannot
possibly do without him. Andover, tell him if he does not come this
moment he kills me.'

'And is that a message,' said General Kinsale, 'to cure him of being
conceited?'

'O, Heaven forbid, my good General, I should cure him! That would
utterly spoil him. His conceit is precisely what enchants me. Rob him of
that, and you lose all hold of him.'

'Is it then necessary to keep him a fop, in order to retain him in your
chains?'

'O, he is not in my chains, I promise you. A fop, my dear General, wears
no chains but his own. However, I like to have him, because he is so
hard to be got; and I am fond of conversing with him, because he is so
ridiculous. Fetch him, therefore, Colonel, without delay.'

This second embassy prevailed; he shrugged his shoulders, but arose to
follow the Colonel.

'See, madam, your victory!' said the General. 'What would not a military
man give for such talents of command?'

'Ay, but look with what magnificent tardiness he obeys orders! There is
something quite irresistible in his impertinence; 'tis so conscious and
so piquant. I think, General, 'tis a little like my own.'

Sir Sedley now advancing, seized the back of a chair, which he twirled
round for a resting place to his elbow, and exclaimed, 'You know
yourself invincible!' with an air that shewed him languidly prepared for
her reproaches: but, to his own surprise, and that of all around him,
she only, with a smile and a nod, cried, 'How do do?' and immediately
turning wholly away from him, addressed herself to Colonel Andover,
desiring him to give her the history of who was in the tea-room.

At this time a young Ensign, who had been engaged at a late dinner in
the neighbourhood, stroamed into the ballroom, with the most visible
marks of his unfitness for appearing in it; and, in total ignorance of
his own condition, went up to Colonel Andover, and, clapping him upon
the back, called out, with a loud oath, 'Colonel, I hope you have taken
care to secure to me the prettiest little young angel in the room? You
know with what sincerity I despise an old hag.'

The Colonel, with some concern, advised him to retire; but, insensible
to his counsel, he uttered oath upon oath, and added, 'I'm not to be
played upon, Colonel. Beauty in a pretty girl is as necessary an
ingredient, as honour in a brave soldier; and I could find in my heart
to sink down to the bottom of the Channel every fellow without one, and
every dear creature without the other.'

Then, in defiance of all remonstrance, he staggered into the tea-room;
and, after a short survey, stopt opposite to Indiana, and, swearing
aloud she was the handsomest angel he had ever beheld, begged her hand
without further ceremony; assuring her he had broken up the best party
that had yet been made for him in the county, merely for the joy of
dancing with her.

Indiana, to whom not the smallest doubt of the truth of this assertion
occurred; and who, not suspecting he was intoxicated, thought his manner
the most spirited and gallant she had ever seen, was readily accepting
his offer; when Edgar, who saw her danger, started up, and exclaimed:
'This lady, sir, is engaged to dance the next two dances with me.'

'The lady did not tell me so, sir!' cried the Ensign, firing.

'Miss Lynmere,' replied Edgar, coolly, 'will pardon me, that on this
occasion, my memory has an interest to be better than her's. I believe
it is time for us to take our places.'

He then whispered a brief excuse to Camilla, and hurried Indiana to the
ballroom.

The Ensign, who knew not that she had danced with him the last time, was
obliged to submit; while Indiana, not conjecturing the motive that now
impelled Edgar, was in a yet brighter blaze of beauty, from an
exhilarating notion that there was a contest for the honour of her
hand.

Camilla, once more disappointed of Edgar, had now no resource against
Mr. Dubster, but the non-arrival of the gloves; for he had talked so
publicly of waiting for them to dance with her, that every one regarded
her as engaged.

No new proposition being made for Eugenia, Miss Margland permitted her
again to be led out by the handsome stranger.

When she was gone, Mr. Dubster, who kept constantly close to Camilla,
said: 'They tell me, ma'am, that ugly little body's a great fortune.'

Camilla very innocently asked who he meant.

'Why that little lame thing, that was here drinking tea with you. Tom
Hicks says she'll have a power of money.'

Camilla, whose sister was deservedly dear to her, looked much
displeased; but Mr. Dubster, not perceiving it, continued: 'He
recommended it to me to dance with her myself, from the first, upon that
account. But I says to him, says I, I had no notion that a person, who
had such a hobble in their gait, would think of such a thing as going to
dancing. But there I was out, for as to the women, asking your pardon,
ma'am, there's nothing will put 'em off from their pleasure. But,
however, for my part, I had no thought of dancing at all, if it had not
been for that young gentleman's asking me; for I'm not over fond of such
jiggets, as they've no great use in 'em; only I happened to be this way,
upon a little matter of business, so I thought I might as well come and
see the hop, as Tom Hicks could contrive to get me a ticket.'

This was the sort of discourse with which Camilla was regaled till the
two dances were over; and then, begging her to sit still till he came
back, he quitted her, to see what he could do about his gloves.

Edgar, when he returned with Indiana, addressed himself privately to
Miss Margland, whom he advised to take the young ladies immediately
home; as it would not be possible for him, a second time, to break
through the rules of the assembly, and Indiana must, therefore,
inevitably accept the young Ensign, who already was following and
claiming her, and whose condition was obviously improper for the society
of ladies.

Miss Margland, extremely pleased with him, for thus protecting her
pupil, instantly agreed; and, collecting her three young charges,
hastened them down stairs; though the young Ensign, inflamed with angry
disappointment, uttered the most bitter lamentations at their sudden
departure; and though Mr. Dubster, pursuing them to the coach door,
called out to Camilla, in a tone of pique and vexation, 'Why, what are
you going for now, ma'am, when I have just got a new pair of gloves,
that I have bought o' purpose?'




CHAPTER III

_A Family Breakfast_


In their way home, Edgar apologised to Camilla for again foregoing the
promised pleasure of dancing with her, by explaining the situation of
the Ensign.

Camilla, internally persuaded that any reason would suffice for such an
arrangement, where Indiana was its object, scarce listened to an excuse
which she considered as unnecessary.

Indiana was eager to view in the glass how her dress and ornaments had
borne the shaking of the dance, and curiously impatient to look anew at
a face and a figure of which no self-vanity, nor even the adulation of
Miss Margland, had taught her a consciousness, such as she had acquired
from the adventures of this night. She hastened, therefore, to her
apartment as soon as she arrived at Cleves, and there indulged in an
examination which forbade all surprise, and commanded equal justice for
the admirers and the admired.

Miss Margland, anxious to make her own report to Sir Hugh, accompanied
Camilla and Eugenia to his room, where he was still sitting up for them.

She expatiated upon the behaviour of young Mandlebert, in terms that
filled the baronet with satisfaction. She exulted in the success of her
own measures; and, sinking the circumstance of the intended impartiality
of Edgar, enlarged upon his dancing, out of his turn, with Indiana, as
at an event which manifested his serious designs beyond all possibility
of mistake.

Sir Hugh, in the fulness of his content, promised that when the wedding
day arrived, they should all have as fine new gowns as the bride
herself.

The next morning, not considering that every one else would require
unusual repose, he got up before his customary hour, from an involuntary
hope of accelerating his favourite project; but he had long the
breakfast parlour to himself, and became so fatigued and discomfited by
fasting and waiting, that when Indiana, who appeared last, but for whom
he insisted upon staying, entered the room, he said: 'My dear, I could
really find a pleasure in giving you a little scold, if it were not for
setting a bad example, which God forbid! And, indeed, it's not so much
your fault as the ball's, to which I can never be a sincere friend,
unless it be just to answer some particular purpose.'

Miss Margland defended her pupil, and called upon Mandlebert for
assistance, which he readily gave. Sir Hugh then was not merely appeased
but gratified, and declared, the next moment, with a marked smile at
Indiana, that his breakfast [he] had not relished so well for a
twelvemonth, owing to the advantage of not beginning till he had got an
appetite.

Soon after, Lionel, galloping across the park, hastily dismounted, and
scampered into the parlour.

The zealot for every species of sport, the candidate for every order of
whim, was the light-hearted mirthful Lionel. A stranger to reflection,
and incapable of care, laughter seemed not merely the bent of his
humour, but the necessity of his existence: he pursued it at all
seasons, he indulged it upon all occasions. With excellent natural
parts, he trifled away all improvement; without any ill temper, he
spared no one's feelings. Yet, though not radically vicious, nor
deliberately malevolent, the egotism which urged him to make his own
amusement his first pursuit, sacrificed his best friends and first
duties, if they stood in its way.

'Come, my little girls, come!' cried he, as he entered the room; 'get
your hats and cloaks as fast as possible; there is a public breakfast at
Northwick, and you are all expected without delay.'

This sudden invitation occasioned a general commotion. Indiana gave an
involuntary jump; Camilla and Eugenia looked delighted; and Miss
Margland seemed ready to second the proposition; but Sir Hugh, with some
surprise, exclaimed: 'A public breakfast, my dear boy! why where's the
need of that, when we have got so good a private one?'

'O, let us go! let us go, uncle!' cried Indiana. 'Miss Margland, do pray
speak to my uncle to let us go!'

'Indeed, sir,' said Miss Margland, 'it is time now, in all conscience,
for the young ladies to see a little more of the world, and that it
should be known who they are. I am sure they have been immured long
enough, and I only wish you had been at the ball last night, sir,
yourself!'

'Me, Mrs. Margland! Lord help me! what should I do at such a thing as
that, with all this gout in my hip?'

'You would have seen, sir, the fine effects of keeping the young ladies
out of society in this manner. Miss Camilla, if I had not prevented it,
would have danced with I don't know who; and as to Miss Eugenia, she was
as near as possible to not dancing at all, owing to nobody's knowing who
she was.'

Sir Hugh had no time to reply to this attack, from the urgency of
Indiana, and the impetuosity of Lionel, who, applying to Camilla, said:
'Come, child, ask my uncle yourself, and then we shall go at once.'

Camilla readily made it her own request.

'My dear,' answered Sir Hugh, 'I can't be so unnatural to deny you a
little pleasure, knowing you to be such a merry little whirligig; not
but what you'd enjoy yourself just as much at home, if they'd let you
alone. However, as Indiana's head is so much turned upon it, for which I
beg you won't think the worse of her, Mr. Mandlebert, it being no more
than the common fault of a young person no older than her; why, you must
all go, I think, provided you are not satisfied already, which, by the
breakfast you have made, I should think likely enough to be the case.'

They then eagerly arose, and the females hastened to make some change in
their dress. Sir Hugh, calling Eugenia back, said: 'As to you, my little
classic, I make but small doubt you will be half ready to break your
heart at missing your lesson, knowing hic, hæc, hoc, to be dearer to
you, and for good reasons enough, too, in the end, than all the hopping
and skipping in the world; so if you had rather stay away, don't mind
all those dunces; for so I must needs call them, in comparison to you
and Dr. Orkborne, though without the least meaning to undervalue them.'

Eugenia frankly acknowledged she had been much amused the preceding
evening, and wished to be again of the party.

'Why then, if that's the case,' said the baronet, the best way will be
for Dr. Orkborne to be your squire; by which means you may have a little
study as you go along, to the end that the less time may be thrown away
in doing nothing.'

Eugenia, who perceived no objection to this idea, assented, and went
quietly up stairs, to prepare for setting out. Sir Hugh, by no means
connecting the laughter of Lionel, nor the smile of Edgar, with his
proposal, gravely repeated it to Dr. Orkborne, adding: 'And if you want
a nice pair of gloves, Doctor, not that I make the offer in any
detriment to your own, but I had six new pair come home just before my
gout, which, I can assure you, have never seen the light since, and are
as much at your service as if I had bespoke them on purpose.'

The mirth of Lionel grew now so outrageous, that Dr. Orkborne, much
offended, walked out of the room without making any answer.

'There is something,' cried Sir Hugh, after a pause, 'in these men of
learning, prodigious nice to deal with; however, not understanding them,
in point of their maxims, it's likely enough I may have done something
wrong; for he could not have seemed much more affronted, if I had told
him I had six new pair of gloves lying by me, which he should be never
the better for.'

When they were all ready, Sir Hugh calling to Edgar, said: 'Now as I
don't much chuse to have my girls go to these sort of places often,
which is a prudence that I dare say you approve as much as myself, I
would wish to have the most made of them at once; and, therefore, as
I've no doubt but they'll strike up a dance, after having eat what they
think proper, why I would advise you, Mr. Mandlebert, to let Indiana
trip it away till she's heartily tired, for else she'll never give it
up, with a good grace, of her own accord.'

'Certainly, sir,' answered Edgar, 'I shall not hurry the ladies.'

'O, as to any of the rest,' interrupted Sir Hugh, 'they'll be as soon
satisfied as yourself, except,' lowering his voice, 'Mrs. Margland, who,
between friends, seems to me as glad of one of those freaks, as when she
was but sixteen; which how long it is since she was no more I can't
pretend to say, being a point she never mentions.'

Then addressing them in general: 'I wish you a good breakfast,' he
cried, 'with all my heart, which I think you pretty well deserve,
considering you go so far for it, with one close at your elbow, but just
swallowed. And so, my dear Indiana, I hope you won't tire Mr. Mandlebert
more than can't be avoided.'

'How came you to engage Indiana again, Mandlebert?' cried Lionel, in
their way to the carriage.

'Because,' said Miss Margland, finding he hesitated, 'there is no other
partner so proper for Miss Lynmere.'

'And pray what's the matter with me? why am not I as proper as
Mandlebert?'

'Because you are her relation, to be sure!'

'Well,' cried he, vaulting his horse, 'if I meet but the charming widow,
I shall care for none of you.'




CHAPTER IV

_A Public Breakfast_


The unfitting, however customary, occasion of this speedy repetition of
public amusement in the town of Northwick, was, that the county assizes
were now held there; and the arrival of the Judges of the land, to hear
causes which kept life or death suspended, was the signal for
entertainment to the surrounding neighbourhood: a hardening of human
feelings against human crimes and human miseries, at which reflection
revolts, however habit may persevere.

The young men, who rode on first, joined the ladies as they entered the
town, and told them to drive straight to the ballroom, where the company
had assembled, in consequence of a shower of rain which had forced them
from the public garden intended for the breakfast.

Here, as they stopt, a poor woman, nearly in rags, with one child by her
side, and another in her arms, approached the carriage, and presenting a
petition, besought the ladies to read or hear her case. Eugenia, with
the ready impulse of generous affluence, instantly felt for her purse;
but Miss Margland, angrily holding her hand, said, with authority: 'Miss
Eugenia, never encourage beggars; you don't know the mischief you may do
by it.' Eugenia reluctantly desisted, but made a sign to her footman to
give something for her. Edgar then alighting, advanced to hand them from
the coach, while Lionel ran forward to settle their tickets of
admittance.

The woman now grew more urgent in her supplications, and Miss Margland
in her remonstrances against attending to them.

Indiana, who was placed under the care of Edgar, enchanted to again
display herself where sure of again being admired, neither heard nor saw
the petitioner; but dimpling and smiling, quickened her motions towards
the assembly room: while Camilla, who was last, stopping short, said:
'What is the matter, poor woman?' and took her paper to examine.

Miss Margland, snatching it from her, threw it on the ground,
peremptorily saying: 'Miss Camilla, if once you begin such a thing as
that, there will be no end to it; so come along with the rest of your
company, like other people.'

She then haughtily proceeded; but Camilla, brought up by her admirable
parents never to pass distress without inquiry, nor to refuse giving at
all, because she could give but little, remained with the poor object,
and repeated her question. The woman, shedding a torrent of tears, said
she was wife to one of the prisoners who was to be tried the next day,
and who expected to lose his life, or be transported, for only one bad
action of stealing a leg of mutton; which, though she knew it to be a
sin, was not without excuse, being a first offence, and committed in
poverty and sickness. And this, she was told, the Judges would take into
consideration; but her husband was now so ill, that he could not feed on
the gaol allowance, and not having wherewithal to buy any other, would
either die before his trial, or be too weak to make known his sad story
in his own behalf, for want of some wine or some broth to support him in
the meanwhile.

Camilla, hastily giving her a shilling, took one of her petitions, and
promising to do all in her power to serve her, left the poor creature
almost choaked with sobbing joy. She was flying to join her party, when
she perceived Edgar at her side. 'I came to see,' cried he, with
glistening eyes, 'if you were running away from us; but you were doing
far better in not thinking of us at all.'

Camilla, accustomed from her earliest childhood to attend to the
indigent and unhappy, felt neither retreating shame, nor parading pride
in the office; she gave him the petition of the poor woman, and begged
he would consider if there was any thing that could be done for her
husband.

'I have received a paper from herself,' he answered, 'before you
alighted; and I hope I should not have neglected it: but I will now take
yours, that my memory may run no risk.'

They then went on to the assembly room.

The company, which was numerous, was already seated at breakfast.
Indiana and Camilla, now first surveyed by daylight, again attracted all
eyes; but, in the simplicity of undress, the superiority of Indiana was
no longer wholly unrivalled, though the general voice was still strongly
in her favour.

Indiana was a beauty of so regular a cast, that her face had no feature,
no look to which criticism could point as susceptible of improvement, or
on which admiration could dwell with more delight than on the rest. No
statuary could have modelled her form with more exquisite symmetry; no
painter have harmonised her complexion with greater brilliancy of
colouring. But here ended the liberality of nature, which, in not
sullying this fair workmanship by inclosing in it what was bad,
contentedly left it vacant of whatever was noble and desirable.

The beauty of Camilla, though neither perfect nor regular, had an
influence so peculiar on the beholder, it was hard to catch its fault;
and the cynic connoisseur, who might persevere in seeking it, would
involuntarily surrender the strict rules of his art to the predominance
of its loveliness. Even judgment itself, the coolest and last betrayed
of our faculties, she took by surprise, though it was not till she was
absent the seizure was detected. Her disposition was ardent in
sincerity, her mind untainted with evil. The reigning and radical defect
of her character--an imagination that submitted to no control--proved
not any antidote against her attractions; it caught, by its force and
fire, the quick-kindling admiration of the lively; it possessed, by
magnetic pervasion, the witchery to create sympathy in the most serious.

In their march up the room, Camilla was spoken to by a person from the
tea-table, who was distinct from every other, by being particularly ill
dressed; and who, though she did not know him, asked her how she did,
with a familiar look of intimacy. She slightly curtsied, and endeavoured
to draw her party more nimbly on; when another person, equally
conspicuous, though from being accoutred in the opposite extreme of full
dress, quitting his seat, formally made up to her, and drawing on a
stiff pair of new gloves as he spoke, said: 'So you are come at last,
ma'am! I began to think you would not come at all, begging that
gentleman's pardon, who told me to the contrary last night, when I
thought, thinks I, here I've bought these new gloves, for no reason but
to oblige the young lady, and now I might as well not have bought 'em at
all.'

Camilla, ready to laugh, yet much provoked at this renewed claim from
her old persecutor, Mr. Dubster, looked vainly for redress at the
mischievous Lionel, who archly answered: 'O, ay, true, sister; I told
the gentleman, last night, you would be sure to make him amends this
morning for putting him to so much expence.'

'I'm sure, Sir,' said Mr. Dubster, 'I did not speak for that, expence
being no great matter to me at this time; only nobody likes to fool away
their money for nothing.'

Edgar having now, at the end of one of the tables, secured places for
the ladies, Lionel again, in defiance of the frowns of Miss Margland,
invited Mr. Dubster to join them: even the appealing looks of Camilla
served but to increase her brother's ludicrous diversion, in coupling
her with so ridiculous a companion; who, without seeming at all aware of
the liberty he was taking, engrossed her wholly.

'So I see, ma'am,' he cried, pointing to Eugenia, 'you've brought that
limping little body with you again? Tom Hicks had like to have took me
in finely about her! He thought she was the great fortune of these here
parts; and if it had not been for the young gentleman, I might have
known no better neither, for there's half the room in the same scrape at
this minute.'

Observing Camilla regard him with an unpleasant surprise, he more
solemnly added: 'I ask pardon, ma'am, for mentioning the thing, which I
only do in excuse for what I said last night, not knowing then you was
the fortune yourself.'

An eager sign of silence from Lionel, forbade her explaining this
mistake; Mr. Dubster, therefore, proceeded:

'When Tom Hicks told me about it, I said at the time, says I, she looks
more like to some sort of a humble young person, just brought out of a
little good-nature to see the company, and the like of that; for she's
not a bit like a lady of fortunes, with that nudging look; and I said to
Tom Hicks, by way of joke, says I, if I was to think of her, which I
don't think I shall, at least she would not be much in my way, for she
could not follow a body much about, because of that hitch in her gait,
for I'm a pretty good walker.'

Here the ill dressed man, who had already spoken to Camilla, quitting
his seat, strolled up to her, and fastening his eyes upon her face,
though without bowing, made some speech about the weather, with the
lounging freedom of manner of a confirmed old acquaintance. His whole
appearance had an air of even wilful slovenliness: His hair was
uncombed; he was in boots, which were covered with mud; his coat seemed
to have been designedly [immersed] in powder, and his universal
negligence was not only shabby but uncleanly. Astonished and offended by
his forwardness, Camilla turned entirely away from him.

Not disconcerted by this distance, he procured a chair, upon which he
cast himself, perfectly at his ease, immediately behind her.

Just as the general breakfast was over, and the waiters were summoned to
clear away the tables, and prepare the room for dancing, the lady who
had so strikingly made her appearance the preceding evening, again
entered. She was alone, as before, and walked up the room with the same
decided air of indifference to all opinion; sometimes knotting with as
much diligence and earnestness as if her subsistence depended upon the
rapidity of her work; and at other times stopping short, she applied to
her eye a near-sighted glass, which hung to her finger, and intently
examined some particular person or group; then, with a look of absence,
as if she had not seen a creature, she hummed an opera song to herself,
and proceeded. Her rouge was remarkably well put on, and her claim to
being still a fine woman, though past her prime, was as obvious as it
was conscious: Her dress was more fantastic and studied than the night
before, in the same proportion as that of every other person present was
more simple and quiet; and the commanding air of her countenance, and
the easiness of her carriage, spoke a confirmed internal assurance, that
her charms and her power were absolute, wherever she thought their
exertion worth her trouble.

When she came to the head of the room, she turned about, and, with her
glass, surveyed the whole company; then smilingly advancing to the
sloven, whom Camilla was shunning, she called out: 'O! are you there?
what rural deity could break your rest so early?'

'None!' answered he, rubbing his eyes; 'I am invulnerably asleep at this
very moment! In the very centre of the morphetic dominions. But how
barbarously late you are! I should never have come to this vastly
horrid place before my ride, if I had imagined you could be so
excruciating.'

Struck with a jargon of which she could not suspect two persons to be
capable, Camilla turned round to her slighted neighbour, and with the
greatest surprise recognised, upon examination, the most brilliant beau
of the preceding evening, in the worst dressed man of the present
morning.

The lady now, again holding her glass to her eye, which she directed
without scruple towards Camilla and her party, said: 'Who have you got
there?'

Camilla looked hastily away, and her whole set, abashed by so unseasoned
an inquiry, cast down their eyes.

'Hey!' cried he, calmly viewing them, as if for the first time himself:
'Why, I'll tell you!' Then making her bend to hear his whisper, which,
nevertheless, was by no means intended for her own ear alone, he added:
'Two little things as pretty as angels, and two others as ugly as--I say
no more!'

'O, I take in the full force of your metaphor!' cried she, laughing;
'and acknowledge the truth of its contrast.'

Camilla alone, as they meant, had heard them; and ashamed for herself,
and provoked to find Eugenia coupled with Miss Margland, she endeavoured
to converse with some of her own society; but their attention was
entirely engaged by the whispers; nor could she, for more than a minute,
deny her own curiosity the pleasure of observing them.

They now spoke together for some time in low voices, laughing
immoderately at the occasional sallies of each other; Sir Sedley
Clarendel sitting at his ease, Mrs. Arlbery standing, and knotting by
his side.

The officers, and almost all the beaux, began to crowd to this spot; but
neither the gentleman nor the lady interrupted their discourse to return
or receive any salutations. Lionel, who with much eagerness had quitted
an inside seat at a long table, to pay his court to Mrs. Arlbery, could
catch neither her eye nor her ear for his bow or his compliment.

Sir Sedley, at last, looking up in her face and smiling, said: 'A'n't
you shockingly tired?'

'To death!' answered she, coolly.

'Why then, I am afraid, I must positively do the thing that's old
fashioned.'

And rising, and making her a very elegant bow, he presented her his
seat, adding: 'There, ma'am! I have the honour to give you my chair--at
the risk of my reputation.'

'I should have thought,' cried Lionel, now getting forward, 'that
omitting to give it would rather have risked your reputation.'

'It is possible you could be born before all that was over?' said Mrs.
Arlbery, dropping carelessly upon the chair as she perceived Lionel,
whom she honoured with a nod: 'How do do, Mr. Tyrold? are you just come
in?' But turning again to Sir Sedley, without waiting for his answer, 'I
swear, you barbarian,' she cried, 'you have really almost killed me with
fatigue.'

'Have I indeed?' said he, smiling.

Mr. Dubster now, leaning over the table, solemnly said: 'I am sure I
should have offered the lady my own place, if I had not been so tired
myself; but Tom Hicks over-persuaded me to dance a bit before you came
in, ma'am,' addressing Camilla, 'for you have lost a deal of dancing by
coming so late; for they all fell to as soon as ever they come; and, as
I'm not over and above used to it, it soon makes one a little stiffish,
as one may say; and indeed, the lady's much better off in getting a
chair, for one sits mighty little at one's ease on these here benches,
with nothing to lean one's back against.'

'And who's that?' cried Mrs. Arlbery to Sir Sedley, looking Mr. Dubster
full in the face.

Sir Sedley made some answer in a whisper, which proved highly
entertaining to them both. Mr. Dubster, with an air much offended, said
to Camilla: 'People's laughing and whispering, which one don't know what
it's about, is not one of the politest things, I know, for polite people
to do; and, in my mind, they ought to be above it.'

This resentment excited Lionel to join in the laugh; and Mr. Dubster,
with great gravity of manner, rose, and said to Camilla: 'When you are
ready to dance, ma'am, I am willing to be your partner, and I shan't
engage myself to nobody else; but I shall go to t'other end of the room
till you choose to stand up; for I don't much care to stay here, only to
be laughed at, when I don't know what it's for.'

They now all left the table; and Lionel eagerly begged permission to
introduce his sisters and cousin to Mrs. Arlbery, who readily consented
to the proposal.

Indiana advanced with pleasure into a circle of beaux, whose eyes were
most assiduous to welcome her. Camilla, though a little alarmed in being
presented to a lady of so singular a deportment, had yet a curiosity to
see more of her, that willingly seconded her brother's motion. And
Eugenia, to whose early reflecting mind every new character and new
scene opened a fresh fund for thought, if not for knowledge, was charmed
to take a nearer view of what promised such food for observation. But
Miss Margland began an angry remonstrance against the proceedings of
Lionel, in thus taking out of her hands the direction of her charges.
What she urged, however, was vain: Lionel was only diverted by her
wrath, and the three young ladies, as they had not requested the
introduction, did not feel themselves responsible for its taking effect.

Lionel led them on: Mrs. Arlbery half rose to return their curtsies; and
gave them a reception so full of vivacity and good humour, that they
soon forgot the ill will with which Miss Margland had suffered them to
quit her; and even lost all recollection that it belonged to them to
return to her. The satisfaction of Indiana, indeed, flowed simply from
the glances of admiration which every where met her eye; but Eugenia
attended to every word, and every motion of Mrs. Arlbery, with that sort
of earnestness which marks an intelligent child at a first play; and
Camilla, still more struck by the novelty of this new acquaintance,
scarce permitted herself to breathe, lest she should lose anything she
said.

Mrs. Arlbery perceived their youthful wonder, and felt a propensity to
increase it, which strengthened all her powers, and called forth all her
faculties. Wit she possessed at will; and, with exertions which rendered
it uncommonly brilliant, she displayed it, now to them, now to the
gentlemen, with a gaiety so fantastic, a raillery so arch, a spirit of
satire so seasoned with a delight in coquetry, and a certain negligence
of air so enlivened by a whimsical pleasantry, that she could not have
failed to strike with admiration even the most hackneyed seekers of
character; much less the inexperienced young creatures now presented to
her; who, with open eyes and ears, regarded her as a phenomenon, upon
finding that the splendor of her talents equalled the singularity of her
manners.

When the room was prepared for dancing, Major Cerwood brought to Indiana
Mr. Macdersey, the young Ensign who had so improperly addressed her at
the ball; and, after a formal apology, in his name, for what had passed,
begged the honour of her hand for him this morning. Indiana, flattered
and fluttered together by this ceremony, almost forgot Edgar, who stood
quietly but watchfully aloof, and was actually giving her consent when,
meeting his eye, she recollected she was already engaged. Mr. Macdersey
hoped for more success another time, and Edgar advanced to lead his fair
partner to her place.

Major Cerwood offered himself to Camilla; but Mr. Dubster coming
forward, pulled him by the elbow, and making a stiff low bow, said:
'Sir, I ask your pardon for taking the liberty of giving you such a jog,
but the young lady's been engaged to me ever so long.' The Major looked
surprised; but, observing that Camilla coloured, he bowed respectfully
and retreated.

Camilla, ashamed of her beau, determined not to dance at all: though she
saw, with much vexation, upon the general dispersion, Miss Margland
approach to claim her. Educated in all the harmony of contentment and
benevolence, she had a horror of a temper so irascible, that made it a
penance to remain a moment in its vicinity. Mr. Dubster, however, left
her not alone to it: when she positively refused his hand, he said it
was equal agreeable to him to have only a little dish of chat with her;
and composedly stationed himself before her. Eugenia had already been
taken out by the handsome stranger, with whom she had danced the evening
before; and Lionel, bewitched with Mrs. Arlbery, enlisted himself
entirely in her train; and with Sir Sedley Clarendel, and almost every
man of any consequence in the room, declined all dancing for the
pleasure of attending her.

Mr. Dubster, unacquainted with the natural high spirits of Camilla,
inferred nothing to his own disadvantage from her silence, but talked
incessantly himself with perfect complacency. 'Do you know, ma'am,'
cried he, 'just as that elderly lady, that, I suppose, is your mamma,
took you all away in that hurry last night, up comes the boy with my new
pair of gloves! but, though I run down directly to tell you of it, there
was no making the old lady stop; which I was fool to try at; for as to
women, I know their obstinacy of old. But what I grudged the most was,
as soon as I come up again, as ill luck would have it, Tom Hicks finds
me my own t'other glove! So there I had two pair, when I might as well
have had never a one!'

Observing that Eugenia was dancing, 'Lack a-day!' he exclaimed, 'I'll
lay a wager that poor gentleman has been took in, just as I was
yesterday! He thinks that young lady that's had the small-pox so bad, is
you, ma'am! 'Twould be a fine joke if such a mistake as that should get
the little lame duck, as I call her, a husband! He'd be in a fine hobble
when he found he'd got nothing but her ugly face for his bargain.
Though, provided she'd had the rhino, it would not much have signified:
for, as to being pretty or not, it's not great matter in a wife. A man
soon tires of seeing nothing but the same face, if it's one of the
best.'

Camilla here, in the midst of her chagrin, could not forbear asking him
if he was married? 'Yes, ma'am,' answered he calmly, 'I've had two wives
to my share already; so I know what I'm speaking of; though I've buried
them both. Why it was all along of my wives, what with the money I had
with one, and what with the money I had with the other, that I got out
of business so soon.'

'You were very much obliged to them, then?'

'Why, yes, ma'am, as to that, I can't say to the contrary, now that
they're gone: but I can't say I had much comfort with 'em while they
lived. They was always a thinking they had a right to what they had a
mind, because of what they brought me; so that I had enough to do to
scrape a little matter together, in case of outliving them. One of 'em
has not been dead above a twelvemonth, or there about; these are the
first clothes I've bought since I left off my blacks.'

When Indiana past them, he expressed his admiration of her beauty. 'That
young lady, ma'am,' he said, 'cuts you all up, sure enough. She's as
fine a piece of red and white as ever I see. I could think of such a
young lady as that myself, if I did not remember that I thought no more
of my wife that was pretty, than of my wife that was ugly, after the
first month or so. Beauty goes for a mere nothing in matrimony, when
once one's used to it. Besides, I've no great thoughts at present of
entering into the state again of one while, at any rate, being but just
got to be a little comfortable.'

The second dance was now called, when Mrs. Arlbery, coming suddenly
behind Camilla, said, in a low voice, 'Do you know who you are talking
with?'

'No, ma'am!'

'A young tinker, my dear! that's all!' And, with a provoking nod, she
retreated.

Camilla, half ready to laugh, half to cry, restrained herself with
difficulty from running after her; and Mr. Dubster, observing that she
abruptly turned away, and would listen no more, again claimed her for
his partner; and, upon her absolute refusal, surprised and affronted,
walked off in silence. She was then finally condemned to the morose
society of Miss Margland: and invectives against Sir Hugh for
mismanagement, and Lionel, with whom now that lady was at open war, for
impertinence, filled up the rest of her time, till the company was
informed that refreshments were served in the card-room.

Thither, immediately, every body flocked, with as much speed and
avidity, as if they had learnt to appreciate the blessing of plenty, by
the experience of want. Such is the vacancy of dissipated pleasure,
that, never satisfied with what it possesses, an opening always remains
for something yet to be tried, and, on that something still to come, all
enjoyment seems to depend.

The day beginning now to clear, the sashes of a large bow-window were
thrown up. Sir Sedley Clarendel sauntered thither, and instantly
everybody followed, as if there were no breathing anywhere else;
declaring, while they pressed upon one another almost to suffocation,
that nothing was so reviving as the fresh air: and, in a minute, not a
creature was to be seen in any other part of the room.

Here, in full view, stood sundry hapless relations of the poorer part of
the prisoners to be tried the next morning, who, with supplicating hands
and eyes, implored the compassion of the company, whom their very
calamities assembled for amusement.

Nobody took any notice of them; nobody appeared even to see them: but,
one by one, all glided gently away, and the bow-window was presently the
only empty space in the apartment.

Camilla, contented with having already presented her mite, and Eugenia,
with having given her's in commission, retired unaffectedly with the
rest; while Miss Margland, shrugging up her shoulders, and declaring
there was no end of beggars, pompously added, 'However, we gave before
we came in.'

Presently, a paper was handed about, to collect half guineas for a
raffle. A beautiful locket, set round with pearls, ornamented at the top
with a little knot of small brilliants, and very elegantly shaped, with
a space left for a braid of hair, or a cypher, was produced; and, as if
by magnetic power, attracted into almost every hand the capricious
coin, which distress, but the moment before had repelled.

Miss Margland lamented she had only guineas or silver, but suffered
Edgar to be her paymaster; privately resolving, that, if she won the
locket, she would remember the debt: Eugenia, amused in seeing the
humour of all that was going forward, readily put in; Indiana, satisfied
her uncle would repay the expences of the day, with a heart panting from
hope of the prize, did the same; but Camilla hung back, totally unused
to hazard upon what was unnecessary the little allowance she had been
taught to spend sparingly upon herself, that something might be always
in her power to bestow upon others. The character of this raffle was not
of that interesting nature which calls forth from the affluent and easy
respect as well as aid: the prize belonged to no one whom adversity
compelled to change what once was an innocent luxury, into the means of
subsistence; it was the mere common mode of getting rid of a mere common
bauble, which no one had thought worth the full price affixed to it by
its toyman. She knew not, however, till now, how hard to resist was the
contagion of example, and felt a struggle in her self-denial, that made
her, when she put the locket down, withdraw from the crowd, and resolve
not to look at it again.

Edgar, who had observed her, read her secret conflict with an emotion
which impelled him to follow her, that he might express his admiration;
but he was stopt by Mrs. Arlbery, who just then hastily attacked her
with, 'What have you done with your friend the tinker, my dear?'

Camilla, laughing, though extremely ashamed, said, she knew nothing at
all about him.

'You talked with him, then, by way of experiment, to see how you might
like him?'

'No, indeed! I merely answered him when I could not help it; but still I
thought, at a ball, gentlemen only would present themselves.'

'And how many couple,' said Mrs. Arlbery, smiling, 'do you calculate
would, in that case, stand up?'

She then ordered one of the beaux who attended her, to bring her a
chair, and told another to fetch her the locket. Edgar was again
advancing to Camilla, when Lionel, whose desire to obtain the good
graces of Mrs. Arlbery, had suggested to him an anticipation of her
commands, pushed forward with the locket.

'Well, really, it is not ugly,' cried she, taking it in her hand: 'Have
you put in yet, Miss Tyrold?'

'No, ma'am.'

'O, I am vastly glad of that; for now we will try our fortune together.'

Camilla, though secretly blushing at what she felt was an extravagance,
could not withstand this invitation: she gave her half guinea.

Edgar, disappointed, retreated in silence.

The money being collected, and the names of the rafflers taken down,
information was given, that the prize was to be thrown for in three days
time, at one o'clock at noon, in the shop of a bookseller at Northwick.

Some of the company now departed; others prepared for a last dance. Miss
Margland desired Lionel to see for their carriage; but Lionel had no
greater joy than to disregard her. Indiana asked earnestly to stay
longer; Miss Margland said, she could only give way to her request, upon
condition her partner should be Mr. Mandlebert. It was in vain she urged
that she was already engaged to Colonel Andover; Miss Margland was
inexorable, and Edgar, laughing, said, he should certainly have the
whole corps upon his back; but the honour was sufficient to
counterbalance the risk, and he would, therefore, beg the Colonel's
patience.

'Mr. Mandlebert,' said Miss Margland, 'I know enough of quarrels at
balls about partners, and ladies changing their minds, to know how to
act pretty well in those cases: I shall desire, therefore, to speak to
the Colonel myself, and not trust two gentlemen together upon such a
nice matter.'

She then beckoned to the Colonel, who stood at a little distance, and,
taking him apart, told him, she flattered herself he would not be
offended, if Miss Lynmere should dance again with Mr. Mandlebert, though
rather out of rule, as there were particular reasons for it.

The Colonel, with a smile, said he perceived Mr. Mandlebert was the
happy man, and acquiesced.

A general murmur now ran buzzing round the room, that Mr. Mandlebert and
Miss Lynmere were publicly contracted to each other; and, amongst many
who heard with displeasure that the young beauty was betrothed before
she was exhibited to view, Mr. Macdersey appeared to suffer the most
serious mortification.

As soon as this dance was over, Edgar conducted his ladies to an
apartment below stairs, and went in search of the carriage.

He did not return for some time. Miss Margland, as usual, grumbled; but
Camilla, perceiving Mrs. Arlbery, rejoiced in the delay; and stationed
herself by her side, all alive in attending to the pleasantry with which
she was amusing herself and those around her.

When Edgar, who seemed out of breath from running, came back, he made
but short answers to the murmurs of Miss Margland; and, hastening to
Camilla, said: 'I have been with your petitioner:--she has all that can
comfort her for the present; and I have learnt the name of her husband's
counsel. You will be so good as to excuse me at dinner to Sir Hugh. I
shall remain here till I can judge what may be done.'

The attention of Camilla was now effectually withdrawn from Mrs.
Arlbery, and the purest delight of which human feelings are susceptible,
took sudden and sole possession of her youthful mind, in the idea of
being instrumental to the preservation of a fellow-creature.

Edgar saw, in the change, yet brightness of her countenance, what passed
within;--and his disappointment concerning the raffle was immediately
forgotten.

A short consultation followed, in which both spoke with so much energy,
as not only to overpower the remonstrances of Miss Margland for their
departure, but to catch the notice of Mrs. Arlbery, who, coming forward,
and leaning her hand on the shoulder of Camilla, said: 'Tell me what it
is that has thus animated you? Have you heard any good tidings of your
new friend?'

Camilla instantly and eagerly related the subject that occupied them,
without observing that the whole company around were smiling, at her
earnestness in a cause of such common distress.

'You are new, my dear,' said Mrs. Arlbery, patting her cheek, 'very new;
but I take the whim sometimes of being charitable myself, for a little
variety. It always looks pretty; and begging is no bad way of shewing
off one's powers. So give me your documents, and I'll give you my
eloquence.'

Camilla presented her the petition, and she invited Mandlebert to dine
with her. Miss Margland then led the way, and the female party returned
to Cleves.




CHAPTER V

_A Raffle_


It was late when Edgar returned to Cleves. Camilla flew to meet him. He
told her everything relative to her petitioner was in the most
prosperous train; he had seen the prisoner, heard the particulars of his
story, which all tended to his exculpation; and Mrs. Arlbery had
contrived to make acquaintance with his counsel, whom she found
perfectly well disposed to exert himself in the cause, and whom she had
invited to a splendid supper. The trial was to take place the next
morning.

Camilla, already powerfully struck with Mrs. Arlbery, was enchanted to
find her thus active in benevolence.

Edgar was to dine with that lady the next day, and to learn the event of
their joint exertions.

This proved all that could be wished. The prosecution had been mild: the
judge and jury had been touched with compassion; and the venial offender
had been released with a gentle reprimand.

Mandlebert returned to communicate these tidings to Camilla, with a
pleasure exactly in unison with her own. Mrs. Arlbery, he avowed, had
been as zealous as himself; and had manifested a charity of disposition
which the flightiness of her manners had not let him to expect.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next object of attention was the raffle, which was to take place the
following morning.

Sir Hugh was averse to letting his nieces go abroad again so soon: but
Miss Margland, extremely anxious about her own chance for the prize,
solemnly asserted its necessity; inveighed against the mismanagement of
everything at Cleves, stifled all her complaints of Lionel, and
pronounced a positive decision, that, to carry Indiana to public places,
was the sole method of promoting the match.

Sir Hugh then, willing to believe, and yet more willing to get rid of
disputing with her, no longer withheld his consent.

They were advanced within half a mile of Northwick, when a sick man,
painfully supported by a woman with a child in her arms, caught their
eyes. The ready hand of Eugenia was immediately in her pocket; Camilla,
looking more intently upon the group, perceived another child, and
presently recognised the wife of the prisoner. She called to the
coachman to stop, and Edgar, at the same moment, rode up to the
carriage.

Miss Margland angrily ordered the man to drive on, saying, she was quite
sick of being thus for ever infested with beggars; who really came so
often, they were no better than pick-pockets.

'O, don't refuse to let me speak to them!' cried Camilla; 'it will be
such a pleasure to see their joy!'

'O yes! they look in much joy indeed! they seem as if they had not eat a
morsel these three weeks! Drive on, I say, coachman! I like no such
melancholy sights, for my part. They always make me ill. I wonder how
any body can bear them.'

'But we may help them; we may assist them!' said Camilla, with
increasing earnestness.

'And pray, when they have got all our money, who is to help us?'

Eugenia, delighted to give, but unhabituated to any other exertion,
flung half a crown to them; and Indiana, begging to look out, said,
'Dear! I never saw a prisoner before!'

Encouraged by an expressive look from Camilla, Edgar dismounted to hand
her from the carriage, affecting not to hear the remonstrances of Miss
Margland, though she scrupled not to deliver them very audibly. Eugenia
languished to join them, but could not venture to disobey a direct
command; and Indiana, observing the road to be very dusty, submitted, to
save a pair of beautiful new shoes.

Camilla had all the gratification she promised herself, in witnessing
the happiness of the poor petitioner. He was crawling to Cleves, with
his family, to offer thanks. They were penniless, sick, and wretched;
yet the preservation of the poor man seemed to make misery light to them
all. Edgar desired to know what were their designs for the future. The
man answered that he should not dare go back to his own country, because
there his disgrace was known, and he should procure no work; nor,
indeed, was he now able to do any. 'So we must make up our minds to beg
from door to door, and in the streets, and on the high road,' he
continued; 'till I get back a little strength; and can earn a living
more creditably.'

'But as long as we have kept you alive, and saved you from being
transported,' said his wife, 'for which all thanks be due to this good
gentleman, we shall mind no hardships, and never go astray again, in
wicked unthinkingness of this great mercy.'

Edgar inquired what had been their former occupations; they answered,
they had both been day-workers in the field, till a fit of sickness had
hindered the poor man from getting his livelihood: penury and hunger
then pressing hard upon them all, he had been tempted to commit the
offence for which he was taken, and brought to death's door. 'But as
now,' he added, 'I have been saved, I shall make it a warning for the
time to come, and never give myself up to so bad a course again.'

Edgar asked the woman what money she had left.

'Ah, sir, none! for we had things to pay, and people to satisfy, and so
everything you and the good ladies gave us, is all gone; for, while
anything was left us, they would not be easy. But this is no great
mischief now, as my husband is not taken away from us, and is come to a
right sense.'

'I believe,' said Edgar, 'you are very good sort of people, however
distress had misguided you.'

He then put something into the man's hand, and Eugenia, who from the
carriage window heard what passed, flung him another half crown; Camilla
added a shilling, and turning suddenly away, walked a few paces from
them all.

Edgar, gently following, inquired if anything was the matter; her eyes
were full of tears: 'I was thinking,' she cried, 'what my dear father
would have said, had he seen me giving half a guinea for a toy, and a
shilling to such poor starving people as these!'

'Why, what would he have said?' cried Edgar, charmed with her penitence,
though joining in the apprehended censure.

'He would more than ever have pitied those who want money, in seeing it
so squandered by one who should better have remembered his lessons! O,
if I could but recover that half guinea!'

'Will you give me leave to get it back for you?'

'Leave? you would lay me under the greatest obligation! How far half a
guinea would go here, in poverty such as this!'

He assured her he could regain it without difficulty; and then, telling
the poor people to postpone their walk to Cleves till the evening, when
Camilla meant to prepare her uncle, also, to assist them, he handed her
to the coach, with feelings yet more pleased than her own, and galloped
forward to execute his commission.

He was ready at the door of the library to receive them. As they
alighted, Camilla eagerly cried: 'Well! have you succeeded?'

'Can you trust yourself to this spot, and to a review of the
allurement,' answered he, smiling, and holding half a guinea between his
fingers, 'yet be content to see your chance for the prize withdrawn?'

'O give it me! give it me!' cried she, almost seizing it from him, 'my
dear father will be so glad to hear I have not spent it so foolishly.'

The rafflers were not yet assembled; no one was in the shop but a well
dressed elegant young man, who was reading at a table, and who neither
raised his eyes at their entrance, nor suffered their discourse to
interrupt his attention; yet though abstracted from outward objects, his
studiousness was not of a solemn cast; he seemed wrapt in what he was
reading with a pleasure amounting to ecstasy. He started, acted, smiled,
and looked pensive in turn, while his features were thrown into a
thousand different expressions, and his person was almost writhed with
perpetually varying gestures. From time to time his rapture broke forth
into loud exclamations of 'Exquisite! exquisite!' while he beat the
leaves of the book violently with his hands, in token of applause, or
lifting them up to his lips, almost devoured with kisses the passages
that charmed him. Sometimes he read a few words aloud, calling out
'Heavenly!' and vehemently stamping his approbation with his feet; then
suddenly shutting up the book, folded his arms, and casting his eyes
towards the ceiling, uttered: 'O too much! too much! there is no
standing it!' yet again, the next minute, opened it and resumed the
lecture.

The youthful group was much diverted with this unintended exhibition. To
Eugenia alone it did not appear ridiculous; she simply envied his
transports, and only wished to discover by what book they were excited.
Edgar and Camilla amused themselves with conjecturing various authors;
Indiana and Miss Margland required no such aid to pass their time,
while, with at least equal delight, they contemplated the hoped-for
prize.

Lionel now bounced in: 'Why what,' cried he, 'are you all doing in this
musty old shop, when Mrs. Arlbery and all the world are enjoying the air
on the public walks?'

Camilla was instantly for joining that lady; but Eugenia felt an
unconquerable curiosity to learn the running title of the book. She
stole softly round to look over the shoulder of the reader, and her
respect for his raptures increased, when she saw they were raised by
Thomson's Seasons.

Neither this approach, nor the loud call of Lionel, had interrupted the
attention of the young student, who perceived and regarded nothing but
what he was about; and though occasionally he ceased reading to indulge
in passionate ejaculations, he seemed to hold everything else beneath
his consideration.

Lionel, drawn to observe him from the circuit made by Eugenia,
exclaimed: 'What, Melmond! why, how long have you been in Hampshire?'

The youth, surprised from his absence of mind by the sound of his own
name, looked up and said: 'Who's that?'

'Why, when the deuce did you come into this part of the world?' cried
Lionel, approaching him to shake hands.

'O! for pity's sake,' answered he, with energy, 'don't interrupt me!'

'Why not? have not you enough of that dry work at Oxford? Come, come,
have done with this boyish stuff, and behave like a man.'

'You distract me,' answered Melmond, motioning him away; 'I am in a
scene that entrances me to Elysium! I have never read it since I could
appreciate it.'

'What! old Thomson?' said Lionel, peeping over him; 'why, I never read
him at all. Come, man! (giving him a slap on the shoulder) come along
with me, and I'll shew you something more worth looking at.'

'You will drive me mad, if you break in upon this episode! 'tis a
picture of all that is divine upon earth! hear it, only hear it!'

He then began the truly elegant and feeling description that concludes
Thomson's Spring; and though Lionel, with a loud shout, cried: 'Do you
think I come hither for such fogrum stuff as that?' and ran out of the
shop; the 'wrapt enthusiast' continued reading aloud, too much delighted
with the pathos of his own voice in expressing the sentiments of the
poet, to deny himself a regale so soothing to his ears.

Eugenia, enchanted, stood on tiptoe to hear him, her uplifted finger
petitioning silence all around, and her heart fondly repeating, O just
such a youth be Clermont! just such his passion for reading! just such
his fervour for poetry! just such his exaltation of delight in literary
yet domestic felicity!

Mandlebert, also, caught by the rehearsal of his favourite picture of a
scheme of human happiness, which no time, no repetition can make vapid
to a feeling heart, stood pleased and attentive to hear him; even
Indiana, though she listened not to the matter, was struck by the manner
in which it was delivered, which so resembled dramatic recitation, that
she thought herself at a play, and full of wonder, advanced straight
before him, to look full in his face, and watch the motions of his right
arm, with which he acted incessantly, while the left held his book. Miss
Margland concluded he was a strolling player, and did not suffer him to
draw her eyes from the locket. But when, at the words

                                ----content,
    Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,
    Ease and alternate labour, useful life,
    Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven,

Mandlebert turned softly round to read their impression on the
countenance of Camilla--she was gone!

Attracted by her wish to see more of Mrs. Arlbery, she had run out of
the shop after Lionel, before she either knew what was reading, or was
missed by those the reader had engaged. Edgar, though disappointed,
wondered he should have stayed himself to listen to what had long been
familiar to him, and was quietly gliding away when he saw her returning.
He then went back to his post, wondering, with still less satisfaction,
how she could absent herself from hearing what so well was worth her
studying.

The young man, when he came to the concluding line:

    _To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign!_

rose, let fall the book, clasped his hands with a theatrical air, and
was casting his eyes upwards in a fervent and willing trance, when he
perceived Indiana standing immediately before him.

Surprised and ashamed, his sublimity suddenly forsook him; his arms
dropt, and his hands were slipt into his waistcoat pockets.

But, the very next moment, the sensation of shame and of self was
superseded by the fair object that had thus aroused him. Her beauty, her
youth, her attitude of examination, struck him at first with an
amazement that presently gave place to an admiration as violent as it
was sudden. He started back, bowed profoundly, without any pretence for
bowing at all, and then rivetting his eyes, in which his whole soul
seemed centred, on her lovely face, stood viewing her with a look of
homage, motionless, yet enraptured.

Indiana, still conceiving this to be some sort of acting, unabashed kept
her post, expecting every moment he would begin spouting something more.
But the enthusiasm of the young Oxonian had changed its object; the
charms of poetry yielded to the superior charms of beauty, and while he
gazed on the fair Indiana, his fervent mind fancied her some being of
celestial order, wonderfully accorded to his view: How, or for what
purpose, he as little knew as cared. The play of imagination, in the
romance of early youth, is rarely interrupted with scruples of
probability.

This scene of dumb transport and unfixed expectation, was broken up
neither by the admirer nor the admired, but by the entrance of Mrs.
Arlbery, Sir Sedley Clarendel, Lionel, the officers, and many of the
rest of the company that had been present at the public breakfast: Nor
would even this intrusion have disengaged the young Oxonian from his
devout and ecstatic adoration, had it been equally indifferent to
Indiana; but the appearance of a party of gay officers was not, to her,
a matter of little moment. Eager for the notice in which she delighted,
she looked round in full confidence of receiving it. The rapture of the
Oxonian, as she had seen it kindled while he was reading, she attributed
to something she did not understand, and took in it, therefore, no part;
but the adulation of the officers was by no means ambiguous, and its
acceptance was as obvious as its presentation.

Willingly, therefore, as well as immediately encompassed, she received a
thousand compliments, and in the gratification of hearing them,
completely forgot her late short surprise; but the Oxonian, more
forcibly struck, ardently followed her with his eyes, started back
theatrically at every change of attitude which displayed her fine
figure, and at her smiles smiled again, from the uncontrollable sympathy
of a fascinated imagination.

Miss Margland felt not small pride in seeing her pupil thus
distinguished, since it marked the shrewdness of her capacity in
foretelling the effect of bringing her forth. Anxious to share in a
consequence to which she had industriously contributed, she paradingly
forced her way through the group, and calling the attention of Indiana
to herself, said: 'I am glad you came away, my dear; for I am sure that
man is only a poor strolling player.'

'Dear! let me look at him again!' cried Indiana; 'for I never saw a
player before; only at a play.'

She then turned back to examine him.

Enchanted to again meet her eyes, the youth bowed with intense respect,
and advanced a few paces, as if with intention to speak to her, though
immediately and with still more precipitance he retreated, from being
ready with nothing to say.

Lionel, going up to him, and pulling him by the arm, cried: 'Why, man!
what's come to you? These are worse heroics than I have seen you in
yet.'

The bright eyes of Indiana being still fixed upon him, he disdained all
notice of Lionel, beyond a silent repulse.

Indiana, having now satisfied her curiosity, restored her attention to
the beaux that surrounded her. The Oxonian, half sighing, unfolded his
clasped hands, one of which he reposed upon the shoulder of Lionel.

'Come, prithee, be a little less in alt,' cried Lionel, 'and answer a
man when he speaks to you. Where did you leave Smythson?'

'Who is that divinity; can you tell me?' said the Oxonian in a low and
respectful tone of inquiry.

'What divinity?'

'What divinity? insensible Tyrold! tasteless! adamantine! Look, look
yonder, and ask me again if you can!'

'O what; my cousin Indiana?'

'Your cousin? have you any affinity with such a creature as that? O
Tyrold! I glory in your acquaintance! she is all I ever read of! all I
ever conceived! she is beauty in its very essence! she is elegance,
delicacy, and sensibility personified!'

'All very true,' said Lionel; 'but how should you know anything of her
besides her beauty?'

'How? by looking at her! Can you view that countenance and ask me how?
Are not those eyes all soul? Does not that mouth promise every thing
that is intelligent? Can those lips ever move but to diffuse sweetness
and smiles? I must not look at her again! another glance may set me
raving!'

'May?' cried Lionel, laughing; 'why what have you been doing all this
time? However, be a little less in the sublime, and I'll introduce you
to her.'

'Is it possible? shall I owe to you so celestial a happiness? O Tyrold!
you bind me to you for life!'

Lionel, heartily hallowing, then brought him forward to Indiana: 'Miss
Lynmere,' he cried, 'a fellow student of mine, though somewhat more
given to study than your poor cousin, most humbly begs the honour of
kissing your toe.'

The uncommon lowness of the bow which the Oxonian, ignorant of what
Lionel would say, was making, led Miss Margland to imagine he was really
going to perform that popish ceremony; and hastily pulling Lionel by the
sleeve, she angrily said: 'Mr. Lionel, I desire to know by whose
authority you present such actor-men to a young lady under my care.'

Lionel, almost in convulsions, repeated this aloud; and the young
student, who had just, in a voice of the deepest interest and respect,
begun, 'The high honour, madam;' hearing an universal laugh from the
company, stopt short, utterly disconcerted, and after a few vainly
stammering attempts, bowed again, and was silent.

Edgar, who in this distress, read an ingenuousness of nature that
counterpoised its romantic enthusiasm, felt for the young man, and
taking Lionel by the arm, said: 'Will you not introduce me also to your
friend?'

'Mr. Melmond of Brazen Nose! Mr. Mandlebert of Beech Park!' cried
Lionel, flourishing, and bowing from one to the other.

Edgar shook hands with the youth, and hoped they should be better
acquainted.

Camilla, gliding round, whispered him: 'How like my dear father was
that! to give relief to embarrassment, instead of joining in the laugh
which excites it!'

Edgar, touched by a comparison to the person he most honoured,
gratefully looked his acknowledgment; and all displeasure at her flight,
even from Thomson's scene of conjugal felicity, was erased from his
mind.

The company grew impatient for the raffle, though some of the
subscribers were not arrived. It was voted, at the proposition of Mrs.
Arlbery, that the master of the shop should represent, as their turns
came round, those who were absent.

While this was settling, Edgar, in some confusion, drew Camilla to the
door, saying: 'To avoid any perplexity about your throwing, suppose you
step into the haberdasher's shop that is over the way?'

Camilla, who already had felt very awkward with respect to her withdrawn
subscription, gladly agreed to the proposal, and begging him to explain
the matter to Miss Margland, tript across the street, while the rafflers
were crowding to the point of action.

Here she sat, making some small purchases, till the business was over:
The whole party then came forth into the street, and all in a body
poured into the haberdasher's shop, smiling, bowing, and of one accord
wishing her joy.

Concluding this to be in derision of her desertion, she rallied as well
as she was able; but Mrs. Arlbery, who entered the last, and held the
locket in her hand, said: 'Miss Tyrold, I heartily wish you equally
brilliant success, in the next, and far more dangerous lottery, in
which, I presume, you will try your fate.' And presented her the prize.

Camilla, colouring, laughing, and unwillingly taking it, said: 'I
suppose, ma'am--I hope--it is yours?' And she looked about for Edgar to
assist her; but, he was gone to hasten the carriage.

Every body crowded round her to take a last sight of the beautiful
locket. Eager to get rid of it, she put it into the hands of Indiana,
who regarded it with a partiality which her numerous admirers had
courted, individually, in vain; though the young Oxonian, by his
dramatic emotions, had engaged more of her attention than she had yet
bestowed elsewhere. Eugenia too, caught by his eccentricity, was
powerfully impelled to watch and admire him; and not the less, in the
unenvying innocency of her heart, for his evident predilection in favour
of her cousin. This youth was not, however, suffered to engross her; the
stranger by whom she had already been distinguished at the ball and
public breakfast, was one in the group, and resumed a claim upon her
notice, too flattering in its manner to be repulsed, and too new to her
extreme inexperience to be obtrusive.

Meanwhile, Camilla gathered from Major Cerwood, that the prize had
really fallen to her lot. Edgar had excused her not staying to throw for
herself, but the general proxy, the bookseller, had been successful in
her name.

In great perplexity how to account for this incident, she apprehended
Edgar had made some mistake, and determined, through his means, to
restore the locket to the subscription.

The carriage of Mrs. Arlbery was first ready; but, pushing away the
throng of beaux offering assistance, she went up to Camilla, and said:
'Fair object of the spleen of all around, will you bring a little of
your influence with good fortune to my domain, and come and dine with
me?'

Delighted at the proposal, Camilla looked at Miss Margland; but Miss
Margland, not being included in the invitation, frowned a refusal.

Edgar now entered and announced the coach of Sir Hugh.

'Make use of it as you can,' said Mrs. Arlbery; 'there is room for one
more to go back than it brought; so pray do the honours prettily.
Clarendel! take care of Miss Tyrold to my coach.'

Sir Sedley smiled, and played with his watch chain, but did not move.

'O you laziest of all lazy wretches!' cried Mrs. Arlbery.

'I shall reverse the epithet, and be the alertest of the alert,' said
Major Cerwood; 'if the commission may be devolved to myself.'

'Positively not for the world! there is nothing so pleasant as working
the indolent; except, indeed, making the restless keep quiet; so, come
forth, Clarendel! be civil, and strike us all with astonishment!'

'My adored Mrs. Arlbery!' cried he, (hoisting himself upon the shop
counter, and swinging a switch to and fro, with a languid motion) your
maxims are all of the first superlative, except this; but nobody's civil
now, you know; 'tis a fogramity quite out.'

'So you absolutely won't stir, then?'

'O pray! pray!' answered he, putting on his hat and folding his arms, 'a
little mercy! 'tis so vastly insufferably hot! Calcutta must be in the
frigid zone to this shop! a very ice-house!'

Camilla, who never imagined rudeness could make a feature of
affectation, internally attributed this refusal to his pique that she
had disregarded him at the public breakfast, and would have made him
some apology, but knew not in what manner to word it.

The Major again came forward, but Miss Margland, advancing also, said:
'Miss Camilla! you won't think of dining out unknown to Sir Hugh?'

'I am sure,' cried Mrs. Arlbery, 'you will have the goodness to speak
for me to Sir Hugh.' Then, turning to Lionel, 'Mr. Tyrold,' she added,
'you must go with us, that you may conduct your sister safe home. Don't
be affronted; I shall invite you for your own sake another time. Come,
you abominable Clarendel! awake! and give a little spring to our
motions.'

'You are most incommodiously cruel!' answered he; 'but I am bound to be
your slave.' Then calling to one of the apprentices in the shop: 'My
vastly good boy,' he cried, 'do you want to see me irrecoverably subdued
by this immensely inhuman heat?'

The boy stared; and said, 'Sir.'

'If not, do get me a glass of water.'

'O worse and worse!' said Mrs. Arlbery; 'your whims are insupportable. I
give you up! Major! advance.'

The Major, with alacrity, offered his hand; Camilla hesitated; she
wished passionately to go, yet felt she had no authority for such a
measure. The name, though not the person of Mrs. Arlbery, was known both
at Cleves and at Etherington, as belonging to the owner of a capital
house in the neighbourhood; and though the invitation was without form,
Camilla was too young to be withheld by ceremony. Her uncle, she was
sure, could refuse her nothing; and she thought, as she was only a
visitor at Cleves, Miss Margland had no right to control her; the
pleasure, therefore, of the scheme, soon conquered every smaller
difficulty, and, looking away from her party, she suffered herself to be
led to the coach.

Miss Margland as she passed, said aloud: 'Remember! I give no consent to
this!'

But Eugenia, on the other side, whispered: 'Don't be uneasy; I will
explain to my uncle how it all happened.'

Mrs. Arlbery was following, when Indiana exclaimed: 'Cousin Camilla,
what am I to do with your locket?'

Camilla had wholly forgotten it; she called to Edgar, who slowly, and
with a seriousness very unusual, obeyed her summons.

'There has been some great mistake,' said she, 'about the locket. I
suppose they neglected to scratch out my name from the subscription; for
Major Cerwood says it really came to me. Will you be so good as to
return it to the bookseller?'

The gravity of Edgar immediately vanished: 'Are you so ready,' he said,
'even when it is in your possession, to part with so pretty a trinket?'

'You know it cannot be mine, for here is my half guinea.'

Mrs. Arlbery then got into the coach; but Camilla, still farther
recollecting herself, again called to Edgar, and holding out the half
guinea, said: 'How shall I get this to the poor people?'

'They were to come,' he answered, 'to Cleves this afternoon.'

'Will you, then, give it them for me?'

'No commission to Mr. Mandlebert!' interrupted Mrs. Arlbery; 'for he
must positively dine with us.'

Mandlebert bowed a pleased assent, and Camilla applied to Eugenia; but
Miss Margland, in deep wrath, refused to let her move a step.

Mrs. Arlbery then ordered the coach to drive home. Camilla, begging a
moment's delay, desired Edgar to approach nearer, and said, in a low
voice: 'I cannot bear to let those poor expectants toil so far for
nothing. I will sooner go back to Cleves myself. I shall not sleep all
night if I disappoint them. Pray, invent some excuse for me.'

'If you have set your heart upon this visit,' answered Mandlebert, with
vivacity, though in a whisper, 'I will ride over myself to Cleves, and
arrange all to your wishes; but if not, certainly there can need no
invention, to decline an invitation of which Sir Hugh has no knowledge.'

Camilla, who at the beginning of this speech felt the highest glee, sunk
involuntarily at its conclusion, and turning with a blank countenance to
Mrs. Arlbery, stammeringly said: 'Can you, will you--be so very good, as
not to take it ill if I don't go with you?'

Mrs. Arlbery, surprised, very coldly answered: 'Certainly not! I would
be no restraint upon you. I hate restraint myself.' She then ordered the
footman to open the door; and Camilla, too much abashed to offer any
apology, was handed out by Edgar.

'Amiable Camilla!' said he, in conducting her back to Miss Margland,
'this is a self-conquest that I alone, perhaps, expected from you!'

Cheared by such approbation, she forgot her disappointment, and
regardless of Miss Margland and her ill humour, jumped into her uncle's
coach, and was the gayest of the party that returned to Cleves.

Edgar took the locket from Indiana, and promised to rectify the mistake;
and then, lest Mrs. Arlbery should be offended with them all, rode to
her house without any fresh invitation, accompanied by Lionel; whose
anger against Camilla, for suffering Miss Margland to gain a victory,
was his theme the whole ride.




CHAPTER VI

_A Barn_


The first care of Camilla was to interest Sir Hugh in the misfortunes of
the prisoner and his family; her next, to relate the invitation of Mrs.
Arlbery, and to beg permission that she might wait upon the lady the
next morning, with apologies for her abrupt retreat, and with
acknowledgments for the services done to the poor woman; which first the
Oxonian, and then the raffle, had driven from her mind. Sir Hugh readily
consented, blaming her for supposing it possible he could ever hesitate
in what could give her any pleasure.

Before the tea-party broke up, Edgar returned. He told Camilla he had
stolen away the instant the dinner was over, to avoid any mistake about
the poor people, whom he had just overtaken by the park-gate, and
conducted to the great barn, where he had directed them to wait for
orders.

'I'll run to them immediately,' cried she, 'for my half guinea is in an
agony to be gone!'

'The barn! my dear young Mr. Mandlebert!' exclaimed Sir Hugh; 'and why
did you not bring them to the servants' hall? My little girl has been
telling me all their history; and, God forbid, I should turn
hard-hearted, because of their wanting a leg of mutton, in preference to
being starved; though they might have no great right to it, according to
the forms of law; which, however, is not much impediment to the calls of
nature, when a man sees a butcher's stall well covered, and has got
nothing within him, except his own poor craving appetite; which is a
thing I always take into consideration; though, God forbid, I should
protect a thief, no man's property being another's, whether he's poor or
rich.'

He then gave Camilla three guineas to deliver to them from himself, to
set them a little a-going in an honest way, that they might not, he
said, repent leaving off bad actions. Her joy was so excessive, that she
passionately embraced his knees: and Edgar, while he looked on, could
nearly have bent to her his own, with admiration of her generous nature.
Eugenia desired to accompany her; and Indiana, rising also, said: 'Dear!
I wonder how they will look in the barn! I should like to see them too.'

Miss Margland made no opposition, and they set out.

Camilla, leading the way, with a fleetness that mocked all equality, ran
into the barn, and saw the whole party, according to their several
powers, enjoying themselves. The poor man, stretched upon straw, was
resting his aching limbs; his wife, by his side, was giving nourishment
to her baby; and the other child, a little boy of three years old, was
jumping and turning head over heels, with the true glee of unspoilt
nature, superior to poverty and distress.

To the gay heart of Camilla whatever was sportive was attractive; she
flew to the little fellow, whose skin was clean and bright, in the midst
of his rags and wretchedness, and, making herself his play-mate, bid the
woman finish feeding her child, told the man to repose himself
undisturbed, and began dancing with the little boy, not less delighted
than himself at the festive exercise.

Miss Margland cast up her hands and eyes as she entered, and poured
forth a warm remonstrance against so demeaning a condescension: but
Camilla, in whose composition pride had no share, though spirit was a
principal ingredient, danced on unheeding, to the equal amaze and
enchantment of the poor man and woman, at the honour done to their
little son.

Edgar came in last; he had given his arm to Eugenia, who was always in
the rear if unassisted. Miss Margland appealed to him upon the
impropriety of the behaviour of Camilla, adding, 'If I had had the
bringing up a young lady who could so degrade herself, I protest I
should blush to shew my face: but you cannot, I am sure, fail remarking
the difference of Miss Lynmere's conduct.'

Edgar attended with an air of complacency, which he thought due to the
situation of Miss Margland in the family, yet kept his eyes fixt upon
Camilla, with an expression that, to the least discernment, would have
evinced his utmost approbation of her innocent gaiety: but Miss
Margland was amongst that numerous tribe, who, content as well as
occupied with making observations upon others, have neither the power,
nor thought, of developing those that are returned upon themselves.

Camilla at length, wholly out of breath, gave over; but perceiving that
the baby was no longer at its mother's breast, flew to the poor woman,
and, taking the child in her arms, said: 'Come, I can nurse and rest at
the same time; I assure you the baby will be safe with me, for I nurse
all the children in our neighbourhood.' She then fondled the poor little
half-starved child to her bosom, quieting, and kissing, and cooing over
it.

Miss Margland was still more incensed; but Edgar could attend to her no
longer. Charmed with the youthful nurse, and seeing in her unaffected
attitudes, a thousand graces he had never before remarked, and reading
in her fondness for children the genuine sweetness of her character, he
could not bear to have the pleasing reflections revolving in his mind
interrupted by the spleen of Miss Margland, and, slipping away, posted
himself behind the baby's father, where he could look on undisturbed,
certain it was a vicinity to which Miss Margland would not follow him.

Had this scene lasted till Camilla was tired, its period would not have
been very short; but Miss Margland, finding her exhortations vain,
suddenly called out: 'Miss Lynmere! Miss Eugenia! come away directly!
It's ten to one but these people have all got the gaol distemper!'

Edgar, quick as lightning at this sound, flew to Camilla, and snatched
the child from her arms. Indiana, with a scream, ran out of the barn;
Miss Margland hurried after; and Eugenia, following, earnestly entreated
Camilla not to stay another moment.

'And what is there to be alarmed at?' cried she; 'I always nurse poor
children when I see them at home; and my father never prohibits me.'

'There may be some reason, however,' said Edgar, while still he tenderly
held the baby himself, 'for the present apprehension: I beg you,
therefore, to hasten away.'

'At least,' said she, 'before I depart, let me execute my commission.'
And then, with the kindest good wishes for their better fortune, she put
her uncle's three guineas into the hands of the poor man, and her own
rescued half guinea into those of his wife; and, desiring Edgar not to
remain himself where he would not suffer her to stay, ran to give her
arm to Eugenia; leaving it a doubtful point, whether the good humour
accompanying her alms, made the most pleased impression upon their
receivers, or upon their observer.




CHAPTER VII

_A Declaration_


At night, while they were enjoying the bright beams of the moon, from an
apartment in the front of the house, they observed a strange footman, in
a superb livery, ride towards the servants hall; and presently a letter
was delivered to Miss Margland.

She opened it with an air of exulting consequence; one which was
inclosed, she put into her pocket, and read the other three or four
times over, with looks of importance and complacency. She then pompously
demanded a private audience with Sir Hugh, and the young party left the
room.

'Well, sir!' she cried, proudly, 'you may now see if I judged right as
to taking the young ladies a little into the world. Please to look at
this letter, sir:'

     _To Miss_ Margland, _at Sir_ Hugh Tyrold'_s_, _Bart._ Cleves,
     Hampshire.

     MADAM,

     With the most profound respect I presume to address you, though
     only upon the strength of that marked politeness which shines forth
     in your deportment. I have the highest ambition to offer a few
     lines to the perusal of Miss Eugenia Tyrold, previous to presenting
     myself to Sir Hugh. My reasons will be contained in the letter
     which I take the liberty to put into your hands. It is only under
     your protection, madam, I can aim at approaching that young lady,
     as all that I have either seen or heard convinces me of her
     extraordinary happiness in being under your direction. Your
     influence, madam, I should therefore esteem as an honour, and I
     leave it wholly to your own choice, whether to read what I have
     addressed to that young lady before or after she has deigned to
     cast an eye upon it herself. I remain, with the most profound
     respect,

     Madam,
     your most obedient,
     and obliged servant,
     ALPHONSO BELLAMY.

     I shall take the liberty to send my servant for an answer tomorrow
     evening.

'This, sir,' continued Miss Margland, when Sir Hugh had read the letter;
'this is the exact conduct of a gentleman; all open, all respectful. No
attempt at any clandestine intercourse. All is addressed where it ought
to be, to the person most proper to superintend such an affair. This is
that very same gentleman whose politeness I mentioned to you, and who
danced with Miss Eugenia at Northwick, when nobody else took any notice
of her. This is--'

'Why then this is one of the most untoward things,' cried Sir Hugh, who,
vainly waiting for a pause, began to speak without one, 'that has ever
come to bear; for where's the use of Eugenia's making poor young fellows
fall in love with her for nothing? which I hold to be a pity, provided
it's sincere, which I take for granted.'

'As to that, sir, I can't say I see the reason why Miss Eugenia should
not be allowed to look about her, and have some choice; especially as
the young gentleman abroad has no fortune; at least none answerable to
her expectations.'

'But that's the very reason for my marrying them together. For as he has
not had the small-pox himself, that is, not in the natural way; which,
Lord help me! I thought the best, owing to my want of knowledge; why
he'll the more readily excuse her face not being one of the prettiest,
for her kindness in putting up with his having so little money; being a
thing some people think a good deal of.'

'But, sir, won't it be very hard upon poor Miss Eugenia, if a better
offer should come, that she must not listen to it, only because of a
person she has never seen, though he has no estate?'

'Mrs. Margland,' said Sir Hugh, (with some heat,) 'this is the very
thing that I would sooner have given a crown than have had happen! Who
knows but Eugenia may take a fancy to this young jackanapes? who, for
aught I know, may be as good a man as another, for which I beg his
pardon; but, as he is nothing to me, and my nephew's my nephew, why am I
to have the best scheme I ever made knocked on the head, for a person I
had as lieve were twitched into the Red Sea? which, however, is a thing
I should not say, being what I would not do.'

Miss Margland took from her pocket the letter designed for Eugenia, and
was going to break the seal; but Sir Hugh, preventing her, said: 'No,
Miss Margland; Eugenia shall read her own letters. I have not had her
taught all this time, by one of the first scholars of the age, as far as
I can tell, to put that affront upon her.'

He then rang the bell, and sent for Eugenia.

Miss Margland stated the utter impropriety of suffering any young lady
to read a letter of that sort, till proposals had been laid before her
parents and guardians. But Sir Hugh spoke no more till Eugenia appeared.

'My dear,' he then said, 'here is a letter just come to put your
education to the trial; which, I make no doubt, will stand the test
properly: therefore, in regard to the answer, you shall write it all
yourself, being qualified in a manner to which I have no right to
pretend; though I shall go to-morrow to my brother, which will give me a
better insight; his head being one of the best.'

Eugenia, greatly surprised, opened the letter, and read it with visible
emotion.

'Well, my dear, and what do you say to it?'

Without answering, she read it again.

Sir Hugh repeated the question.

'Indeed, sir,' said she, (in a tone of sadness,) 'it is something that
afflicts me very much!'

'Lord help us!' cried Sir Hugh, 'this comes of going to a ball! which,
begging Miss Margland's pardon, is the last time it shall be done.'

Miss Margland was beginning a vehement defence of herself; but Sir Hugh
interrupted it, by desiring to see the letter.

Eugenia, with increased confusion, folded it up, and said: 'Indeed,
sir--Indeed, uncle--it is a very improper letter for me to shew.'

'Well, that,' cried Miss Margland, 'is a thing I could never have
imagined! that a gentleman, who is so much the gentleman, should write
an improper letter!'

'No, no,' interrupted she, 'not improper--perhaps--for him to
write,--but for me to exhibit.'

'O, if that's all, my dear,' said Sir Hugh, 'if it's only because of a
few compliments, I beg you not to mind them, because of their having no
meaning; which is a thing common enough in the way of making love, by
what I hear; though such a young thing as you can know nothing of the
matter, your learning not going in that line; nor Dr. Orkborne's
neither, if one may judge; which, God forbid I should find fault with,
being no business of mine.'

He then again asked to see the letter; and Eugenia, ashamed to refuse,
gave it, and went out of the room.

     _To Miss_ Eugenia Tyrold, Cleves.

     MADAM,

     The delicacy of your highly cultivated mind awes even the violent
     passion which you inspire. And to this I entreat you to attribute
     the trembling fear which deters me from the honour of waiting upon
     Sir Hugh, while uncertain, if my addressing him might not raise
     your displeasure. I forbear, therefore, to lay before him my
     pretensions for soliciting your favour, from the deepest
     apprehension you might think I presumed too far, upon an
     acquaintance, to my unhappiness, so short; yet, as I feel it to
     have excited in me the most lasting attachment, from my fixed
     admiration of your virtues and talents, I cannot endure to run the
     risk of incurring your aversion. Allow me then, once more, under
     the sanction of that excellent lady in whose care I have had the
     honour of seeing you, to entreat one moment's audience, that I may
     be graced with your own commands about waiting upon Sir Hugh,
     without which, I should hold myself ungenerous and unworthy to
     approach him; since I should blush to throw myself at your feet
     from an authority which you do not permit. I beseech you, madam, to
     remember, that I shall be miserable till I know my doom; but still,
     that the heart, not the hand, can alone bestow happiness on a
     disinterested mind.

     I have the honour to be,
     Madam,
     your most devoted and obedient humble servant,
     ALPHONSO BELLAMY.

Sir Hugh, when he had finished the letter, heaved a sigh, and leant his
head upon his hand, considering whether or not to let it be seen by Miss
Margland; who, however, not feeling secure what his determination might
be, had so contrived to sit at the table as to read it at the same time
with himself. Nor had she weighed the interest of her curiosity amiss;
Sir Hugh, dreading a debate with her, soon put the letter into his
pocket-book, and again sent for Eugenia.

Eugenia excused herself from returning, pleaded a head-ache, and went to
bed.

Sir Hugh was in the deepest alarm; though the evening was far advanced,
he could scarce refrain from going to Etherington directly; he ordered
his carriage to be at the door at eight o'clock the next morning; and
sent a second order, a moment after, that it should not be later than
half past seven.

He then summoned Camilla, and, giving her the letter, bid her run with
it to her sister, for fear it was that she was fretting for. And soon
after, he went to bed, that he might be ready in the morning.

Eugenia, meanwhile, felt the placid composure of her mind now for the
first time shaken. The assiduities of this young man had already pleased
and interested her; but, though gratified by them in his presence, they
occurred to her no more in his absence. With the Oxonian she had been
far more struck; his energy, his sentiments, his passion for literature,
would instantly have riveted him in her fairest favour, had she not so
completely regarded herself as the wife of Clermont Lynmere, that she
denied her imagination any power over her reason.

This letter, however, filled her with sensations wholly new. She now
first reflected seriously upon the nature of her situation with regard
to Clermont, for whom she seemed bespoken by her uncle, without the
smallest knowledge how they might approve or suit each other. Perhaps he
might dislike her; she must then have the mortification of being
refused: perhaps he might excite her own antipathy; she must then either
disappoint her uncle, or become a miserable sacrifice.

Here, on the contrary, she conceived herself an elected object. The
difference of being accepted, or being chosen, worked forcibly upon her
mind; and, all that was delicate, feminine, or dignified in her notions,
rose in favour of him who sought, when opposed to him who could only
consent to receive her. Generous, too, he appeared to her, in forbearing
to apply to Sir Hugh, without her permission; disinterested, in
declaring he did not wish for her hand without her heart; and noble, in
not seeking her in a clandestine manner, but referring every thing to
Miss Margland.

The idea also of exciting an ardent passion, lost none of its force from
its novelty to her expectations. It was not that she had hitherto
supposed it impossible; she had done less; she had not thought of it
all. Nor came it now with any triumph to her modest and unassuming mind;
all it brought with it was gratitude towards Bellamy, and a something
soothing towards herself, which, though inexplicable to her reason, was
irresistible to her feelings.

When Camilla entered with the letter, she bashfully asked her, if she
wished to read it? Camilla eagerly cried: 'O, yes.' But, having finished
it, said: 'It is not such a letter as Edgar Mandlebert would have
written.'

'I am sure, then,' said Eugenia, colouring, 'I am sorry to have received
it.'

'Do you not observe every day,' said Camilla, 'the distance, the
delicacy of his behaviour to Indiana, though Miss Margland says their
marriage is fixed; how free from all distinction that might confuse her?
This declaration, on the contrary, is so abrupt--and from so new an
acquaintance--'

'Certainly, then, I won't answer it,' said Eugenia, much discomposed;
'it had not struck me thus at first reading; but I see now all its
impropriety.'

She then bid good night to Camilla; who, concluding her the appropriated
wife of Clermont, had uttered her opinion without scruple.

Eugenia now again read the letter; but not again with pleasure. She
thought it forward and presumptuous; and the only gratification that
remained upon her mind, was an half conscious scarce admitted, and, even
to herself, unacknowledged charm, in a belief, that she possessed the
power to inspire an animated regard.




CHAPTER VIII

_An Answer_


Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold and Lavinia were at breakfast when Sir Hugh entered
their parlour, the next morning. 'Brother,' he cried, 'I have something
of great importance to tell you, which it is very fit my sister should
hear too; for which reason, I make no doubt but my dear Lavinia's good
sense will leave the room, without waiting for a hint.'

Lavinia instantly retired.

'O, my dear brother,' continued the baronet; 'do you know here's a young
chap, who appears to be a rather good sort of man, which is so much the
worse, who has been falling in love with Eugenia?'

He then delivered the two letters to Mr. Tyrold.

'Now the only thing that hurts me in this business is, that this young
man, who Miss Margland calls a person of fashion, writes as well as
Clermont would do himself; though that is what I shall never own to
Eugenia, which I hope is no sin being all for her own sake; that is to
say, for Clermont's.'

Mr. Tyrold, after attentively reading the letters, gave them to his
wife, and made many inquiries concerning their writer, and his
acquaintance with Eugenia and Miss Margland.

'Why it was all brought about,' said Sir Hugh, 'by their going to a ball
and a public breakfast; which is a thing my little Camilla is not at all
to blame for, because if nobody had put it in her head, she would not
have known there was a thing of the kind. And, indeed, it was but
natural in poor Lionel neither, to set her agog, the chief fault lying
in the assizes; to which my particular objection is against the lawyers,
who come into a town to hang and transport the poor, by way of keeping
the peace, and then encourage the rich to make all the noise and riot
they can, by their own junkettings; for which, however, being generally,
I believe, pretty good scholars, I make no doubt but they have their own
reasons.'

'I flatter myself,' said Mrs. Tyrold, scarce deigning to finish the
letters, 'Eugenia, young as she is, will need no counsel how to estimate
a writer such as this. What must the man be, who, presuming upon his
personal influence, ventures to claim her concurrence in an application
to her friends, though he has seen her but twice, and knows her to be
destitute of the smallest knowledge of his principles, his character, or
his situation in life?'

'Good lack!' cried the baronet, 'what a prodigious poor head I must
have! here I could hardly sleep all night, for thinking what a fine
letter this jackanapes, which I shall make no more apology for calling
him, had been writing, fearing it would cut up poor Clermont in her
opinion, for all his grand tour.'

Perfectly restored to ease, he now bad them good morning; but Mr. Tyrold
entreated him to stay till they had settled how to get rid of the
business.

'My dear brother,' he answered, 'I want no more help now, since I have
got your opinion, that is, my sister's, which I take it for granted is
the same. I make no doubt but Eugenia will pretty near have writ her
foul copy by the time I get home, which Dr. Orkborne may overlook for
her, to the end that this Mr. Upstart may have no more fault to find
against it.'

They both desired to dine at Cleves, that they might speak themselves
with Eugenia.

'And how,' said Mr. Tyrold, with a strong secret emotion, 'how goes on
Edgar with Indiana?'

'Vastly well, vastly well indeed! not that I pretend to speak for
myself, being rather too dull in these matters, owing to never entering
upon them in the right season, as I intend to tell other young men doing
the same.'

He then, in warm terms, narrated the accounts given him by Miss Margland
of the security of the conquest of Indiana.

Mr. Tyrold fixed his hour for expecting the carriage, and the baronet
desired that Lavinia should be of the party; 'because,' he said, 'I see
she has the proper discretion, when she is wanted to go out of the way;
which must be the same with Camilla and Indiana, too, to-day, as well as
with young Mr. Edgar; for I don't think it prudent to trust such new
beginners with every thing that goes on, till they get a little older.'

The anxiety of Mr. Tyrold, concerning Bellamy, was now mingled with a
cruel regret in relation to Mandlebert. Even his own upright conduct
could scarce console him for the loss of his favourite hope, and he
almost repented that he had not been more active in endeavouring to
preserve it.

All that passed in his mind was read and participated in by his partner,
whose displeasure was greater, though her mortification could but be
equal. 'That Edgar,' said she, 'should have kept his heart wholly
untouched, would less have moved my wonder; he has a peculiar, though
unconscious delicacy in his nature, which results not from insolence nor
presumption, but from his own invariable and familiar exercise of every
virtue and of every duty: the smallest deviation is offensive, and even
the least inaccuracy is painful to him. Was it possible, then, to be
prepared for such an election as this? He has disgraced my expectations;
he has played the common part of a mere common young man, whose eye is
his sole governor.'

'My Georgiana,' said Mr. Tyrold, 'I am deeply disappointed. Our two
eldest girls are but slightly provided for; and Eugenia is far more
dangerously circumstanced, in standing so conspicuously apart, as a
prize to some adventurer. One of these three precious cares I had fondly
concluded certain of protection and happiness; for which ever I might
have bestowed upon Edgar Mandlebert, I should have considered as the
most fortunate of her sex. Let us, however, rejoice for Indiana; no one
can more need a protector; and, next to my own three girls, there is no
one for whom I am so much interested. I grieve, however, for Edgar
himself, whose excellent judgment will, in time, assert its rights,
though passion, at this period, has set it aside.'

'I am too angry with him for pity,' said Mrs. Tyrold; 'nor is his
understanding of a class that has any claim to such lenity: I had often
thought our gentle Lavinia almost born to be his wife, and no one could
more truly have deserved him. But the soft perfection of her character
relieves me from any apprehension for her conduct, and almost all my
solicitude devolves upon Camilla. For our poor Eugenia I had never
indulged a hope of his choice; though that valuable, unfortunate girl,
with every unearned defect about her, intrinsically merits him, with all
his advantages, his accomplishments, and his virtues: but to appreciate
her, uninfluenced by pecuniary views, to which he is every way superior,
was too much to expect from so young a man. My wishes, therefore, had
guided him to our Camilla, that sweet, open, generous, inconsiderate
girl, whose feelings are all virtues, but whose impulses have no
restraints: I have not a fear for her, when she can act with
deliberation; but fear is almost all I have left, when I consider her as
led by the start of the moment. With him, however, she would have been
the safest, and with him--next alone to her mother, the happiest of her
sex.'

The kindest acknowledgments repaid this sympathy of sentiment, and they
agreed that their felicity would have been almost too complete for this
lower world, if such an event had come to pass. 'Nevertheless its
failure,' added Mrs. Tyrold, 'is almost incredible, and wholly
unpardonable. That Indiana should vanquish where Lavinia and Camilla
have failed! I feel indignant at such a triumph of mere external
unintelligent beauty.'

Eugenia received her parents with the most bashful confusion; yet they
found, upon conversing with her, it was merely from youthful shame, and
not from any dangerous prepossession. The observations of Camilla had
broken that spell with which a first declaration of regard is apt to
entangle unreflecting inexperience; and by teaching her to less value
the votary, had made the conquest less an object of satisfaction. She
was gratified by the permission of her uncle to write her own answer,
which was now produced.

     _To_ Alphonso Bellamy, _Esq._

     SIR,

     I am highly sensible to the honour of your partiality, which I
     regret it is not possible for me to deserve. Be not, therefore,
     offended, and still less suffer yourself to be afflicted, when I
     confess I have only my poor thanks to offer, and poor esteem to
     return, for your unmerited goodness. Dwell not, sir, upon this
     disappointment, but receive my best wishes for your restored
     happiness; for never can I forget a distinction to which I have so
     little claim. Believe me,

    Sir,
    Your very much obliged,
    and most grateful humble servant,
    EUGENIA TYROLD.

Mr. Tyrold, who delighted to see how completely, in her studies with Dr.
Orkborne, she had escaped any pedantry or affectation, and even
preserved all the native humility of her artless character, returned her
the letter with an affectionate embrace, and told her he could desire no
alteration but that of omitting the word _grateful_ at the conclusion.

Mrs. Tyrold was far less satisfied. She wished it to be completely
re-written; protesting, that a man who, in all probability, was a mere
fortune-hunter, would infer from so gentle a dismission encouragement
rather than repulse.

Sir Hugh said there was one thing only he desired to have added, which
was a hint of a pre-engagement with a relation of her own.

Eugenia, at this, coloured and retreated; and Mrs. Tyrold reminded the
baronet, with some displeasure, of his promise to guard the secret of
his project. Sir Hugh, a little disturbed, said it never broke out from
him but by accident, which he would take care should never get the upper
hand again. He would not, however, consent to have the letter altered,
which he said would be an affront to the learning of Eugenia, unless it
were done by Dr. Orkborne himself, who, being her master, had a right to
correct her first penmanship.

Dr. Orkborne, being called upon, slightly glanced his eye over the
letter, but made no emendation, saying: 'I believe it will do very
sufficiently; but I have only concerned myself with the progress of Miss
Eugenia in the Greek and Latin languages; any body can teach her
English.'

The fond parents finished their visit in full satisfaction with their
irreproachable Eugenia, and with the joy of seeing their darling Camilla
as happy and as disengaged as when she had left them; but Mandlebert had
spent the day abroad, and escaped, therefore, the observations with
which they had meant to have investigated his sentiments. Indiana, with
whom they conversed more than usual, and with the most scrutinizing
attention, offered nothing either in manner or matter to rescue his
decision from their censure: Mrs. Tyrold, therefore, rejoiced at his
absence, lest a coolness she knew not how to repress, should have led
him to surmise her disappointment. Her husband besought her to be
guarded: 'We had no right,' he said, 'to the disposal of his heart; and
Indiana, however he may find her inadequate to his future expectations,
will not disgrace his present choice. She is beautiful, she is young,
and she is innocent; this in early life is sufficient for felicity; and
Edgar is yet too new in the world to be aware how much of life remains
when youth is gone, and too unpractised to foresee, that beauty loses
its power even before it loses its charms, and that the season of
declining nature sighs deeply for the support which sympathy and
intelligence can alone bestow.'




CHAPTER IX

_An Explication_


The visit which Camilla had designed this morning to Mrs. Arlbery, she
had been induced to relinquish through a speech made to her by Lionel.
'You have done for yourself, now!' said he, exultingly; 'so you may be
governed by that scare-crow, Miss Margland, at your leisure. Do you know
you were not once mentioned again at the Grove, neither by Mrs. Arlbery
nor any body else? and they all agreed Indiana was the finest girl in
the world.'

Camilla, though of the same opinion with respect to Indiana, concluded
Mrs. Arlbery was offended by her retreat, and lost all courage for
offering any apology.

Edgar did not return to Cleves till some time after the departure of Mr.
and Mrs. Tyrold, when he met Miss Margland and the young ladies
strolling in the park.

Camilla, running to meet him, asked if he had restored the locket to the
right owner.

'No,' answered he, smiling, 'not yet.'

'What can be done then? my half guinea is gone; and, to confess the
truth, I have not another I can well spare!'

He made no immediate reply; but, after speaking to the rest of the
party, walked on towards the house.

Camilla, in some perplexity, following him, exclaimed: 'Pray tell me
what I must do? indeed I am quite uneasy.'

'You would really have me give the locket to its rightful proprietor?'

'To be sure I would!'

'My commission, then, is soon executed.' And taking a little shagreen
case from his waistcoat pocket, he put it into her hand.

'What can you mean? is there still any mistake?'

'None but what you may immediately rectify, by simply retaining your own
prize.'

Camilla, opening the case, saw the locket, and perceived under the
crystal a light knot of braided hair. But while she looked at it, he
hurried into the house.

She ran after him, and insisted upon an explanation, declaring it to be
utterly impossible that the locket and the half guinea should belong to
the same person.

'You must not then,' he said, 'be angry, if you find I have managed, at
last, but aukwardly. When I came to the library, the master of the
raffle told me it was against all rule to refund a subscription.' He
stopt.

'The half guinea you put into my hand, then,' cried she, colouring, 'was
your own?'

'My dear Miss Camilla, there is no other occasion upon which I would
have hazarded such a liberty; but as the money was for a charity, and as
I had undertaken what I could not perform, I rather ventured to replace
it, than suffer the poor objects for whom it was destined, to miss your
kind intention.'

'You have certainly done right,' said she (feeling for her purse); 'but
you must not, for that reason, make me a second time do wrong.'

'You will not so much hurt me?' replied he, gravely; 'you will not
reprove me as if I were a stranger, a mere common acquaintance? Where
could the money have been so well bestowed? It is not you, but those
poor people who are in my debt. So many were the chances against your
gaining the prize, that it was an event I had not even taken into
consideration: I had merely induced you to leave the shop, that you
might not have the surprise of finding your name was not withdrawn; the
rest was accident; and surely you will not punish me that I have paid to
the poor the penalty of my own ill weighed officiousness?'

Camilla put up her purse, but, with some spirit, said: 'There is another
way to settle the matter which cannot hurt you; if I do not pay you my
half guinea, you must at least keep the fruits of your own.' And she
returned him the locket.

'And what,' cried he, laughing 'must I do with it? would you have me
wear it myself?'

'Give it,' answered she, innocently, 'to Indiana.'

'No;' replied he, (reddening and putting it down upon a table,) but
_you_ may, if you believe her value will be greater than your own for
the hair of your two sisters.'

Camilla, surprised, again looked at it, and recognized the hair of
Lavinia and Eugenia.

'And how in the world did you get this hair?'

'I told them both the accident that had happened, and begged them to
contribute their assistance to obtain your pardon.'

'Is it possible,' cried she, with vivacity, 'you could add to all your
trouble so kind a thought?' and, without a moment's further hesitation,
she accepted the prize, returning him the most animated thanks, and
flying to Eugenia to inquire further into the matter, and then to her
uncle, to shew him her new acquisition.

Sir Hugh, like herself, immediately said: 'But why did he not give it to
Indiana?'

'I suppose,' said Eugenia, 'because Camilla had herself drawn the prize,
and he had only added our hair to it.'

This perfectly satisfied the baronet; but Indiana could by no means
understand why it had not been managed better; and Miss Margland, with
much ill will, nourished a private opinion that the prize might perhaps
have been her own, had not Mandlebert interfered. However, as there
seemed some collusion which she could not develope, her conscience
wholly acquitted her of any necessity to refund her borrowed half
guinea.

Camilla, meanwhile, decorated herself with the locket, and had nothing
in her possession which gave her equal delight.

Miss Margland now became, internally, less sanguine, with regard to the
preference of Edgar for Indiana; but she concealed from Sir Hugh a doubt
so unpleasant, through an unconquerable repugnance to acknowledge it
possible she could have formed a wrong judgment.




CHAPTER X

_A Panic_


Upon the ensuing Sunday, Edgar proposed that a party should be made to
visit a new little cottage, which he had just fitted up. This was agreed
to; and as it was not above a mile from the parish church, Sir Hugh
ordered that his low garden phaeton should be in readiness, after the
service, to convey himself and Eugenia thither. The rest, as the weather
was fine, desired to walk.

They went to the church, as usual, in a coach and a chaise, which were
dismissed as soon as they alighted: but before that period, Eugenia,
with a sigh, had observed, that Melmond, the young Oxonian, was
strolling the same way, and had seen, with a blush, that Bellamy was by
his side.

The two gentlemen recognised them as they were crossing the church-yard.
The Oxonian bowed profoundly, but stood aloof: Bellamy bowed also, but
immediately approached; and as Sir Hugh, at that moment, accidentally
let fall his stick, darted forward to recover and present it him.

The baronet, from surprise at his quick motion, dropt his handkerchief
in receiving his cane; this also Bellamy, attentively shaking, restored
to him: and Sir Hugh, who could accept no civility unrequited, said:
'Sir, if you are a stranger, as I imagine, not knowing your face, you
are welcome to a place in my pew, provided you don't get a seat in a
better; which I'm pretty much afraid you can't, mine being the best.'

The invitation was promptly accepted.

Miss Margland, always happy to be of consequence, was hastening to Sir
Hugh, to put him upon his guard; when a respectful offer from Bellamy to
assist her down the steps, induced her to remit her design to a future
opportunity. Any attentions from a young man were now so new to her as
to seem a call upon her gratitude; nor had her charms ever been so
attractive as to render them common.

Edgar and Indiana, knowing nothing of his late declaration, thought
nothing of his present admission; to Dr. Orkborne he was an utter
stranger; but Camilla had recourse to her fan to conceal a smile; and
Eugenia was in the utmost confusion. She felt at a loss how to meet his
eyes, and seated herself as much as possible out of his way.

A few minutes after, looking up towards the gallery, she perceived, in
one of the furthest rows, young Melmond; his eyes fixt upon their pew,
but withdrawn the instant he was observed, and his air the most
melancholy and dejected.

Again a half sigh escaped the tender Eugenia. How delicate, how elegant,
thought she, is this retired behaviour! what refinement results from a
true literary taste! O such be Clermont! if he resemble not this
Oxonian--I must be wretched for life!

These ideas, which unavoidably, though unwillingly, interrupted her
devotion, were again broken in upon, when the service was nearly over,
by the appearance of Lionel. He had ridden five miles to join them,
merely not to be thought in leading-strings, by staying at Etherington
to hear his father; though the name and the excellence of the preaching
of Mr. Tyrold, attracted to his church all strangers who had power to
reach it:--so vehement in early youth is the eagerness to appear
independant, and so general is the belief that all merit must be sought
from a distance.

The deeper understanding of Mandlebert rendered him superior to this
common puerility: and, though the preacher at Cleves church was his own
tutor, Dr. Marchmont, from whom he was scarce yet emancipated, he
listened to him with reverence, and would have travelled any distance,
and taken cheerfully any trouble, that would in the best and strongest
manner have marked the respect with which he attended to his doctrine.

Dr. Marchmont was a man of the highest intellectual accomplishments,
uniting deep learning with general knowledge, and the graceful exterior
of a man of the world, with the erudition and science of a fellow of a
college. He obtained the esteem of the scholar wherever he was known,
and caught the approbation of the most uncultivated wherever he was
seen.

When the service was over, Edgar proposed that Dr. Marchmont should join
the party to the cottage. Sir Hugh was most willing, and they sauntered
about the church, while the Doctor retired to the vestry to take off his
gown.

During this interval, Eugenia, who had a passion for reading epitaphs
and inscriptions, became so intently engaged in decyphering some old
verses on an antique tablet, that she perceived not when Dr. Marchmont
was ready, nor when the party was leaving the church: and before any of
the rest missed her, Bellamy suddenly took the opportunity of her being
out of sight of all others, to drop on one knee, and passionately seize
her hand, exclaiming: 'O madam!--' When hearing an approaching step, he
hastily arose; but parted not with her hand till he had pressed it to
his lips.

The astonished Eugenia, though at first all emotion, was completely
recovered by this action. His kneeling and his 'O madam!' had every
chance to affect her; but his kissing her hand she thought a liberty the
most unpardonable. She resented it as an injury to Clermont, that would
risk his life should he ever know it, and a blot to her own delicacy, as
irreparable as it was irremediable.

Bellamy, who, from her letter, had augured nothing of hardness of heart,
tenderly solicited her forgiveness; but she made him no answer; silent
and offended she walked away, and, losing her timidity in her
displeasure, went up to her uncle, and whispered: 'Sir, the gentleman
you invited into your pew, is Mr. Bellamy!'

The consternation of Sir Hugh was extreme: he had concluded him a
stranger to the whole party because a stranger to himself; and the
discovery of his mistake made him next conclude, that he had risked a
breach of the marriage he so much desired by his own indiscretion. He
took Eugenia immediately under his arm, as if fearful she might else be
conveyed away for Scotland before his eyes, and hurrying to the church
porch, called aloud for his phaeton.

The phaeton was not arrived.

Still more dismayed, he walked on with Eugenia to the railing round the
church-yard, motioning with his left hand that no one should follow.

Edgar, Lionel, and Bellamy marched to the road, listening for the sound
of horses, but they heard none; and the carriages of the neighbouring
gentry, from which they might have hoped any assistance, had been driven
away while they had waited for Dr. Marchmont.

Meanwhile, the eyes of Eugenia again caught the young Oxonian, who was
wandering around the church-yard: neither was he unobserved by Indiana,
who, though she participated not in the turn of reasoning, or taste for
the romantic, which awakened in Eugenia so forcible a sympathy, was yet
highly gratified by his apparent devotion to her charms: and had not
Miss Margland narrowly watched and tutored her, would easily have been
attracted from the cold civilities of Edgar, to the magnetism of
animated admiration.

In these circumstances, a few minutes appeared many hours to Sir Hugh,
and he presently exclaimed: 'There's no possibility of waiting here the
whole day long, not knowing what may be the end!' Then, calling to Dr.
Orkborne, he said to him in a low voice, 'My good friend, here's
happened a sad thing; that young man I asked into my pew, for which I
take proper shame to myself, is the same person that wanted to make
Eugenia give up Clermont Lynmere, her own natural relation, and mine
into the bargain, for the sake of a stranger to us all; which I hold to
be rather uncommendable, considering we know nothing about him; though
there's no denying his being handsome enough to look at; which, however,
is no certainty of his making a good husband; so I'll tell you a mode
I've thought of, which I think to be a pretty good one, for parting them
out of hand.'

Dr. Orkborne, who had just taken out his tablets, in order to enter some
hints relative to his great work, begged him to say no more till he had
finished his sentence. The baronet looked much distressed, but
consented: and when he had done, went on:

'Why, if you will hold Eugenia, I'll go up to the rest, and send them on
to the cottage; and when they are gone, I shall get rid of this young
chap, by telling him Eugenia and I want to be alone.'

Dr. Orkborne assented; and Sir Hugh, advancing to the group, made his
proposition, adding: 'Eugenia and I will overtake you as soon as the
garden-chair comes, which, I dare say, won't be long, Robert being so
behind-hand already.' Then, turning to Bellamy, 'I am sorry, sir,' he
said, 'I can't possibly ask you to stay with us, because of something my
little niece and I have got to talk about, which we had rather nobody
should hear, being an affair of our own: but I thank you for your
civility, sir, in picking up my stick and my pocket handkerchief, and I
wish you a very good morning and a pleasant walk, which I hope you won't
take ill.'

Bellamy bowed, and, saying he by no means intended to intrude himself
into the company, slowly drew back.

Edgar then pointed out a path through the fields that would considerably
abridge the walk, if the ladies could manage to cross over a dirty lane
on the other side of the church-yard.

The baronet, who was in high spirits at the success of his scheme,
declared that if there was a short cut, they should not part company,
for he could walk it himself. Edgar assured him it could not be more
than half a mile, and offered him the use of his arm.

'No, no, my good young friend,' answered he, smiling significantly;
'take care of Indiana! I have got a good stick, which I hold to be worth
any arm in Christendom, except for not being alive; so take care of
Indiana, I say.'

Edgar bowed, but with a silence and gravity not unmixt with surprise;
and Sir Hugh, a little struck, hastily added, 'Nay, nay, I mean no
harm!'

'No, sir,' said Edgar, recovering, 'you can mean nothing but good, when
you give me so fair a charge.' And he placed himself at the side of
Indiana.

'Well then, now,' cried Sir Hugh, 'I'll marshal you all; and, first, for
my little Camilla, who shall come to my proper share; for she's
certainly the best companion of the whole; which I hope nobody will take
for a slight, all of us not being the same, without any fault of our
own. Dr. Orkborne shall keep to Eugenia, because, if there should be a
want of conversation, they can go over some of their lessons. Lionel
shall take the care of Mrs. Margland, it being always right for the
young to help people a little stricken; and as for the odd one, Dr.
Marchmont, why he may join little Camilla and me; for as she's none of
the steadiest, and I am none of the strongest, it is but fair the one
over should be between us.'

Everybody professed obedience but Lionel; who, with a loud laugh, called
to Edgar to change partners.

'We are all under orders,' answered he, quietly, 'and I must not be the
first to mutiny.'

Indiana smiled with triumph; but Miss Margland, firing with anger,
declared she wanted no help, and would accept none.

Sir Hugh was now beginning an expostulation with his nephew; but Lionel
preferred compliance to hearing it; yet, to obviate the ridicule which
he was persuaded would follow such an acquiescence, he strided up to
Miss Margland with hasty steps, and dropping on one knee, in the dust,
seized and kissed her hand; but precipitately rising, and shaking
himself, called out: 'My dear ma'am, have you never a little
cloaths-brush in your pocket? I can't kneel again else!'

Miss Margland wrathfully turned from him; and the party proceeded to a
small gate, at the back of the church, that opened to the lane mentioned
by Edgar, over which, when the rest of the company had passed, into a
beautiful meadow, Lionel offered his hand for conducting Miss Margland,
who rejected it disdainfully.

'Then, you will be sure to fall,' said he.

'Not unless you do something to make me.'

'You will be sure to fall,' he repeated coolly.

Much alarmed, she protested she would not get over before him.

He absolutely refused to go first.

The whole party stopt; and Bellamy, who had hitherto stood still and
back, now ventured to approach, and in the most courteous manner, to
offer his services to Miss Margland. She looked victoriously around her;
but as he had spoken in a low voice, only said: 'Sir?' to make him
repeat his proposal more audibly. He complied, and the impertinencies
of Lionel rendered his civility irresistible: 'I am glad,' she cried,
'there is still one gentleman left in the world!' And accepted his
assistance, though her persecutor whispered that her spark was a dead
man! and strutted significantly away.

Half frightened, half suspecting she was laughed at, she repeated softly
to Sir Hugh the menace of his nephew, begging that, to prevent mischief,
she might still retain Bellamy.

'Lord be good unto me!' cried he, 'what amazing fools the boys of now
a-days are grown! with all their learning, and teaching, and classics at
their tongue's end for nothing! However, not to set them together by the
ears, till they grow a little wiser, which, I take it, won't be of one
while, why you must e'en let this strange gentleman walk with you till
t'other boy's further off. However, this one thing pray mind! (lowering
his voice,) keep him all to yourself! if he does but so much as look at
Eugenia, give him to understand it's a thing I sha'n't take very kind of
him.'

Beckoning then to Dr. Orkborne, he uneasily said: 'As I am now obliged
to have that young fellow along with us, for the sake of preventing an
affray, about nobody knows what, which is the common reason of quarrels
among those raw young fry, I beg you to keep a particular sharp look
out, that he does not take the opportunity to run off with Eugenia.'

The spirit of the baronet had over-rated his strength; and he was forced
to sit upon the lower step of a broad stile at the other end of the
meadow: while Miss Margland, who leant her tall thin figure against a
five-barred gate, willingly obviated his solicitude about Eugenia, by
keeping Bellamy in close and unabating conference with herself.

A circumstance in the scenery before him now struck Dr. Orkborne with
some resemblance to a verse in one of Virgil's Eclogues, which he
thought might be happily applied to illustrate a passage in his own
work; taking out, therefore, his tablets, he begged Eugenia not to move,
and wrote his quotation; which, leading him on to some reflections upon
the subject, soon drove his charge from his thoughts, and consigned him
solely to his pencil.

Eugenia willingly kept her place at his side: offended by Bellamy, she
would give him no chance of speaking with her, and the protection under
which her uncle had placed her she deemed sacred.

Here they remained but a short time, when their ears received the shock
of a prodigious roar from a bull in the field adjoining. Miss Margland
screamed, and hid her face with her hands. Indiana, taught by her
lessons to nourish every fear as becoming, shriekt still louder, and ran
swiftly away, deaf to all that Edgar, who attended her, could urge.
Eugenia, to whom Bellamy instantly hastened, seeing the beast furiously
make towards the gate, almost unconsciously accepted his assistance, to
accelerate her flight from its vicinity; while Dr. Orkborne, intent upon
his annotations, calmly wrote on, sensible there was some disturbance,
but determining to evade inquiring whence it arose, till he had secured
what he meant to transmit to posterity from the treachery of his memory.

Camilla, the least frightened, because the most enured to such sounds,
from the habits and the instruction of her rural life and education,
adhered firmly to Sir Hugh, who began blessing himself with some alarm;
but whom Dr. Marchmont re-assured, by saying the gate was secured, and
too high for the bull to leap, even supposing it a vicious animal.

The first panic was still in its meridian, when Lionel, rushing past the
beast, which he had secretly been tormenting, skipt over the gate, with
every appearance of terror, and called out: 'Save yourselves all! Miss
Margland in particular; for here's a mad bull!'

A second astounding bellow put a stop to any question, and wholly
checked the immediate impulse of Miss Margland to ask why she was thus
selected; she snatched her hands from her face, not doubting she should
see her esquire soothingly standing by her side; but, though internally
surprised and shocked to find herself deserted, she gathered strength to
run from the gate with the nimbleness of youth, and, flying to the
stile, regardless of Sir Hugh, and forgetting all her charges, scrambled
over it, and ran on from the noise, without looking to the right or the
left.

Sir Hugh, whom Lionel's information, and Miss Margland's pushing past
him, had extremely terrified, was now also getting over the stile, with
the assistance of Dr. Marchmont, ejaculating: 'Lord help us! what a poor
race we are! No safety for us! if we only come out once in a dozen
years, we must meet with a mad bull!'

He had, however, insisted that Camilla should jump over first, saying,
'There's no need of all of us being tost, my dear girl, because, of my
slowness, which is no fault of mine, but of Robert's not being in the
way; which must needs make the poor fellow unhappy enough, when he hears
of it: which, no doubt, I shall let him do, according to his deserts.'

The other side of the stile brought them to the high road. Lionel, who
had only wished to torment Miss Margland, felt his heart smite him, when
he saw the fright of his uncle, and flew to acquaint him that he had
made a mistake, for the bull was only angry, not mad.

The unsuspicious baronet thanked him for his good news, and sat upon a
bank till the party could be collected.

This, however, was not soon to be done; the dispersion from the meadow
having been made in every possible direction.




CHAPTER XI

_Two Lovers_


Indiana, intent but upon running on, had nearly reached the church-yard,
without hearkening to one word of the expostulating Mandlebert; when,
leaning over a tombstone, on which she had herself leant while waiting
for the carriage, she perceived the young Oxonian. An instinctive spirit
of coquetry made her now increase her pace; he heard the rustling of
female approach, and looked up: her beauty, heightened by her flight,
which animated her complexion, while it displayed her fine form, seemed
more than ever celestial to the enamoured student; who darted forward
from an impulse of irresistible surprise. 'O Heaven!' she cried, panting
and stopping as he met her; 'I shall die! I shall die!--I am pursued by
a mad bull!'

Edgar would have explained, that all was safe; but Melmond neither heard
nor saw him.--'O, give me, then,' he cried, emphatically; 'give me the
ecstasy to protect--to save you!'

His out-spread arms shewed his intention to bear her away; but Edgar,
placing himself between them, said: 'Pardon me, sir! this lady is under
my care!'

'O don't fight about me! don't quarrel!' cried Indiana, with an
apprehension half simple, half affected.

'No, Madam!' answered Melmond, respectfully retreating; 'I know too--too
well! my little claim in such a dispute!--Permit me, however, to assist
you, Mr. Mandlebert, in your search of refuge; and deign, madam, to
endure me in your sight, till this alarm passes away.'

Indiana, by no means insensible to this language, looked with some
elation at Edgar, to see how he bore it.

Edgar was not surprised; he had already observed the potent impression
made by the beauty of Indiana upon the Oxonian; and was struck, in
defiance of its romance and suddenness, with its air of sincerity; he
only, therefore, gently answered, that there was not the least cause of
fear.

'O, how can you say so?' said Indiana; 'how can you take so little
interest in me?'

'At least, at least,' cried Melmond, trembling with eagerness,
'condescend to accept a double guard!--Refuse not, Mr. Mandlebert, to
suffer any attendance!'

Mandlebert, a little embarrassed, answered: 'I have no authority to
decide for Miss Lynmere: but, certainly, I see no occasion for my
assistance.'

Melmond fervently clasped his hands, and exclaimed: 'Do not, do not,
madam, command me to leave you till all danger is over!'

The little heart of Indiana beat high with triumph; she thought
Mandlebert jealous: Miss Margland had often told her there was no surer
way to quicken him: and, even independently of this idea, the spirit,
the ardour, the admiration of the Oxonian, had a power upon her mind
that needed no auxiliary for delighting it.

She curtsied her consent; but declared she would never go back the same
way. They proceeded, therefore, by a little round to the high road,
which led to the field in which the party had been dispersed.

Indiana was full of starts, little shrieks, and palpitations; every one
of which rendered her, in the eyes of the Oxonian, more and more
captivating; and, while Edgar walked gravely on, reflecting, with some
uneasiness, upon being thus drawn in to suffer the attendance of a youth
so nearly a stranger, upon a young lady actually under his protection;
Melmond was continually ejaculating in return to her perpetual
apprehensions, 'What lovely timidity!--What bewitching softness!--What
feminine, what beautiful delicacy!--How sweet in terror!--How
soul-piercing in alarm!'

These exclamations were nearly enchanting to Indiana, whose only fear
was, lest they should not be heard by Edgar; and, whenever they ceased,
whenever a pause and respectful silence took their place, new starts,
fresh palpitations, and designed false steps, again called them forth;
while the smile with which she repaid their enthusiastic speaker, was
fuel to his flame, but poison to his peace.

They had not proceeded far, when they were met by Miss Margland, who, in
equal trepidation from anger and from fear, was still making the best of
her way from the bellowing of the bull. Edgar inquired for Sir Hugh, and
the rest of the party; but she could speak only of Lionel; his insolence
and his ill usage; protesting nothing but her regard for Indiana, could
induce her to live a moment longer under his uncle's roof.

'But where,' again cried Edgar, 'where is Sir Hugh? and where are the
ladies?'

'Tossed by the bull,' answered she, pettishly, 'for aught I know; I did
not choose to stay and be tossed myself; and a person like Mr. Lionel
can soon make such a beast point at one, if he takes it into his
humour.'

Edgar then begged they might hasten to their company; but Miss Margland
positively refused to go back: and Indiana, always ready to second any
alarm, declared, she should quite sink with fright, if they went within
a hundred yards of that horrid field. Edgar still pleaded that the
baronet would expect them; but Melmond, in softer tones, spoke of fears,
sensibility, and dangers; and Edgar soon found he was talking to the
winds.

All now that remained to prevent further separations was, that Edgar
should run on to the party, and acquaint them that Miss Margland and
Indiana would wait for them upon the high road.

Melmond, meanwhile, felt in paradise; even the presence of Miss Margland
could not restrain his rapture, upon a casualty that gave him such a
charge, though it forced him to forbear making the direct and open
declaration of his passion, with which his heart was burning, and his
tongue quivering. He attended them both with the most fervent respect,
evidently very gratifying to the object of his adoration, though not
noticed by Miss Margland, who was wholly absorbed by her own
provocations.

Edgar soon reached the bank by the road's side, upon which the baronet,
Dr. Marchmont, Lionel, and Camilla were seated. 'Lord help us!'
exclaimed Sir Hugh, aghast at his approach, 'if here is not young Mr.
Edgar without Indiana! This is a thing I could never have expected from
you, young Mr. Edgar! that you should leave her, I don't know where, and
come without her!'

Edgar assured him she was safe, and under the care of Miss Margland, but
that neither of them could be prevailed with to come farther: he had,
therefore, advanced to inquire after the rest of the party, and to
arrange where they should all assemble.

'You have done very right, then, my dear Mr. Edgar, as you always do, as
far as I can make out, when I come to the bottom. And now I am quite
easy about Indiana. But as to Eugenia, what Dr. Orkborne has done with
her is more than I can devise; unless, indeed, they are got to studying
some of their Greek verbs, and so forgot us all, which is likely enough;
only I had rather they had taken another time, not much caring to stay
here longer than I can help.'

Edgar said, he would make a circuit in search of them; but, first,
addressing Camilla, 'You alone,' he cried, with an approving smile,
'have remained thus quiet, while all else have been scampering apart,
making _confusion worse confounded_.'

'I have lived too completely in the country to be afraid of cattle,' she
answered; 'and Dr. Marchmont assured me there was no danger.'

'You can listen, then, even when you are alarmed,' said he,
expressively, 'to the voice of reason!'

Camilla raised her eyes, and looked at him, but dropt them again without
making any answer: Can _you_, she thought, have been pleading it in
vain? How I wonder at Indiana?

He then set out to seek Eugenia, recommending the same office to Lionel
by another route; but Lionel no sooner gathered where Miss Margland
might be met with, than his repentance was forgotten, and he quitted
everything to encounter her.

Edgar spent near half an hour in his search, without the smallest
success; he was then seriously uneasy, and returning to the party, when
a countryman, to whom he was known, told him he had seen Miss Eugenia
Tyrold, with a very handsome fine town gentleman, going into a farm
house.

Edgar flew to the spot, and through a window, as he advanced, perceived
Eugenia seated, and Bellamy kneeling before her.

Amazed and concerned, he abruptly made his way into the apartment.
Bellamy rose in the utmost confusion, and Eugenia, starting and
colouring, caught Edgar by the arm, but could not speak.

He told her that her uncle and the whole company were waiting for her in
great anxiety.

'And where, where,' cried she, 'are they? I have been in agonies about
them all! and I could not prevail--I could not--this gentleman said the
risk was so great--he would not suffer me--but he has sent for a chaise,
though I told him I had a thousand times rather hazard my life amongst
them, and with them, than save it alone!'

'They are all perfectly safe, nor has there ever been any danger.'

'I was told--I was assured--' said Bellamy, 'that a mad bull was running
wild about the country; and I thought it, therefore, advisable to send
for a chaise from the nearest inn, that I might return this young lady
to her friends.'

Edgar made no answer, but offered his arm to conduct Eugenia to her
uncle. She accepted it, and Bellamy attended on her other side.

Edgar was silent the whole way. The attitude in which he had surprised
Bellamy, by assuring him of the nature of his pretensions, had awakened
doubts the most alarming of the destination in view for the chaise which
he had ordered; and he believed that Eugenia was either to have been
beguiled, or betrayed, into a journey the most remote from the home to
which she belonged.

Eugenia increased his suspicions by the mere confusion which deterred
her from removing them. Bellamy had assured her she was in the most
eminent personal danger, and had hurried her from field to field, with
an idea that the dreaded animal was in full pursuit. When carried,
however, into the farm house, she lost all apprehension for herself in
fears for her friends, and insisted upon sharing their fate. Bellamy,
who immediately ordered a chaise, then cast himself at her feet, to
entreat she would not throw away her life by so rash a measure.

Exhausted, from her lameness, she was forced to sit still, and such was
their situation at the entrance of Edgar. She wished extremely to
explain what had been the object of the solicitation of Bellamy, and to
clear him, as well as herself, from any further surmises; but she was
ashamed to begin the subject. Edgar had seen a man at her feet, and she
thought, herself, it was a cruel injury to Clermont, though she knew not
how to refuse it forgiveness, since it was merely to supplicate she
would save her own life.

Bellamy, therefore, was the only one who spoke; and his unanswered
observations contributed but little to enliven the walk.

When they came within sight of the party, the baronet was again seized
with the extremest dismay. 'Why now, what's this?' cried he; 'here's
nothing but blunders. Pray, Sir, who gave you authority to take my niece
from her own tutor? for so I may call him, though more properly
speaking, he came amongst us to be mine; which, however, is no affair
but of our own.'

'Sir,' answered Bellamy, advancing and bowing; 'I hope I have had the
happiness of rather doing service than mischief; I saw the young lady
upon the point of destruction, and I hastened her to a place of
security, from whence I had ordered a post-chaise, to convey her safe to
your house.'

'Yes, my dear uncle,' said Eugenia, recovering from her embarrassment;
'I have occasioned this gentleman infinite trouble; and though Mr.
Mandlebert assures us there was no real danger, he thought there was,
and therefore I must always hold myself to be greatly obliged to him.'

'Well, if that's the case, I must be obliged to him too; which, to tell
you the truth, is not a thing I am remarkably fond of having happened.
But where's Dr. Orkborne? I hope he's come to no harm, by his not
shewing himself?'

'At the moment of terror,' said Eugenia, 'I accepted the first offer of
assistance, concluding we were all hurrying away at the same time; but I
saw Dr. Orkborne no more afterwards.'

'I can't say that was over and above kind of him, nor careful neither,'
cried Sir Hugh, 'considering some particular reasons; however, where is
he now?'

Nobody could say; no one had seen or observed him.

'Why then, ten to one, poor gentleman!' exclaimed the baronet, 'but he's
the very person himself who's tossed, while we are all of us running
away for nothing!'

A suspicion now occurred to Dr. Marchmont, which led him to return over
the stile into the field where the confusion had begun; and there, on
the exact spot where he had first taken out his tablets, calmly stood
Dr. Orkborne; looking now upon his writing, now up to the sky, but
seeing nothing any where, from intense absorption of thought upon the
illustration he was framing.

Awakened from his reverie by the Doctor, his first recollection was of
Eugenia; he had not doubted her remaining quietly by his side, and the
moment he looked round and missed her, he felt considerable compunction.
The good Doctor, however, assured him all were safe, and conducted him
to the group.

'So here you are,' said the baronet, 'and no more tossed than myself,
for which I am sincerely thankful, though I can't say I think you have
taken much care of my niece, nobody knowing what might have become of
her, if it had not been for that strange gentleman, that I never saw
before.'

He then formally placed Eugenia under the care of Dr. Marchmont.

Dr. Orkborne, piqued by this transfer, sullenly followed, and now gave
to her, pertinaciously, his undivided attention. Drawn by a total
revulsion of ideas from the chain of thinking that had led him to
composition, he relinquished his annotations in resentment of this
dismission, when he might have pursued them uninterruptedly without
neglect of other avocations.




CHAPTER XII

_Two Doctors_


A council was now held upon what course must next be taken. Both Sir
Hugh and Eugenia were too much fatigued to walk any further; yet it was
concluded that the garden chair, by some mistake, was gone straight to
the cottage. Edgar, therefore, proposed running thither to bring it
round for them, while Dr. Orkborne should go forward for Miss Margland
and Indiana, and conduct them by the high road to the same place; where
the whole party might at length re-assemble. Sir Hugh approved the plan,
and he set off instantly.

But not so Dr. Orkborne; he thought himself disgraced by being sent from
one post to another; and though Eugenia was nothing to him, in
competition with his tablets and his work, his own instructions had so
raised her in his mind, that he thought her the only female worthy a
moment of his time. Indiana he looked upon with ineffable contempt; the
incapacity she had shewn during the short time she was under his
pupillage, had convinced him of the futility of her whole sex, from
which he held Eugenia to be a partial exception; and Miss Margland, who
never spoke to him but in a voice of haughty superiority, and whom he
never answered, but with an air of solemn superciliousness, was his
rooted aversion. He could not brook being employed in the service of
either; he stood, therefore, motionless, till Sir Hugh repeated the
proposition.

Not caring to disoblige him, he then, without speaking, slowly and
unwillingly moved forwards.

'I see,' said the baronet, softened rather than offended, 'he does not
much like to leave his little scholar, which is but natural; though I
took it rather unkind his letting the poor thing run against the very
horns of the bull, as one may say, if it had not been for a mere
accidental passenger. However, one must always make allowance for a man
that takes much to his studies, those things generally turning the head
pretty much into a narrow compass.'

He then called after him, and said if the walk would tire him, he would
wait till they came of themselves, which no doubt they would soon do, as
Lionel was gone for them.

Dr. Orkborne gladly stopt; but Dr. Marchmont, seeing little likelihood
of a general meeting without some trouble, offered to take the
commission upon himself, with a politeness that seemed to shew it to be
a wish of his own.

Sir Hugh accepted his kindness with thanks; and Dr. Orkborne, though
secretly disconcerted by such superior alacrity in so learned a man, was
well content to reinstate himself by the side of his pupil.

Sir Hugh, who saw the eyes of Bellamy constantly turned towards Eugenia,
thought his presence highly dangerous, and with much tribulation, said:
'As I find, sir, we may all have to stay here, I don't know how long, I
hope you won't be affronted, after my best thanks for your keeping my
niece from the bull, if I don't make any particular point of begging
the favour of you to stay much longer with us.'

Bellamy, extremely chagrined, cast an appealing look at Eugenia, and
expressing his regret that his services were inadmissible, made his
retreat with undisguised reluctance.

Eugenia, persuaded she owed him a serious obligation for his care, as
well as for his partiality, felt the sincerest concern at his apparent
distress, and contributed far more than she intended to its removal, by
the gentle countenance with which she received his sorrowful glance.

Bellamy, hastily overtaking Dr. Marchmont, darted on before him in
search of Miss Margland and Indiana, who, far from advancing, were
pacing their way back to the church-yard. Lionel had joined them, and
the incensed Miss Margland had encouraged the glad attendance of the
Oxonian, as a protection to herself.

The sight of Bellamy by no means tended to disperse the storm: She
resented his deserting her while she was in danger, and desired to see
no more of him. But when he had respectfully suffered her wrath to vent
itself, he made apologies, with an obsequiousness so rare to her, and a
deference so strikingly contrasted with the daring ridicule of Lionel,
that she did not long oppose the potent charm of adulation--a charm
which, however it may be sweetened by novelty, seldom loses its effect
by any familiarity.

During these contests, Indiana was left wholly to young Melmond, and the
temptation was too strong for his impassioned feelings to withstand: 'O
fairest,' he cried, 'fairest and most beautiful of all created beings!
Can I resist--no! this one, one effusion--the first and the last! The
sensibility of your mind will plead for me--I read it in those heavenly
eyes--they emit mercy in their beauty! they are as radiant with goodness
as with loveliness! alas! I trespass--I blush and dare not hope your
forgiveness.'

He stopt, terrified at his own presumption; but the looks of Indiana
were never more beautiful, and never less formidable. A milder doom,
therefore, seemed suddenly to burst upon his view. Elated and
enraptured, he vehemently exclaimed: 'Oh, were my lot not irrevocably
miserable! were the smallest ray of light to beam upon my
despondence!'--

Indiana still spoke not a word, but she withdrew not her smiles; and the
enraptured student, lifted into the highest bliss by the permission
even of a doubt, walked on, transported, by her side, too happy in
suspence to wish an explanation.

In this manner they proceeded, till they were joined by Dr. Marchmont.
The task he had attempted was beyond his power of performance; Miss
Margland was inexorable; she declared nothing should induce her to go a
step towards the field inhabited by the bull, and every assurance of
safety the Doctor could urge was ineffectual.

He next assailed Indiana; but her first terror, soothed by the
compassion and admiration of Melmond, was now revived, and she
protested, almost with tears, that to go within a hundred yards of that
dreadful meadow would make her undoubtedly faint away. The tender
commiseration of Melmond confirmed her apprehensions, and she soon
looked upon Dr. Marchmont as a barbarian for making the proposal.

The Doctor then commended them to the care of Lionel, and returned with
this repulse to Sir Hugh.

The baronet, incapable of being angry with any one he conceived to be
frightened, said they should be pressed no more, for he would give up
going to the cottage, and put his best foot forward to walk on to them
himself; adding he was so overjoyed to have got rid of that young spark,
that he had no fear but that he, and poor Eugenia, too, should both do
as well as they could.

They proceeded very slowly, the baronet leaning upon Dr. Marchmont, and
Eugenia upon Dr. Orkborne, who watchful, with no small alarm, of the
behaviour of the only man he had yet seen with any internal respect,
since he left the university, sacrificed completely his notes and his
tablets to emulate his attentions.

When they approached the church-yard, in which Miss Margland and her
party had halted, Sir Hugh perceived Bellamy. He stopt short, calling
out, with extreme chagrin, 'Lord help us! what a thing it is to rejoice!
which one never knows the right season to do, on the score of meeting
with disappointments!'

Then, after a little meditation, 'There is but one thing,' he cried, 'to
be done, which is to guard from the first against any more mischief,
having already had enough of it for one morning, not to say more than I
could have wished by half: So do you, good Dr. Marchmont, take Eugenia
under your own care, and I'll make shift with Dr. Orkborne for myself;
for, in the case he should take again to writing or thinking, it will be
nothing to me to keep still till he has done; provided it should happen
at a place where I can sit down.'

Dr. Orkborne had never felt so deeply hurt; the same commission
transferred to Edgar, or to Lionel, would have failed to affect him; he
considered them as of an age fitted for such frivolous employment, which
he thought as much below his dignity, as the young men themselves were
beneath his competition; but the comfort of contempt, a species of
consolation ever ready to offer itself to the impulsive pride of man,
was here an alleviation he could not call to his aid; the character of
Dr. Marchmont stood as high in erudition as his own; and, though his
acquaintance with him was merely personal, the fame of his learning, the
only attribute to which fame, in his conception, belonged, had reached
him from authority too unquestionable for doubt. The urbanity,
therefore, of his manners, his general diffusion of discourse, and his
universal complaisance, filled him with astonishment, and raised an
emotion of envy which no other person would have been deemed worthy of
exciting.

But though his long and fixed residence at Cleves had now removed the
timid circumspection with which he first sought to ensure his
establishment, he yet would not venture any positive refusal to the
baronet; he resigned, therefore, his young charge to his new and
formidable opponent, and even exerted himself to mark some alacrity in
assisting Sir Hugh. But his whole real attention was upon Dr. Marchmont,
whom his eye followed in every motion, to discover, if possible, by what
art unknown he had acquired such a command over his thoughts and
understanding, as to bear patiently, nay pleasantly, with the idle and
unequal companions of general society.

Dr. Marchmont, who was rector of Cleves, had been introduced to Sir Hugh
upon the baronet's settling in the large mansion-house of that village;
but he had not visited at the house, nor had his company been solicited.
Sir Hugh, who could never separate understanding from learning, nor want
of education from folly, concluded that such a man as Dr. Marchmont must
necessarily despise him; and though the extreme sweetness of his temper
made him draw the conclusion without resentment, it so effectually
prevented all wish of any intercourse, that they had never conversed
together till this morning; and his surprise, now, at such civilities
and good humour in so great a scholar, differed only from that of Dr.
Orkborne, in being accompanied with admiration instead of envy.

Eugenia thus disposed of, they were proceeding, when Sir Hugh next
observed the young Oxonian: He was speaking with Indiana, to whom his
passionate devotion was glaring from his looks, air, and whole manner.

'Lord held me!' exclaimed he; 'if there is not another of those new
chaps, that nobody knows anything about, talking to Indiana! and, for
aught I can tell to the contrary, making love to her! I think I never
took such a bad walk as this before, since the hour I was born, in point
of unluckiness. Robert will have enough to answer for, which he must
expect to hear; and indeed I am not much obliged to Mrs. Margland
herself, and so I must needs tell her, though it is not what I much like
to do.'

He then made a sign to Miss Margland to approach him: 'Mrs. Margland,'
he cried, 'I should not have taken the liberty to beckon you in this
manner, but that I think it right to ask you what those two young
gentlemen, that I never saw before, do in the church-yard; which is a
thing I think rather odd.'

'As to that gentleman, sir,' she answered, bridling, 'who was standing
by me, he is the only person I have found to protect me from Mr. Lionel,
whose behaviour, sir, I must freely tell you--'

'Why certainly, Mrs. Margland, I can't deny but he's rather a little
over and above giddy; but I am sure your understanding won't mind it, in
consideration of his being young enough to be your son, in the case of
your having been married time enough.'

He then desired Indiana would come to him.

The rapture of the Oxonian was converted into torture by this summons;
and the suspence which the moment before he had gilded with the gay
colours of hope, he felt would be no longer supportable when deprived of
the sight of his divinity. Scarce could he refrain from casting himself
publicly at her feet, and pouring forth the wishes of his heart. But
when again the call was repeated, and he saw her look another way, as if
desirous not to attend to it, the impulse of quick rising joy dispersed
his small remains of forbearance, and precipitately clasping his hands,
'O go not!' he passionately exclaimed; 'leave me not in this abyss of
suffering! Fairest and most beautiful! tell me at least, if my death is
inevitable! if no time--no constancy--no adoration--may ever dare hope
to penetrate that gentlest of bosoms!'

Indiana herself was now, for the first time, sensible of a little
emotion; the animation of this address delighted her; it was new, and
its effect was highly pleasing. How cold, she thought, is Edgar! She
made not any answer, but permitted her eyes to meet his with the most
languishing softness.

Melmond trembled through his whole frame; despair flew him, and
expectation wore her brightest plumage: 'O pronounce but one word,' he
cried, 'one single word!--are, are you--O say not yes!--irrevocably
engaged?--lost to all hope--all possibility for ever?'

Indiana again licensed her fine eyes with their most melting powers, and
all self-control was finally over with her impassioned lover; who,
mingling prayers for her favour, with adoration of her beauty, heeded
not who heard him, and forgot every presence but her own.

Miss Margland, who, engrossed by personal resentment and debates, had
not remarked the rising courage and energy of Melmond, had just turned
to Indiana, upon the second call of Sir Hugh, and became now utterly
confounded by the sight of her willing attention: 'Miss Lynmere,' cried
she, angrily, 'what are you thinking of? Suppose Mr. Mandlebert should
come, what might be the consequence?'

'Mandlebert?' repeated Melmond, while the blood forsook his cheeks; 'is
it then even so?--is all over?--all decided? is my destiny black and
ireful for ever?'

Indiana still more and more struck with him, looked down, internally
uttering: Ah! were this charming youth but master of Beech Park!

At this instant, the rapid approach of a carriage caught their ears; and
eager to avoid making a decisive reply, she ran to the church-yard gate
to look at it, exclaiming: 'Dear! what an elegant chariot.' When it came
up to the party, it stopt, and, opening the door himself, Edgar jumped
hastily out of it.

The Oxonian stood aghast: but Indiana, springing forward, and losing in
curiosity every other sensation, cried: 'Dear! Mr. Mandlebert, whose
beautiful new carriage is that?'

'Yours,' answered he, gallantly, 'if you will honour it with any
commands.'

She then observed his crest and cypher were on the panels; and another
entire new set of ideas took instant possession of her mind. She
received literally an answer which he had made in gay courtesy, and held
out her hand to be helped into the chariot.

Edgar, though surprised and even startled at this unexpected
appropriation of his civility, could not recede; but the moment he had
seated her, hastily turned round, to inquire who else was most fatigued.

The Oxonian now felt lost! suddenly, abruptly, but irretrievably lost!
The cypher he saw--the question 'whose carriage is that?' he heard--the
answer '_yours_' made him gasp for breath, and the instantaneous
acceptance stung him to the soul. Wholly in desperation, he rushed to
the opposite window of the chariot, and calling out, 'enough,
cruel!--cruel!--enough--I will see you no more!' hurried out of sight.

Indiana, who, for the first time, thought herself mistress of a new and
elegant equipage, was so busily employed in examining the trappings and
the lining, that she bore his departure without a sigh; though but an
instant before it might have cost her something near one.

Eugenia had been touched more deeply. She was ignorant of what had
passed, but she had seen the agitation of Melmond, and the moment he
disappeared, she ejaculated secretly: 'Ah! had he conceived the
prepossession of Bellamy! where had been my steadiness? where, O
Clermont! thy security!--'

The scrupulous delicacy of her mind was shocked at this suggestion, and
she rejoiced she had not been put to such a trial.

Edgar now explained, that when he arrived at the cottage, he found, as
he had foreseen, the garden chair waiting there, by mistake, and Robert
in much distress, having just discovered that an accident had happened
to one of the wheels. He had run on, therefore, himself, to Beech Park,
for his own new chariot, which was lately arrived from town, making
Robert follow with Sir Hugh's horses, as his own were out at grass.

It was dinner-time, and Sir Hugh, equally vexed and fatigued, resolved
to return straight home. He accepted, therefore, a place in the chariot,
bid Eugenia follow him, and Robert make haste; solemnly adding to the
latter: 'I had fully intended making you the proper lecture upon your
not coming in time; but as it has turned out not to be your fault, on
account of an accident, I shall say no more; except to give you a hint
not to do such a thing again, because we have all been upon the point
of being tossed by a mad bull; which would certainly have happened, but
for the lucky chance of its turning out a false alarm.'

The remainder of the party proceeded without further adventure. Edgar
attended Camilla; Miss Margland adhered to Bellamy: Lionel, who durst
not venture at any new frolic, but with whom time lingered when none was
passing, retreated; Dr. Marchmont, who was near his home, soon also made
his bow; and Dr. Orkborne, who was glad to be alone, ruminated with
wonder upon what appeared to him a phenomenon, a man of learning who
could deign to please and seem pleased where books were not the subject
of discourse, and where scholastic attainments were not required to
elucidate a single sentence.




CHAPTER XIII

_Two Ways of looking at the same Thing_


When the party arrived at Cleves, Camilla, who had observed that Edgar
seemed much disappointed by the breaking up of the cottage expedition,
proposed that it should take place in the evening; and her uncle, though
too much fatigued to venture out again himself, consented, or rather
insisted, that the excursion should be made without him.

Before they set out, Edgar desired to speak with Sir Hugh in private.

Sir Hugh concluded it was to make his proposals of marriage for Indiana;
and had not patience to step into his own apartment, but told them all
to retire, with a nod at Indiana, which prepared not only herself but
Miss Margland, Camilla, and Eugenia to join in his expectation.

Indiana, though a good deal fluttered, flew to a window, to see if the
new chariot was in sight; and then, turning to Miss Margland, asked,
'Pray, should I refuse him at first?'

Miss Margland spared not for proper instructions; and immediately began
a negociation with the fair questioner, for continuing to live with her.

Eugenia was occupied in reflecting with pity upon the idleness of
Indiana, which so ill had fitted her for becoming the companion of
Mandlebert.

Camilla, unusually thoughtful, walked alone into the garden, and sought
a path least in sight.

Sir Hugh, meanwhile, was most unpleasantly undeceived. Edgar, without
naming Indiana, informed him of the situation in which he had surprised
Bellamy, and of his suspicions with regard to the destination of the
chaise, but for his own timely arrival at the farm-house; adding, that
his gratitude to Mr. Tyrold, his respect for himself, and his affection
for all the family, made him think it is duty to reveal these
circumstances without delay.

The baronet shuddered with horror; and declared he would instantly send
an express to bring Clermont home, that Eugenia might be married out of
hand; and, in the mean time, that he would have every window in the
house barred, and keep her locked up in her room.

Edgar dissuaded him from so violent a measure; but advised him to speak
with his niece upon the danger she had probably escaped, and of which
she seemed wholly unconscious; to prevail with her not to go out again
this evening, and to send for Mr. Tyrold, and acquaint him with the
affair.

Sir Hugh thanked him for his counsel, and implicitly acted by his
opinion.

He then ordered the coach for Miss Margland, Indiana, and Camilla.

Dr. Orkborne, finding neither Sir Hugh nor Eugenia of the party,
declined joining it. Lionel was returned to Etherington; and Edgar rode
on before, to invite Dr. Marchmont, with the consent of the Baronet, to
take the fourth place in the carriage.

Arrived at the rectory, he went straight, by prescriptive privilege,
into the study of Dr. Marchmont, whom he found immersed in books and
papers, which, immediately, at the request of Edgar, he put aside; not
without regret to quit them, though wholly without reluctance to oblige.

Edgar had ridden so hard, that they had some time to wait for the coach.
But he did not appear anxious for its arrival; though he wore a look
that was far from implying him to be free from anxiety.

He was silent,--he hemmed,--he was silent again,--and again he
hemmed,--and then, gently laying his hand upon the shoulder of the
Doctor, while his eyes, full of meaning, were fixed upon his face;
'Doctor,' he cried, 'you would hardly have known these young
ladies?--they are all grown from children into women since you saw them
last.'

'Yes,' answered the Doctor, 'and very charming women. Indiana has a
beauty so exquisite, it is scarce possible to look away from it a
moment: Eugenia joins so much innocence with information, that the mind
must itself be deformed that could dwell upon her personal defects,
after conversing with her: Camilla'--

He paused, and Edgar hastily turned another way, not to look at him, nor
be looked at, while he proceeded:

'Camilla,' he presently continued, 'seems the most inartificially sweet,
the most unobtrusively gay, and the most attractively lovely of almost
any young creature I ever beheld.'

With a heart all expanded, and a face full of sensibility, Edgar now
turned to him, and seizing, involuntarily, his hand, which he eagerly
shook, 'You think her, then,'--he cried,--but suddenly stopt, dropt his
hand, coughed two or three times; and, taking out his pocket
handkerchief, seemed tormented with a violent cold.

Dr. Marchmont affectionately embraced him. 'My dear young young friend,'
he cried, 'I see the situation of your mind--and think every possible
happiness promises to be yours; yet, if you have taken no positive step,
suffer me to speak with you before you proceed.'

'Far from having taken any positive step, I have not yet even formed any
resolution.'

Here the carriage stopt for the Doctor, who repeated, 'Yes! I think
every possible happiness promises to be yours!' before he went on to the
ladies. Edgar, in a trepidation too great to be seen by them, kept
behind till they drove off, though he then galloped so fast, that he
arrived at the cottage before them: the words, 'I think every possible
happiness promises to be yours,' vibrating the whole time in his ears.

When the coach arrived, Edgar handed out Miss Margland and Indiana;
leaving Camilla to the Doctor; willing to let him see more of her, and
by no means displeased to avoid his eyes at that moment himself.

Indiana was in the most sprightly spirits she had ever experienced; she
concluded herself on the verge of becoming mistress of a fine place and
a large fortune; she had received adulation all the morning that had
raised her beauty higher than ever in her own estimation; and she
secretly revolved, with delight, various articles of ornament and of
luxury, which she had long wished to possess, and which now, for her
wedding clothes, she should have riches sufficient to purchase.

Miss Margland, too, was all smoothness, complacency, and courtesy.

Camilla, alone, was grave; Camilla, who, by nature, was gay.

'Dear! is this the cottage we have been coming to all this time?' cried
Indiana, upon entering; 'Lord! I thought it would have been something
quite pretty.'

'And what sort of prettiness,' said Edgar, 'did you expect from a
cottage?'

'Dear, I don't know--but I thought we were come on purpose to see
something extraordinary?'

Camilla, who followed, made an exclamation far different; an exclamation
of pleasure, surprise, and vivacity, that restored for an instant, all
her native gaiety: for no sooner had she crossed the threshold, than she
recognised, in a woman who was curtsying low to receive her, and whom
Indiana had passed without observing, the wife of the poor prisoner for
whom she had interceded with Mandlebert.

'How I rejoice to see you!' cried she, 'and to see you here! and how
much better you look! and how comfortable you seem! I hope you are now
all well?'

'Ah, madam,' answered the woman; 'we owe everything to that good young
gentleman! he has put us in this nice new cottage, and employs us in his
service. Blessings on his head! I am sure he will be paid for it!'

Edgar, somewhat agitated, occupied himself with jumping the little boy;
Camilla looked round with rapture; Indiana seemed wonder-struck, without
knowing why; Dr. Marchmont narrowly watched them all; and Miss Margland,
expecting a new collection would be next proposed for setting them up,
nimbly re-crossed the threshold, to examine the prospect without.

The husband, now in decent garb, and much recovered, though still weak
and emaciated, advanced to Camilla, to make his humble acknowledgments,
that she had recommended them to their kind benefactor.

'No!' cried Camilla; 'you owe me nothing! your own distress recommended
you;--your own distress--and Mr. Mandlebert's generosity.'

Then, going up to Edgar, 'It is your happy fate,' she said, in an accent
of admiration, 'to act all that my father so often plans and wishes, but
which his income will not allow him to execute.'

'You see,' answered he, gratefully, 'how little suffices for content! I
have scarce done anything--yet how relieved, how satisfied are these
poor people! This hut was fortunately vacant'--

'O, madam!' interrupted the poor woman, 'if you knew but how that good
gentleman has done it all! how kindly he has used us, and made everybody
else use us! and let nobody taunt us with our bad faults!--and what good
he has done to my poor sick husband! and how he has clothed my poor
little half naked children! and, what is more than all, saved us from
the shame of an ill life.'--

Camilla felt the tears start into her eyes;--she hastily snatched the
little babe into her arms; and, while her kisses hid her face, Happy,
and thrice happy Indiana! with a soft sigh, was the silent ejaculation
of her heart.

She seated herself on a stool, and, without speaking or hearing any
thing more, devoted herself to the baby.

Indiana, meanwhile, whose confidence in her own situation gave her
courage to utter whatever first occurred to her, having made a general
survey of the place and people, with an air of disappointment, now
amused herself with an inspection more minute, taking up and casting
down everything that was portable, without any regard either to
deranging its neatness, or endangering its safety:--exclaiming, as she
made her round of investigation, 'Dear! Crockery ware! how ugly!--Lord,
what little mean chairs!--Is that your best gown, good woman?--Dear,
what an ugly pattern!--Well, I would not wear such a thing to save my
life!--Have you got nothing better than this for a floor-cloth?--Only
look at those curtains! Did you ever see such frights?--Lord! do you eat
off these platters? I am sure I could sooner die! I should not mind
starving half as much!'

Miss Margland, hoping the collection was now either made or
relinquished, ventured to re-enter, and inquire if they never meant to
return home? Camilla unwillingly gave up the baby; but would not depart
without looking over the cottage, where everything she saw excited a
sensation of pleasure. 'How neat is this! How tidy that!' were her
continual exclamations; 'How bright you have rubbed your saucepans! How
clean every thing is all round! How soon you will all get well in this
healthy and comfortable little dwelling!'

Edgar, in a low voice, then told Dr. Marchmont the history of his new
cottagers, saying: 'You will not, I hope, disapprove what I have done?
Their natures seemed so much disposed to good, I could not bear to let
their wants turn them again to evil.'

'You have certainly done right,' answered the Doctor; 'to give money
without inquiry, or further aid, to those who have adopted bad
practices, is, to them, but temptation, and to society an injury; but to
give them both the counsel and the means to pursue a right course, is,
to them, perhaps, salvation, and to the community, the greatest
service.'

Indiana and Miss Margland, quite wearied, both got into the carriage;
Edgar, having deposited them, returned to Camilla, who kissed both the
children, poured forth good wishes upon the father and mother; and,
then, gave him her hand. Enchanted, he took it, exclaiming; 'Ah! who is
like you! so lively--yet so feeling!'

Struck and penetrated, she made no answer: Alas! she thought, I fear he
is not quite satisfied with Indiana!

Dr. Marchmont was set down at his own house; where, he begged to have a
conference with Edgar the next morning.

The whole way home, the benevolence of Edgar occupied the mind of
Camilla; and, not in the present instance, the less, that its object had
been originally of her own pointing out.




CHAPTER XIV

_Two Retreats_


Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold had obeyed the summons of Sir Hugh, whom they found
in extreme tribulation; persuaded by his fears not only of the design of
Bellamy, but of its inevitable success. His brother, however, who knew
his alarms to be generally as unfounded as his hopes; and Mrs. Tyrold,
who almost undisguisedly despised both; no sooner heard his account,
than, declining to discuss it, they sent for Eugenia. She related the
transaction with a confusion so innocent, that it was easy to discern
shame alone had hitherto caused her silence; and with a simplicity so
unaffected, that not a doubt could rest upon their minds, but that her
heart was as disengaged as her intentions had been irreproachable. Yet
they were not the less struck with the danger she had incurred; and,
while her father blessed Mandlebert for her preservation, her mother was
so sensible to his care for the family welfare and honour, that the
anger she had conceived against him subsided, though the regret to which
it had owed its birth increased.

Mr. Tyrold gave his daughter some slight cautions and general advice;
but thought it wisest, since he found her tranquil and unsuspicious, not
to raise apprehensions that might disturb her composure, nor awaken
ideas of which the termination must be doubtful.

Her mother deemed the matter to be undeserving the least serious alarm.
The man had appeared to her from the beginning to be a despicable
adventurer; and her lofty contempt of all low arts made her conclude her
well-principled Eugenia as superior to their snares as to their
practice.

This conference completely quieted the fears of Sir Hugh; who
relinquished his design of sending for Clermont, and imagined Edgar to
have been too severe in his judgment of Bellamy, who had only knelt in
pure compassion, to prevail with Eugenia to take care of her life.

The rector and his lady were already gone before the cottage group came
home. Edgar was anxious to inquire of Sir Hugh what had passed. The
three females, concluding he had still something to say relative to his
proposals, by tacit agreement, retired to their own rooms.

They were not, however, as concurrent in their eagerness to re-assemble.
Miss Margland and Indiana watched the moment when they might appease
their burning curiosity by descending: but Eugenia wished to prolong her
absence, that she might recover from the embarrassment she had just
suffered; and Camilla determined not to appear again till the next
morning.

For the first time in her life after the shortest separation, she
forbore to seek Eugenia, [who] she supposed would have gathered all the
particular of the approaching nuptials. She felt no desire to hear them.
It was a period to which, hitherto, she had looked forward as to a
thing of course; but this day it had struck her that Edgar and Indiana
could not be happy together.--She had even surmised, from his last
speech, that he lamented, in secret, the connexion he had formed.

The gentlest pity took possession of her breast; an increasing
admiration succeeded to her pity. She could not bear to witness so
unequal a scene, as the full satisfaction of Sir Hugh contrasted with
the seriousness, perhaps repentance, of Edgar. She pleaded an head-ache,
and went to bed.

The morning did not find her less averse to hear the confirmation of the
suspected news. On the contrary, her repugnance to have it ascertained
became stronger. She did not ask herself why; she did not consider the
uselessness of flying for one hour what she must encounter the next. The
present moment was all she could weigh; and, to procrastinate any evil,
seemed, to her ardent and active imagination, to conquer it. Again,
therefore, she planned a visit to Mrs. Arlbery; though she had given it
up so long, from the discouragement of Lionel, that she felt more of
shame than of pleasure in the idea of making so tardy an apology; but
she could think of no other place to which the whole party would not
accompany her; and to avoid them and their communications, for however
short a space of time, was now her sole aim.

Before breakfast, she repaired to the apartment of her uncle; her
request was granted, as soon as heard; and she ordered the chaise.

Indiana and Miss Margland, meanwhile, had learnt from the baronet, that
the proposals were not yet made. Miss Margland softened the
disappointment of Indiana, by suggesting that her admirer was probably
waiting the arrival of some elegant trinket, that he destined to present
her upon his declaration: but she was by no means free from doubt and
suspicion herself. She languished to quit Cleves, and Sir Hugh had
almost thought her accountable for the slowness of Mandlebert's
proceedings. To keep up her own consequence, she had again repeated her
assurances, that all was in a prosperous train; though she had
frequently, with strong private uneasiness, observed the eyes of Edgar
fixed upon Camilla, with an attention far more pointed than she had ever
remarked in them when their direction was towards her fair pupil.

Camilla hurried over her breakfast in expectation of the chaise, and in
dread continual, lest her cousin should call her aside, to acquaint her
that all was arranged. Edgar perceived, with surprise, that she was
going out alone; and, no sooner gathered whither, than, drawing her to
one of the windows, he earnestly said: 'Is it by appointment you wait
upon Mrs. Arlbery?'

'No.'

'Does she at all expect you this morning?'

'No.'

'Would it, then, be asking too much, if I should entreat you to postpone
your visit for a short time?'

The whole design of Camilla was to absent herself immediately; yet she
hated to say no. She looked disturbed, and was silent.

'Have you made any further acquaintance with her since the morning of
the raffle?'

'No, none; but I wish excessively to know more of her.'

'She is certainly, very--agreeable,' said he, with some hesitation;
'but, whether she is all Mrs. Tyrold would approve'--

'I hope you know no harm of her?--If you do, pray keep it to
yourself!--for it would quite afflict me to hear anything to her
disadvantage.'

'I should be grieved, indeed, to be the messenger of affliction to you;
but I hope there may be no occasion; I only beg a day or two's patience;
and, in the meanwhile, I can give you this assurance; she is undoubtedly
a woman of character. I saw she had charmed you, and I made some
immediate inquiries. Her reputation is without taint.'

'A thousand, thousand thanks,' cried Camilla, gaily, 'for taking so much
trouble; and ten thousand more for finding it needless!'

Edgar could not forbear laughing, but answered, he was not yet so
certain it was needless; since exemption from actual blemish could only
be a negative recommendation: he should very soon, he added, see a lady
upon whose judgment he could rely, and who would frankly satisfy him
with respect to some other particulars, which, he owned, he considered
as essential to be known, before any intimacy should be formed.

Wishing to comply with his request, yet impatient to leave the house,
Camilla stood suspended till the chaise was announced.

'I think,' cried she, with a look and tone of irresolution, 'my going
this once can draw on no ill consequence?'

Edgar only dropt his eyes.

'You are not of that opinion?'

'I have a very particular engagement this morning,' he replied; 'but I
will readily give it up, and ride off instantly to make my application
to this lady, if it is possible you can defer only till tomorrow your
visit. Will you suffer me to ask such a delay? It will greatly oblige
me.'

'Why, then,--I will defer it till to-morrow,--or till to-morrow week!'
cried she, wholly vanquished; 'I insist, therefore, that you do not
postpone your business.'

She then desired the servant, who was taking away the breakfast
equipage, to order the chaise to be put up.

Edgar, subdued in his turn, caught her hand: but, instantly,
recollecting himself, hastily let it go; and, throwing up the window
sash, abruptly exclaimed: 'I never saw such fine weather:--I hope it
will not rain!'

He then rapidly wished them all good morning, and mounted his horse.

Miss Margland, who, sideling towards the window, on pretence of
examining a print, had heard and seen all that had passed, was almost
overpowered with rage, by the conviction she received that her
apprehensions were not groundless. She feared losing all weight both
with the baronet and with Indiana, if she made this acknowledgment, and
retreated, confounded, to her own room, to consider what path to pursue
at so dangerous a crisis; wearing a scowl upon her face, that was always
an indication she would not be followed.

Camilla also went to her chamber, in a perturbation at once pleasing and
painful. She was sorry to have missed her excursion, but she was happy
to have obliged Edgar; she was delighted he could take such interest in
her conduct and affairs, yet dreaded, more than ever, a private
conversation with Indiana;--Indiana, who, every moment, appeared to her
less and less calculated to bestow felicity upon Edgar Mandlebert.

She seated herself at a window, and soon, through the trees, perceived
him galloping away. 'Too--too amiable Edgar!' she cried, earnestly
looking after him, with her hands clasped, and tears starting into her
eyes.

Frightened at her own tenderness, she rose, shut the window, and walked
to another end of the apartment.

She took up a book; but she could not read: 'Too--too amiable Edgar!'
again escaped her. She went to her piano-forte; she could not play:
'Too--too amiable Edgar!' broke forth in defiance of all struggle.

Alarmed and ashamed, even to herself, she resolved to dissipate her
ideas by a long walk; and not to come out of the park, till the first
dinner-bell summoned her to dress.




CHAPTER XV

_Two Sides of a Question_


The intention of Edgar had been to ride to Mrs. Needham, the lady of
whom he meant to ask the information to which he had alluded; but a
charm too potent for resistance demanded his immediate liberation from
the promise to Dr. Marchmont, which bound him to proceed no further till
they had again conversed together.

He galloped, therefore, to the parsonage-house of Cleves, and entering
the study of the Doctor, and taking him by the hand, with the most
animated gesture; 'My dear and honoured friend,' he cried, 'I come to
you now without hesitation, and free from every painful embarrassment of
lurking irresolution! I come to you decided, and upon grounds which
cannot offend you, though the decision anticipates your counsel. I come
to you, in fine, my dear Doctor, my good and kind friend, to confess
that yesterday you saw right, with regard to the situation of my mind,
and that, to-day, I have only your felicitations to beg, upon my
confirmed, my irrevocable choice!'

Dr. Marchmont embraced him: 'May you then,' he cried, 'be as happy, my
dear young friend, as you deserve! I can wish you nothing higher.'

'Last night,' continued Edgar, 'I felt all doubt die away: captivating
as I have ever thought her, so soft, so gentle, so touchingly sweet, as
last night, I had never yet beheld her; you witnessed it, my dear
Doctor? you saw her with the baby in her arms? how beautiful, how
endearing a sight!'

The Doctor looked assentingly, but did not speak.

'Yet even last night was short of the feelings she excited this morning.
My dear friend! she was upon the point of making an excursion from
which she had promised herself peculiar pleasure, and to see a lady for
whom she had conceived the warmest admiration--I begged her to
postpone--perhaps relinquish entirely the visit--she had obtained leave
from Sir Hugh--the carriage was at the door--would you, could you
believe such sweetness with such vivacity? she complied with my request,
and complied with a grace that has rivetted her--I own it--that has
rivetted her to my soul!'

Doctor Marchmont smiled, but rather pensively than rejoicingly; and
Edgar, receiving no answer, walked for some time about the room,
silently enjoying his own thoughts.

Returning then to the Doctor, 'My dear friend,' he cried, 'I understood
you wished to speak with me?'

'Yes--but I thought you disengaged.'

'So, except mentally, I am still.'

'Does she not yet know her conquest?'

'She does not even guess it.'

Dr. Marchmont now rising, with much energy said: 'Hear me then, my dear
and most valued young friend; forbear to declare yourself, make no
overtures to her relations, raise no expectations even in her own
breast, and let not rumour surmise your passion to the world, till her
heart is better known to you.'

Edgar, starting and amazed, with great emotion exclaimed: 'What do you
mean, my good Doctor? do you suspect any prior engagement? any fatal
prepossession?'--

'I suspect nothing. I do not know her. I mean not, therefore, the
propensities alone, but the worth, also, of her heart; deception is
easy, and I must not see you thrown away.'

'Let me, then, be her guarantee!' cried Edgar, with firmness; 'for I
know her well! I have known her from her childhood, and cannot be
deceived. I fear nothing--except my own powers of engaging her regard. I
can trace to a certainty, even from my boyish remarks, her fair, open,
artless, and disinterested character.'

He then gave a recital of the nobleness of her sentiments and conduct
when only nine years old; contrasting the relation with the sullen and
ungenerous behaviour of Indiana at the same age.

Dr. Marchmont listened to the account with attention and pleasure, but
not with an air of that full conviction which Edgar expected. 'All
this,' he said, 'is highly prophetic of good, and confirms me in the
opinion I expressed last night, that every possible happiness promises
to be yours.'

'Yet, still,' said Edgar, a little chagrined, 'there seems some drawback
to your entire approbation?'

'To your choice I have none.'

'You perplex me, Doctor! I know not to what you object, what you would
intimate, nor what propose?'

'All I have to suggest may be comprised in two points: First, That you
will refuse confirmation even to your own intentions, till you have
positively ascertained her actual possession of those virtues with which
she appears to be endowed: and secondly, That if you find her gifted
with them all, you will not solicit her acceptance till you are
satisfied of her affection.'

'My dear Doctor,' cried Edgar, half laughing, 'from what an alarm of
wild conjecture has your explanation relieved me! Hear me, however, in
return, and I think I can satisfy you, that, even upon your own
conditions, not an obstacle stands in the way of my speaking to Mr.
Tyrold this very evening.

'With regard to your first article, her virtues, I have told you the
dawning superiority of her most juvenile ideas of right; and though I
have latterly lost sight of her, by travelling during our vacations, I
know her to have always been under the superintendence of one of the
first of women; and for these last three weeks, which I have spent under
the same roof with her, I have observed her to be all that is amiable,
sweet, natural, and generous. What then on this point remains? Nothing.
I am irrefragably convinced of her worth.

'With respect to your second condition, I own you a little embarrass me;
yet how may I inquire into the state of her affections, without
acknowledging her mistress of mine?'

'Hold! hold!' interrupted the Doctor, 'you proceed too rapidly. The
first article is all unsettled, while you are flying to the last.

'It is true, and I again repeat it, every promise is in your favour; but
do not mistake promise for performance. This young lady appears to be
all excellence; for an acquaintance, for a friend, I doubt not you have
already seen enough to establish her in your good opinion; but since it
is only within a few hours you have taken the resolution which is to
empower her to colour the rest of your life, you must study her, from
this moment, with new eyes, new ears, and new thoughts. Whatever she
does, you must ask yourself this question: "Should I like such
behaviour in my wife?" Whatever she says, you must make yourself the
same demand. Nothing must escape you; you must view as if you had never
seen her before; the interrogatory, _Were she mine?_ must be present at
every look, every word, every motion; you must forget her wholly as
Camilla Tyrold, you must think of her only as Camilla Mandlebert; even
justice is insufficient during this period of probation, and instead of
inquiring, "Is this right in her?" you must simply ask, "Would it be
pleasing to me?"'

'You are apprehensive, then, of some dissimilitude of character
prejudicial to our future happiness?'

'Not of character; you have been very peculiarly situated for obviating
all risk upon that first and most important particular. I have no doubt
of her general worthiness; but though esteem hangs wholly upon
character, happiness always links itself with disposition.'

'You gratify me, Doctor, by naming disposition, for I can give you the
most unequivocal assurance of her sweetness, her innocence, her
benevolence, joined to a spirit of never-dying vivacity--an animation of
never-ceasing good humour!'

'I know you, my dear Mandlebert, to be, by nature, penetrating and
minute in your observations; which, in your general commerce with the
world, will protect both your understanding and your affections from the
usual snares of youth: But here--to be even scrupulous is not enough; to
avoid all danger of repentance, you must become positively distrustful.'

'Never, Doctor, never! I would sooner renounce every prospect of
felicity, than act a part so ungenerous, where I am conscious of such
desert! Upon this article, therefore, we have done; I am already and
fully convinced of her excellence. But, with respect to your second
difficulty, that I will not seek her acceptance, till satisfied of her
regard--there--indeed, you start an idea that comes home to my soul in
its very inmost recesses! O Doctor!--could I hope--however
distantly--durst I hope--the independent, unsolicited, involuntary
possession of that most ingenuous, most inartificial of human hearts!--'

'And why not? why, while so liberally you do justice to another, should
you not learn to appreciate yourself?'

A look of elation, delight, and happiness conveyed to Dr. Marchmont his
pupil's grateful sense of this question.

'I do not fear making you vain,' he continued; 'I know your
understanding to be too solid, and your temperament too philosophic, to
endanger your running into the common futility of priding yourself upon
the gifts of nature, any more than upon those of fortune; 'tis in their
uses only you can claim any applause. I will not, therefore, scruple to
assert, you can hardly any where propose yourself with much danger of
being rejected. You are amiable and accomplished; abounding in wealth,
high in character; in person and appearance unexceptionable; you can
have no doubt of the joyful approbation of her friends, nor can you
entertain a reasonable fear of her concurrence; yet, with all this,
pardon me, when I plainly, explicitly add, it is very possible you may
be utterly indifferent to her.'

'If so, at least,' said Edgar, in a tone and with a countenance whence
all elation was flown, 'she will leave me master of myself; she is too
noble to suffer any sordid motives to unite us.'

'Do not depend upon that; the influence of friends, the prevalence of
example, the early notion which every female imbibes, that a good
establishment must be her first object in life--these are motives of
marriage commonly sufficient for the whole sex.'

'Her choice, indeed,' said Edgar, thoughtfully, 'would not, perhaps, be
wholly uninfluenced;--I pretend not to doubt that the voice of her
friends would be all in my favour.'

'Yes,' interrupted Dr. Marchmont, 'and, be she noble as she may, Beech
Park will be also in your favour! your mansion, your equipage, your
domestics, even your table, will be in your favour--'

'Doctor,' interrupted Edgar, in his turn, 'I know you think ill of
women.--'

'Do not let that idea weaken what I urge; I have not had reason to think
well of them; yet I believe there are individuals who merit every
regard: your Camilla may be one of them. Take, however, this warning
from my experience; whatever is her appearance of worth, try and prove
its foundation, ere you conclude it invulnerable; and whatever are your
pretensions to her hand, do not necessarily connect them with your
chances for her heart.'

Mandlebert, filled now with a distrust of himself and of his powers,
which he was incapable of harbouring of Camilla and her magnanimity,
felt struck to the soul with the apprehension of failing to gain her
affection, and wounded in every point both of honour and delicacy, from
the bare suggestion of owing his wife to his situation in the world. He
found no longer any difficulty in promising not to act with
precipitance; his confidence was gone; his elevation of sentiment was
depressed; a general mist clouded his prospects, and a suspensive
discomfort inquieted his mind. He shook Dr. Marchmont by the hand, and
assuring him he would weigh well all he had said, and take no measure
till he had again consulted with him, remounted his horse, and slowly
walked it back to Cleves.


END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.




VOLUME II

BOOK III




CHAPTER I

_A few kind Offices_


With deep concern Edgar revolved in his mind the suggestions of Dr.
Marchmont; and meditation, far from diminishing, added importance to the
arguments of his friend. To obtain the hand of an object he so highly
admired, though but lately his sole wish, appeared now an uncertain
blessing, a suspicious good, since the possession of her heart was no
longer to be considered as its inseparable appendage. His very security
of the approbation of Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold became a source of solicitude;
and, secret from them, from her, and from all, he determined to guard
his views, till he could find some opportunity of investigating her own
unbiased sentiments.

Such were his ruminations, when, on re-entering the Park, he perceived
her wandering alone amidst the trees. Her figure looked so interesting,
her air so serious, her solitude so attractive, that every maxim of
tardy prudence, every caution of timid foresight, would instantly have
given way to the quick feelings of generous impulse, had he not been
restrained by his promise to Dr. Marchmont. He dismounted, and giving
his horse to his groom, re-traced her footsteps.

Camilla, almost without her own knowledge, had strolled towards the
gate, whence she concluded Edgar to have ridden from the Park, and,
almost without consciousness, had continued sauntering in its vicinity;
yet she no sooner descried him, than, struck with a species of
self-accusation for this appearance of awaiting him, she crossed over to
the nearest path towards the house, and, for the first time, was aware
of the approach of Edgar without hastening to meet him.

He slackened his pace, to quiet his spirits, and restore his manner to
its customary serenity, before he permitted himself to overtake her.
'Can you,' he then cried, 'forgive me, when you hear I have been
fulfilling my own appointment, and have postponed my promised
investigation?'

'Rather say,' she gently answered, 'could I have forgiven you, if you
had shewn me you thought my impatience too ungovernable for any delay?'

To find her thus willing to oblige him, was a new delight, and he
expressed his acknowledgments in terms the most flattering.

An unusual seriousness made her hear him almost without reply; yet peace
and harmony revisited her mind, and, in listening to his valued praise,
she forgot her late alarm at her own sensations, and without extending a
thought beyond the present instant, again felt tranquil and happy: while
to Edgar she appeared so completely all that was adorable, that he could
only remember to repent his engagement with Dr. Marchmont.

Her secret opinion that he was dissatisfied with his lot, gave a
softness to her accents that enchanted him; while the high esteem for
his character, which mingled with her pity, joined to a lowered sense of
her own, from a new-born terror lest that pity were too tender, spread a
charm wholly new over her native fire and vivacity.

In a few minutes, they were overtaken by Mandlebert's gardener, who was
bringing from Beech Park a basket of flowers for his master. They were
selected from curious hot-house plants, and Camilla stopt to admire
their beauty and fragrance.

Edgar presented her the basket; whence she simply took a sprig of myrtle
and geranium, conceiving the present to be designed for Indiana. 'If you
are fond of geraniums,' said he, 'there is an almost endless variety in
my greenhouse, and I will bring you tomorrow some specimens.'

She thanked him, and while he gave orders to the gardener, Miss Margland
and Indiana advanced from the house.

Miss Margland had seen them from her window, where, in vain
deliberation, she had been considering what step to take. But, upon
beholding them together, she thought deliberation and patience were
hopeless, and determined, by a decisive stroke, to break in its bud the
connection she supposed forming, or throw upon Camilla all censure, if
she failed, as the sole means she could devise to exculpate her own
sagacity from impeachment. She called upon Indiana, therefore, to
accompany her into the Park, exclaiming, in an angry tone, 'Miss
Lynmere, I will shew you the true cause why Mr. Mandlebert does not
declare himself--your cousin, Miss Camilla, is wheedling him away from
you.'

Indiana, whose belief in almost whatever was said, was undisturbed by
any species of reflection, felt filled with resentment, and a sense of
injury, and readily following, said--'I was sure there was something
more in it than I saw, because Mr. Melmond behaved so differently. But I
don't take it very kind of my cousin, I can tell her!'

They then hurried into the Park; but, as they came without any plan,
they were no sooner within a few yards of the meeting, than they stopt
short, at a loss what to say or do.

Edgar, vexed at their interruption, continued talking to the gardener,
to avoid joining them; but seeing Camilla, who less than ever wished for
their communications, walk instantly another way, he thought it would be
improper to pursue her, and only bowing to Miss Margland and Indiana,
went into the house.

'This is worse than ever,' cried Miss Margland, 'to stalk off without
speaking, or even offering you any of his flowers, which, I dare say,
are only to be put into the parlour flower-pots, for the whole house.'

'I'm sure I'm very glad of it,' said Indiana, for I hate flowers; but
I'm sure Mr. Melmond would not have done so; nor Colonel Andover; nor
Mr. Macdersey more than all.'

'No, nor any body else, my dear, that had common sense, and their eyes
open; nor Mr. Mandlebert neither, if it were not for Miss Camilla.
However, we'll let her know we see what she is about; and let Sir Hugh
know too: for as to the colonels, and the ensigns, and that young Oxford
student, they won't at all do; officers are commonly worth nothing; and
scholars, you may take my word for it, my dear, are the dullest men in
the world. Besides, one would not give such a fine fortune as Mr.
Mandlebert's without making a little struggle for it. You don't know how
many pretty things you may do with it. So let us shew her we don't want
for spirit, and speak to her at once.'

These words, reviving in the mind of Indiana her wedding clothes, the
train of servants, and the new equipage, gave fresh pique to her
provocation: but finding some difficulty to overtake the fleet Camilla,
whose pace kept measure with her wish to avoid them, she called after
her, to desire she would not walk so fast.

Camilla reluctantly loitered, but without stopping or turning to meet
them, that she might still regale herself with the perfume of the
geranium presented her by Edgar.

'You're in great haste, ma'am,' said Miss Margland, 'which I own I did
not observe to be the case just now!'

Camilla, in much surprize, asked, what she meant.

'My meaning is pretty plain, I believe, to any body that chose to
understand it. However, though Miss Lynmere scorns to be her own
champion, I cannot, as a friend, be quite so passive, nor help hinting
to you, how little you would like such a proceeding to yourself, from
any other person.'

'What proceeding?' cried Camilla, blushing, from a dawning comprehension
of the subject, though resenting the manner of the complaint.

'Nay, only ask yourself, ma'am, only ask yourself, Miss Camilla, how you
should like to be so supplanted, if such an establishment were forming
for yourself, and every thing were fixt, and every body else refused,
and nobody to hinder its all taking place, but a near relation of your
own, who ought to be the first to help it forward. I should like to
know, I say, Miss Camilla, how you would feel, if it were your own
case?'

Astonished and indignant at so sudden and violent an assault, Camilla
stood suspended, whether to deign any vindication, or to walk silently
away: yet its implications involuntarily filled her with a thousand
other, and less offending emotions than those of anger, and a general
confusion crimsoned her cheeks.

'You cannot but be sensible, ma'am,' resumed Miss Margland, 'for sense
is not what you want, that you have seduced Mr. Mandlebert from your
cousin; you cannot but see he takes hardly the smallest notice of her,
from the pains you are at to make him admire nobody but yourself.'

The spirit of Camilla now rose high to her aid, at a charge thus
impertinent and unjust. 'Miss Margland,' she cried, 'you shock and amaze
me! I am at a loss for any motive to so cruel an accusation: but you, I
hope at least, my dear Indiana, are convinced how much it injures me.'
She would then have taken the hand of Indiana, but disdainfully drawing
it back, 'I shan't break my heart about it, I assure you,' she cried,
'you are vastly welcome to him for me; I hope I am not quite so odious,
but I may find other people in the world besides Mr. Mandlebert!'

'O, as to that,' said Miss Margland, 'I am sure you have only to look in
order to chuse; but since this affair has been settled by your uncle, I
can't say I think it very grateful in any person to try to overset his
particular wishes. Poor old gentleman! I'm sure I pity him! It will go
hard enough with him, when he comes to hear it! Such a requital!--and
from his own niece!'

This was an attack the most offensive that Camilla could receive;
nothing could so nearly touch her as an idea of ingratitude to her
uncle, and resting upon that, the whole tide of those feelings which
were, in fact, divided and subdivided into many crossing channels, she
broke forth, with great eagerness, into exclaiming, 'Miss Margland, this
is quite barbarous! You know, and you, Indiana, cannot but know, I would
not give my uncle the smallest pain, to be mistress of a thousand
universes!'

'Why, then,' said Miss Margland, 'should you break up a scheme which he
has so much set his heart upon? Why are you always winning over Mr.
Mandlebert to yourself, by all that flattery? Why are you always
consulting him? always obliging him? always of his opinion? always ready
to take his advice?'

'Miss Margland,' replied Camilla, with the extremest agitation, 'this is
so unexpected--so undeserved an interpretation,--my consultation, or my
acquiescence have been merely from respect; no other thought, no other
motive--Good God! what is it you imagine?--what guilt would you impute
to me?'

'O dear,' cried Indiana, 'pray don't suppose it signifies. If you like
to make compliments in that manner to gentlemen, pray do it. I hope I
shall always hold myself above it. I think it's their place to make
compliments to me.'

A resentful answer was rising to the tongue of Camilla, when she
perceived her two little sprigs, which in her recent disorder she had
dropt, were demolishing under the feet of Indiana, who, with apparent
unmeaningness, but internal suspicion of their giver, had trampled upon
them both. Hastily stooping she picked them up, and, with evident
vexation, was blowing from them the dust and dirt, when Indiana
scoffingly said, 'I wonder where you got that geranium?'

'I don't wonder at all,' said Miss Margland, 'for Sir Hugh has none of
that species; so one may easily guess.'

Camilla felt herself blush, and letting the flowers fall, turned to
Indiana, and said, 'Cousin, if on my account, it is possible you can
suffer the smallest uneasiness, tell me but what I shall do--you shall
dictate to me--you shall command me.'

Indiana disclaimed all interest in her behaviour; but Miss Margland
cried, 'What you can do, ma'am, is this, and nothing can be easier, nor
fairer: leave off paying all that court to Mr. Mandlebert, of asking his
advice, and follow your own way, whether he likes it or not, and go to
see Mrs. Arlbery, and Mrs. every body else, when you have a mind,
without waiting for his permission, or troubling yourself about what he
thinks of it.'

Camilla now trembled in every joint, and with difficulty restrained from
tears, while, timidly, she said--'And do you, my dear Indiana, demand of
me this conduct? and will it, at least, satisfy you?'

'Me? O dear no! I demand nothing, I assure you. The whole matter is
quite indifferent to me, and you may ask his leave for every thing in
the world, if you chuse it. There are people enough ready to take my
part, I hope, if you set him against me ever so much.'

'Indeed, indeed, Indiana,' said Camilla, overpowered with conflicting
sensations, 'this is using me very unkindly!' And, without waiting to
hear another word, she hurried into the house, and flew to hide herself
in her own room.

This was the first bitter moment she had ever known. Peace, gay though
uniform, had been the constant inmate of her breast, enjoyed without
thought, possessed without struggle; not the subdued gift of
accommodating philosophy, but the inborn and genial produce of youthful
felicity's best aliment, the energy of its own animal spirits.

She had, indeed, for some time past, thought Edgar, of too refined and
too susceptible a character for the unthinking and undistinguishing
Indiana; and for the last day or two, her regret at his fate had
strengthened itself into an averseness of his supposed destination, that
made the idea of it painful, and the subject repugnant to her; but she
had never, till this very morning, distrusted the innoxiousness either
of her pity or her regard; and, startled at the first surmise of danger,
she had wished to fly even from herself, rather than venture to
investigate feelings so unwelcome; yet still and invariably, she had
concluded Edgar the future husband of Indiana.

To hear there were any doubts of the intended marriage, filled her with
emotions indefinable; to hear herself named as the cause of those
doubts, was alarming both to her integrity and her delicacy. She felt
the extremest anger at the unprovoked and unwarrantable harshness of
Miss Margland, and a resentment nearly equal at the determined
petulance, and unjustifiable aspersions of Indiana.

Satisfied of the innocence of her intentions, she knew, not what
alteration she could make in her behaviour; and, after various plans,
concluded, that to make none would best manifest her freedom from
self-reproach. At the summons therefore to dinner, she was the first to
appear, eager to shew herself unmoved by the injustice of her accusers,
and desirous to convince them she was fearless of examination.

Yet, too much discomposed to talk in her usual manner, she seized upon a
book till the party was seated. Answering then to the call of her uncle,
with as easy an air as she could assume, she took her accustomed place
by his side, and began, for mere employment, filling a plate from the
dish that was nearest to her; which she gave to the footman, without any
direction whither to carry, or enquiry if any body chose to eat it.

It was taken round the table, and, though refused by all, she heaped up
another plate, with the same diligence and speed as if it had been
accepted.

Edgar, who had been accidentally detained, only now entered, apologizing
for being so late.

Engrossed by the pride of self-defence, and the indignancy of unmerited
unkindness, the disturbed mind of Camilla had not yet formed one
separate reflexion, nor even admitted a distinct idea of Edgar himself,
disengaged from the accusation in which he stood involved. But he had
now amply his turn. The moment he appeared, the deepest blushes covered
her face; and an emotion so powerful beat in her breast, that the
immediate impulse of her impetuous feelings, was to declare herself ill,
and run out of the room.

With this view she rose; but ashamed of her plan, seated herself the
next moment, though she had first overturned her plate and a sauce-boat
in the vehemence of her haste.

This accident rather recovered than disconcerted her, by affording an
unaffected occupation, in begging pardon of Sir Hugh, who was the chief
sufferer, changing the napkins, and restoring the table to order.

'What upon earth can be the matter with Miss Camilla, I can't guess!'
exclaimed Miss Margland, though with an expression of spite that fully
contradicted her difficulty of conjecture.

'I hope,' said Edgar surprized, 'Miss Camilla is not ill?'

'I can't say I think my cousin looks very bad!' said Indiana.

Camilla, who was rubbing a part of her gown upon which nothing had
fallen, affected to be too busy to hear them: which Sir Hugh, concluding
her silent from shame, entreated her not to think of his cloaths, which
were worth no great matter, not being his best by two or three suits.
Her thoughts had not waited this injunction; yet it was in vain she
strove to behave as if nothing had happened. Her spirit instigated, but
it would not support her; her voice grew husky, she stammered, forgot,
as she went on, what she designed to say when she began speaking, and
frequently was forced to stop short, with a faint laugh at herself, and
with a colour every moment encreasing. And the very instant the cloth
was removed, she rose, unable to constrain herself any longer, and ran
up stairs to her own room.

There all her efforts evaporated in tears. 'Cruel, cruel, Miss
Margland,' she cried, 'unjust, unkind Indiana! how have I merited this
treatment! What can Edgar think of my disturbance? What can I devise to
keep from his knowledge the barbarous accusation which has caused it?'

In a few minutes she heard the step of Eugenia.

Ashamed, she hastily wiped her eyes; and before the door could be
opened, was at the further end of the room, looking into one of her
drawers.

'What is it that has vexed my dearest Camilla?' cried her kind sister,
'something I am sure has grieved her.'

'I cannot guess what I have done with--I can no where find--' stammered
Camilla, engaged in some apparent search, but too much confused to name
anything of which she might probably be in want.

Eugenia desired to assist her, but a servant came to the door, to tell
them that the company was going to the summer-house, whither Sir Hugh
begged they would follow.

Camilla besought Eugenia to join them, and make her excuses: but,
fearing Miss Margland would attribute her absconding to guilt, or
cowardice, she bathed her eyes in cold water, and overtook her sister at
the stairs of the little building.

In ascending them, she heard Miss Margland say, 'I dare believe
nothing's the matter but some whim; for to be sure as to whims, Miss
Camilla has the most of any creature I ever saw, and Miss Lynmere the
least; for you may imagine, Mr. Mandlebert, I have pretty good
opportunity to see all these young people in their real colours.'

Overset by this malignancy, she was again flying to the refuge of her
own room, and the relief of tears, when the conviction of such positive
ill-will in Miss Margland, for which she could assign no reason, but her
unjust and exclusive partiality to Indiana, checked her precipitancy.
She feared she would construe to still another whim her non-appearance,
and resuming a little fresh strength from fresh resentment, turned back;
but the various keen sensations she experienced as she entered the
summer-house, rendered this little action the most severe stretch of
fortitude, her short and happy life had yet called upon her to make.

Sir Hugh addressed her some kind enquiries, which she hastily answered,
while she pretended to be busy in preparing to wind some sewing silk
upon cards.

She could have chosen no employment less adapted to display the cool
indifference she wished to manifest to Miss Margland and Indiana. She
pulled the silk the wrong way, twisted, twirled, and entangled it
continually; and while she talked volubly of what she was about, as if
it were the sole subject of her thoughts, her shaking hands shewed her
whole frame disordered, and her high colour betrayed her strong internal
emotion.

Edgar looked at her with surprize and concern. What had dropt from Miss
Margland of her whims, he had heard with disdain; for, without
suspecting her of malice to Camilla, he concluded her warped by her
prejudice in favour of Indiana. Dr. Marchmont, however, had bid him
judge by proof, not appearance; and he resolved therefore to investigate
the cause of this disquiet, before he acted upon his belief in its
blamelessness.

Having completely spoilt one skein, she threw it aside, and saying 'the
weather's so fine, I cannot bear to stay within,'--left her silk, her
winders, and her work-bag, on the first chair, and skipt down the
stairs.

Sir Hugh declined walking, but would let nobody remain with him. Edgar,
as if studying the clouds, glided down first. Camilla, perceiving him,
bent her head, and began gathering some flowers. He stood by her a
moment in silence, and then said: 'To-morrow morning, without fail, I
will wait upon Mrs. Needham.'

'Pray take your own time. I am not in any haste.'

'You are very good, and I am more obliged to you than I can express, for
suffering my officious interference with such patience.'

A rustling of silk made Camilla now look up, and she perceived Miss
Margland leaning half out of the window of the summer-house, from
earnestness to catch what she said.

Angry thus to be watched, and persuaded that both innocence and dignity
called upon her to make no change in her open consideration for Edgar,
she answered, in a voice that strove to be more audible, but that
irresistibly trembled, 'I beg you will impartially consult your own
judgment, and decide as you think right.'

Edgar, now, became as little composed as herself: the power with which
she invested him, possessed a charm to dissolve every hesitating doubt;
and when, upon her raising her head, he perceived the redness of her
eyes, and found that the perturbation which had perplexed him was
mingled with some affliction, the most tender anxiety filled his mind,
and though somewhat checked by the vicinity of Miss Margland, his voice
expressed the warmest solicitude, as he said, 'I know not how to thank
you for this sweetness; but I fear something disturbs you?--I fear you
are not well, or are not happy?'

Camilla again bent over the flowers; but it was not to scent their
fragrance; she sought only a hiding place for her eyes, which were
gushing with tears; and though she wished to fly a thousand miles off,
she had not courage to take a single step, nor force to trust her voice
with the shortest reply.

'You will not speak? yet you do not deny that you have some
uneasiness?--Could I give it but the smallest relief, how fortunate I
should think myself!--And is it quite impossible?--Do you forbid me to
ask what it is?--forbid me the indulgence even to suggest----'

'Ask nothing! suggest nothing! and think of it no more!' interrupted
Camilla, 'if you would not make me quite----'

She stopt suddenly, not to utter the word unhappy, of which she felt the
improper strength at the moment it was quivering on her lips, and
leaving her sentence unfinished, abruptly walked away.

Edgar could not presume to follow, yet felt her conquest irresistible.
Her self-denial with regard to Mrs. Arlbery won his highest approbation;
her compliance with his wishes convinced him of her esteem; and her
distress, so new and so unaccountable, centered every wish of his heart
in a desire to solace, and to revive her.

To obtain this privilege hastened at once and determined his measures;
he excused himself, therefore, from walking, and went instantly to his
chamber, to reclaim, by a hasty letter to Dr. Marchmont, his
procrastinating promise.




CHAPTER II

_A Pro and a Con_


With a pen flowing quick from feelings of the most generous warmth,
Edgar wrote the following letter:

     _To Dr._ Marchmont.

     Accuse me not of precipitance, my dear Doctor, nor believe me
     capable of forgetting the wisdom of your suggestions, nor of
     lightly weighing those evils with which your zeal has encompassed
     me, though I write at this instant to confess a total contrariety
     of sentiment, to call back every promise of delay, and to make an
     unqualified avowal, that the period of caution is past! Camilla is
     not happy--something, I know not what, has disturbed the gay
     serenity of her bosom: she has forbid me to enquire the cause;--one
     way only remains to give me a claim to her confidence.--O Doctor!
     wonder not if cold, tardy, suspicious--I had nearly said unfeeling,
     caution, shrinks at such a moment, from the rising influence of
     warmer sympathy, which bids me sooth her in distress, shield her
     from danger, strengthen all her virtues, and participate in their
     emanations!

     You will not do me the injustice to think me either impelled or
     blinded by external enchantments; you know me to have withstood
     their yet fuller blaze in her cousin: O no! were she despoiled of
     all personal attraction by the same ravaging distemper that has
     been so fierce with her poor sister; were a similar cruel accident
     to rob her form of all symmetry, she would yet be more fascinating
     to my soul, by one single look, one single word, one sweet beaming
     smile, diffusing all the gaiety it displays, than all of beauty,
     all of elegance, all of rank, all of wealth, the whole kingdom, in
     some wonderful aggregate, could oppose to her.

     Her face, her form, however penetrating in loveliness, aid, but do
     not constitute, her charms; no, 'tis the quick intelligence of soul
     that mounts to her eyes, 'tis the spirit checked by sweetness, the
     sweetness animated by spirit, the nature so nobly above all
     artifice, all study--O Doctor! restore to me immediately every
     vestige, every trait of any promise, any acquiescence, any idea the
     most distant, that can be construed into a compliance with one
     moment's requisition of delay!

     EDGAR MANDLEBERT.

     _Cleves Park, Friday Evening._

       *       *       *       *       *

Camilla, meanwhile, shut up in her room, wept almost without cessation,
from a sense of general unhappiness, though fixed to no point, and from
a disturbance of mind, a confusion of ideas and of feelings, that
rendered her incapable of reflection. She was again followed by Eugenia,
and could no longer refuse, to her tender anxiety, a short detail of the
attack which occasioned her disorder; happy, at least, in reciting it,
that by unfolding the cause, there no longer remained any necessity to
repress the effects of her affliction.

To her great surprise, however, Eugenia only said: 'And is this all, my
dear Camilla?'

'All!' exclaimed Camilla.

'Yes, is it all?--I was afraid some great misfortune had happened.'

'And what could happen more painful, more shocking, more cruel?'

'A thousand things! for this is nothing but a mere mistake; and you
should not make yourself unhappy about it, because you are not to
blame.'

'Is it then nothing to be accused of designs and intentions so
criminal?'

'If the accusation were just, it might indeed make you wretched: but it
is Miss Margland only who has any reason to be afflicted; for it is she
alone who has been in the wrong.'

Struck with this plain but uncontrovertible truth, Camilla wiped her
eyes, and strove to recover some composure; but finding her tears still
force their way, 'It is not,' she cried, with some hesitation, 'it is
not the aspersions of Miss Margland alone that give me so much
vexation--the unkindness of Indiana--'

'Indeed she is highly reprehensible; and so I will tell her;--but still,
if she has any fears, however ill-founded, of losing Edgar, you cannot
but pardon--you must even pity her.'

Struck again, and still more forcibly, by this second truth, Camilla,
ashamed of her grief, made a stronger and more serious effort to repress
it; and receiving soon afterwards a summons from her uncle, her spirit
rose once more to the relief of her dejection, upon seeing him seated
between Miss Margland and Indiana, and discerning that they had been
making some successful complaint, by the air of triumph with which they
waited her approach.

'My dear Camilla,' he cried, with a look of much disturbance, 'here's a
sad ado, I find; though I don't mean to blame you, nor young Mr.
Mandlebert neither, taste being a fault one can't avoid; not but what a
person's changing their mind is what I can't commend in any one, which I
shall certainly let him know, not doubting to bring him round by means
of his own sense: only, my dear, in the meanwhile, I must beg you not to
stand in your cousin's way.'

'Indeed, my dear uncle, I do not merit this imputation; I am not capable
of such treachery!' indignantly answered Camilla.

'Treachery! Lord help us! treachery!' cried Sir Hugh, fondly embracing
her, 'don't I know you are as innocent as the baby unborn? and more
innocent too, from the advantage of having more sense to guide you by!
treachery, my dear Camilla! why, I think there's nobody so good in the
wide world!--by which I mean no reflections, never thinking it right to
make any.'

Indiana, sullenly pouting, spoke not a word; but Miss Margland, with a
tone of plausibility that was some covert to its malice, said 'Why then
all may be well, and the young ladies as good friends as ever, and Mr.
Mandlebert return to the conduct of a gentleman, only just by Miss
Camilla's doing as she would be done by; for nothing that all of us can
say will have any effect, if she does not discourage him from dangling
about after her in the manner he does now, speaking to nobody else, and
always asking her opinion about every trifle, which is certainly doing
no great justice to Miss Lynmere.'

Indiana, with a toss of the head, protested his notice was the last
thing she desired.

'My dear Indiana,' said Sir Hugh, 'don't mind all that outward shew. Mr.
Mandlebert is a very good boy, and as to your cousin Camilla, I am sure
I need not put you in mind how much she is the same; but I really think,
whatever's the reason, the young youths of now-a-days grow backwarder
and backwarder. Though I can't say but what in my time it was just the
same; witness myself; which is what I have been sorry for often enough,
though I have left off repenting it now, because it's of no use; age
being a thing there's no getting ahead of.'

'Well, then, all that remains is this,' said Miss Margland, 'let Miss
Camilla keep out of Mr. Mandlebert's way; and let her order the
carriage, and go to Mrs. Arlbery's to-morrow, and take no notice of his
likings and dislikings; and I'll be bound for it he will soon think no
more of her, and then, of course, he will give the proper attention to
Miss Lynmere.'

'O, if that's all,' cried Sir Hugh, 'my dear Camilla, I am sure, will do
it, and as much again too, to make her cousin easy. And so now, I hope,
all is settled, and my two good girls will kiss one another, and be
friends; which I am sure I am myself, with all my heart.'

Camilla hung her head, in speechless perturbation, at a task which
appeared to her equally hard and unjust; but while fear and shame kept
her silent, Sir Hugh drew her to Indiana, and a cold, yet unavoidable
salute, gave a species of tacit consent to a plan which she did not dare
oppose, from the very strength of the desire that urged her opposition.

They then separated; Sir Hugh delighted, Miss Margland triumphant,
Indiana half satisfied, half affronted, and Camilla with a mind so
crowded, a heart so full, she scarcely breathed. Sensations the most
contrary, of pain, pleasure, hope, and terror, at once assailed her.
Edgar, of whom so long she had only thought as of the destined husband
of Indiana, she now heard named with suspicions of another regard, to
which she did not dare give full extension; yet of which the most
distant surmise made her consider herself, for a moment, as the happiest
of human beings, though she held herself the next as the most culpable
for even wishing it.

She found Eugenia still in her room, who, perceiving her increased
emotion, tenderly enquired, if there were any new cause.

'Alas! yes, my dearest Eugenia! they have been exacting from me the most
cruel of sacrifices! They order me to fly from Edgar Mandlebert--to
resist his advice--to take the very measures I have promised to
forbear--to disoblige, to slight, to behave to him even offensively! my
uncle himself, lenient, kind, indulgent as he is, my uncle himself has
been prevailed with to inflict upon me this terrible injunction.'

'My uncle,' answered Eugenia, 'is incapable of giving pain to any body,
and least of all to you, whom he loves with such fondness; he has not
therefore comprehended the affair; he only considers, in general, that
to please or to displease Edgar Mandlebert can be a matter of no moment
to you, when compared with its importance to Indiana.'

'It is a thousand and a thousand, a million and a million times more
important to me, than it can ever be to her!' exclaimed the ardent
Camilla, 'for she values not his kindness, she knows not his worth, she
is insensible to his virtues!'

'You judge too hastily, my dear Camilla; she has not indeed your warmth
of heart; but if she did not wish the union to take place, why would she
shew all this disquiet in the apprehension of its breach?'

Camilla, surprised into recollection, endeavoured to become calmer.

'You, indeed,' continued the temperate Eugenia, 'if so situated, would
not so have behaved; you would not have been so unjust; and you could
not have been so weak; but still, if you had received, however
causelessly, any alarm for the affection of the man you meant to marry,
and that man were as amiable as Edgar, you would have been equally
disturbed.'

Camilla, convinced, yet shocked, felt the flutter of her heart give a
thousand hues to her face, and walking to the window, leaned far out to
gasp for breath.

'Weigh the request more coolly, and you cannot refuse a short
compliance. I am sure you would not make Indiana unhappy.'

'O, no! not for the world!' cried she, struggling to seem more
reasonable than she felt.

'Yet how can she be otherwise, if she imagines you have more of the
notice and esteem of Edgar than herself?'

Camilla now had not a word to say; the subject dropt; she took up a
book, and by earnest internal remonstrances, commanded herself to appear
at tea-time with tolerable serenity.

The evening was passed in spiritless conversation, or in listening to
the piano-forte, upon which Indiana, with the utmost difficulty, played
some very easy lessons.

At night, the following answer arrived from Dr. Marchmont:

     _To_ Edgar Mandlebert, _Esq._

     _Parsonage House, Cleves,
     Friday Night._
     MY DEAR FRIEND,

     I must be thankful, in a moment of such enthusiasm, that you can
     pay the attention of even recollecting those evils with which my
     zeal only has, you think, encompassed you. I cannot insist upon the
     practice of caution which you deem unfounded; but as you wait my
     answer, I will once more open upon my sentiments, and communicate
     my wishes. It is now only I can speak them; the instant you have
     informed the young lady of your own, silences them for ever. Your
     honour and her happiness become then entangled in each other, and I
     know not which I would least willingly assail. What in all men is
     base, would to you, I believe, be impossible--to trifle with such
     favour as may be the growth of your own undisguised partiality.

     Your present vehemence to ascertain the permanent possession of one
     you conceive formed for your felicity, obscures, to your now
     absorbed faculties, the thousand nameless, but tenacious,
     delicacies annexed by your species of character to your powers of
     enjoyment. In two words, then, let me tell you, what, in a short
     time, you will daily tell yourself: you cannot be happy if not
     exclusively loved; for you cannot excite, you cannot bestow
     happiness.

     By exclusively, I do not mean to the exclusion of other connections
     and regard; far from it; those who covet in a bride the oblivion of
     all former friendships, all early affections, weaken the finest
     ties of humanity, and dissolve the first compact of unregistered
     but genuine integrity. The husband, who would rather rationally
     than with romance be loved himself, should seek to cherish, not
     obliterate the kind feelings of nature in its first expansions.
     These, where properly bestowed, are the guarantees to that constant
     and respectable tenderness, which a narrow and selfish jealousy
     rarely fails to convert into distaste and disgust.

     The partiality which I mean you to ascertain, injures not these
     prior claims; I mean but a partiality exclusive of your situation
     in life, and of all declaration of your passion: a partiality, in
     fine, that is appropriate to yourself, not to the rank in the world
     with which you may tempt her ambition, nor to the blandishments of
     flattery, which only soften the heart by intoxicating the
     understanding.

     Observe, therefore, if your general character, and usual conduct,
     strike her mind; if her esteem is yours without the attraction of
     assiduity and adulation; if your natural disposition and manners
     make your society grateful to her, and your approbation desirable.

     It is thus alone you can secure your own contentment; for it is
     thus alone your reflecting mind can snatch from the time to come
     the dangerous surmises of a dubious retrospection.

     Remember, you can always advance; you can never, in honour, go
     back; and believe me when I tell you, that the mere simple avowal
     of preference, which only ultimately binds the man, is frequently
     what first captivates the woman. If her mind is not previously
     occupied, it operates with such seductive sway, it so soothes, so
     flatters, so bewitches her self-complacency, that while she
     listens, she imperceptibly fancies she participates in sentiments,
     which, but the minute before, occurred not even to her imagination;
     and while her hand is the recompence of her own eulogy, she is not
     herself aware if she has bestowed it where her esteem and regard,
     unbiassed by the eloquence of acknowledged admiration, would have
     wished it sought, or if it has simply been the boon of her own
     gratified vanity.

     I now no longer urge your acquiescence, my dear friend; I merely
     entreat you twice to peruse what I have written, and then leave you
     to act by the result of such perusal.

     I remain
     Your truly faithful and obliged
     GABRIEL MARCHMONT.

Edgar ran through this letter with an impatience wholly foreign to his
general character. 'Why,' cried he, 'will he thus obtrude upon me these
fastidious doubts and causeless difficulties? I begged but the
restitution of my promise, and he gives it me in words that nearly
annihilate my power of using it.'

Disappointed and displeased, he hastily put it into his pocket-book,
resolving to seek Camilla, and commit the consequences of an interview
to the impulses it might awaken.

He was half way down stairs, when the sentence finishing with, 'you
cannot excite, you cannot bestow happiness,' confusedly recurred to him:
'If in that,' thought he, 'I fail, I am a stranger to it myself, and a
stranger for ever;' and, returning to his room, he re-opened the letter
to look for the passage.

The sentence lost nothing by being read a second time; he paused upon it
dejectedly, and presently re-read the whole epistle.

'He is not quite wrong!' cried he, pensively; 'there is nothing very
unreasonable in what he urges: true, indeed, it is, that I can never be
happy myself, if her happiness is not entwined around my own.'

The first blight thus borne to that ardent glee with which the
imagination rewards its own elevated speculations, he yet a third time
read the letter.

'He is right!' he then cried; 'I will investigate her sentiments, and
know what are my chances for her regard; what I owe to real approbation;
and what merely to intimacy of situation. I will postpone all
explanation till my visit here expires, and devote the probationary
interval, to an examination which shall obviate all danger of either
deceiving my own reason, or of beguiling her inconsiderate acceptance.'

This settled, he rejoiced in a mastery over his eagerness, which he
considered as complete, since it would defer for no less than a week the
declaration of his passion.




CHAPTER III

_An Author's Notion of Travelling_


The next morning Camilla, sad and unwilling to appear, was the last who
entered the breakfast-parlour. Edgar instantly discerned the continued
unhappiness, which an assumed smile concealed from the unsuspicious Sir
Hugh, and the week of delay before him seemed an outrage to all his
wishes.

While she was drinking her first cup of tea, a servant came in, and told
her the carriage was ready.

She coloured, but nobody spoke, and the servant retired. Edgar was going
to ask the design for the morning, when Miss Margland said--'Miss
Camilla, as the horses have got to go and return, you had better not
keep them waiting.'

Colouring still more deeply, she was going to disclaim having ordered
them, though well aware for what purpose they were come, when Sir Hugh
said--'I think, my dear, you had best take Eugenia with you, which may
serve you as a companion to talk to, in case you want to say anything by
the way, which I take for granted; young people not much liking to hold
their tongues for a long while together, which is very natural, having
so little to think of.'

'Miss Eugenia, then,' cried Miss Margland, before Camilla could reply,
'run for your cloak as soon as you have finished your breakfast.'

Eugenia, hoping to aid her sister in performing a task, which she
considered as a peace-offering to Indiana, said, she had already done.

Camilla now lost all courage for resistance; but feeling her chagrin
almost intolerable, quitted the room with her tea undrunk, and without
making known if she should return or not.

Eugenia followed, and Edgar, much amazed, said, he had forgotten to
order his horse for his morning's ride, and hastily made off: determined
to be ready to hand the sisters to the carriage, and learn whither it
was to drive.

Camilla, who, in flying to her room, thought of nothing less than
preparing for an excursion which she now detested, was again surprised
in tears by Eugenia.

'What, my dearest Camilla,' she cried, 'can thus continually affect you?
you cannot be so unhappy without some cause!--why will you not trust
your Eugenia?'

'I cannot talk,' she answered, ashamed to repeat reasons which she knew
Eugenia held to be inadequate to her concern--'If there is no resource
against this persecution--if I must render myself hateful to give them
satisfaction, let us, at least, be gone immediately, and let me be
spared seeing the person I so ungratefully offend.'

She then hurried down stairs; but finding Edgar in waiting, still more
quickly hurried back, and in an agony, for which she attempted not to
account, cast herself into a chair, and told Eugenia, that if Miss
Margland did not contrive to call Edgar away, the universe could not
prevail with her to pass him in such defiance.

'My dear Camilla,' said Eugenia, surprized, yet compassionately, 'if
this visit is become so painful to you, relinquish it at once.'

'Ah, no! for that cruel Miss Margland will then accuse me of staying
away only to follow the counsel of Edgar.'

She stopt; for the countenance of Eugenia said--'_And is that not your
motive?_' A sudden consciousness took place of her distress; she hid her
face, in the hope of concealing her emotion, and with as calm a voice as
she could attain, said, the moment they could pass unobserved she would
set off.

Eugenia went downstairs.

'Alas! alas!' she then cried, 'into what misery has this barbarous Miss
Margland thrown me! Eugenia herself seems now to suspect something
wrong; and so, I suppose, will my uncle; and I can only convince them of
my innocence by acting towards Edgar as a monster.--Ah! I would sooner a
thousand times let them all think me guilty!'

Eugenia had met Miss Margland in the hall, who, impatient for their
departure, passed her, and ascended the stairs.

At the sound of her footsteps, the horror of her reproaches and
insinuations conquered every other feeling, and Camilla, starting up,
rushed forward, and saying 'Good morning!' ran off.

Edgar was still at the door, and came forward to offer her his hand.
'Pray take care of Eugenia,' she cried, abruptly passing him, and
darting, unaided, into the chaise. Edgar, astonished, obeyed, and gave
his more welcome assistance to Eugenia; but when both were seated,
said--'Where shall I tell the postillion to drive?'

Camilla, who was pulling one of the green blinds up, and again letting
it down, twenty times in a minute, affected not to hear him; but Eugenia
answered, 'to the Grove, to Mrs. Arlbery's.'

The postillion had already received his orders from Miss Margland, and
drove off; leaving Edgar mute with surprise, disappointment and
mortification.

Miss Margland was just behind him, and conceived this the fortunate
instant for eradicating from his mind every favourable pre-possession
for Camilla; assuming, therefore, an air of concern, she said--'So, you
have found Miss Camilla out, in spite of all her precautions! she would
fain not have had you know her frolic.'

'Not know it! has there, then, been any plan? did Miss Camilla
intend----'

'O, she intends nothing in the world for two minutes together! only she
did not like you should find out her fickleness. You know, I told you,
before, she was all whim; and so you will find. You may always take my
opinion, be assured. Miss Lynmere is the only one among them that is
always the same, always good, always amiable.'

'And is not Miss----' he was going to say Camilla, but checking himself,
finished with--'Miss Eugenia, at least, always equal, always
consistent?'

'Why, she is better than Miss Camilla; but not one among them has any
steadiness, or real sweetness, but Miss Lynmere. As to Miss Camilla, if
she has not her own way, there's no enduring her, she frets, and is so
cross. When you put her off, in that friendly manner, from gadding after
a new acquaintance so improper for her, you set her into such an ill
humour, that she has done nothing but cry, as you may have seen by her
eyes, and worry herself and all of us round, except you, ever since; but
she was afraid of you, for fear you should take her to task, which she
hates of all things.'

Half incredulous, yet half shocked, Edgar turned from this harangue in
silent disgust. He knew the splenetic nature of Miss Margland, and
trusted she might be wrong; but he knew, too, her opportunities for
observation, and dreaded lest she might be right. Camilla had been
certainly low spirited, weeping, and restless; was it possible it could
be for so slight, so unmeaning a cause? His wish was to follow her on
horseback; but this, unauthorized, might betray too much anxiety: he
tried not to think of what had been said by Dr. Marchmont, while this
cloud hung over her disposition and sincerity; for whatever might be
the malignity of Miss Margland, the breach of a promise, of which the
voluntary sweetness had so lately proved his final captivation, could
not be doubted, and called aloud for explanation.

He mounted, however, his horse, to make his promised enquiries of Mrs.
Needham; for though the time was already past for impeding the
acquaintance from taking place, its progress might yet be stopt, should
it be found incompatible with propriety.

The young ladies had scarce left the Park, when Sir Hugh, recollecting a
promise he had made to Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold, of never suffering Eugenia
to go abroad unattended by some gentleman, while Bellamy remained in the
country, sent hastily to beg that Edgar would follow the carriage.

Edgar was out of sight, and there was no chance of overtaking him.

'Lack-a-day!' said Sir Hugh, 'those young folks can never walk a horse
but full gallop!' He then resolved to ask Dr. Orkborne to go after his
pupil, and ride by the side of the chaise. He ordered a horse to be
saddled; and, to lose no time by messages, the tardiness of which he had
already experienced with this gentleman, he went himself to his
apartment, and after several vain rappings at his door, entered the room
unbid, saying--'Good Dr. Orkborne, unless you are dead, which God
forbid! I think it's something uncomfortable that you can't speak to a
person waiting at your door; not that I pretend to doubt but you may
have your proper reasons, being what I can't judge.'

He then begged he would get booted and spurred instantly, and follow his
two nieces to Mrs. Arlbery's, in order to take care of Eugenia; adding,
'though I'm afraid, Doctor, by your look, you don't much listen to me,
which I am sorry for; my not being able to speak like Horace and Virgil
being no fault of mine, but of my poor capacity, which no man can be
said to be answerable for.'

He then again entreated him to set off.

'Only a moment, sir! I only beg you'll accord me one moment!' cried the
Doctor, with a fretful sigh; while, screening his eyes with his left
hand, he endeavoured hastily to make a memorandum of his ideas, before
he forced them to any other subject.

'Really, Dr. Orkborne,' said Sir Hugh, somewhat displeased, 'I must
needs remark, for a friend, I think this rather slow: however, I can't
say I am much disappointed, now, that I did not turn out a scholar
myself, for I see, plain enough, you learned men think nothing of any
consequence but Homer and such; which, however, I don't mean to take
ill, knowing it was like enough to have been my own case.'

He then left the room, intending to send a man and horse after the
chaise, to desire his two nieces to return immediately.

Dr. Orkborne, who, though copiously stored with the works of the
ancients, had a sluggish understanding, and no imagination, was entirely
overset by this intrusion. The chain of his observations was utterly
broken; he strove vainly to rescue from oblivion the slow ripening
fruits of his tardy conceptions, and, proportioning his estimation of
their value by their labour, he not only considered his own loss as
irreparable, but the whole world to be injured by so unfortunate an
interruption.

The recollection, however, which refused to assist his fame, was
importunate in reminding him that the present offender was his patron;
and his total want of skill in character kept from him the just
confidence he would otherwise have placed in the unalterable goodness of
heart of Sir Hugh, whom, though he despised for his ignorance, he feared
for his power.

Uneasy, therefore, at his exit, which he concluded to be made in wrath,
he uttered a dolorous groan over his papers, and compelled himself to
follow, with an apology, the innocent enemy of his glory.

Sir Hugh, who never harboured displeasure for two minutes in his life,
was more inclined to offer an excuse himself for what he had dropt
against learning, than to resist the slightest concession from the
Doctor, whom he only begged to make haste, the horse being already at
the door. But Dr. Orkborne, as soon as he comprehended what was desired,
revived from the weight of sacrificing so much time; he had never been
on horseback since he was fifteen years of age, and declared, to the
wondering baronet, he could not risk his neck by undertaking such a
journey.

In high satisfaction, he would then have returned to his room, persuaded
that, when his mind was disembarrassed, a parallel between two ancient
authors which, with much painful stretch of thought, he had suggested,
and which, with the most elaborate difficulty, he was arranging and
drawing up, would recur again to his memory: but Sir Hugh, always eager
in expedients, said, he should follow in the coach, which might be ready
time enough for him to arrive at Mrs. Arlbery's before the visit was
over, and to bring Eugenia safe back; 'which,' cried he, 'is the main
point, for the sake of seeing that she goes no where else.'

Dr. Orkborne, looking extremely blank at this unexpected proposition,
stood still.

'Won't you go, then, my good friend?'

The Doctor, after a long pause, and in a most dejected tone, sighed out,
'Yes, sir, certainly, with the greatest--alacrity.'

Sir Hugh, who took everything literally that seemed right or
good-natured, thanked him, and ordered the horses to be put to the coach
with all possible expedition.

It was soon at the door, and Dr. Orkborne, who had spent in his room the
intervening period, in moaning the loss of the time that was to succeed,
and in an opinion that two hours of this morning would have been of more
value to him than two years when it was gone, reluctantly obeyed the
call that obliged him to descend: but he had no sooner entered the
carriage, and found he was to have it to himself, than leaping suddenly
from it, as the groom, who was to attend him, was preparing to shut the
door, he hastened back to his chamber to collect a packet of books and
papers, through the means of which he hoped to recall those flowers of
rhetoric, upon which he was willing to risk his future reputation.

The astonished groom, concluding something had frightened him, jumped
into the coach to find the cause of his flight; but Sir Hugh, who was
advancing to give his final directions, called out, with some
displeasure 'Hollo, there, you Jacob! if Dr. Orkborne thinks to get you
to go for my nieces in place of himself, it's what I don't approve;
which, however, you need not take amiss, one man being no more born with
a livery upon his back than another; which God forbid I should think
otherwise. Nevertheless, my little girls must have a proper respect
shewn them; which, it's surprising Dr. Orkborne should not know as well
as me.'

And, much disconcerted, he walked to the parlour, to ruminate upon some
other measure.

'I am sure, your honour,' said Jacob, following him, 'I got in with no
ill intention; but what it was as come across the Doctor I don't know;
but just as I was a going to shut the door, without saying never a word,
out he pops, and runs upstairs again; so I only got in to see if
something had hurt him; but I can't find nothing of no sort.'

Then, putting to the door, and looking sagaciously, 'Please your
honour,' he continued, 'I dare say it's only some maggot got into his
brain from over reading and writing; for all the maids think he'll soon
be cracked.'

'That's very wrong of them, Jacob; and I desire you'll tell them they
must not think any such thing.'

'Why, your honour don't know half, or you'd be afraid too,' said Jacob,
lowering his voice; 'he's like nothing you ever see. He won't let a
chair nor a table be dusted in his room, though they are covered over
with cobwebs, because he says, it takes him such a time to put his
things to rights again; though all the while what he calls being to
rights is just the contrary; for it's a mere higgledy piggledy, one
thing heaped o'top of t'other, as if he did it for fun.'

The baronet gravely answered, that if there were not the proper shelves
for his books he would order more.

'Why, your honour, that's not the quarter, as I tell you! why, when
they're cleaning out his room, if they happen but to sweep away a bit of
paper as big as my hand, he'll make believe they've done him as much
mischief as if they'd stole a thousand pound. It would make your honour
stare to hear him. Mary says, she's sure he has never been quite right
ever since he come to the house.'

'But I desire you'll tell Mary I don't approve of that opinion. Dr.
Orkborne is one of the first scholars in the world, as I am credibly
informed; and I beg you'll all respect him accordingly.'

'Why, your honour, if it i'n't owing to something of that sort, why does
he behave so unaccountable? I myself heard him making such a noise at
the maids one day, that I spoke to Mary afterwards, and asked her what
was the matter?--"Laws, nobody knows," says she, "but here's the Doctor
been all in a huff again; I was just a dusting his desk (says she) and
so I happened to wipe down a little bundle of papers, all nothing but
mere scraps, and he took on as if they'd been so many guineas (says she)
and he kept me there for an hour looking for them, and scolding, and
telling such a heap of fibs, that if he was not out of his head, would
be a shame for a gentleman to say" (says she).'

'Fie, fie, Jacob! and tell Mary fie, too. He is a very learned
gentleman, and no more a story-teller than I am myself; which God
forbid.'

'Why, your honour, how could this here be true? he told the maids how
they had undone him, and the like, only because of their throwing down
them few bits of papers; though they are ready to make oath they picked
them up, almost every one; and that they were all of a crump, and of no
manner of use.'

'Well, well, say no more about it, good Jacob, but go and give my
compliments to Dr. Orkborne, and ask him, what's the reason of his
changing his mind; I mean, provided it's no secret.'

Jacob returned in two minutes, with uplifted hands and eyes; 'your
honour,' cried he, 'now you'll believe me another time! he is worse than
ever, and I'll be bound he'll break out before another quarter.'

'Why, what's the matter?'

'Why, as sure as I'm here, he's getting together ever so many books, and
stuffing his pockets, and cramming them under his arms, just as if he
was a porter! and when I gave him your honour's message, I suppose it
put him out, for he said, "Don't hurry me so, I'm a coming;" making
believe as if he was only a preparing for going out, in the stead of
making that fool of himself.'

Sir Hugh, now really alarmed, bid him not mention the matter to anyone;
and was going upstairs himself, when he saw Dr. Orkborne, heavily laden
with books in each hand, and bulging from both coat pockets, slowly and
carefully coming down.

'Bless me,' cried he, rather fearfully, 'my dear sir, what are you going
to do with all that library?'

Dr. Orkborne, wishing him good morning, without attending to his
question, proceeding to the carriage, calling to Jacob, who stood aloof,
to make haste and open the door.

Jacob obeyed, but with a significant look at his master, that said, 'you
see how it is, sir!'

Sir Hugh following him, gently put his hand upon his shoulder, and
mildly said, 'My dear friend, to be sure you know best, but I don't see
the use of loading yourself in that manner for nothing.'

'It is a great loss of time, sir, to travel without books,' answered the
Doctor, quietly arranging them in the coach.

'Travel, my good friend? Why, you don't call it travelling to go four or
five miles? why, if you had known me before my fall--However, I don't
mean to make any comparisons, you gentlemen scholars being no particular
good horsemen. However, if you were to go one hundred miles instead of
four or five, you could not get through more than one of those books,
read as hard as you please; unless you skip half, which I suppose you
solid heads leave to the lower ignoramusses.'

'It is not for reading, sir, that I take all these books, but merely to
look into. There are many of them I shall never read in my life, but I
shall want them all.'

Sir Hugh now stared with increased perplexity; but Dr. Orkborne, as
eager to go, since his books were to accompany him, as before to stay,
told Jacob to bid the coachman make haste. Jacob looked at his master,
who ordered him to mount his mare, and the carriage drove off.

The baronet, in some uneasiness, seated himself in the hall, to ruminate
upon what he had just heard. The quietness and usual manner of speaking
and looking of Dr. Orkborne, which he had remarked, removed any
immediate apprehensions from the assertions of Jacob and Mary; but still
he did not like the suggestion; and the carrying off so many books, when
he acknowledged he did not mean to read one of them, disturbed him.

In every shadow of perplexity, his first wish was to consult with his
brother; and if he had not parted with both his carriages, he would
instantly have set off for Etherington. He sent, however, an express for
Mr. Tyrold, begging to see him at Cleves with all speed.




CHAPTER IV

_An internal Detection_


When the chaise drove from Cleves Park, all attempt at any disguise was
over with Camilla, who alive only to the horror of appearing ungrateful
to Edgar, wept without controul; and, leaning back in the carriage,
entreated Eugenia to dispense with all conversation.

Eugenia, filled with pity, wondered, but complied, and they travelled
near four miles in silence; when, perceiving, over the paling round a
paddock, Mrs. Arlbery and a party of company, Camilla dried her eyes,
and prepared for her visit, of which the impetuosity of her feelings
had retarded all previous consideration.

Eugenia, with true concern, saw the unfitness of her sister to appear,
and proposed walking the rest of the way, in the hope that a little air
and exercise might compose her spirits.

She agreed; they alighted, and bidding the footman keep with the
carriage, which they ordered should drive slowly behind, they proceeded
gently, arm in arm, along a clean raised bank by the side of the road,
with a pace suiting at once the infirmity of Eugenia, and the wish of
delay in Camilla.

The sound of voices reached them from within the paddock, though a thick
shrubbery prevented their seeing the interlocutors.

'Can you make out the arms?' said one.

'No,' answered another, 'but I can see the postillion's livery, and I am
certain it is Sir Hugh Tyrold's.'

'Then it is not coming hither,' said a third voice, which they
recollected for Mrs. Arlbery's; 'we don't visit: though I should not
dislike to see the old baronet. They tell me [he] is a humorist; and I
have a taste for all oddities: but then he has a house full of females,
and females I never admit in a morning, except when I have secured some
men to take the entertaining them off my hands.'

'Whither is Bellamy running?' cried another voice, 'he's off without a
word.'

'Gone in hopes of a rencounter, I doubt not,' answered Mrs. Arlbery; 'he
made palpable aim at one of the divinities of Cleves at the ball.'

Eugenia now grew uneasy. 'Let us be quick,' she whispered 'and enter the
house!'

'Divinities! Lord! are they divinities?' said a girlish female voice;
'pray how old are they?'

'I fancy about seventeen.'

'Seventeen! gracious! I thought they'd been quite young; I wonder they
a'n't married!'

'I presume, then, you intend to be more expeditious?' said another,
whose voice spoke him to be General Kinsale.

'Gracious! I hope so, for I hate an old bride. I'll never marry at all,
if I stay till I am eighteen.'

'A story goes about,' said the General, 'that Sir Hugh Tyrold has
selected one of his nieces for his sole heiress; but no two people agree
which it is; they have asserted it of each.'

'I was mightily taken with one of the girls,' said Mrs. Arlbery; 'there
was something so pleasant in her looks and manner, that I even felt
inclined to forgive her being younger and prettier than myself; but she
turned out also to be more whimsical--and that there was no enduring.'

Camilla, extremely ashamed, was now upon the point of begging Eugenia to
return, when a new speech seized all her attention.

'Do you know, General, when that beautiful automaton, Miss Lynmere, is
to marry young Mandlebert?'

'Immediately, I understand; I am told he has fitted up his house very
elegantly for her reception.'

A deep sigh escaped Camilla at such publicity in the report and belief
of the engagement of Edgar with her cousin, and brought with it a
consciousness too strong for any further self-disguise, that her
distress flowed not all from an unjust accusation: the sound alone of
the union struck as a dagger at her heart, and told her,
incontrovertibly, who was its master.

Her sensations were now most painful: she grew pale, she became sick,
and was obliged, in her turn, to lean upon Eugenia, who, affrighted to
see her thus strangely disordered, besought her to go back to the
chaise.

She consented, and begged to pass a few minutes there alone. Eugenia
therefore stayed without, walking slowly upon the bank.

Camilla, getting into the carriage, pulled up the blinds, and, no longer
self-deceived, lamented in a new burst of sorrow, her unhappy fate, and
unpropitious attachment.

This consciousness, however, became soon a call upon her integrity, and
her regret was succeeded by a summons upon propriety. She gave herself
up as lost to all personal felicity, but hoped she had discovered the
tendency of her affliction, in time to avoid the dangers, and the errors
to which it might lead. She determined to struggle without cessation for
the conquest of a partiality she deemed it treachery to indulge; and to
appease any pain she now blushed to have caused to Indiana, by strictly
following the hard prescription of Miss Margland, and the obvious
opinion of Eugenia, in shunning the society, and no longer coveting the
approbation of Edgar. 'Such, my dear father,' she cried, 'would be your
lesson, if I dared consult you! such, my most honoured mother, would be
your conduct, if thus cruelly situated!'

This thought thrilled through every vein with pleasure, in a sense of
filial desert, and her sole desire was to return immediately to those
incomparable parents, under whose roof she had experienced nothing but
happiness, and in whose bosoms she hoped to bury every tumultuous
disturbance.

These ideas and resolutions, dejecting, yet solacing, occupied her to
the forgetfulness of her intended visit, and even of Eugenia, till the
words: 'Pray let me come to you, my dear Camilla!' made her let down the
blinds.

She then perceived Mr. Bellamy earnestly addressing her sister.

He had advanced suddenly towards her, by a short cut from the paddock,
of which she was not aware, when she was about twenty yards from the
chaise.

She made an effort to avoid him; but he planted himself in the way of
her retreat, though with an air of supplication, with which she strove
in vain to be angry.

He warmly represented the cruelty of thus flying him, entreated but the
privilege of addressing her as a common acquaintance; and promised, upon
that condition, to submit unmurmuring to her rejection.

Eugenia, though in secret she thought this request but equitable, made
him no answer.

'O madam,' he cried, 'what have I not suffered since your barbarous
letter! why will you be so amiable, yet so inexorable?'

She attempted to quicken her pace; but again, in the same manner,
stopping her, he exclaimed: 'Do not kill me by this disdain! I ask not
now for favour or encouragement--I know my hard doom--I ask only to
converse with you--though, alas! it was by conversing with you I lost my
heart.'

Eugenia felt softened; and her countenance, which had forfeited nothing
of expression, though every thing of beauty, soon shewed Bellamy his
advantage. He pursued it eagerly; depicted his passion, deprecated her
severity, extolled her virtues and accomplishments, and bewailed his
unhappy, hopeless flame.

Eugenia, knowing that all she said, and believing that all she heard
issued from the fountain of truth, became extremely distressed. 'Let me
pass, I conjure you, Sir,' she cried, 'and do not take it ill--but I
cannot hear you any longer.'

The vivacity of bright hope flashed into the sparkling eyes of Bellamy,
at so gentle a remonstrance; and entreaties for lenity, declarations of
passion, professions of submission, and practice of resistance, assailed
the young Eugenia with a rapidity that confounded her: she heard him
with scarce any opposition, from a fear of irritating his feelings,
joined to a juvenile embarrassment how to treat with more severity so
sincere and so humble a suppliant.

From this situation, to the extreme provocation of Bellamy, she was
relieved by the appearance of Major Cerwood, who having observed, from
the paddock, the slow motion of the carriage, had come forth to find out
the cause.

Eugenia seized the moment of interruption to press forward, and make the
call to her sister already mentioned; Bellamy accompanying and pleading,
but no longer venturing to stop her: he handed her, therefore, to the
chaise, where Major Cerwood also paid his compliments to the two ladies;
and hearing they were going to the seat of Mrs. Arlbery, whither Camilla
now forced herself, though more unwillingly than ever, he ran on, with
Bellamy, to be ready to hand them from the carriage.

They were shewn into a parlour, while a servant went into the garden to
call his mistress.

This interval was not neglected by either of the gentlemen, for Bellamy
was scarce more eager to engage the attention of Eugenia, than the Major
to force that of Camilla. By Lionel he had been informed she was heiress
of Cleves; he deemed, therefore, the opportunity by no means to be
thrown away, of making, what he believed required opportunity alone, a
conquest of her young heart. Accustomed to think compliments always
welcome to the fair, he construed her sadness into softness, and imputed
her silence to the confusing impression made upon an inexperienced rural
beauty, by the first assiduities of a man of figure and gallantry.

In about a quarter of an hour the servant of Mrs. Arlbery slowly
returned, and, with some hesitation, said his lady was not at home. The
gentlemen looked provoked, and Camilla and Eugenia, much disconcerted at
so evident a denial, left their names, and returned to their carriage.

The journey back to Cleves was mute and dejected: Camilla was shocked at
the conscious state of her own mind, and Eugenia was equally pensive.
She began to think with anxiety of a contract with a person wholly
unknown, and to consider the passion and constancy of Bellamy as the
emanations of a truly elevated mind, and meriting her most serious
gratitude.

At the hall door they were eagerly met by Sir Hugh, who, with infinite
surprise, enquired where they had left Dr. Orkborne.

'Dr. Orkborne?' they repeated, 'we have not even seen him.'

'Not seen him? did not he come to fetch you?'

'No, Sir.'

'Why, he went to Mrs. Arlbery's on purpose! And what he stays for at
that lady's, now you are both come away, is a thing I can't pretend to
judge of; unless he has stopt to read one of those books he took with
him; which is what I dare say is the case.'

'He cannot be at Mrs. Arlbery's, Sir,' said Eugenia, 'for we have but
this moment left her house.'

'He must be there, my dear girls, for he's no where else. I saw him set
out myself, which, however, I shan't mention the particulars of, having
sent for my brother, whom I expect every minute.'

They then concluded he had gone by another road, as there were two ways
to the Grove.

Edgar did not return to Cleves till the family were assembling to
dinner. His visit to Mrs. Needham had occasioned him a new disturbance.
She had rallied him upon the general rumour of his approaching marriage;
and his confusion, from believing his partiality for Camilla detected,
was construed into a confirmation of the report concerning Indiana. His
disavowal was rather serious than strong, and involuntarily mixt with
such warm eulogiums of the object he imagined to be meant, that Mrs.
Needham, who had only named _a certain fair one at Cleves_, laughed at
his denial, and thought the engagement undoubted.

With respect to his enquiries relative to Mrs. Arlbery, Mrs. Needham
said, that she was a woman far more agreeable to the men, than to her
own sex; that she was full of caprice, coquetry, and singularity; yet,
though she abused the gift, she possessed an excellent and uncommon
understanding. She was guilty of no vices, but utterly careless of
appearances, and though her character was wholly unimpeached, she had
offended or frightened almost all the county around, by a wilful
strangeness of behaviour, resulting from an undaunted determination to
follow in every thing the bent of her own humour.

Edgar justly deemed this a dangerous acquaintance for Camilla, whose
natural thoughtlessness and vivacity made him dread the least
imprudence in the connexions she might form; yet, as the reputation of
Mrs. Arlbery was unsullied, he felt how difficult would be the task of
demonstrating the perils he feared.

Sir Hugh, during the dinner, was exceedingly disturbed. 'What Dr.
Orkborne can be doing with himself,' said he, 'is more than any man can
tell, for he certainly would not stay at the lady's, when he found you
were both come away; so that I begin to think it's ten to one but he's
gone nobody knows where! for why else should he take all those books?
which is a thing I have been thinking of ever since; especially as he
owned himself he should never read one half of them. If he has taken
something amiss, I am very ready to ask his pardon; though what it can
be I don't pretend to guess.'

Miss Margland said, he was so often doing something or other that was
ill-bred, that she was not at all surprised he should stay out at dinner
time. He had never yet fetched her a chair, nor opened the door for her,
since he came to the house; so that she did not know what was too bad to
expect.

As they were rising from the table, a note arrived from Mr. Tyrold, with
an excuse, that important business would prevent his coming to Cleves
till the next day. Camilla then begged permission to go in the chaise
that was to fetch him, flattering herself something might occur to
detain her, when at Etherington. Sir Hugh readily assented, and
composing himself for his afternoon nap, desired to be awaked if Dr.
Orkborne came back.

All now left the room except Camilla, who, taking up a book, stood still
at a window, till she was aroused by the voice of Edgar, who, from the
Park, asked her what she was reading.

She turned over the leaves, ashamed at the question, to look for the
title; she had held the book mechanically, and knew not what it was.

He then produced the promised nosegay, which had been brought by his
gardener during her excursion. She softly lifted up the sash, pointing
to her sleeping uncle; he gave it her with a silent little bow, and
walked away; much disappointed to miss an opportunity from which he had
hoped for some explanation.

She held it in her hand some time, scarcely sensible she had taken it,
till, presently, she saw its buds bedewed with her falling tears.

She shook them off, and pressed the nosegay to her bosom. 'This, at
least,' she cried, 'I may accept, for it was offered me before that
barbarous attack. Ah! they know not the innocence of my regard, or they
would not so wrong it! The universe could not tempt me to injure my
cousin, though it is true, I have valued the kindness of Edgar--and I
must always value it!--These flowers are more precious to me, coming
from his hands, and reared in his grounds, than all the gems of the East
could be from any other possessor. But where is the guilt of such a
preference? And who that knows him could help feeling it?'

Sir Hugh now awakening from a short slumber, exclaimed--'I have just
found out the reason why this poor gentleman has made off; I mean,
provided he is really gone away, which, however, I hope not: but I
think, by his bringing down all those books, he meant to give me a broad
hint, that he had got no proper book-case to keep them in; which the
maids as good as think too.'

Then, calling upon Camilla, he asked if she was not of that opinion.

'Y--e--s, Sir,' she hesitatingly answered.

'Well, then, my dear, if we all think the same, I'll give orders
immediately for getting the better of that fault.'

Miss Margland, curious to know how Camilla was detained, now re-entered
the room. Struck with the fond and melancholy air with which she was
bending over her nosegay, she abruptly demanded--'Pray, where might you
get those flowers?'

Covered with shame, she could make no answer.

'O, Miss Camilla! Miss Camilla!--ought not those flowers to belong to
Miss Lynmere?'

'Mr. Mandlebert had promised me them yesterday morning,' answered she,
in a voice scarce audible.

'And is this fair, Ma'am?--can you reckon it honourable?--I'll be judged
by Sir Hugh himself. Do you think it right, Sir, that Miss Camilla
should accept nosegays every day from Mr. Mandlebert, when her cousin
has had never a one at all?'

'Why, it's not her fault, you know, Miss Margland, if young Mr.
Mandlebert chuses to give them to her. However, if that vexes Indiana,
I'm sure my niece will make them over to her with the greatest pleasure;
for I never knew the thing she would not part with, much more a mere
little smell at the nose, which, whether one has it or not, can't much
matter after it's over.'

Miss Margland now exultingly held out her hand: the decision was
obliged to be prompt; Camilla delivered up the flowers, and ran into her
own room.

The sacrifice, cried she, is now complete! Edgar will conclude I hate
him, and believe Indiana loves him!--no matter!--it is fitting he should
think both. I will be steady this last evening, and to-morrow I will
quit this fatal roof!




CHAPTER V

_An Author's Opinion of Visiting_


When summoned to tea, Camilla, upon entering the parlour, found Sir Hugh
in mournful discourse with Edgar upon the non-appearance of Dr.
Orkborne. Edgar felt a momentary disappointment that she did not honour
his flowers with wearing them; but consoled himself with supposing she
had preserved them in water. In a few minutes, however, Indiana appeared
with them in her bosom.

Almost petrified, he turned towards Camilla, who, affecting an air of
unconcern, amused herself with patting a favourite old terrier of her
uncle's.

As soon as he could disengage himself from the Baronet, he leant also
over the dog, and, in a low voice, said--'You have discarded, then, my
poor flowers?'

'Have I not done right?' answered she, in the same tone; 'are they not
where you must be far happier to see them?'

'Is it possible,' exclaimed he, 'Miss Camilla Tyrold can suppose----'.
He stopt, for surprised off his guard, he was speaking loud, and he saw
Miss Margland approaching.

'Don't you think, Mr. Mandlebert,' said she, 'that Miss Lynmere becomes
a bouquet very much? she took a fancy to those flowers, and I think they
are quite the thing for her.'

'She does them,' he coldly answered, 'too much honour.'

Ah, Heaven! he loves her not! thought Camilla, and, while trembling
between hope and terror at the suggestion, determined to redouble her
circumspection, not to confirm the suspicion that his indifference was
produced by her efforts to attach him to herself.

She had soon what she conceived to be an occasion for its exertion. When
he handed her some cakes, he said--'You would think it, I conclude,
impertinent to hear anything more concerning Mrs. Arlbery, now you have
positively opened an acquaintance with her?'

She felt the justice of this implied reproach of her broken promise; but
she saw herself constantly watched by Miss Margland, and repressing the
apology she was sighing to offer, only answered--'You have nothing, you
own, to say against her reputation--and as to any thing else----'

'True,' interrupted he, 'my information on that point is all still in
her favour: but can it be Miss Camilla Tyrold, who holds that to be the
sole question upon which intimacy ought to depend? Does she account as
nothing manners, disposition, way of life?'

'No, not absolutely as nothing,' said she, rising; 'but taste settles
all those things, and mine is entirely in her favour.'

Edgar gravely begged her pardon, for so officiously resuming an irksome
subject; and returning to Sir Hugh, endeavoured to listen to his
lamentations and conjectures about Dr. Orkborne.

He felt, however, deeply hurt. In naming Mrs. Arlbery, he had flattered
himself he had opened an opportunity for which she must herself be
waiting, to explain the motives of her late visit; but her light answer
put an end to that hope, and her quitting her seat shewed her impatient
of further counsel.

Not a word that fell from Sir Hugh reached his ear: but he bowed from
time to time, and the good Baronet had no doubt of his attention. His
eyes were perpetually following Camilla, though they met not a glance
from her in return. She played with the terrier, talked with Eugenia,
looked out of the window, turned over some books, and did everything
with an air of negligence, that while it covered absence and anxiety,
displayed a studied avoidance of his notice.

The less he could account for this, the more it offended him. And dwells
caprice, thought he, while his eye followed her, even there! in that
fair composition!--where may I look for singleness of mind, for
nobleness of simplicity, if caprice, mere girlish, unmeaning caprice,
dwell there!

The moment she had finished her tea, she left the room, to shorten her
cruel task. Struck with the broken sentence of 'is it possible Miss
Camilla Tyrold can suppose----' the soft hope that his heart was
untouched by Indiana, seized her delighted imagination; but the
recollection of Miss Margland's assertions, that it was the real right
of her cousin, soon robbed the hope of all happiness, and she could only
repeat--To-morrow I will go!--I ought not to think of him!--I had rather
be away--to-morrow I will go!

She had hardly quitted the parlour, when the distant sound of a carriage
roused Sir Hugh from his fears; and, followed by Edgar and the ladies,
he made what haste he could into the courtyard, where, to his infinite
satisfaction, he saw his coach driving in.

He ordered it should stop immediately, and called out--'Pray, Dr.
Orkborne, are you there?'

Dr. Orkborne looked out of the window, and bowed respectfully.

'Good lack, I could never have thought I should be so glad to see you!
which you must excuse, in point of being no relation. You are heartily
welcome, I assure you; I was afraid I should never see you again; for,
to tell you the honest truth, which I would not say a word of before, I
had got a notion you were going out of your mind.'

The Doctor took not the smallest heed of his speech, and the carriage
drove up to the door. Sir Hugh then seating himself under the portico,
said--'Pray, Dr. Orkborne, before you go to your studies, may I just ask
you how you came to stay out all day? and why you never fetched Eugenia?
for I take it for granted it's no secret, on the account Jacob was with
you; besides the coachman and horses.'

Dr. Orkborne, though not at all discomposed by these questions, nor by
his reception, answered, that he must first collect his books.

'The poor girls,' continued the Baronet, 'came home quite blank; not
that they knew a word of my asking you to go for them, till I told them;
which was lucky enough, for the sake of not frightening them. However,
where you can have been, particularly with regard to your dinner, which,
I suppose, you have gone without, is what I can't guess; unless you'd be
kind enough to tell me.'

The Doctor, too busy to hear him, was packing up his books.

'Come, never mind your books,' said Sir Hugh; 'Jacob can carry them for
you, or Bob, or any body. Here, Bob, (calling to the postillion, who,
with all the rest of the servants, had been drawn by curiosity into the
courtyard) whisk me up those books, and take them into the Doctor's
room; I mean, provided you can find a place for them, which I am sorry
to say there is none; owing to my not knowing better in point of taking
the proper care; which I shall be sure to do for the future.'

The boy obeyed, and mounting one step of the coach, took what were
within his reach; which, when the Doctor observed, he snatched away with
great displeasure, saying, very solemnly, he had rather at any time be
knocked down, than see any body touch one of his books or papers.

Jacob, coming forward, whispered his master not to interfere; assuring
him, he was but just got out of one of his tantrums.

Sir Hugh, a little startled, rose to return to the parlour, begging Dr.
Orkborne to take his own time, and not hurry himself.

He then beckoned Jacob to follow him.

'There is certainly something in all this,' said he to Edgar, 'beyond
what my poor wit can comprehend: but I'll hear what Jacob has to say
before I form a complete judgment; though, to be sure, his lugging out
all those books to go but four or five miles, has but an odd look; which
is what I don't like to say.'

Jacob now was called upon to give a narrative of the day's adventures.
'Why, your Honour,' said he, 'as soon as we come to the Grove, I goes up
to the coach door, to ask the Doctor if he would get out, or only send
in to let the young ladies know he was come for them; but he was got so
deep into some of his larning, that, I dare say, I bawled it three good
times in his ears, before he so much as lifted up his head; and then it
was only to say, I put him out! and to it he went again, just as if I'd
said never a word; till, at last, I was so plaguy mad, I gives the coach
such a jog, to bring him to himself like, that it jerked the pencil and
paper out of his hand. So then he went straight into one of his takings,
pretending I had made him forget all his thoughts, and such like out of
the way talk, after his old way. So when I found he was going off in
that manner, I thought it only time lost to say no more to him, and so I
turned me about not to mind him; when I sees a whole heap of company at
a parlour window, laughing so hearty, that I was sure they had heard us.
And a fine comely lady, as clever as ever you see, that I found after
was the lady of the house, bid me come to the window, and asked what I
wanted. So I told her we was come for two of the Miss Tyrolds. Why, says
she, they've been gone a quarter of an hour, by the opposite road. So
then I was coming away, but she made me a sign to come into the parlour,
for all it was brimful of fine company, dressed all like I don't know
what. It was as pretty a sight as you'd wish to see. And then, your
honour, they all begun upon me at once! there was such a clatter, I
thought I'd been turned into a booth at a fair; and merry enough they
all was sure!--'specially the lady, who never opened her lips, but what
they all laughed: but as to all what they asked me, I could as soon
conjure a ghost as call a quarter of it to mind.'

'Try, however,' said Edgar, curious for further information of whatever
related to Mrs. Arlbery.

'Why as to that, 'squire,' answered Jacob, with an arch look, 'I am not
so sure and certain you'd like to hear it all.'

'No? and why not?'

'O! pray tell, Jacob,' cried Miss Margland; 'did they say anything of
Mr. Mandlebert?'

'Yes, and of more than Mr. Mandlebert,' said Jacob, grinning.

'Do tell, do tell,' cried Indiana, eagerly.

'I'm afeard, Miss!'

Every body assured him no offence should be taken.

'Well, then, if you must needs know, there was not one of you, but what
they had a pluck at.--Pray, says one of them, what does the old
gentleman do with all those books and papers in the coach?--That's what
nobody knows, says I, unless his head's cracked, which is Mary's
opinion.--Then they all laughed more and more, and the lady of the house
said:--Pray can he really read?--Whoo! says I, why he does nothing else;
he's at it from morning till night, and Mary says she's sure before long
he'll give up his meat and drink for it.--I've always heard he was a
quiz, says another, or a quoz, or some such word; but I did not know he
was such a book-worm.--The old quoz is generous, however, I hear, says
another, pray do you find him so?--As to that, I can't say, says I, for
I never see the colour of his money.--No! then, what are you such a fool
as to serve him for?--So, then, your honour, I found, owing to the coach
and the arms, and the like, they thought all the time it was your honour
was in the coach. I hope your honour don't take it amiss of me?'

'Not at all Jacob; only I don't know why they call me an old quiz and
quoz for; never having offended them; which I take rather unkind;
especially not knowing what it means.'

'Why, your honour, they're such comical sort of folks; they don't mind
what they say of nobody. Not but what the lady of the house is a rare
gentlewoman. Your honour could not help liking her. I warrant she's made
many a man's heart ache, and then jumped for joy when she'd done. And as
to her eyes, I think in my born days I never see nothing like 'em: they
shines like two candles on a dark night afar off on the common----.'

'Why Jacob,' said Sir Hugh, 'I see you have lost your heart. However, go
on.'

'Why, as soon as I found out what they meant--That my master? says I,
no, God be thanked! What should I have to live upon if a was? Not so
much as a cobweb! for there would not be wherewithal for a spider to
make it.'

Here Sir Hugh, with much displeasure, interrupted him; 'As to the poor
gentleman's being poor,' said he, 'it's no fault of his own, for he'd be
rich if he could, I make no doubt; never having heard he was a gambler.
Besides which, I always respect a man the more for being poor, knowing
how little a rich man may have in him; which I can judge by my own
case.'

Jacob proceeded.

'Well, if it is not Sir Hugh, says one of them, who is it?--Why, it's
only our Latin master, says I; upon which they all set up as jolly a
laugh again as ever I heard in my days. Jobbins, they're pure
merry!--And who learns Latin! says one, I hope they don't let him work
at poor old Sir Hugh? No, says I, they tried their hands with him at
first, but he thanked 'em for nothing. He soon grew tired on't.--So then
they said, who learns now, says they, do you?--Me! says I, no, God be
praised, I don't know _A_ from _B_, which is the way my head's so clear,
never having muddled it with what I don't understand.--And so then they
all said I was a brave fellow; and they ordered me a glass of wine.'

What a set! thought Edgar, is this, idle, dissipated, curious--for
Camilla to associate with!--the lively, the unthinking, the
inexperienced Camilla!

'So then they asked me, says they, does Miss Lynmere learn, says
they?--Not, as I know of, says I, she's no great turn for her book, as
ever I heard of; which I hope Miss you won't take ill, for they all
said, no, to be sure, she's too handsome for that.'

Indiana looked uncertain whether to be flattered or offended.

'But you have not told us what they said of Mr. Mandlebert yet?' cried
Miss Margland.

'No, I must come to you first, Miss,' answered he, 'for that's what they
come upon next. But mayhap I must not tell?'

'O yes, you may;' said she, growing a little apprehensive of some
affront, but determined not to seem hurt by it; 'I am very indifferent
to any thing they can say of me, assure yourself!'

'Why, I suppose, says they, this Latin master studies chiefly with the
governess?--They'd study fisty-cuffs I believe, if they did, says I, for
she hates him like poison; and there's no great love lost between them.'

'And what right had you to say that, Mr. Jacob? I did not ask what you
said. Not that I care, I promise you!'

'Why, some how, they got it all out; they were so merry and so full of
their fun, I could not be behind hand. But I hope no offence?'

'O dear no! I'm sure it's not worth while.'

'They said worse than I did,' resumed Jacob, 'by a deal; they said, says
they, she looks duced crabbed--she looks just as if she was always
eating a sour apple, says the lady; she looks--'

'Well, well, I don't want to hear any more of their opinions. I may look
as I please I hope. I hate such gossiping.'

'So then they said, pray does Miss Camilla learn? says they;--Lord love
her, no! says I.'

'And what said they to that?' cried Edgar.

'Why, they said, they hoped not, and they were glad to hear it, for they
liked her the best of all. And what does the ugly one do? says they.--'

'Come, we have heard enough now,' interrupted Edgar, greatly shocked for
poor Eugenia, who fortunately, however, had retired with Camilla.

Sir Hugh too, angrily broke in upon him, saying: 'I won't have my niece
called ugly, Jacob! you know it's against my commands such a thing's
being mentioned.'

'Why, I told 'em so, sir,' said Jacob; 'ugly one, says I, she you call
the ugly one, is one of the best ladies in the land. She's ready to lend
a hand to every mortal soul; she's just like my master for that. And as
to learning, I make no quæry she can talk you over the Latin grammar as
fast as e'er a gentleman here. So then they laughed harder than ever,
and said they should be afeard to speak to her, and a deal more I can't
call to mind.--So then they come to Mr. Mandlebert. Pray, says they,
what's he doing among you all this time?--Why, nothing particular, says
I, he's only squiring about our young ladies.--But when is this wedding
to be? says another. So then I said--'

'What did you say?' cried Edgar hastily.

'Why--nothing,' answered Jacob, drawing back.

'Tell us, however, what they said,' cried Miss Margland.

'Why, they said, says they, everything has been ready some time at Beech
Park;--and they'll make as handsome a couple as ever was seen.'

'What stuff is this!' cried Edgar, 'do prithee have done.'--

'No, no,' said Miss Margland; 'go on, Jacob!'

Indiana, conscious and glowing at the words handsome couple, could not
restrain a simper; but Edgar, thinking only of Camilla, did not
understand it.

'He'll have trouble enough, says one of the gentlemen,' continued Jacob,
'to take care of so pretty a wife.--She'll be worth a little trouble,
says another, for I think she is the most beautifullest girl I ever
see--Take my word of it, says the lady of the house, young Mandlebert is
a man who won't be made a fool of; he'll have his own way, for all her
beauty.'

'What a character to give of me to young ladies!' cried Edgar, doubtful,
in his turn, whether to be hurt or gratified.

'O she did not stop at that, sir,' resumed Jacob, 'for she said, I make
no question, says she, but in half a year he'll lock her up.'

Indiana, surprized, gave an involuntary little shriek: but Edgar, not
imputing it to any appropriate alarm, was filled with resentment against
Mrs. Arlbery. What incomprehensible injustice! he said to himself: O
Camilla! is it possible any event, any circumstance upon earth, could
induce me to practise such an outrage? to degenerate into such a savage?

'Is this all?' asked Miss Margland.

'No, ma'am; but I don't know if Miss will like to hear the rest.'

'O yes,' said Indiana, 'if it's about me, I don't mind.'

'Why, they all said, Miss, you'd make the most finest bride that ever
was seen, and they did not wonder at Mr. Mandlebert's chusing you; but
for all that--.'

He stopt, and Edgar, who, following the bent of his own thoughts, had
till now concluded Camilla to be meant, was utterly confounded by
discovering his mistake. The presence of Indiana redoubled the
awkwardness of the situation, and her blushes, and the increased lustre
of her eyes, did not make the report seem either unwelcome, or perfectly
new to her.

Miss Margland raised her head triumphantly. This was precisely such a
circumstance as she flattered herself would prove decisive.

The Baronet, equally pleased, returned her nod of congratulation, and
nodding himself towards Edgar, said; 'you're blown, you see! but what
matters secrets about nothing? which, Lord help me, I never knew how to
keep.'

Edgar was now still more disconcerted, and, from mere distress what to
say or do, bid Jacob go on.

'Why then, they said a deal more, how pretty she was, he continued, but
they did not know how it would turn out, for the young lady was so much
admired, that her husband had need look sharp after her; and if--'

'What complete impertinence!' cried Edgar, walking about the room; 'I
really can listen no longer.'

'If he had done wisely, says the lady of the house, he would have left
the professed beauty, and taken that pretty Camilla.'

Edgar surprized, stopt short; this seemed to him less impertinent.

'Camilla is a charming creature, says she; though she may want a little
watching too; but so does every thing that is worth having.'

That woman does not want discernment, thought Edgar, nor she does not
want taste.--I can never totally dislike her, if she does such justice
to Camilla.

He now again invited Jacob to proceed; but Indiana, with a pouting lip,
walked out of the room, and Miss Margland said, there was not need to be
hearing him all night.

Jacob, therefore, when no more either interrupted or encouraged, soon
finished his narrative. Mrs. Arlbery, amused by watching Dr. Orkborne,
had insisted, for an experiment, that Jacob should not return to the
coach till he was missed and called for; and so intense was the
application of the Doctor to what he was composing, that this did not
happen till the whole family had dined; Jacob and the coachman, at the
invitation of Mrs. Arlbery, having partaken of the servants' fare,
equally pleased with the regale and the joke. Dr. Orkborne then,
suddenly recollecting himself, demanded why the young ladies were so
late, and was much discomposed and astonished when he heard they were
gone. Mrs. Arlbery invited him into the house, and offered him
refreshments, while she ordered water and a feed of corn for the horses;
but he only fretted a little, and then went on again with his studies.

Sir Hugh now sent some cold dinner into the Doctor's room, and declared
he should always approve his niece's acquaintance with Mrs. Arlbery, as
she was so kind to his servants and his animals.




CHAPTER VI

_An Author's Idea of Order_


Not a bosom of the Cleves party enjoyed much tranquillity this evening.
Miss Margland, though to the Baronet she would not recede from her first
assertions, strove vainly to palliate to herself the ill grace and
evident dissatisfaction with which Edgar had met the report. To save her
own credit, however, was always her primary consideration; she resolved,
therefore, to cast upon unfair play in Camilla, or upon the instability
of Edgar, all the blame really due to her own undiscerning
self-sufficiency.

Indiana thought so little for herself, that she adopted, of course,
every opinion of Miss Margland; yet the immoveable coldness of Edgar,
contrasted frequently in her remembrance by the fervour of Melmond and
of Macdersey, became more and more distasteful to her; and Mrs.
Arlbery's idea, that she should be locked up in half a year, made her
look upon him alternately as something to shun or to over-reach. She
even wished to refuse him:--but Beech Park, the equipage, the servants,
the bridal habiliment.--No! she could enjoy those, if not him. And
neither her own feelings, nor the lessons of Miss Margland, had taught
her to look upon marriage in any nobler point of view.

But the person most deeply dissatisfied this evening was Edgar. He now
saw that, deceived by his own consciousness, he had misunderstood Mrs.
Needham, who, as well as Mrs. Arlbery, he was convinced concluded him
engaged to Indiana. He had observed with concern the approving credulity
of Sir Hugh, and though glad to find his real plan, and all his wishes
unsuspected, the false report excited his fears, lest Indiana should
give it any credit, and secretly hurt his delicacy for the honour of his
taste.

All the influence of pecuniary motives to which he deemed Camilla
superior, occurred to him in the very words of Dr. Marchmont for
Indiana; whose capacity he saw was as shallow as her person was
beautiful. Yet the admiration with which she had already made her first
appearance in the world, might naturally induce her belief of his
reported devotion. If, therefore, his situation appeared to her to be
eligible, she had probably settled to accept him.

The most timid female delicacy was not more scrupulous, than the manly
honour of Edgar to avoid this species of misapprehension; and though
perfectly confident his behaviour had been as irreproachable as it was
undesigning, the least idea of any self-delusion on the part of Indiana,
seemed a call upon his integrity for the most unequivocal manifestation
of his intentions. Yet any declaration by words, with whatever care
selected, might be construed into an implication that he concluded the
decision in his own hands. And though he could scarcely doubt the fact,
he justly held nothing so offensive as the palpable presumption. One
only line of conduct appeared to him, therefore, unexceptionable; which
was wholly to avoid her, till the rumour sunk into its own nothingness.

This demanded from him a sacrifice the most painful, that of retiring
from Cleves in utter ignorance of the sentiments of Camilla; yet it
seemed the more necessary, since he now, with much uneasiness,
recollected many circumstances which his absorbed mind had hitherto
suffered to pass unnoticed, that led him to fear Sir Hugh himself, and
the whole party, entertained the same notion.

He was shocked to consider Camilla involved in such a deception, though
delighted by the idea he might perhaps owe to an explanation, some marks
of that preference for which Dr. Marchmont had taught him to wait, and
which he now hoped might lie dormant from the persuasion of his
engagement. To clear this mistake was, therefore, every way essential,
as otherwise the very purity of her character must be in his disfavour.

Still, however, the visit to the Grove hung upon his mind, and he
resolved to investigate its cause the following morning, before he made
his retreat.

Early the next day, Camilla sent to hasten the chaise which was to fetch
Mr. Tyrold, and begged leave of her uncle to breakfast at Etherington.
His assent was always ready; and believing every evil would yield to
absence, she eagerly, and even with happiness set off.

When the rest of the party assembled without her, Edgar, surprised,
enquired if she were well? Miss Margland answered yes; but for the sake
of what she loved best in the world, a frolic, she was gone in the
chaise to Etherington. Edgar could not prevail with himself to depart
till he had spoken with her, and privately deferred his purposed
leave-taking till noon.

During this report, Sir Hugh was anxiously engaged in some business he
seemed to wish to conceal. He spoke little, but nodded frequently to
himself, with an air of approving his own ideas; he summoned Jacob to
him repeatedly, with whom he held various whispering conferences; and
desired Miss Margland, who made the tea, not to pour it out too fast, as
he was in no hurry to have breakfast over.

When nothing he could urge succeeded, in making any of the company eat
or drink any thing more, he pulled Edgar by the sleeve; and, in an eager
but low voice, said, 'My dear Mr. Edgar, I have a great favour to beg of
you, which is only that you will do something to divert Dr. Orkborne.'

'I should be very happy, Sir,' cried Edgar, smiling, 'but I much doubt
my capability.'

'Why, my dear Mr. Edgar, it's only to keep him from finding out my new
surprise till it's got ready. And if you will but just spout out to him
a bit or two of Virgil and Horace, or some of those Greek and Latin
language-masters, he'll be in no hurry to budge, I promise you.'

A request from Sir Hugh, who with the most prompt alacrity met the
wishes of everyone, was by Edgar held to be indisputable. He advanced,
therefore, to Dr. Orkborne, who was feeling for his tablets, which he
commonly examined in his way up the stairs, and started a doubt, of
which he begged an exposition, upon a passage of Virgil.

Dr. Orkborne willingly stopt, and displayed, with no small satisfaction,
an erudition, that did him nearly as much honour in the ears of the
ignorant and admiring Sir Hugh, as in those of the cultivated and
well-judging Edgar. 'Ah!' said the Baronet, sighing, though addressing
himself to no one, 'if I had but addicted myself to these studies in due
season, I might have understood all this too! though now I can't for my
life make out much sense of what they're talking of; nor a little
neither, indeed, as to that; thanks to my own idleness; to which,
however, I am not much obliged.'

Unfortunately, the discussion soon led to some points of comparison,
that demanded a review of various authors, and the doctor proposed
adjourning to his own apartment. The Baronet winked at Edgar, who would
have changed the discourse, or himself have sought the books, or have
been satisfied without them; but Dr. Orkborne was as eager here, as in
other matters he was slow and phlegmatic; and, regardless of all
opposition, was making off, when Sir Hugh, catching him by the arm,
exclaimed, 'My good friend, I beg it as a particular favour, you won't
stir a step!'

'Not stir a step, Sir?' repeated the doctor, amazed.

'That is, not to your own room.'

'Not go to my own room, Sir?'

The Baronet gently begged him not to take it amiss, and presently, upon
the appearance of Jacob, who entered with a significant smile, said, he
would keep him no longer.

Dr. Orkborne, to whom nothing was so irksome as a moment's detention
from his books and papers, instantly departed, inviting Edgar to
accompany him; but without troubling himself to inquire for what end he
had been held back.

When they were gone, Sir Hugh, rubbing his hands, said, 'Well, I think
this good gentleman won't go about the country again, with all his books
fastened about him, to shew he has nowhere to put them: for as to his
telling me he only took them to look at, I am not quite such an
ignoramus, with all my ignorance, as to believe such a thing as that,
especially of a regular bred scholar.'

A loud and angry sound of voices from above here interrupted the pleased
harangue of the Baronet; Miss Margland opened the door to listen, and,
with no small delight, heard words, scarce intelligible for rage,
breaking from Dr. Orkborne, whose anger, while Edgar was endeavouring
to moderate, Jacob and Mary were vociferously resenting.

Sir Hugh, all astonished, feared there was some mistake. He had sent,
the preceding day, as far as Winchester, for two bookcases, which he had
ordered should arrive early, and be put up during the breakfast; and he
had directed Mary to place upon the shelves, with great care, all the
loose books and papers she found dispersed about the room, as neatly as
possible: after which Jacob was to give notice when all was arranged.

The words now 'If I must have my manuscripts rummaged at pleasure, by
every dunce in the house, I would rather lie in the street!' distinctly
caught their ears. Sir Hugh was thunderstruck with amazement and
disappointment, but said nothing. Miss Margland looked all spite and
pleasure, and Eugenia all concern.

Louder yet, and with accents of encreasing asperity, the Doctor next
exclaimed 'A twelvemonth's hard labour will not repair this mischief! I
should have been much more obliged to you if you had blown out my
brains!'

The Baronet, aghast, cried, 'Lord help us! I think I had best go and get
the shelves pulled down again, what I have done not being meant to
offend, being what will cost me ten pounds and upwards.'

He then, though somewhat irresolute, whether or not to proceed, moved
towards the foot of the stairs; but there a new storm of rage startled
him. 'I wish you had been all of you annihilated ere ever you had
entered my room! I had rather have lost my ears than that manuscript! I
wish with all my heart you had been at the bottom of the sea, every one
of you, before you had touched it!'

'If you won't believe me, it can't be helped,' said Mary; 'but if I was
to tell it you over and over, I've done nothing to no mortal thing. I
only just swept the room after the carpenter was gone, for it was all in
such a pickle it was a shame to be seen.'

'You have ruined me!' cried he, 'you have swept it behind the fire, I
make not a moment's doubt; and I had rather you had given me a bowl of
poison! you can make me no reparation; it was a clue to a whole
section.'

'Well, I won't make no more words about it,' said Mary, angrily; 'but
I'm sure I never so much as touched it with a pair of tongs, for I never
see it; nor I don't so much as know it if I do.'

'Why, it's a piece of paper written all over; look! just such another as
this: I left it on the table, by this corner--'

'O! that?' cried Mary; 'yes, I remember that.'

'Well, where is it? What have you done with it?'

'Why, I happened of a little accident about that;--for as I was a
sweeping under the table, the broom knocked the ink down; but, by good
luck, it only fell upon that little morsel of paper.'

'Little morsel of paper? it's more precious than a whole library! But
what did you do with it? what is become of it? whatever condition it is
in, if you have but saved it--where is it, I say?'

'Why--it was all over ink, and good for nothing, so I did not think of
your missing it--so I throwed it behind the fire.'

'I wish you had been thrown there yourself with all my heart! But if
ever you bring a broom into my room again--'

'Why, I did nothing but what my master ordered--'

'Or if ever you touch a paper, or a book of mine, again--'

'My master said himself--'

'Your master's a blockhead! and you are another--go away, I say!'

Mary now hurried out of the room, enraged for her master, and frightened
for herself; and Edgar, not aware Sir Hugh was within hearing, soon
succeeded in calming the doctor, by mildly listening to his
lamentations.

Sir Hugh, extremely shocked, sat upon the stairs to recover himself.
Miss Margland, who never felt so virtuous, and never so elated, as when
witnessing the imperfections or improprieties of others, descanted
largely against ingratitude; treating an unmeaning sally of passion as a
serious mark of turpitude: but Eugenia, ashamed for Dr. Orkborne, to
whom, as her preceptor, she felt a constant disposition to be partial,
determined to endeavour to induce him to make some apology. She glided,
therefore, past her uncle, and tapped at the doctor's door.

Mary, seeing her master so invitingly in her way, could by no means
resist her desire of appeal and complaint; and, descending the stairs,
begged his honour to hear her.

'Mary,' said he, rising, and returning to the parlour, 'you need not
tell me a word, for I have heard it all myself; by which it may be truly
said, listeners never hear good of themselves; so I've got the proper
punishment; for which reason, I hope you won't look upon it as an
example.'

'I am sure, Sir,' said Mary, 'if your honour can excuse his speaking so
disrespectful, it's what nobody else can; and if it was not for thinking
as his head's got a crack in it, there is not a servant among us as
would not affront him for it.'

The Baronet interrupted her with a serious lecture upon the civility he
expected for all his guests; and she promised to restrain her wrath;
'But only, sir,' she continued, 'if your honour had seen the bit of
paper as he made such a noise at me for, your honour would not have
believed it. Not a soul could have read it. My Tom would ha' been well
licked if he'd wrote no better at school. And as to his being a
twelvemonth a scrawling such another, I'll no more believe it than I'll
fly. It's as great a fib as ever was told.'

Sir Hugh begged her to be quiet, and to think no more of the matter.

'No, your honour, I hope I'm not a person as bears malice; only I could
not but speak of it, because he behaves more comical every day. I
thought he'd ha' beat me over and over. And as to the stories he tells
about them little bits of paper, mortal patience can't bear it no
longer.'

The remonstrance of Eugenia took immediate effect. Dr. Orkborne, shocked
and alarmed at the expression which had escaped him, protested himself
willing to make the humblest reparation, and truly declared, he had been
so greatly disturbed by the loss he had just sustained, that he not
merely did not mean, but did not know what he had said.

Edgar was the bearer of his apology, which Sir Hugh accepted with his
usual good humour. 'His calling me a blockhead,' cried he, 'is a thing I
have no right to resent, because I take it for granted, he would not
have said it, if he had not thought it; and a man's thoughts are his
castle, and ought to be free.'

Edgar repeated the protestation, that he had been hurried on by passion,
and spoke without meaning.

'Why, then, my dear Mr. Edgar, I must fairly own I don't see the great
superiorness of learning, if it can't keep a man's temper out of a
passion. However, say nothing of the sort to poor Clermont, upon his
coming over, who I expect won't speak one word in ten I shall
understand; which, however, as it's all been done for the best, I would
not have the poor boy discouraged in.'

He then sent a kind message by Edgar to Dr. Orkborne, desiring him not
to mind such a trifle.

This conciliating office was congenial to the disposition of Edgar, and
softened his impatience for the return of Camilla, but when, soon after,
a note arrived from Mr. Tyrold, requesting Sir Hugh to dispense with
seeing him till the next day, and apologising for keeping his daughter,
he felt equally disappointed and provoked, though he determined not to
delay any longer his departure. He gave orders, therefore, for his
horses immediately, and with all the less regret, for knowing Camilla no
longer in the circle he was to quit.

The ladies were in the parlour with Sir Hugh, who was sorrowfully
brooding over his brother's note, when he entered it to take leave.
Addressing himself somewhat rapidly to the Baronet, he told him he was
under an unpleasant necessity, to relinquish some days of the month's
sojourn intended for him. He made acknowledgments full of regard for his
kindness and hospitality; and then, only bowing to the ladies, left the
room, before the astonished Sir Hugh comprehended he was going.

'Well,' cried Miss Margland, 'this is curious indeed! He has flown off
from everything, without even an apology!'

'I hope he is not really gone?' said Eugenia, walking to the window.

'I'm sure I don't care what he does,' cried Indiana, 'he's welcome to go
or to stay. I'm grown quite sick of him, for my part.'

'Gone?' said Sir Hugh, recovering breath; 'it's impossible! Why, he
never has said one word to me of the day, nor the settlements, nor all
those things!'

He then rang the bell, and sent to desire Mr. Mandlebert might be called
immediately.

Edgar, who was mounting his horse, obeyed with some chagrin. As soon as
he re-entered the room, Sir Hugh cried; 'My dear Mr. young Edgar, it's
something amazing to me you should think of going away without coming to
an explanation?'

'An explanation, sir?'

'Yes, don't you know what I mean?'

'Not in the least, sir,' cried Edgar, staggered by a doubt whether he
suspected what he felt for Camilla, or referred to what was reported of
Indiana.

'Why, then, my pretty dear,' said Sir Hugh to Indiana, 'you won't
object, I hope, to taking a little walk in the garden, provided it is
not disagreeable to you; for you had better not hear what we are going
to talk about before your face.'

Indiana, pouting her beautiful under lip, and scornfully passing Edgar,
complied. Eugenia accompanied her; but Miss Margland kept her ground.

Sir Hugh, always unwilling to make any attack, and at a loss how to
begin, simply said; 'Why, I thought Mr. Mandlebert, you would stay with
us till next year?'

Edgar only bowed.

'Why, then, suppose you do?'

'Most probably, sir, I shall by that time be upon the Continent. If some
particular circumstance does not occur, I purpose shortly making the
tour of Europe.'

Sir Hugh now lost all guard and all restraint, and with undisguised
displeasure exclaimed; 'So here's just the second part of Clermont! at
the moment I sent for him home, thinking he would come to put the finish
to all my cares about Eugenia, he sends me word he must travel!--And
though the poor girl took it very well, from knowing nothing of the
matter, I can't say I take it very kind of you, Mr. young Edgar, to come
and do just the same by Indiana!'

The surprize of Edgar was unspeakable: that Sir Hugh should wish the
relation of Jacob, with respect to Indiana, confirmed, he could not
wonder; but that his wishes should have amounted to expectations, and
that he should deem his niece ill used by their failure, gave him the
most poignant astonishment.

Miss Margland, taking advantage of his silent consternation, began now
to pour forth very volubly, the most pointed reflections upon the injury
done to young ladies by reports of this nature, which were always sure
to keep off all other offers. There was no end, she said, to the
admirers who had deserted Indiana in despair; and she questioned if she
would ever have any more, from the general belief of her being actually
pre-engaged.

Edgar, whose sense of honour was tenaciously delicate, heard her with a
mixture of concern for Indiana, and indignation against herself, that
kept her long uninterrupted; for though burning to assert the integrity
of his conduct, the fear of uttering a word that might be offensive to
Indiana, embarrassed and checked him.

Sir Hugh, who in seeing him overpowered, concluded he was relenting, now
kindly took his hand, and said: 'My dear Mr. Mandlebert, if you are
sorry for what you were intending, of going away, and leaving us all in
the lurch, why, you shall never hear a word more about it, for I will
make friends for you with Indiana, and beg of Miss Margland that she'll
do us the favour to say no more.'

Edgar, affectionately pressing the hand of the Baronet, uttered the
warmest expressions of personal regard, and protested he should always
think it an honour to have been held worthy of pretending to any
alliance in his family; but he knew not how the present mistake had been
made, or report had arisen: he could boast of no partiality from Miss
Lynmere, nor had he ever addressed her with any particular views: yet,
as it was the opinion of Miss Margland, that the rumour, however false,
might prevent the approach of some deserving object, he now finally
determined to become, for awhile, a stranger at Cleves, however painful
such self-denial must prove.

He then precipitately left the room, and, in five minutes, had galloped
out of the Park.

The rest of the morning was spent by Sir Hugh in the utmost
discomposure; and by Miss Margland in alternate abuse of Camilla and of
Edgar; while Indiana passed from a piqued and short disappointment, to
the consolatory idea that Melmond might now re-appear.

Edgar rode strait to Beech Park, where he busied himself the whole day
in viewing alterations and improvements; but where nothing answered his
expectations, since Camilla had disappointed them. That sun-beam, which
had gilded the place to his eyes, was now over-clouded, and the first
possession of his own domain, was his first day of discontent.




CHAPTER VII

_A Maternal Eye_


The vivacity with which Camilla quitted Cleves, was sunk before she
reached Etherington. She had quitted also Edgar, quitted him offended,
and in doubt if it might ever be right she should vindicate herself in
his opinion. Yet all seemed strange and unintelligible that regarded the
asserted nuptials: his indifference was palpable; she believed him to
have been unaccountably drawn in, and her heart softly whispered, it was
herself he preferred.

From this soothing but dangerous idea, she struggled to turn her
thoughts. She anticipated the remorse of holding the affections of the
husband of her cousin, and determined to use every possible method to
forget him--unless, which she strove vainly not to hope, the reported
alliance should never take place.

These reflections so completely engrossed her the whole way, that she
arrived at the Parsonage House, without the smallest mental preparation
how to account for her return, or how to plead for remaining at
Etherington. Foresight, the offspring of Judgment, or the disciple of
Experience, made no part of the character of Camilla, whose impetuous
disposition was open to every danger of indiscretion, though her genuine
love of virtue glowed warm with juvenile ardour.

She entered, therefore, the breakfast parlour in a state of sudden
perplexity what to say; Mr. Tyrold was alone and writing. He looked
surprized, but embraced her with his accustomed affection, and enquired
to what he owed her present sight.

She made no answer; but embraced him again, and enquired after her
mother.

'She is well,' he replied: 'but, tell me, is your uncle impatient of my
delay? It has been wholly unavoidable. I have been deeply engaged; and
deeply chagrined. Your poor mother would be still more disturbed, if the
nobleness of her mind did not support her.'

Camilla, extremely grieved, earnestly enquired what had happened.

He then informed her that Mrs. Tyrold, the very next morning, must
abruptly quit them all and set out for Lisbon to her sick brother, Mr.
Relvil.

'Is he so much worse?'

'No: I even hope he is better. An act of folly has brought this to bear.
Do not now desire particulars. I will finish my letter, and then return
with you for a few minutes to Cleves. The carriage must wait.'

'Suffer me first to ask, does Lavinia go with my mother?'

'No, she can only take old Ambrose. Lavinia must supply her place at
home.'

'Ah! my dearest father, and may not I, too, stay with you and assist
her?'

'If my brother will spare you, my dear child, there is nothing can so
much contribute to wile away to me your mother's absence.'

Enchanted thus, without any explanation, to have gained her point, she
completely revived; though when Mrs. Tyrold, whom she almost worshipped,
entered the room, in all the hurry of preparing for her long journey,
she shed a torrent of tears in her arms.

'This good girl,' said Mr. Tyrold, 'is herself desirous to quit the
present gaieties of Cleves, to try to enliven my solitude till we all
may meet again.'

The conscious and artless Camilla could not bear this undeserved praise.
She quitted her mother, and returning to Mr. Tyrold, 'O my father!' she
cried, 'if you will take me again under your beloved roof, it is for my
sake--not your's--I beg to return!'

'She is right,' said Mrs. Tyrold; 'there is no merit in having an heart;
she could have none, if to be with you were not her first
gratification.'

'Yes, indeed, my dear mother, it would always be so, even if no other
inducement--.' She stopt short, confused.

Mr. Tyrold, who continued writing, did not heed this little blunder; but
his wife, whose quickness of apprehension and depth of observation, were
always alive, even in the midst of business, cares, and other
attentions, turned hastily to her daughter, and asked to what 'other
inducement' she alluded.

Camilla, distressed, hung her head, and would have forborne making any
answer.

Mrs. Tyrold, then, putting down various packets which she was sorting
and selecting, came suddenly up to her, and taking both her hands,
looked earnestly in her face, saying: 'My Camilla! something has
disquieted you?--your countenance is not itself. Tell me, my dear girl,
what brought you hither this morning? and what is it you mean by some
other inducement?'

'Do not ask me now, my dearest mother,' answered she, in a faltering
voice; 'when you come back again, no doubt all will be over; and
then--'

'And is that the time, Camilla, to speak to your best friends? would it
not be more judicious to be explicit with them, while what affects you
is still depending?'

Camilla, hiding her face on her mother's bosom, burst afresh into tears.

'Alas!' cried Mrs. Tyrold, 'what new evil is hovering? If it must invade
me again through one of my children, tell me, at least, Camilla, it is
not wilfully that you, too, afflict me? and afflict the best of
fathers?'

Mr. Tyrold, dropping his pen, looked at them both with the most
apprehensive anxiety.

'No, my dearest mother,' said Camilla, endeavouring to meet her eyes;
'not wilfully,--but something has happened--I can hardly myself tell how
or what--but indeed Cleves, now--' she hesitated.

'How is my brother?' demanded Mr. Tyrold.

'O! all that is good and kind! and I grieve to quit him--but, indeed,
Cleves, now--' Again she hesitated.

'Ah, my dear child!' said Mrs. Tyrold, 'I always feared that
residence!--you are too young, too inconsiderate, too innocent, indeed,
to be left so utterly to yourself.--Forgive me, my dear Mr. Tyrold; I do
not mean to reflect upon your brother, but he is not _you_!--and with
you alone, this dear inexperienced girl can be secure from all harm.
Tell me, however, what it is--?'

Camilla, in the extremest confusion changed colour, but tried vainly to
speak. Mr. Tyrold, suspended from all employment, waited fearfully some
explanation.

'We have no time,' said Mrs. Tyrold, 'for delay;--you know I am going
abroad,--and cannot ascertain my return; though all my heart left behind
me, with my children and their father, will urge every acceleration in
my power.'

Camilla wept again, fondly folding her arms round her mother; 'I had
hoped,' she cried, 'that I should have come home to peace, comfort,
tranquillity! to both of you, my dearest father and mother, and to all
my unbroken happiness under your roof!--How little did I dream of so
cruel a separation!'

'Console yourself, my Camilla, that you have not been its cause; may
Heaven ever spare me evil in your shape at least!--you say it is nothing
wilful? I can bear everything else.'

'We will not,' said Mr. Tyrold, 'press her; she will tell us all in her
own way, and at her own time. Forced confidence is neither fair nor
flattering. I will excuse her return to my brother, and she will the
sooner be able to give her account for finding herself not hurried.'

'Calm yourself, then,' said Mrs. Tyrold, 'as your indulgent father
permits, and I will proceed with my preparations.'

Camilla now, somewhat recovering, declared she had almost nothing to
say; but her mother continued packing up, and her father went on with
his letter.

She had now time to consider that her own fears and emotion were
involving her in unnecessary confessions; she resolved, therefore, to
repress the fulness of her heart, and to acknowledge only the accusation
of Miss Margland. And in a few minutes, without waiting for further
enquiry, she gathered courage to open upon the subject; and with as much
ease and quietness as she could command, related, in general terms, the
charge brought against her, and her consequent desire to quit Cleves,
'till,----till----' Here she stopt for breath. Mr. Tyrold instantly
finished the sentence, 'till the marriage has taken place?'

She coloured, and faintly uttered, 'Yes.'

'You are right, my child,' said he, 'and you have acted with a prudence
which does you honour. Neither the ablest reasoning, nor the most
upright conduct, can so completely obliterate a surmise of this nature,
from a suspicious mind, as absence. You shall remain, therefore, with
me, till your cousin is settled in her new habitation. Do you know if
the day is fixed?'

'No, sir,' she answered, while the roses fled her cheeks at a question
which implied so firm a belief of the union.

'Do not suffer this affair to occasion you any further uneasiness,' he
continued; 'it is the inherent and unalienable compact of Innocence with
Truth, to hold themselves immovably superior to the calumny of false
imputations. But I will go myself to Cleves, and set this whole matter
right.'

'And will you, too, sir, have the goodness--' She was going to say, _to
make my peace with Edgar_; but the fear of misinterpretation checked
her, and she turned away.

He gently enquired what she meant; she avoided any explanation, and he
resumed his writing.

Ah me! thought she, will the time ever come, when with openness, with
propriety, I may clear myself of caprice to Edgar?

Less patient, because more alarmed than her husband, Mrs. Tyrold
followed her to the window. She saw a tear in her eye, and again she
took both her hands: 'Have you, my Camilla,' she cried, 'have you told
us all? Can unjust impertinence so greatly have disturbed you? Is there
no sting belonging to this wound that you are covering from our sight,
though it may precisely be the spot that calls most for some healing
balm?'

Again the cheeks of Camilla received their fugitive roses. 'My dearest
mother,' she cried, 'is not this enough?--to be accused--suspected--and
to fear--'

She stammered, and would have withdrawn her hands; but Mrs. Tyrold,
still holding them, said, 'To fear what? speak out, my best child! open
to us your whole heart!--Where else will you find repositories so
tender?'

Tears again flowed down the burning cheeks of Camilla, and dropping her
eyes, 'Ah, my mother!' she cried, 'you will think me so frivolous--you
will blush so for your daughter--if I own--if I dare confess--'

Again she stopped, terrified at the conjectures to which this opening
might give birth; but when further and fondly pressed by her mother, she
added, 'It is not alone these unjust surmises,--nor even Indiana's
unkind concurrence in them--but also--I have been afraid--I must have
made a strange--a capricious--an ungrateful appearance in the eyes of
Edgar Mandlebert.'

Here her voice dropt; but presently recovering, she rapidly continued,
'I know it is very immaterial--and I am sensible how foolish it may
sound--but I shall also think of it no more now,--and therefore, as I
have told the whole--'

She looked up, conscience struck at these last words, to see if they
proved satisfactory; she caught, in the countenance of her mother, an
expression of deep commiseration, which was followed by a thousand
maternal caresses of unusual softness, though unaccompanied by any
words.

Penetrated, yet distressed, she gratefully received them, but rejoiced
when, at length, Mr. Tyrold, rising, said, 'Go, my love, upstairs to
your sister; your mother, else, will never proceed with her business.'

She gladly ran off, and soon, by a concise narration, satisfied Lavinia,
and then calmed her own troubled mind.

Mr. Tyrold now, though evidently much affected himself, strove to
compose his wife. 'Alas!' cried she, 'do you not see what thus has
touched me? Do you not perceive that our lovely girl, more just to his
worth than its possessor, has given her whole heart to Edgar
Mandlebert?'

'I perceived it through your emotion, but I had not discovered it
myself. I grieve, now, that the probability of such an event had not
struck me in time to have kept them apart for its prevention.'

'I grieve for nothing,' cried she, warmly, 'but the infatuated blindness
of that self-lost young man. What a wife would Camilla have made him in
every stage of their united career! And how unfortunately has she
sympathised in my sentiments, that he alone seemed worthy to replace the
first and best protector she must relinquish when she quits this house!
What will he find in Indiana but a beautiful doll, uninterested in his
feelings, unmoved by his excellencies, and incapable of comprehending
him if he speaks either of business or literature!'

'Yet many wives of this description,' replied Mr. Tyrold, 'are more
pleasing in the eyes of their husbands than women who are either better
informed in intellect, or more alive in sensation; and it is not an
uncommon idea amongst men, that where, both in temper and affairs, there
is least participation, there is most repose. But this is not the case
with Edgar.'

'No! he has a nobler resemblance than this portrait would allow him; a
resemblance which made me hope from him a far higher style of choice. He
prepares himself, however, his own ample punishment; for he has too much
understanding not to sicken of mere personal allurements, and too much
generosity to be flattered, or satisfied, by mere passive intellectual
inferiority. Neither a mistress nor a slave can make him happy; a
companion is what he requires; and for that, in a very few months, how
vainly his secret soul may sigh, and _think of our Camilla_!'

They then settled, that it would be now essential to the peace of their
child to keep her as much as possible from his sight; and determined not
to send her back to Cleves to apologize for the new plan, but to take
upon themselves that whole charge. 'Her nature,' said Mrs. Tyrold, 'is
so gay, so prompt for happiness, that I have little fear but in absence
she will soon cease to dwell upon him. Fear, indeed, I have, but it is
of a deeper evil than this early impression; I fear for her future lot!
With whom can we trust her?--She will not endure negligence; and those
she cannot respect she will soon despise. What a prospect for her,
then, with our present race of young men! their frivolous fickleness
nauseates whatever they can reach; they have a weak shame of asserting,
or even listening to what is right, and a shallow pride in professing
what is wrong. How must this ingenuous girl forget all she has yet seen,
heard, or felt, ere she can encounter wickedness, or even weakness, and
disguise her abhorrence or contempt?'

'My dear Georgiana, let us never look forward to evil.'

'Will it not be doubly hard to bear, if it come upon us without
preparation?'

'I think not. Terror shakes, and apprehension depresses: hope nerves as
well as gladdens us. Remember always, I do not by hope mean presumption;
I mean simply a cheerful trust in heaven.'

'I must always yield,' cried Mrs. Tyrold, 'to your superior wisdom, and
reflecting piety; and if I cannot conquer my fears, at least I will
neither court nor indulge them.'

The thanks of a grateful husband repaid this compliance. They sent for
Camilla, to acquaint her they would make her excuses at Cleves: she gave
a ready though melancholy consent, and the virtue of her motives drew
tears from her idolizing mother, as she clasped her to her heart.

They then set out together, that Mr. Tyrold might arrange this business
with Sir Hugh, of whom and of Eugenia Mrs. Tyrold was to take leave.




CHAPTER VIII

_Modern Ideas of Duty_


Camilla now felt more permanently revived, because better satisfied with
the rectitude of her conduct. She could no longer be accused of
interfering between Edgar and Indiana; that affair would take its
natural course, and, be it what it might, while absent from both
parties, she concluded she should at least escape all censure.

Peaceably, therefore, she returned to take possession of her usual
apartment, affectionately accompanied by her eldest sister.

The form and the mind of Lavinia were in the most perfect harmony. Her
polished complexion was fair, clear, and transparent; her features were
of the extremest delicacy, her eyes of the softest blue, and her smile
displayed internal serenity. The unruffled sweetness of her disposition
bore the same character of modest excellence. Joy, hope, and prosperity,
sickness, sorrow, and disappointment, assailed alike in vain the uniform
gentleness of her temper: yet though thus exempt from all natural
turbulence, either of pleasure or of pain, the meekness of her
composition degenerated not into insensibility; it was open to all the
feminine feelings of pity, of sympathy, and of tenderness.

Thus copiously gifted with 'all her sex's softness,' her society would
have contributed to restore Camilla to repose, had they continued
together without interruption; but, in a few minutes, the room door was
opened, and Lionel, rushing into the apartment, called out, 'How do, do,
my girls? how do, do?' and shook them each by the hand, with a swing
that nearly brought them to the ground.

Camilla always rejoiced at his sight; but Lavinia gravely said, 'I
thought, brother, you had been at Dr. Marchmont's?'

'All in good time, my dear! I shall certainly visit the old gentleman
before long.'

'Did you not sleep there, then, last night?'

'No, child.'

'Good God, Lionel!--if my mother--'

'My dear little Lavinia,' cried he, chucking her under the chin, 'I have
a vast notion of making visits at my own time, instead of my mamma's.'

'O Lionel! and can you, just now----'

'Come, come,' interrupted he, 'don't let us waste our precious minutes
in old moralizing. If I had not luckily been hard by, I should not have
known the coast was clear. Pray where are they gone, tantivying?'

'To Cleves.'

'To Cleves! what a happy escape! I was upon the point of going thither
myself. Camilla, what is the matter with thee?'

'Nothing--I am only thinking--pray when do you go to Oxford?'

'Pho, pho,--what do you talk of Oxford for? you are grown quite stupid,
girl. I believe you have lived too long with Miss Margland. Pray how
does that dear creature do? I am afraid she will grow melancholy from
not seeing me so long. Is she as pretty as she used to be? I have some
notion of sending her a suitor.'

'O brother,' said Lavinia, 'is it possible you can have such spirits?'

'O hang it, if one is not merry when one can, what is the world good
for? besides, I do assure you, I fretted so consumed hard at first, that
for the life of me I can fret no longer.'

'But why are you not at Dr. Marchmont's?'

'Because, my dear, you have no conception the pleasure those old doctors
take in lecturing a youngster who is in any disgrace.'

'Disgrace!' repeated Camilla.

'At all events,' said Lavinia, 'I beseech you to be a little careful; I
would not have my poor mother find you here for the world.'

'O, as to that, I defy her to desire the meeting less than I do. But
come, let's talk of something else. How go on the classics? Is my old
friend, Dr. Orkborne, as chatty and amusing as ever?'

'My dear Lionel,' said Camilla, 'I am filled with apprehension and
perplexity. Why should my mother wish not to see you? And why--and how
is it possible you can wish not to see her?'

'What, don't you know it all?'

'I know only that something must be wrong; but how, what, or which way,
I have not heard.'

'Has not Lavinia told you, then?

'No,' answered Lavinia; 'I could be in no haste to give her pain.'

'You are a good girl enough. But how came you hither, Camilla? and what
is the reason you have not seen my mother yourself?'

'Not seen her! I have been with her this half hour.'

'What! and in all that time did not she tell you?'

'She did not name you.'

'Is it possible!--Well, she's a noble creature! I wonder how she could
ever have such a son as me. And I am still less like my father than her.
I suppose I was changed in the cradle. Will you countenance me, young
ladies, if some villainous attorney or exciseman should by and by come
to own me?'

'Dear Lionel,' cried Camilla, 'do explain to me what has happened. You
make me think it important and trifling twenty times in a minute.'

'O, a horrid business!--Lavinia must tell it you. I'll go away till she
has done. Don't despise me, Camilla; I am confounded sorry, I promise
you.'

He then hurried out of the room, evidently feeling more emotion than he
cared to display.

Yet Lavinia had but just begun her relation, when he abruptly returned.
'Come, I had better tell it you myself,' cried he, 'for she'll make such
a dismal ditty of it, that it won't be over this half year; the sooner
we have done with it the better; it will only put you out of spirits.'

Then, sitting down, and taking her hand, he began, 'You must know I was
in rather a bad scrape at Oxford last year--'

'Last year! and you never told us of it before!'

'O, 'twas about something you would not understand, so I shall not
mention particulars now. It is enough for you to know that two or three
of us wanted a little cash!--well, so--in short, I sent a
letter--somewhat of a threatening sort--to poor old uncle Relvil!'--

'O Lionel!'

'O, I did not sign it,--it was only begging a little money, which he can
afford to spare very well; and just telling him, if he did not come to a
place I mentioned, he would have his brains blown out.'--

'How horrible!'

'Pho, pho,--he had only to send the money, you know, and then his brains
might keep their place; besides, you can't suppose there was gunpowder
in the words. So I got this copied, and took the proper measures for
concealment, and,--would you believe it! the poor old gull was fool
enough actually to send the money where he was bid?'

'Fie, Lionel!' cried Lavinia; 'do you call him a fool because you
terrified him?'

'Yes, to be sure, my dear; and you both think him so too, only you don't
hold it pretty to say so. Do you suppose, if he had had half the wit of
his sister, he would have done it? I believe, in my conscience, there
was some odd mistake in their births, and that my mother took away the
brains of the man, and left the woman's for the noddle of my poor
uncle.'

'Fie, fie, brother!' said Lavinia again; 'you know how sickly he has
always been from his birth, and how soon therefore he might be alarmed.'

'Why, yes, Lavinia--I believe it was a very bad thing--and I would give
half my little finger I had not done it. But it's over, you know; so
what signifies making the worst of it?'

'And did he not discover you?'

'No; I gave him particular orders, in my letter, not to attempt anything
of that sort, assuring him there were spies about him to watch his
proceedings. The good old ass took it all for gospel. So there the
matter dropt. However, as ill luck would have it, about three months ago
we wanted another sum--'

'And could you again--'

'Why, my dear, it was only taking a little of my own fortune beforehand,
for I am his heir; so we all agreed it was merely robbing myself; for we
had several consultations about it, and one of us is to be a lawyer.'

'But you give me some pleasure here,' said Camilla; 'for I had never
heard that my uncle had made you his heir.'

'No more have I neither, my dear; but I take it for granted. Besides,
our little lawyer put it into my head. Well, we wrote again, and told
the poor old gentleman--for which I assure you I am heartily
repentant--that if he did not send me double the sum, in the same
manner, without delay, his house was to be burnt to the ground the first
night that he and all his family were asleep in bed.--Now don't make
faces and shruggings, for, I promise you, I think already I deserve to
be hanged for giving him the fright; though I would not really have hurt
him, all the time, for half his fortune. And who could have guessed he
would have bit so easily? The money, however, came, and we thought it
all secure, and agreed to get the same sum annually.'

'Annually!' repeated Camilla, with uplifted hands.

'Yes, my dear. You have no conception how convenient it would have been
for our extra expenses. But, unluckily, uncle grew worse, and went
abroad, and then consulted with some crab of a friend, and that friend
with some demagogue of a magistrate, and so all is blown!--However, we
had managed it so cleverly, it cost them near three months to find it
out, owing, I must confess, to poor uncle's cowardice in not making his
enquiries before the money was carried off, and he himself over the seas
and far away. The other particulars Lavinia must give you; for I have
talked of it now till I have made myself quite sick. Do tell me
something diverting to drive it a little out of my head. Have you seen
any thing of my enchanting widow lately?'

'No, she does not desire to be seen by me. She would not admit me.'

'She is frankness itself, and does not pretend to care a fig for any of
her own sex.--O, but, Camilla, I have wanted to ask you this great
while, if you think there is any truth in this rumour, that Mandlebert
intends to propose to Indiana?'

'To propose! I thought it had all long since been settled.'

'Ay, so the world says; but I don't believe a word of it. Do you think,
if that were the case, he would not have owned it to me? There's nothing
fixed yet, depend upon it.'

Camilla, struck, amazed, and delighted, involuntarily embraced her
brother; though, recollecting herself almost at the same moment, she
endeavoured to turn off the resistless impulse into taking leave, and
hurrying him away.

Lionel, who to want of solidity and penetration principally owed the
errors of his conduct, was easily put upon a wrong scent, and assured
her he would take care to be off in time. 'But what,' cried he, 'has
carried them to Cleves? Are they gone to tell tales? Because I have lost
one uncle by my own fault, must I lose another by their's?'

'No,' answered Lavinia, 'they have determined not to name you. They have
settled that my uncle Hugh shall never be told of the affair, nor
anybody else, if they can help it, except your sisters, and Dr.
Marchmont.'

'Well, they are good souls,' cried he, attempting to laugh, though his
eyes were glistening; 'I wish I deserved them better; I wish, too, it
was not so dull to be good. I can be merry and harmless here at the same
time,--and so I can at Cleves;--but at Oxford--or in London,--your merry
blades there--I can't deny it, my dear sisters--your merry blades there
are but sad fellows. Yet there is such fun, such spirit, such sport
amongst them, I cannot for my life keep out of their way. Besides, you
have no conception, young ladies, what a bye word you become among them
if they catch you flinching.'

'I would not for the world say anything to pain you, my dear brother,'
cried Lavinia; 'but yet I must hope that, in future, your first study
will be to resist such dangerous examples, and to drop such unworthy
friends?'

'If it is not to tell tales, then, for what else are they gone to
Cleves, just at this time?'

'For my mother to take leave of Eugenia and my uncle before her
journey.'

'Journey! Why whither is she going?'

'Abroad.'

'The deuce she is!--And what for?'

'To try to make your peace with her brother; or at least to nurse him
herself till he is tolerably recovered.'

Lionel slapped his hat over his eyes, and saying, 'This is too much!--if
I were a man I should shoot myself!'--rushed out of the room.

The two sisters rapidly followed him, and caught his arm before he could
quit the house. They earnestly besought him to return, to compose
himself, and to promise he would commit no rash action.

'My dear sisters,' cried he, 'I am worked just now only as I ought to
be; but I will give you any promise you please. However, though I have
never listened to my father as I ought to have listened, he has
implanted in my mind a horror of suicide, that will make me live my
natural life, be it as good for nothing as it may.'

He then suffered his sisters to lead him back to their room, where he
cast himself upon a chair, in painful rumination upon his own
unworthiness, and his parents' excellence; but the tender soothings of
Lavinia and Camilla, who trembled lest his remorse should urge him to
some act of violence, soon drew him from reflections of which he hated
the intrusion; and he attended, with complacency, to their youthful
security of perfect reconciliations, and re-established happiness.

With reciprocal exultation, the eyes of the sisters congratulated each
other on having saved him from despair: and seeing him now calm, and,
they hoped, safe, they mutually, though tacitly, agreed to obtrude no
further upon meditations that might be useful to him, and remained
silently by his side.

For some minutes all were profoundly still; Lionel then suddenly started
up; the sisters, affrighted, hastily arose at the same instant; when
stretching himself and yawning, he called out, 'Pr'ythee, Camilla, what
is become of that smug Mr. Dubster?'

Speechless with amazement, they looked earnestly in his face, and feared
he was raving.

They were soon, however undeceived; the tide of penitence and sorrow
was turned in his buoyant spirits, and he was only restored to his
natural volatile self.

'You used him most shabbily,' he continued, 'and he was a very pretty
fellow. The next time I have nothing better to do, I'll send him to you,
that you may make it up.'

This quick return of gaiety caused a sigh to Lavinia, and much surprise
to Camilla; but neither of them could prevail with him to depart, till
Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold were every moment expected; they then, though with
infinite difficulty, procured his promise that he would go straight to
Dr. Marchmont, according to an arrangement made for that purpose by Mrs.
Tyrold herself.

Lavinia, when he was gone, related some circumstances of this affair
which he had omitted. Mr. Relvil, the elder brother of Mrs. Tyrold, was
a country gentleman of some fortune, but of weak parts, and an invalid
from his infancy. He had suffered these incendiary letters to prey upon
his repose, without venturing to produce them to any one, from a terror
of the menaces hurled against him by the writer, till at length he
became so completely hypochondriac, that his rest was utterly broken,
and, to preserve his very existence, he resolved upon visiting another
climate.

The day that he set out for Lisbon, his destined harbour, he delivered
his anonymous letters to a friend, to whom he left in charge to
discover, if possible, their author.

This discovery, by the usual means of enquiries and rewards, was soon
made; but the moment Mr. Relvil learnt that the culprit was his nephew,
he wrote over to Mrs. Tyrold a statement of the transaction, declaring
he should disinherit Lionel from every shilling of his estate. His
health was so much impaired, he said, by the disturbance this had given
to his mind, that he should be obliged to spend the ensuing year in
Portugal; and he even felt uncertain if he might ever return to his own
country.

Mrs. Tyrold, astonished and indignant, severely questioned her son, who
covered, with shame, surprise, and repentance, confessed his guilt.
Shocked and grieved in the extreme, she ordered him from her sight, and
wrote to Dr. Marchmont to receive him. She then settled with Mr. Tyrold
the plan of her journey and voyage, hoping by so immediately following,
and herself nursing her incensed brother, to soften his wrath, and avert
its final ill consequences.




CHAPTER IX

_A Few Embarrassments_


Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold returned to Etherington somewhat relieved in their
spirits, though perplexed in their opinions. They had heard from Sir
Hugh, that Edgar had decidedly disavowed any pretensions to Indiana, and
had voluntarily retreated from Cleves, that his disavowal might risk no
misconstruction, either in the family or the neighbourhood.

This insensibility to beauty the most exquisite wanted no advocate with
Mrs. Tyrold. Once more she conceived some hope of what she wished, and
she determined upon seeing Edgar before her departure. The displeasure
she had nourished against him vanished, and justice to his general
worth, with an affection nearly maternal to his person, took again their
wonted place in her bosom, and made her deem herself unkind in having
purposed to quit the kingdom without bidding him farewell.

Mr. Tyrold, whom professional duty and native inclination alike made a
man of peace, was ever happy to second all conciliatory measures, and
the first to propose them, where his voice had any chance of being
heard. He sent a note, therefore, to invite Edgar to call the next
morning; and Mrs. Tyrold deferred her hour of setting off till noon.

Her own natural and immediate impulse, had been to carry Camilla with
her abroad; but when she considered that her sole errand was to nurse
and appease an offended sick man, whose chamber she meant not to quit
till she returned to her family, she gave up the pleasure she would
herself have found in the scheme, to her fears for the health and
spirits of her darling child, joined to the superior joy of leaving such
a solace with her husband.

Sir Hugh had heard the petition for postponing the further visit of
Camilla almost with despondence; but Mr. Tyrold restored him completely
to confidence, with respect to his doubts concerning Dr. Orkborne, with
whom he held a long and satisfactory conversation; and his own
benevolent heart received a sensible pleasure, when, upon examining
Indiana with regard to Edgar, he found her, though piqued and pouting,
untouched either in affection or happiness.

Early the next morning Edgar came. Mrs. Tyrold had taken measures for
employing Camilla upstairs, where she did not even hear that he entered
the house.

He was received with kindness, and told of the sudden journey, though
not of its motives. He heard of it with unfeigned concern, and earnestly
solicited to be the companion of the voyage, if no better male protector
were appointed.

Mr. Tyrold folded his arms around him at this grateful proposal, while
his wife, animated off her guard, warmly exclaimed--'My dear, excellent
Edgar! you are indeed the model, the true son of your guardian!'

Sorry for what had escaped her, from her internal reference to Lionel,
she looked anxiously to see if he comprehended her; but the mantling
blood which mounted quick into his cheeks, while his eyes sought the
ground, soon told her there was another mode of affinity, which at that
moment had struck him.

Willing to establish whether this idea were right, she now considered
how she might name Camilla; but her husband, who for no possible purpose
could witness distress without seeking to alleviate it, declined his
kind offer, and began a discourse upon the passage to Lisbon.

This gave Edgar time to recover, and, in a few seconds, something of
moment seemed abruptly to occur to him, and scarcely saying adieu, he
hurried to remount his horse.

Mrs. Tyrold was perplexed; but she could take not steps towards an
explanation, without infringing the delicacy she felt due to her
daughter: she suffered him, therefore, to depart.

She then proceeded with her preparations, which entirely occupied her
till the chaise was at the gate; when, as the little party, their eyes
and their hearts all full, were taking a last farewell, the parlour door
was hastily opened, and Dr. Marchmont and Edgar entered the room.

All were surprised, but none so much as Camilla, who, forgetting, in
sudden emotion, every thing but former kindness and intimacy,
delightedly exclaimed--'Edgar! O how happy, my dearest mother!--I was
afraid you would go without seeing him!'

Edgar turned to her with a quickness that could only be exceeded by his
pleasure; her voice, her manner, her unlooked-for interest in his
appearance, penetrated to his very soul. 'Is it possible,' he cried,
'you could have the goodness to wish me this gratification? At a moment
such as this, could you----?' think of me, he would have added; but Dr.
Marchmont, coming forward, begged him to account for their intrusion.

Almost overpowered by his own sudden emotion, he could scarce recollect
its motive himself; while Camilla, fearful and repentant that she had
broken her deliberate and well-principled resolutions, retreated to the
window.

Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold witnessed the involuntary movements which betrayed
their mutual regard with the tenderest satisfaction; and the complacency
of their attention, when Edgar advanced to them, soon removed his
embarrassment.

He then briefly acquainted them, that finding Mrs. Tyrold would not
accept him for her chevalier, he had ridden hard to the parsonage of
Cleves, whence he hoped he had brought her one too unexceptionable for
rejection.

Dr. Marchmont, with great warmth, then made a proffer of his services,
declaring he had long desired an opportunity to visit Portugal; and
protesting that, besides the pleasure of complying with any wish of Mr.
Mandlebert's, it would give him the most serious happiness to shew his
gratitude for the many kind offices he owed to Mr. Tyrold, and his high
personal respect for his lady; he should require but one day for his
preparations, and for securing the performance of the church duty at
Cleves during his absence.

Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold were equally struck by the goodness of Dr.
Marchmont, and the attentive kindness of Edgar. Mrs. Tyrold,
nevertheless, would immediately have declined the scheme; but her
husband interposed. Her travelling, he said, with such a guard, would be
as conducive to his peace at home, as to her safety abroad. 'And with
respect,' cried he, 'to obligation, I hold it as much a moral duty not
to refuse receiving good offices, as not to avoid administering them.
That species of independence, which proudly flies all ties of gratitude,
is inimical to the social compact of civilized life, which subsists but
by reciprocity of services.'

Mrs. Tyrold now opposed the scheme no longer, and the chaise was ordered
for the next day.

Dr. Marchmont hurried home to settle his affairs; but Edgar begged a
short conference with Mr. Tyrold.

Every maternal hope was now awake in Mrs. Tyrold, who concluded this
request was to demand Camilla in marriage; and her husband himself, not
without trepidation, took Edgar into his study.

But Edgar, though his heart was again wholly Camilla's, had received a
look from Dr. Marchmont that guarded him from any immediate declaration.
He simply opened upon the late misconception at Cleves; vindicated
himself from any versatility of conduct, and affirmed, that both his
attentions and his regard for Indiana had never been either more or less
than they still continued. All this was spoken with a plainness to which
the integrity of his character gave a weight superior to any
protestations.

'My dear Edgar,' said Mr. Tyrold, 'I am convinced of your probity. The
tenor of your life is its guarantee, and any other defence is a
degradation. There is, indeed, no perfidy so unjustifiable, as that
which wins but to desert the affections of an innocent female. It is
still, if possible, more cowardly than it is cruel; for the greater her
worth, and the more exquisite her feelings, the stronger will be the
impulse of her delicacy to suffer uncomplaining; and the deluder of her
esteem commonly confides, for averting her reproach, to the very
sensibility through which he has ensnared her good opinion.'

'No one,' said Edgar, 'can more sincerely concur in this sentiment than
myself; and, I trust, there is no situation, and no character, that
could prompt me to deviate in this point. Here, in particular, my
understanding must have been as defective as my morals, to have betrayed
me into such an enterprise.'

'How do you mean?'

'I beg pardon, my dear sir; but, though I have a sort of family regard
for Miss Lynmere, and though I think her beauty is transcendent, her
heart, I believe----' he hesitated.

'Do you think her heart invulnerable?'--

'Why--no--not positively, perhaps,' answered he, embarrassed, 'not
positively invulnerable; but certainly I do not think it composed of
those finely subtle sensations which elude all vigilance, and become
imperceptibly the prey of every assailing sympathy; for itself,
therefore, I believe it not in much danger; and, for others--I see not
in it that magnetic attraction which charms away all caution, beguiles
all security, enwraps the imagination, and masters the reason!----'

The chain of thinking which, from painting what he thought insensible in
Indiana, led him to describe what he felt to be resistless in Camilla,
made him finish the last sentence with an energy that surprised Mr.
Tyrold into a smile.

'You seem deeply,' he said, 'to have studied the subject.'

'But not under the guidance of Miss Lynmere,' he answered, rising, and
colouring, the moment he had spoken, in the fear he had betrayed
himself.

'I rejoice, then, the more,' replied Mr. Tyrold, calmly, 'in her own
slackness of susceptibility.'

'Yes,' cried Edgar, recovering, and quietly re-placing himself; 'it is
her own security, and it is the security of all who surround her; though
to those, indeed, there was also another, a still greater, in the
contrast which----' he stopt, confused at his own meaning; yet
presently, almost irresistibly, added--'Not that I think the utmost
vivacity of sentiment, nor all the charm of soul, though eternally
beaming in the eyes, playing in every feature, glowing in the
complection, and brightening every smile----' he stopt again,
overpowered with the consciousness of the picture he was portraying; but
Mr. Tyrold continuing silent, he was obliged, though he scarce knew what
he said, to go on. 'Nothing, in short, so selfishly are we formed,--that
nothing, not even the loveliest of the lovely, can be truly bewitching,
in which we do not hope or expect some participation.--I believe I have
not made myself very clear?--However, it is not material--I simply meant
to explain my retreat from Cleves. And, indeed, it is barbarous, at a
season such as this, to detain you a moment from your family.'

He then hastily took leave.

Mr. Tyrold was sensibly touched by this scene. He saw, through a
discourse so perplexed, and a manner so confused, that his daughter had
made a forcible impression upon the heart of Mandlebert, but could not
comprehend why he seemed struggling to conceal it. What had dropt from
him appeared to imply a distrust of exciting mutual regard; yet this,
after his own observations upon Camilla, was inconceivable. He
regretted, that at a period so critical, she must part with her mother,
with whom again he now determined to consult.

Edgar, who hitherto had opened his whole heart upon every occasion to
Mr. Tyrold, felt hurt and distressed at this first withholding of
confidence. It was, however, unavoidable, in his present situation.

He went back to the parlour to take leave once more of Mrs. Tyrold;
but, opening the door, found Camilla there alone. She was looking out of
the window, and had not heard his entrance.

This was not a sight to still his perturbed spirits; on the contrary,
the moment seemed to him so favourable, that it irresistibly occurred to
him to seize it for removing every doubt.

Camilla, who had not even missed her mother and sister from the room,
was contemplating the horse of Edgar, and internally arraigning herself
for the dangerous pleasure she had felt and manifested at the sight of
his master.

He gently shut the door, and approaching her, said, 'Do I see again the
same frank and amiable friend, who in earliest days, who always, indeed,
till--'

Camilla, turning round, startled to behold him so near, and that no one
else remained in the room, blushed excessively, and without hearing what
he said, shut the window; yet opened it the same minute, stammering out
something, but she herself knew not what, concerning the weather.

The gentlest thoughts crossed the mind of Edgar at this evident
embarrassment, and the most generous alacrity prompted him to hasten his
purpose. He drew a chair near her, and, in penetrating accents, said:
'Will you suffer me, will you, can you permit me, to take the privilege
of our long friendship, and honestly to speak to you upon what has
passed within these last few days at Cleves?'

She could not answer: surprise, doubt, fear of self-deception, and hope
of some happy explanation, all suddenly conspired to confound and to
silence her.

'You cannot, I think, forget,' he soon resumed, 'that you had
condescended to put into my hands the management and decision of the new
acquaintance you are anxious to form? My memory, at least, will never be
unfaithful to a testimony so grateful to me, of your entire reliance
upon the deep, the unspeakable interest I have ever taken, and ever must
take, in my invaluable guardian, and in every branch of his respected
and beloved family.'

Camilla now began to breathe. This last expression, though zealous in
friendliness, had nothing of appropriate partiality; and in losing her
hope she resumed her calmness.

Edgar observed, though he understood not, the change; but as he wished
to satisfy his mind before he indulged his inclination, he endeavoured
not to be sorry to see her mistress of herself during the discussion. He
wished her but to answer him with openness: she still, however, only
listened, while she rose and looked about the room for some work. Edgar,
somewhat disconcerted, waited for her again sitting down; and after a
few minutes spent in a useless search, she drew a chair to a table at
some distance.

Gravely then following, he stood opposite to her, and, after a little
pause, said, 'I perceive you think I go too far? you think that the
intimacy of childhood, and the attachment of adolescence, should expire
with the juvenile sports and intercourse which nourished them, rather
than ripen into solid friendship and permanent confidence?'

'Do not say so,' cried she, with emotion; 'believe me, unless you knew
all that had passed, and all my motives, you should judge nothing of
these last few days, but think of me only, whether well or ill, as you
thought of me a week ago.'

The most laboured and explicit defence could not more immediately have
satisfied his mind than this speech. Suspicion vanished, trust and
admiration took its place, and once more drawing a chair by her side,
'My dear Miss Camilla,' he cried, 'forgive my having thus harped upon
this subject; I here promise you I will name it no more.'

'And I,' cried she, delighted, 'promise you'--she was going to add, that
she would give up Mrs. Arlbery, if he found reason to disapprove the
acquaintance; but the parlour door opened, and Miss Margland stalked
into the room.

Sir Hugh was going to send a messenger to enquire how and when Mrs.
Tyrold had set out; but Miss Margland, from various motives of
curiosity, offered her services, and came herself. So totally, however,
had both Edgar and Camilla been engrossed by each other, that they had
not heard the carriage drive up to the garden gate, which, with the door
of the house, being always open, required neither knocker nor bell.

A spectre could not more have startled or shocked Camilla. She jumped
up, with an exclamation nearly amounting to a scream, and involuntarily
seated herself at the other end of the room.

Edgar, though not equally embarrassed, was still more provoked; but he
rose, and got her a chair, and enquired after the health of Sir Hugh.

'He is very poorly, indeed,' answered she, with an austere air, 'and no
wonder!'

'Is my uncle ill?' cried Camilla, alarmed.

Miss Margland deigned no reply.

The rest of the family, who had seen the carriage from the windows, now
entered the room, and during the mutual enquiries and account which
followed, Edgar, believing himself unobserved, glided round to Camilla,
and in a low voice, said, 'The promise--I think I guess its gratifying
import--I shall not, I hope, lose, through this cruel intrusion?'

Camilla, who saw no eyes but those of Miss Margland, which were severely
fastened upon her, affected not to hear him, and planted herself in the
group out of his way.

He anxiously waited for another opportunity to put in his claim; but he
waited in vain; Camilla, who from the entrance of Miss Margland had had
the depressing feel of self-accusation, sedulously avoided him; and
though he loitered till he was ashamed of remaining in the house at a
period so busy, Miss Margland, by indications not to be mistaken, shewed
herself bent upon out-staying him; he was obliged, therefore, to depart;
though, no sooner was he gone, than, having nothing more to scrutinize,
she went also.

But little doubt now remained with the watchful parents of the mutual
attachment of Edgar and Camilla, to which the only apparent obstacle
seemed, a diffidence on the part of Edgar with respect to her internal
sympathy. Pleased with the modesty of such a fear in so accomplished a
young man, Mr. Tyrold protested that, if the superior fortune were on
the side of Camilla, he would himself clear it up, and point out the
mistake. His wife gloried in the virtuous delicacy of her daughter, that
so properly, till it was called for, concealed her tenderness from the
object who so deservingly inspired it; yet they agreed, that though she
could not, at present, meet Edgar too often, she should be kept wholly
ignorant of their wishes and expectations, lest they should still be
crushed by any unforeseen casualty: and that, meanwhile, she should be
allowed every safe and innocent recreation, that might lighten her mind
from its depression, and restore her spirits to their native vivacity.

Early the next morning Dr. Marchmont came to Etherington, and brought
with him Lionel, by the express direction of his father, who never
objected to admit the faulty to his presence; his hopes of doing good
were more potent from kindness than from severity, from example than
from precept: yet he attempted not to conquer the averseness of Mrs.
Tyrold to an interview; he knew it proceeded not from an inexorable
nature, but from a repugnance insurmountable to the sight of a beloved
object in disgrace.

Mrs. Tyrold quitted her husband with the most cruel regret, and her
darling Camilla with the tenderest inquietude; she affectionately
embraced the unexceptionable Lavinia, with whom she left a message for
her brother, which she strictly charged her to deliver, without
softening or omitting one word.

And then, attended by Dr. Marchmont, she set forward on her journey
towards Falmouth: whence a packet, in a few days, she was informed,
would sail for Lisbon.




CHAPTER X

_Modern Ideas of Life_


Grieved at this separation, Mr. Tyrold retired to his study; and his two
daughters went to the apartment of Lionel, to comfort him under the
weight of his misconduct.

They found him sincerely affected and repentant; yet eager to hear that
his mother was actually gone. Ill as he felt himself to deserve such an
exertion for his future welfare, and poignant as were his shame and
sorrow to have parted her from his excellent father, he thought all evil
preferable to encountering her eye, or listening to her admonitions.

Though unaffectedly beloved, Mrs. Tyrold was deeply feared by all her
children, Camilla alone excepted; by Lionel, from his horror of reproof;
by Lavinia, from the timidity of her humility; and by Eugenia, from her
high sense of parental superiority. Camilla alone escaped the contagion;
for while too innocent, too undesigning, wilfully to excite displeasure,
she was too gay and too light-hearted to admit apprehension without
cause.

The gentle Lavinia knew not how to perform her painful task of
delivering the message with which she was commissioned. The sight of
Lionel in dejection was as sad as it was new to her, and she resolved,
in conjunction with Camilla, to spare him till the next day, when his
feelings might be less acute. They each sat down, therefore, to work,
silent and compassionate; while he, ejaculating blessings upon his
parents, and calling for just vengeance upon himself, stroamed up and
down the room, biting his knuckles, and now and then striking his
forehead.

This lasted about ten minutes: and then, suddenly advancing to his
sisters, and snatching a hand of each: 'Come, girls,' he cried, 'now
let's talk of other things.'

Too young to have developed the character of Lionel, they were again as
much astonished as they had been the preceding day: but his defects,
though not originally of the heart, were of a species that soon tend to
harden it. They had their rise in a total aversion to reflection, a wish
to distinguish himself from his retired, and, he thought, unfashionable
relations, and an unfortunate coalition with some unprincipled young
men, who, because flashy and gay, could lead him to whatever they
proposed. Yet, when mischief or misfortune ensued from his wanton
faults, he was always far more sorry than he thought it manly to own;
but as his actions were without judgment, his repentance was without
principle; and he was ready for some new enterprise the moment the
difficulties of an old one subsided.

Camilla, who, from her affection to him, read his character through the
innocence of her own, met his returning gaiety with a pleasure that was
proportioned to her pain at his depression; but Lavinia saw it with
discomfort, as the signal for executing her charge, and, with extreme
reluctance, gave him to understand she had a command to fulfil to him
from his mother.

The powers of conscience were again then instantly at work; he felt what
he had deserved, he dreaded to hear what he had provoked; and trembling
and drawing back, entreated her to wait one half hour before she entered
upon the business.

She chearfully consented; and Camilla proposed extending the reprieve to
the next day: but not two minutes elapsed, before Lionel protested he
could not bear the suspense, and urged an immediate communication.

'She can have said nothing,' cried he, 'worse than I expect, or than I
merit. Probe me then without delay. She is acting by me like an angel,
and if she were to command me to turn anchoret, I know I ought to obey
her.'

With much hesitation, Lavinia then began. 'My mother says, my dear
Lionel, the fraud you have practised--'

'The fraud! what a horrid word! why it was a mere trick! a joke! a
frolic! just to make an old hunks open his purse-strings for his natural
heir. I am astonished at my mother! I really don't care if I don't hear
another syllable.'

'Well, then, my dear Lionel, I will wait till you are calmer: my mother,
I am sure did not mean to irritate, but to convince.'

'My mother,' continued he, striding about the room, 'makes no
allowances. She has no faults herself, and for that reason she thinks
nobody else should have any. Besides, how should she know what it is to
be a young man? and to want a little cash, and not know how to get it?'

'But I am sure,' said Lavinia, 'if you wanted it for any proper purpose,
my father would have denied himself everything, in order to supply you.'

'Yes, yes; but suppose I want it for a purpose that is not proper, how
am I to get it then?'

'Why, then, my dear Lionel, surely you must be sensible you ought to go
without it,' cried the sisters, in a breath.

'Ay, that's as you girls say, that know nothing of the matter. If a
young man, when he goes into the world, was to make such a speech as
that, he would be pointed at. Besides, who must he live with? You don't
suppose he is to shut himself up, with a few musty books, sleeping over
the fire, under pretence of study, all day long, do you? like young
Melmond, who knows no more of the world than one of you do?'

'Indeed,' said Camilla, 'he seemed to me an amiable and modest young
man, though very romantic.'

'O, I dare say he did! I could have laid any wager of that. He's just a
girl's man, just the very thing, all sentiment, and poetry and heroics.
But we, my little dear, we lads of spirit, hold all that amazing cheap.
I assure you, I would as soon be seen trying on a lady's cap at a glass,
as poring over a crazy old author when I could help it. I warrant you
think, because one is at the university, one must all be book-worms?'

'Why, what else do you go there for but to study?'

'Every thing in the world, my dear.'

'But are there not sometimes young men who are scholars without being
book-worms?' cried Camilla, half colouring; 'is not--is not Edgar
Mandlebert--'

'O yes, yes; an odd thing of that sort happens now and then. Mandlebert
has spirit enough to carry it off pretty well, without being
ridiculous; though he is as deep, for his time, as e'er an old fellow of
a college. But then this is no rule for others. You must not expect an
Edgar Mandlebert at every turn.'

Ah no! thought Camilla.

'But, Edgar,' said Lavinia, 'has had an extraordinary education, as well
as possessing extraordinary talents and goodness: and you, too, my dear
Lionel, to fulfil what may be expected from you, should look back to
your father, who was brought up at the same university, and is now
considered as one of the first men it has produced. While he was
respected by the learned for his application, he was loved even by the
indolent for his candour and kindness of heart. And though his income,
as you know, was so small, he never ran in debt, and by an exact but
open oeconomy, escaped all imputation of meanness: while by forbearing
either to conceal, or repine at his limited fortune, he blunted even the
raillery of the dissipated, by frankly and good humouredly meeting it
half way. How often have I heard my dear mother tell you this!'

'Yes; but all this, child, is nothing to the purpose; my father is no
more like other men than if he had been born in another planet, and my
attempting to resemble him, is as great a joke, as if you were to dress
up Miss Margland in Indiana's flowers and feathers, and then expect
people to call her a beauty.'

'We do not say you resemble my father, now,' said Camilla, archly; 'but
is there any reason why you should not try to do it by and by?'

'O yes! a little one! nature, nature, my dear, is in the way. I was born
a bit of a buck. I have no manner of natural taste for study, and
poring, and expounding, and black-letter work. I am a light, airy spark,
at your service, not quite so wise as I am merry;--but let that pass. My
father, you know, is firm as a rock. He minds neither wind nor weather,
nor fleerer nor sneerer: but this firmness, look ye, he has kept all to
himself; not a whit of it do I inherit; every wind that blows veers me
about, and makes me look some new way.'

Soon after, gathering courage from curiosity, he desired to hear the
message at once.

Lavinia, unwillingly complying, then repeated: 'The fraud which you have
practised, my mother says, whether from wanton folly to give pain, or
from rapacious discontent to gain money, she will leave without comment,
satisfied that if you have any heart at all, its effects must bring its
remorse, since it has dangerously encreased the infirmities of your
uncle, driven him to a foreign land, and forced your mother to forsake
her home and family in his pursuit, unless she were willing to see you
punished by the entire disinheritance with which you are threatened.
But----'

'O, no more! no more! I am ready to shoot myself already! My dear,
excellent mother! what do I not owe you! I had never seen, never thought
of the business in this solemn way before. I meant nothing at first but
a silly joke, and all this mischief has followed unaccountably. I assure
you, I had no notion at the beginning he would have minded the letter;
and afterwards, Jack Whiston persuaded me, the money was as good as my
own, and that it was nothing but a little cribbing from myself. I will
never trust him again; I see the whole now in its true and atrocious
colours.--I will devote myself in future to make all the amends in my
power to my dear incomparable mother.'

The sisters affectionately encouraged this idea, which produced near a
quarter of an hour's serious thinking and penitence.

He then begged to hear the rest; and Lavinia continued.

'But since you are re-admitted, said my mother, to Etherington, by the
clemency of your forbearing father, she charges you to remember, you can
only repay his goodness by an application the most intense to those
studies you have hitherto neglected, and of which your neglect has been
the cause of all your errors; by committing to idle amusements the time
that innocently, as well as profitably, ought to have been dedicated to
the attainment of knowledge. She charges you also to ask yourself,
since, during the vacation, your father himself is your tutor, upon what
pretext you can justify wasting his valuable time, however little you
may respect your own?--Finally--'

'I never wasted his time! I never desired to have any instruction in the
vacations. 'Tis the most deuced thing in life to be studying so hard
incessantly. The waste of time is all his own affair;--his own
choice--not mine, I assure you! Go on, however.'

'Finally, she adjures you to consider, that if you still persevere to
consume your time in wilful negligence, to bury all thought in idle
gaiety, and to act without either reflection or principle, the career of
faults which begins but in unthinking folly, will terminate in shame, in
guilt, and in ruin! And though such a declension of all good, must
involve your family in your affliction, your disgrace, she bids me say,
will ultimately fall but where it ought; since your own want of personal
sensibility to the horror of your conduct, will neither harden nor blind
any human being besides yourself. This is all.'

'And enough too,' cried he, reddening: 'I am a very wretch!--I believe
that--though I am sure I can't tell how; for I never intend any harm,
never think, never dream of hurting any mortal! But as to study--I must
own to you, I hate it most deucedly. Anything else--if my mother had but
exacted any thing else--with what joy I would have shewn my
obedience!--If she had ordered me to be horse-ponded, I do protest to
you, I would not have demurred.'

'How always you run into the ridiculous!' cried Camilla.

'I was never so serious in my life; not that I should like to be
horse-ponded in the least, though I would submit to it for a punishment,
and out of duty: but then, when it was done, it would be over: now the
deuce of study is, there is no end of it! And it does so little for one!
one can go through life so well without it! There is not above here and
there an old codger that asks one a question that can bring it into any
play. And then, a turn upon one's heel, or looking at one's watch, or
wondering at one's short memory, or happening to forget just that one
single passage, carries off the whole in two minutes, as completely as
if one had been working one's whole life to get ready for the assault.
And pray, now, tell me, how can it be worth one's best days, one's
gayest hours, the very flower of one's life--all to be sacrificed to
plodding over musty grammars and lexicons, merely to cut a figure just
for about two minutes once or twice in a year?'

The sisters, brought up with an early reverence for learning, as forming
a distinguished part of the accomplishments of their father, could not
subscribe to this argument. But they laughed; and that was ever
sufficient for Lionel, who, though sincerely, in private, he loved and
honoured his father, never bestowed upon him one voluntary moment that
frolic or folly invited elsewhere.

Lavinia and Camilla, perfectly relieved now from all fears for their
brother, repaired to the study of their father, anxious to endeavour to
chear him, and to accelerate a meeting and reconciliation for Lionel;
but they found him desirous to be alone, though kindly, and unsolicited,
he promised to admit his son before dinner.

Lionel heard this with a just awe; but gave it no time for deep
impression. It was still very early, and he could settle himself to
nothing during the hours yet to pass before the interview. He persuaded
his sisters, therefore, to walk out with him, to while away at once
expectation and retrospection.




CHAPTER XI

_Modern Notions of Penitence_


They set out with no other plan than to take a three hours' stroll.
Lionel led the way, and they journeyed through various pleasant lanes
and meadows, till, about three miles distance from Etherington, upon
ascending a beautiful little hill, they espied, fifty yards off, the
Grove, and a party of company sauntering round its grounds.

He immediately proposed making a visit to Mrs. Arlbery; but Lavinia
declined presenting herself to a lady who was unknown to her mother; and
Camilla, impressed with the promise she had intended for Edgar, which
she was sure, though unpronounced, he had comprehended, dissented also
from the motion.

He then said he would go alone; for his spirits were so low from
vexation and regret, that they wanted recruit; and he would return to
them by the time they would be sufficiently rested to walk home.

To this they agreed; and amused themselves with watching to see him join
the group; in which, however, they were no sooner gratified, than, to
their great confusion, they perceived that he pointed them out, and that
all eyes were immediately directed towards the hill.

Vexed and astonished at his quick passing penitence, they hastened down
the declivity, and ran on till a lane, with an high hedge on each side,
sheltered them from view.

But Lionel, soon pursuing them, said he brought the indisputable orders
of his invincible widow to convoy them to the mansion. She never, she
had owned, admitted formal visitors, but whatever was abrupt and out of
the way, won her heart.

To the prudent Lavinia, this invitation was by no means alluring. Mrs.
Tyrold, from keeping no carriage, visited but little, and the Grove was
not included in her small circle; Lavinia, therefore, though she knew
not how to be peremptory, was steady in refusal; and Camilla, who would
naturally with pleasure have yielded, had a stronger motive for
firmness, than any with which she was gifted by discretion, in her wish
to oblige Mandlebert. But Lionel would listen to neither of them; and
when he found his insistance insufficient, seized Lavinia by one arm,
and Camilla by the other, and dragged them up the hill, in defiance of
their entreaties, and in full view of the party. He then left the more
pleading, though less resisting, Lavinia alone; but pulled Camilla down
by the opposite side, with a velocity that, though meant but to bring
her to the verge of a small rivulet, forced her into the midst of it so
rapidly that he could not himself at last stop: and wetted her so
completely, that she could with difficulty, when she got across it, walk
on.

The violent spirits of Lionel always carried him beyond his own
intentions; he was now really sorry for what he had done: and Lavinia,
who had quietly followed, was uneasy from the fear of some ill
consequence to her sister.

Mrs. Arlbery, who had seen the transaction, came forth now herself, to
invite them all into her house, and offer a fire and dry clothing to
Camilla; not sparing, however, her well-merited raillery at the awkward
exploit of young Tyrold.

Camilla, ashamed to be thus seen, would have hidden herself behind her
sister, and retreated; but even Lavinia now, fearing for her health,
joined in the request, and she was obliged to enter the house.

Mrs. Arlbery took her upstairs, to her own apartment, and supplied her
immediately with a complete change of apparel; protesting that Lionel
should be punished for his frolic, by a solitary walk to Etherington, to
announce that she would keep his two sisters for the day.

Opposition was vain; she was gay, good humoured, and pleasant, but she
would not be denied. She meant not, however, to inflict the serious
penalty which the face of Lionel proclaimed him to be suffering, when he
prepared to depart; and the sisters, who read in it his dread of meeting
Mr. Tyrold alone, in the present circumstances of his affairs, conferred
together, and agreed that Lavinia should accompany him, both to
intercede for returning favour from his father, and to explain the
accident of Camilla's staying at the Grove. Mrs. Arlbery, meanwhile,
promised to restore her young guest safe at night in her own carriage.

Notwithstanding the pleasure with which Camilla, in any other situation,
would have renewed this acquaintance, was now changed into reluctance,
she was far from insensible to the flattering kindness with which Mrs.
Arlbery received and entertained her, nor to the frankness with which
she confessed, that her invisibility the other morning, had resulted
solely from pique that the visit had not been made sooner.

Camilla would have attempted some apology for the delay, but she assured
her apologies were what she neither took nor gave; and then laughingly
added--'We will try one another to day, and if we find it won't do--we
will shake hands and part. That, you must know, is my mode; and is it
not vastly better than keeping up an acquaintance that proves dull,
merely because it has been begun?'

She then ordered away all her visitors, without the smallest ceremony;
telling them, however, they might come back in the evening, only
desiring they would not be early. Camilla stared; but they all submitted
as to a thing of course.

'You are not used to my way, I perceive,' cried she, smiling; 'yet, I
can nevertheless assure you, you can do nothing so much for your
happiness as to adopt it. You are made a slave in a moment by the world,
if you don't begin life by defying it. Take your own way, follow your
own humour, and you and the world will both go on just as well, as if
you ask its will and pleasure for everything you do, and want, and
think.'

She then expressed herself delighted with Lionel, for bringing them
together by this short cut, which abolished a world of formalities, not
more customary than fatiguing. 'I pass, I know,' continued she, 'for a
mere creature of whim; but, believe me, there is no small touch of
philosophy in the composition of my vagaries. Extremes, you know, have a
mighty knack of meeting. Thus I, like the sage, though not with
sage-like motives, save time that must otherwise be wasted; brave rules
that would murder common sense; and when I have made people stare, turn
another way that I may laugh.'

She then, in a graver strain, and in a manner that proved the laws of
politeness all her own, where she chose, for any particular purpose, or
inclination, to exert them, hoped this profession of her faith would
plead her excuse, that she had thus incongruously made her fair guest a
second time enter her house, before her first visit was acknowledged;
and enquired whether it were to be returned to Etherington or at Cleves.

Camilla answered, she was now at home, on account of her mother's being
obliged to make a voyage to Lisbon.

Mrs. Arlbery said, she would certainly, then, wait upon her at
Etherington; and very civilly regretted having no acquaintance with Mrs.
Tyrold; archly, however, adding: 'As we have no where met, I could not
seek her at her own house without running too great a risk; for then,
whether I had liked her or not, I must have received her, you know, into
mine. So, you see, I am not quite without prudence, whatever the dear
world says to the contrary.'

She then spoke of the ball, public breakfast, and raffle; chatting both
upon persons and things with an easy gaiety, and sprightly negligence,
extremely amusing to Camilla, and which soon, in despite of the
unwillingness with which she had entered her house, brought back her
original propensity to make the acquaintance, and left no regret for
what Lionel had done, except what rested upon the repugnance of Edgar to
his intercourse. As he could not, however, reproach what was begun
without her concurrence, he would see, she hoped, like herself, that
common civility henceforward would exact its continuance.

In proportion as her pleasure from this accidental commerce was
awakened, and her early partiality revived, her own spirits re-animated,
and, in the course of the many hours they now spent completely together,
she was set so entirely at her ease, by the good humour of Mrs. Arlbery,
that she lost all fear of her wit. She found it rather playful than
satirical; rather seeking to amuse than to disconcert; and though
sometimes, from the resistless pleasure of uttering a _bon mot_ she
thought more of its brilliancy than of the pain it might inflict, this
happened but rarely, and was more commonly succeeded by regret than by
triumph.

Camilla soon observed she had, personally, nothing to apprehend,
peculiar partiality supplying the place of general delicacy, in
shielding her from every shaft that even pleasantry could render
poignant. The embarrassment, therefore, which, in ingenuous youth,
checks the attempt to please, by fear of failure, or shame of exertion,
gave way to natural spirits, which gaily rising from entertainment
received, restored her vivacity, and gradually, though unconsciously,
enabled her to do justice to her own abilities, by unaffectedly calling
forth the mingled sweetness and intelligence of her character; and Mrs.
Arlbery, charmed with all she observed, and flattered by all she
inspired, felt such satisfaction in her evident conquest, that before
the _tête-à-tête_ was closed, their admiration was become nearly
mutual.

When the evening party was announced, they both heard with surprise that
the day was so far advanced. 'They can wait, however,' said Mrs.
Arlbery, 'for I know they have nothing to do.'

She then invited Camilla to return to her the next day for a week.

Camilla felt well disposed to comply, hoping soon to reason from Edgar
his prejudice against a connection that afforded her such singular
pleasure; but to leave her father at this period was far from every
wish. She excused herself, therefore, saying, she had still six weeks
due to her uncle at Cleves, before any other engagement could take
place.

'Well, then, when you quit your home for Sir Hugh, will you beg off a
few days from him, and set them down to my account?'

'If my uncle pleases--'

'If he pleases?' repeated she, laughing; 'pray never give that _If_ into
his decision; you only put contradiction into people's heads, by asking
what pleases them. Say at once, My good uncle, Mrs. Arlbery has invited
me to indulge her with a few days at the Grove; so to-morrow I shall go
to her. Will you promise me this?'

'Dear madam, no! my uncle would think me mad.'

'And suppose he should! A little alarm now and then keeps life from
stagnation. They call me mad, I know, sometimes; wild, flighty, and what
not; yet you see how harmless I am, though I afford food for such
notable commentary.'

'But can you really like such things should be said of you?'

'I adore the frankness of that question! why, n--o,--I rather think I
don't. But I'm not sure. However, to prevent their minding me, I must
mind them. And it's vastly more irksome to give up one's own way, than
to hear a few impertinent remarks. And as to the world, depend upon it,
my dear Miss Tyrold, the more you see of it, the less you will care for
it.'

She then said she would leave her to re-invest herself in her own
attire, and go downstairs, to see what the poor simple souls, who had
had no more wit than to come back thus at her call, had found to do with
themselves.

Camilla, having only her common morning dress, and even that utterly
spoilt, begged that her appearance might be dispensed with; but Mrs.
Arlbery, exclaiming, 'Why, there are only men; you don't mind men, I
hope!' ashamed, she promised to get ready; yet she had not sufficient
courage to descend, till her gay hostess came back, and accompanied her
to the drawing room.




CHAPTER XII

_Airs and Graces_


Upon entering the room, Camilla saw again the Officers who had been
there in the morning, and who were now joined by Sir Sedley Clarendel.
She was met at the door by Major Cerwood, who seemed waiting for her
appearance, and who made her his compliments with an air that studiously
proclaimed his devotion. She seated herself by the side of Mrs. Arlbery,
to look on at a game of chess, played by Sir Sedley and General Kinsale.

'Clarendel,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'you have not the least in the world the
air of knowing what you are about.'

'Pardon me, ma'am,' said the General, 'he has been at least half an hour
contemplating this very move,--for which, as you see, I now check-mate
him. Pray, Sir Sedley, how came you, at last, to do no better?'

'Thinking of other things, my dear General. 'Tis impossible in the
extreme to keep one's faculties pinioned down to the abstruse vagaries
of this brain-besieging game. My head would be deranged past redress, if
I did not allow it to visit the four quarters of the globe once, at
least, between every move.'

'You do not play so slow, then, from deliberating upon your chances, but
from forgetting them?'

'Defined, my dear General, to scrupulosity! Those exquisite little
moments we steal from any given occupation, for the pleasure of
speculating in secret upon something wholly foreign to it, are
resistless to deliciousness.'

'I entreat, and command you then,' cried Mrs. Arlbery, 'to make your
speculations public. Nothing will more amuse me, than to have the least
intimation of the subjects of your reveries.'

'My dear Mrs. Arlbery! your demand is the very quintessence of
impossibility! Tell the subject of a reverie! know you not it wafts one
at once out of the world, and the world's powers of expression? while
all it substitutes is as evanescent as it is delectable. To attempt the
least description would be a presumption of the first monstrousness.'

'O never heed that! presumption will not precisely be a novelty to you;
answer me, therefore, my dear Clarendel, without all this conceit. You
know I hate procrastination; and procrastinators still worse.'

'Softly, dearest madam, softly! There is nothing in nature so horribly
shocking to me as the least hurry. My poor nerves seek repose after any
turbulent words, or jarring sounds, with the same craving for rest that
my body experiences after the jolts, and concussions of a long winded
chase. By the way, does anybody want a good hunter? I have the first,
perhaps, in Europe; but I would sell it a surprising bargain, for I am
excruciatingly tired of it.'

All the gentlemen grouped round him to hear further particulars, except
Mr. Macdersey, the young Ensign, who had so unguardedly exposed himself
at the Northwick ball, and who now, approaching Camilla, fervently
exclaimed; 'How happy I should have been, madam, if I had had the good
fortune to see you meet with that accident this morning, instead of
being looking another way! I might then have had the pleasure to assist
you. And O! how much more if it had been your divine cousin! I hope that
fair angel is in perfect health! O what a beautiful creature she is! her
outside is the completest diamond I ever saw! and if her inside is the
same, which I dare say it is, by her smiles and delicate dimples, she
must be a paragon upon earth!'

'There is at least something very inartificial in your praise,' said
General Kinsale, 'when you make your panegyric of an absent lady to a
present one.'

'O General, there is not a lady living can bear any comparison with her.
I have never had her out of my thoughts from the first darling moment
that ever I saw her, which has made me the most miserable of men ever
since. Her eyes so beautiful, her mouth so divine, her nose so
heavenly!--'

'And how,' cried Sir Sedley, 'is the tip of her chin?'

'No joking, sir!' said the Ensign, reddening; 'she is a piece of
perfection not to be laughed at; she has never had her fellow upon the
face of the earth; and she never will have it while the earth holds,
upon account of there being no such person above ground.'

'And pray,' cried Sir Sedley, carelessly, 'how can you be sure of that?'

'How! why by being certain,' answered the inflamed admirer; 'for though
I have been looking out for pretty women from morning to night, ever
since I was conscious of the right use of my eyes, I never yet saw her
parallel.'

A servant was now bringing in the tea; but his lady ordered him to set
it down in the next room, whence the gentlemen should fetch it as it was
wanted.

Major Cerwood took in charge all attendance upon Camilla; but he was
not, therefore, exempt from the assiduities required by Mrs. Arlbery,
for whom the homage of the General, the Colonel, and the Ensign, were
insufficient; and who, had a score more been present, would have found
occupation for them all. Sir Sedley alone was excepted from her
commands; for knowing they would be issued to him in vain, she contented
herself with only interchanging glances of triumph with him, at the
submission of every vassal but himself.

'Heavens!' cried she, to Colonel Andover, who had hastened to present
her the first cup, 'you surely think I have nerves for a public orator!
If I should taste but one drop of this tea, I might envy the repose of
the next man who robs on the highway. Major Cerwood, will you try if you
can do any better for me?'

The Major obeyed, but not with more success. 'What in the world have you
brought me?' cried she; 'Is it tea? It looks prodigiously as if just
imported out of the slop bason. For pity sake, Macdersey, arise, and
give me your help; you will at least never bring me such maudlin stuff
as this. Even your tea will have some character; it will be very good or
very bad; very hot or very cold; very strong or very weak; for you are
always in flames of fire, or flakes of snow.'

'You do me justice, ma'am; there is nothing upon the face of the earth
so insipid as a medium. Give me love or hate! a friend that will go to
jail for me, or an enemy that will run me through the body! Riches to
chuck guineas about like halfpence, or poverty to beg in a ditch!
Liberty wild as the four winds, or an oar to work in a galley! Misery to
tear my heart into an hundred thousand millions of atoms, or joy to make
my soul dance into my brain! Every thing has some gratification, except
a medium. 'Tis a poor little soul that is satisfied between happiness
and despair.'

He then flew to bring her a dish of tea.

'My dear Macdersey,' cried she, in receiving it, 'this is according to
your system indeed; for 'tis a compound of strong, and rich, and sweet,
to cloy an alderman, making altogether so luscious a syrup, that our
spring would be exhausted before I could slake my thirst, if I should
taste it only a second time. Do, dear General, see if it is not possible
to get me some beverage that I can swallow.'

The youngest man present was not more active than the General in this
service; but Mrs. Arlbery, casting herself despondingly back the moment
she had tasted what he brought her, exclaimed, 'Why this is worst of
all! If you can do no better for me, General, than this, tell me, at
least, for mercy's sake, when some other regiment will be quartered
here?'

'What a cruelty,' said the Major, looking with a sigh towards Camilla,
'to remind your unhappy prey they are but birds of passage!'

'O, all the better, Major. If you understand your own interest you will
be as eager to break up your quarters, as I can be to see your
successors march into them. I have now heard all your compliments, and
you have heard all my repartees; both sides, therefore, want new
auditors. A great many things I have said to you will do vastly well
again for a new corps; and, to do you justice, some few things you have
said yourselves may do again in a new county.'

Then, addressing Camilla, she proposed, though without moving, that they
should converse with one another, and leave the men to take care of
themselves. 'And excessively they will be obliged to me,' she continued,
without lowering her voice, 'for giving this little holiday to their
poor brains; for, I assure you, they have not known what to say this
half hour. Indeed, since the first fortnight they were quartered here,
they have not, upon an average, said above one new thing in three days.
But one's obliged to take up with Officers in the country, because
there's almost nothing else. Can you recommend me any agreeable new
people?'

'O no, ma'am! I have hardly any acquaintance, except immediately round
the rectory; but, fortunately, my own family is so large, that I have
never been distressed for society.'

'O, ay, true! your own family, begin with that; do, pray, give me a
little history of your own family?'

'I have no history, ma'am, to give, for my father's retired life----'

'O, I have seen your father, and I have heard him preach, and I like him
very much. There's something in him there's no turning into ridicule.'

Camilla, though surprised, was delighted by such a testimony to the
respectability of her father; and, with more courage, said--'And, I am
sure, if you knew my mother, you would allow her the same exemption.'

'So I hear; therefore, we won't talk of them. It's a delightful thing to
think of perfection; but it's vastly more amusing to talk of errors and
absurdities. To begin with your eldest sister, then--but no; she seems
in just the same predicament as your father and mother: so we'll let her
rest, too.'

'Indeed she is; she is as faultless----'

'O, not a word more then; she won't do for me at all. But, pray, is
there not a single soul in all the round of your large family, that can
afford a body a little innocent diversion?'

'Ah, madam,' said Camilla, shaking her head; 'I fear, on the contrary,
if they came under your examination, there is not one in whom you would
not discern some foible!'

'I should not like them at all the worse for that; for, between
ourselves, my dear Miss Tyrold, I am half afraid they might find a
foible or two in return in me; so you must not be angry if I beg the
favour of you to indulge me with a few of their defects.'

'Indulge you!'

'Yes, for when so many of a family are perfect, if you can't find me one
or two that have a little speck of mortality, you must not wonder if I
take flight at your very name. In charity, therefore, if you would not
drop my acquaintance, tell me their vulnerable parts.'

Camilla laughed at this ridiculous reasoning, but would not enter into
its consequences.

'Well, then, if you will not assist me, don't take it ill that I assist
myself. In the first place, there's your brother; I don't ask you to
tell me any thing of him; I have seen him! and I confess to you he does
not put me into utter despair! he does not alarm me into flying all his
race.'

Camilla tried vainly to look grave.

'I have seen another, too, your cousin, I think; Miss Lynmere, that's
engaged to young Mandlebert.'

Camilla now tried as vainly to look gay.

'She's prodigiously pretty. Pray, is not she a great fool?'

'Ma'am?'

'I beg your pardon! but I don't suppose you are responsible for the
intellects of all your generation. However, she'll do vastly well; you
need not be uneasy for her. A face like that will take very good care of
itself. I am glad she is engaged, for your sake, though I am sorry for
Mandlebert; that is, if, as his class of countenance generally predicts,
he marries with any notion of expecting to be happy.'

'But why, ma'am,' cried Camilla, checking a sigh, 'are you glad for my
sake?'

'Because there are two reasons why she would be wonderfully in your way;
she is not only prettier than you, but sillier.'

'And would both those reasons,' cried Camilla, again laughing, 'make
against me?'

'O, intolerably, with the men! They are always enchanted with something
that is both pretty and silly; because they can so easily please and so
soon disconcert it; and when they have made the little blooming fools
blush and look down, they feel nobly superior, and pride themselves in
victory. Dear creatures! I delight in their taste; for it brings them a
plentiful harvest of repentance, when it is their connubial criterion;
the pretty flies off, and the silly remains, and a man then has a choice
companion for life left on his hands!'

The young Ensign here could no longer be silent: 'I am sure and
certain,' cried he, warmly, 'Miss Lynmere is incapable to be a fool! and
when she marries, if her husband thinks her so, it's only a sign he's a
blockhead himself.'

'He'll be exactly of your opinion for the first month or two,' answered
Mrs. Arlbery, 'or even if he is not, he'll like her just as well. A man
looks enchanted while his beautiful young bride talks nonsense; it comes
so prettily from her ruby lips, and she blushes and dimples with such
lovely attraction while she utters it; he casts his eyes around him
with conscious elation to see her admirers, and his enviers; but he has
amply his turn for looking like a fool himself, when youth and beauty
take flight, and when his ugly old wife exposes her ignorance or folly
at every word.'

'The contrast of beginning and end,' said the General, 'is almost always
melancholy. But how rarely does any man,--nay, I had nearly said, or any
woman--think a moment of the time to come, or of any time but the
present day, in marrying?'

'Except with respect to fortune!' cried Mrs. Arlbery, 'and there,
methinks, you men, at least, are commonly sufficiently provident. I
don't think reflection is generally what you want in that point.'

'As to reflection,' exclaimed Mr. Macdersey, ''tis the thing in the
world I look upon to be the meanest! a man capable of reflection, where
a beautiful young creature is in question, can have no soul nor vitals.
For my part, 'tis my only misfortune that I cannot get at that lovely
girl, to ask her for her private opinion of me at once, that I might
either get a licence tomorrow, or drive her out of my head before sleep
overtakes me another night.'

'Your passions, my good Macdersey,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'considering
their violence, seem tolerably obedient. Can you really be so fond, or
so forgetful at such short warning?'

'Yes, but it's with a pain that breaks my heart every time.'

'You contrive, however, to get it pretty soon mended!'

'That, madam, is a power that has come upon me by degrees; I have paid
dear enough for it!--nobody ever found it harder than I did at the
beginning; for the first two or three times I took my disappointments so
to heart, that I should have been bound for ever to any friend that
would have had the good nature to blow my brains out.'

'But now you are so much in the habit of experiencing these little
failures, that they pass on as things of course?'

'No, madam, you injure me, and in the tenderest point; for, as long as I
have the least hope, my passion's as violent as ever; but you would not
be so unreasonable as to have a man love on, when it can answer no end?
It's no better than making him unhappy for a joke. There's no sense in
such a thing.'

'By the way, my dear Miss Tyrold, and _apropos_ to this Miss Lynmere,'
said Mrs. Arlbery, 'do tell me something about Mr. Mandlebert--what is
he?--what does he do always amongst you?'

'He--he!--' cried Camilla, stammering, 'he was a ward of my father's--'

'O, I don't mean all that; but what is his style?--his class?--is he
agreeable?'

'I believe--he is generally thought so.'

'If he is, do pray, then, draw him into my society, for I am terribly in
want of recruits. These poor gentlemen you see here are very good sort
of men; but they have a trick of sleeping with their eyes wide open, and
fancy all the time they are awake; and, indeed, I find it hard to
persuade them to the contrary, though I often ask them for their dreams.
By the way, can't you contrive, some or other amongst you, to make the
room a little cooler?'

'Shall I open this window?' said the Major.

'Nay, nay, don't ask me; I had rather bear six times the heat, than give
my own directions: nothing in the world fatigues me so much as telling
stupid people how to set about things. Colonel, don't you see I have no
fan?'

'I'll fetch it directly--have you left it in the dining-parlour?'

'Do you really think I would not send a footman at once, if I must
perplex myself with all that recollection? My dear Miss Tyrold, did you
ever see any poor people, that pretended at all to walk about, and
mingle with the rest of the world, like living creatures, so completely
lethargic?--'tis really quite melancholy! I am sure you have good nature
enough to pity them. It requires my utmost ingenuity to keep them in any
employment; and if I left them to themselves, they would stand before
the fire all the winter, and lounge upon sofas all the summer. And that
indolence of body so entirely unnerves the mind, that they find as
little to say as to do. Upon the whole, 'tis really a paltry race, the
men of the present times. However, as we have got no better, and as the
women are worse, I do all I can to make them less insufferable to me.'

'And do you really think the women are worse?' cried Camilla.

'Not in themselves, my dear; but worse to me, because I cannot possibly
take the same liberties with them. Macdersey, I wish I had my salts.

'It shall be the happiness of my life to find them, be they hid where
they may; only tell me where I may have the pleasure to go and look for
them.'

'Nay, that's your affair.'

'Why, then, if they are to be found from the garret to the cellar, be
sure I am a dead man, if I do not bring them you!'

This mode of displaying airs and graces was so perfectly new to Camilla,
that the commands issued, and the obedience paid, were equally amusing
to her. Brought up herself to be contented with whatever came in her
way, in preference either to giving trouble, or finding fault, the
ridiculous, yet playful wilfulness with which she saw Mrs. Arlbery send
every one upon her errands, yet object to what every one performed,
presented to her a scene of such whimsical gaiety, that her concern at
the accident which had made her innocently violate her intended
engagement with Edgar, was completely changed into pleasure, that thus,
without any possible self blame, an acquaintance she had so earnestly
desired was even by necessity established: and she returned home at
night with spirits all revived, and eloquent in praise of her new
favourite.




CHAPTER XIII

_Attic Adventures_


Mr. Tyrold, according to the system of recreation which he had settled
with his wife, saw with satisfaction the pleasure with which Camilla
began this new acquaintance, in the hope it would help to support her
spirits during the interval of suspense with regard to the purposes of
Mandlebert. Mrs. Arlbery was unknown to him, except by general fame;
which told him she was a woman of reputation as well as fashion, and
that though her manners were lively, her heart was friendly, and her
hand ever open to charity.

Upon admitting Lionel again to his presence, he spoke forcibly, though
with brevity, upon the culpability of his conduct. What he had done, he
said, let him colour it to himself with what levity he might, was not
only a robbery, but a robbery of the most atrocious and unjustifiable
class; adding terror to violation of property, and playing upon the
susceptibility of the weakness and infirmities, which he ought to have
been the first to have sheltered and sheathed. Had the action contained
no purpose but a frolic, even then the situation of the object on whom
it fell, rendered it inhuman; but as its aim and end was to obtain
money, it was dishonourable to his character, and criminal by the laws
of his country. 'Yet shudder no more,' continued he, 'young man, at the
justice to which they make you amenable, than at having deserved, though
you escape it! From this day, however, I will name it no more. Feeble
must be all I could utter, compared with what the least reflection must
make you feel! Your uncle, in a broken state of health, is sent abroad;
your mother, though too justly incensed to see you, sacrifices her
happiness to serve you!'

Lionel, for a few hours, was in despair after this harangue; but as they
passed away, he strove to drive it from his mind, persuading himself it
was useless to dwell upon what was irretrievable.

Mrs. Arlbery, the following day, made her visit at Etherington, and
invited the two sisters to a breakfast she was to give the next morning.
Mr. Tyrold, who with surprize and concern at a coldness so dilatory,
found a second day wearing away without a visit from Mandlebert, gladly
consented to allow of an amusement, that might shake from Camilla the
pensiveness into which, at times, he saw her falling.

Mrs. Arlbery had declared she hated ceremony in the summer; guarded,
therefore, by Lionel, the sisters walked to the Grove. From the little
hill they had again to pass, they observed a group of company upon the
leads of her house, which were flat, and balustraded round; and when
they presented themselves at the door, they were met by Major Cerwood,
who conducted them to the scene of business.

It was the end of July, and the weather was sultry; but though the
height of the place upon which the present party was collected, gave
some freshness to the air, the heat reflected from the lead would have
been nearly intolerable, had it not been obviated by an awning, and by
matts, in the part where seats and refreshments were arranged. French
horns and clarinets were played during the repast.

This little entertainment had for motive a young lady's quitting her
boarding school. Miss Dennel, a niece, by marriage, of Mrs. Arlbery,
who, at the age of fourteen, came to preside at the house and table of
her father, had begged to be felicitated by her aunt, upon the joyful
occasion, with a ball: but Mrs. Arlbery declared she never gave any
entertainments in which she did not expect to play the principal part
herself; and that balls and concerts were therefore excluded from her
list of home diversions. It was vastly well to see others shine
superior, she said, elsewhere, but she could not be so accommodating as
to perform Nobody under her own roof. She offered her, however, a
breakfast, with full choice of its cakes and refreshments; which, with
leave to fix upon the spot where it should be given, was all the
youthful pleader could obtain.

The Etherington trio met with a reception the most polite, and Camilla
was distinguished by marks of peculiar favour. Few guests were added to
the party she had met there before, except the young lady who was its
present foundress; and whose voice she recollected to have heard, in the
enquiries which had reached her ear from within the paddock.

Miss Dennel was a pretty, blooming, tall girl, but as childish in
intellect as in experience; though self-persuaded she was a woman in
both, since she was called from school to sit at the head of her
father's table.

Camilla required nothing further for entertainment than to listen to her
new friend; Lavinia, though more amazed than amused, always modestly
hung back as a mere looker on; and the company in general made their
diversion from viewing, through various glasses, the seats of the
neighbouring gentlemen, and reviewing, with yet more scrutiny, their
characters and circumstances. But Lionel, ever restless, seized the
opportunity to patrol the attic regions of the house, where, meeting
with a capacious lumber room, he returned to assure the whole party it
would make an admirable theatre, and to ask who would come forth to
spout with him.

Mr. Macdersey said, he did not know one word of any part, but he could
never refuse anything that might contribute to the company's pleasure.

Away they sped together, and in a few minutes reversed the face of
everything. Old sofas, bedsteads, and trunks, large family chests, deal
boxes and hampers, carpets and curtains rolled up for the summer, tables
with two legs, and chairs without bottoms, were truckled from the middle
to one end of the room, and arranged to form a semi-circle, with seats
in front, for a pit. Carpets were then uncovered and untied, to be
spread for the stage, and curtains, with as little mercy, were unfurled,
and hung up to make a scene.

They then applied to Miss Dennel, who had followed to peep at what they
were about, and asked if she thought the audience might be admitted.

She declared she had never seen any place so neat and elegant in her
life.

Such an opinion could not but be decisive; and they prepared to
re-ascend; when the sight of a small door, near the entrance of the
large apartment, excited the ever ready curiosity of Lionel, who, though
the key was on the outside, contrived to turn it wrong; but while
endeavouring to rectify by force what he had spoilt by aukwardness, a
sudden noise from within startled them all, and occasioned quick and
reiterated screams from Miss Dennel, who, with the utmost velocity burst
back upon the company on the leads, calling out; 'O Lord! how glad I am
I'm coming back alive! Mr. Macdersey and young Mr. Tyrold are very
likely killed! for they've just found I don't know how many robbers shut
up in a dark closet!'

The gentlemen waited for no explanation to this unintelligible story,
but hastened to the spot; and Mrs. Arlbery ordered all the servants who
were in waiting to follow and assist.

Miss Dennel then entreated to have the trap door through which they
ascended, from a small staircase, to the leads, double locked till the
gentlemen should declare upon their honours that the thieves were all
dead.

Mrs. Arlbery would not listen to this, but waited with Lavinia and
Camilla the event.

The gentlemen, meanwhile, reached the scene of action, at the moment
when Macdersey, striking first his foot, and then his whole person
against the door, had forced it open with such sudden violence, that he
fell over a pail of water into the adjoining room.

The servants arriving at the same time, announced that this was merely a
closet for mops, brooms, and pails, belonging to the housemaid: and it
appeared, upon examination, that the noise from within, had simply been
produced by the falling down of a broom, occasioned by their shaking the
door in endeavouring to force the lock.

The Ensign, wetted or splashed all over, was in a fury; and, turning to
Lionel, who laughed vociferously, whilst the rest of the gentlemen were
scarce less moderate, and the servants joined in the chorus,
peremptorily demanded to know if he had put the pail there on purpose;
'In which case, sir,' said he, 'you must never let me see you laugh
again to the longest hour you have to live!'

'My good Macdersey,' said the General, 'go into another room, and have
your cloaths wiped and dried; it will be time enough then to settle who
shall laugh longest.'

'General,' said he, 'I scorn to mind being either wet or dry; a soldier
ought to be above such delicate effeminacy: it is not, therefore, the
sousing I regard, provided I can once be clear it was not done for a
joke.'

Lionel, when he could speak, declared, that far from placing the pail
there on purpose, he had not known there was such a closet in the house,
nor had ever been up those stairs till they all mounted them together.

'I am perfectly satisfied, then, my good friend,' said the Ensign,
shaking him by the hand with an heartiness that gave him no small share
of the pail's contents; 'when a gentleman tells me a thing seriously, I
make it a point to believe him; especially if he has a good honest
countenance, that assures me he would not refuse me satisfaction, in the
case he had meant to make game of me.'

'And do you always terminate your jests with the ceremony of a tilting
match?' cried Sir Sedley.

'Yes, Sir! if I'm made a joke of by a man of any honour. For, to tell
you a piece of my mind, there's no one thing upon earth I hate like a
joke; unless it's against another person; and then it only gives me a
little joy inwardly; for I make it a point of complaisance not to laugh
out: except where I happen to wish for a little private conversation
with the person that gives me the diversion.'

'Facetious in the extreme!' cried Sir Sedley, 'an infallibly excellent
mode to make a man die of laughter? Droll to the utmost!'

'With regard to that, Sir, I have no objection to a little wit or
humour, provided a person has the politeness to laugh only at himself,
and his own particular friends and relations; but if once he takes the
liberty to turn me into ridicule, I look upon it as an affront, and
expect the proper reparation.'

'O, to refuse that would be without bowels to a degree!'

Lionel now ran up stairs, to beg the ladies would come and see the
theatre; but suddenly exclaimed, as he looked around, 'Ah ha!' and
hastily galloped down, and to the bottom of the house. Mrs. Arlbery
descended with her young party, and the Ensign, in mock heroics,
solemnly prostrated himself to Miss Dennel, pouring into her delighted
ears, from various shreds and scraps of different tragedies, the most
high flown and egregiously ill-adapted complements: while the Major,
less absurdly, though scarce less passionately, made Camilla his Juliet,
and whispered the tenderest lines of Romeo.

Lionel presently running, out of breath, up stairs again, cried: 'Mrs.
Arlbery, I have drawn you in a new beau.'

'Have you?' cried she, coolly; 'why then I permit you to draw him out
again. Had you told me he had forced himself in, you had made him
welcome. But I foster only willing slaves. So off, if you please, with
your boast and your beau.'

'I can't, upon my word, ma'am, for he is at my heels.'

Mandlebert, at the same moment, not hearing what passed, made his
appearance.

The surprised and always unguarded Camilla, uttered an involuntary
exclamation, which instantly catching his ear, drew his eye towards the
exclaimer, and there fixed it; with an astonishment which suspended
wholly his half made bow, and beginning address to Mrs. Arlbery.

Lionel had descried him upon the little hill before the house; where, as
he was passing on, his own attention had been caught by the sound of
horns and clarinets, just as, without any explanation, Lionel flew to
tell him he was wanted, and almost forced him off his horse, and up the
stairs.

Mrs. Arlbery, in common with those who dispense with all forms for
themselves, exacted them punctiliously from all others. The visit
therefore of Mandlebert not being designed for her, afforded her at
first no gratification, and produced rather a contrary feeling, when she
observed the total absence of all pleasure in the surprise with which he
met Camilla at her house. She gave him a reception of cold civility, and
then chatted almost wholly with the General, or Sir Sedley.

Edgar scarce saw whether he was received or not; his bow was mechanical,
his apology for his intrusion was unintelligible. Amazement at seeing
Camilla under this roof, disappointment at her breach of implied
promise, and mortification at the air of being at home, which he
thought he remarked in her situation, though at an acquaintance he had
taken so much pains to keep aloof from her, all conspired to displease
and perplex him; and though his eyes could with difficulty look any
other way, he neither spoke to nor approached her.

Nor was even thus meeting her all he had to give him disturbance; the
palpable devoirs of Major Cerwood incensed as well astonished him; for,
under pretext of only following the humour of the day, in affecting to
act the hero in love, the Major assailed her, without reserve, with
declarations of his passion, which though his words passed off as
quotations, his looks and manner made appropriate. How, already, thought
Edgar, has he obtained such a privilege? such confidence? To have
uttered one such sentence, my tongue would have trembled, my lips would
have quivered!

Camilla felt confounded by his presence, from the consciousness of the
ill opinion she must excite by this second apparent disregard of a given
engagement. She would fain have explained to him it's history; but she
could not free herself from the Major, whose theatrical effusions were
not now to be repressed, since, at first, she had unthinkingly attended
to them.

Lionel joined with Macdersey in directing similar heroics to Miss
Dennel, who, simply enchanted, called out: 'I'm determined when I've a
house of my own, I'll have just such a room as this at the top of it, on
purpose to act a play every night.'

'And when, my dear,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'do you expect to have a house
of your own?'

'O, as soon as I am married, you know.'

'Is your marrying, then, already decided?'

'Dear no, not that I know of, aunt. I'm sure I never trouble myself
about it; only I suppose it will happen some day or other.'

'And when it does, you are very sure your husband will approve your
acting plays every night?'

'O, as to that, I shan't ask him. Whenever I'm married I'll be my own
mistress, that I'm resolved upon. But papa's so monstrous cross, he says
he won't let me act plays now.'

'Papas and mamas,' cried Sir Sedley, 'are ever most egregiously in the
way. 'Tis prodigiously surprising they have never yet been banished
society. I know no mark more irrefragable of the supineness of mankind.'

Then rising, and exclaiming: 'What savage heat! I wish the weather had
a little feeling!' he broke up the party by ordering his curricle, and
being the first to depart.

'That creature,' cried Mrs. Arlbery, 'if one had the least care for him,
is exactly an animal to drive one mad! He labours harder to be affected
than any ploughman does for his dinner. And, completely as his conceit
obscures it, he has every endowment nature can bestow, except common
sense!'

They now all descended to take leave, except the Ensign and Lionel, who
went, arm in arm, prowling about, to view all the garrets, followed on
tip-toe by Miss Dennel. Lavinia called vainly after her brother; but
Camilla, hoping every instant she might clear her conduct to Edgar, was
not sorry to be detained.

They had not, however, been five minutes in the parlour, before a
violent and angry noise from above, induced them all to remount to the
top of the house; and there, upon entering a garret whence it issued,
they saw Miss Dennel, decorated with the Ensign's cocked hat and
feather, yet looking pale with fright; Lionel accoutred in the maid's
cloaths, and almost in a convulsion of laughter; and Macdersey, in a
rage utterly incomprehensible, with the coachman's large bob-wig hanging
loose upon his head.

It was sometime before it was possible to gather, that having all
paraded into various garrets, in search of adventures, Lionel, after
attiring himself in the maid's gown, cap, and apron, had suddenly
deposited upon Miss Dennel's head the Ensign's cocked hat, replacing it
with the coachman's best wig upon the toupee of Macdersey; whose
resentment was so violent at this liberty, that it was still some
minutes before he could give it articulation.

The effect of this full buckled bob-jerom which stuck hollow from the
young face and powdered locks of the Ensign, was irresistibly ludicrous;
yet he would have deemed it a greater indignity to take it quietly off,
than to be viewed in it by thousands; though when he saw the disposition
of the whole company to sympathise with Lionel, his wrath rose yet
higher, and stamping with passion, he fiercely said to him--'Take it
off, sir!--take it off my head!'

Lionel, holding this too imperious a command to be obeyed, only shouted
louder. Macdersey then, incensed beyond endurance, lowered his voice
with stifled choler, and putting his arms a-kimbo, said--'If you take me
for a fool, sir, I shall demand satisfaction; for it's what I never put
up with!'

Then, turning to the rest, he solemnly added--'I beg pardon of all the
worthy company for speaking this little whisper, which certainly I
should scorn to do before ladies, if it had not been a secret.'

Mrs. Arlbery, alarmed at the serious consequences now threatening this
folly, said--'No, no; I allow of no secrets in my house, but what are
entrusted to myself. I insist, therefore, upon being umpire in this
cause.'

'Madam,' said Macdersey, 'I hope never to become such a debased brute of
the creation, as to contradict the commands of a fair lady: except when
it's upon a point of honour. But I can't consent to pass for a fool; and
still more not for a poltroon--You'll excuse the little hint.'

Then, while making a profound and ceremonious bow, his wig fell over his
head on the ground.

'This is very unlucky,' cried he, with a look of vexation; 'for
certainly, and to be sure no human mortal should have made me take it
off myself, before I was righted.'

Camilla, picking it up, to render the affair merely burlesque, pulled
off the maid's cap from her brother's head, and put on the wig in its
place, saying--'There, Lionel, you have played the part of _Lady Wrong
Head_ long enough; be so good now as to perform that of _Sir Francis_.'

This ended the business, and the whole party, in curricles, on
horseback, or on foot, departed from the Grove.




BOOK IV




CHAPTER I

_A Few Explanations_


The last words of Dr. Marchmont, in taking leave of Edgar, were
injunctions to circumspection, and representations of the difficulty of
drawing back with honour, if once any incautious eagerness betrayed his
partiality. To this counsel he was impelled to submit, lest he should
risk for Camilla a report similar to that which for Indiana had given
him so much disturbance. There, indeed, he felt himself wholly
blameless. His admiration was but such as he always experienced at sight
of a beautiful picture, nor had it ever been demonstrated in any more
serious manner. He had distinguished her by no particular attention,
singled her out by no pointed address, taken no pains to engage her good
opinion, and manifested no flattering pleasure at her approach or
presence.

His sense of right was too just to mislead him into giving himself
similar absolution with respect to Camilla. He had never, indeed,
indulged a voluntary vent to his preference; but the candour of his
character convinced him that what so forcibly he had felt, he must
occasionally have betrayed. Yet the idea excited regret without remorse;
for though it had been his wish, as well as intention, to conceal his
best hopes, till they were ratified by his judgment, he had the
conscious integrity of knowing that, should her heart become his prize,
his dearest view in life would be to solicit her hand.

To preserve, therefore, the appearance of an undesigning friend of the
house, he had forced himself to refrain, for two days, from any visit to
the rectory, whither he was repairing, when thus, unlooked and unwished
for, he surprized Camilla at the Grove.

Disappointed and disapproving feelings kept him, while there, aloof from
her; by continual suggestions, that her character was of no stability,
that Dr. Marchmont was right in his doubts, and Miss Margland herself
not wrong in accusing her of caprice; and when he perceived, upon her
preparing to walk home with her brother and sister, that Major Cerwood
stept forward to attend her, he indignantly resolved to arrange without
delay his continental excursion. But again, when, as she quitted the
room, he saw her head half turned round, with an eye of enquiry if he
followed, he determined frankly, and at once, in his capacity of a
friend, to request some explanation of this meeting.

The assiduities of the Major made it difficult to speak to her; but the
aid of her desire for a conversation, which was equally anxious, and
less guarded than his own, anticipated his principal investigation, by
urging her, voluntarily to seize an opportunity of relating to him the
history of her first visit to Mrs. Arlbery; and of assuring him that the
second was indispensably its consequence.

Softened by this apparent earnestness for his good opinion, all his
interest and all his tenderness for her returned; and though much
chagrined at the accident, or rather mischief, which had thus
established the acquaintance, he had too little to say, whatever he had
to feel, of positive weight against it, to propose its now being
relinquished. He thanked her impressively for so ready an explanation;
and then gently added; 'I know your predilection in favour of this lady,
and I will say nothing to disturb it; but as she is yet new to you, and
as all residence, all intercourse, from your own home or relations, is
new to you also--tell me, candidly, sincerely tell me, can you
condescend to suffer an old friend, though in the person of but a young
man, to offer you, from time to time, a hint, a little counsel, a few
brief words of occasional advice? and even, perhaps, now and then, to
torment you into a little serious reflection?'

'If you,' cried she, gaily, 'will give me the reflection, I promise, to
the best of my power, to give you in return, the seriousness; but I can
by no means engage for both!'

'O, never, but from your own prudence,' he answered, gratefully, 'may
your delightful vivacity know a curb! If now I seem myself to fear it,
it is not from moroseness, it is not from insensibility to its
charm----'

He was stopt here by Macdersey, who, suddenly overtaking him, entreated
an immediate short conference upon a matter of moment.

Though cruelly vexed by the interruption, he could not refuse to turn
back with him; and Camilla again was left wholly to the gallant Major;
but her heart felt so light that she had thus cleared herself to Edgar,
so gratified by his request to become himself her monitor, and so
enchanted to find her acquaintance with Mrs. Arlbery no longer disputed,
that she was too happy to admit any vexation; and the Major had never
thought her so charming, though of the Major she thought not one moment.

Macdersey, with a long, ceremonious, and not very clear apology,
confessed he had called Mandlebert aside only to enquire into the
certain truth, if it were not a positive secret, of his intended
nuptials with the beautiful Miss Lynmere. Mandlebert, with surprize, but
without any hesitation, declared himself wholly without any pretensions
to that lady. Macdersey then embraced him, and they parted mutually
satisfied.

It seemed now too late to Mandlebert to go to Etherington till the next
day, whither, as soon as he had breakfasted, he then rode.

According to his general custom, he went immediately to the study, where
he met with a calm, but kind reception from Mr. Tyrold; and after half
an hour's conversation, upon Lisbon, Dr. Marchmont, and Mrs. Tyrold, he
left him to seek his young friends.

In the parlour, he found Lavinia alone; but before he could enquire for
her sister, who was accidentally up stairs, Lionel, just dismounted from
his horse, appeared.

'O, ho, Edgar!' cried he, 'you are here, are you? this would make fine
confusion, if that beauty of nature, Miss Margland, should happen to
call. They've just sent for you to Beech Park. I don't know what's to be
done to you; but if you have an inclination to save poor Camilla's eyes,
or cap, at least, from that meek, tender creature, you'll set off for
Cleves before they know you are in this house.'

Edgar amazed, desired an explanation; but he protested the wrath of Miss
Margland had been so comical, and given him so much diversion, that he
had not been able to get at any particulars; he only knew there was a
great commotion, and that Edgar was declared in love with some of his
sisters or cousins, and Miss Margland was in a rage that it was not with
herself; and that, in short, because he only happened to drop a hint of
the latter notion, that delectable paragon had given him so violent a
blow with her fine eyes, that in order to vent an ungovernable fit of
laughter, without the risk of having the house pulled about his ears, he
had hastily mounted his horse, and galloped off.

The contempt of Edgar for Miss Margland would have made him disdain
another question, if the name of Camilla had not been mingled in this
relation; no question, however, could procure further information.
Lionel, enchanted that he had tormented Miss Margland, understood
nothing more of the matter, and could only repeat his own merry sayings,
and their effect.

Lavinia expressed, most innocently, her curiosity to know what this
meant; and was going for Camilla, to assist in some conjecture; but
Edgar, who by this strange story had lost his composure, felt unequal to
hearing it discussed in her presence, and, pleading sudden haste, rode
away.

He did not, however, go to Cleves; he hardly knew if Lionel had not
amused him with a feigned story; but he no sooner arrived at Beech Park,
then he found a message from Sir Hugh, begging to see him with all
speed.

The young Ensign was the cause of this present summons and disturbance.
Elated by the declaration of Mandlebert, that the rumour of his contract
was void of foundation, and buoyed up by Mrs. Arlbery, to whom he
returned with the communication, he resolved to make his advances in
form. He presented himself, therefore, at Cleves, where he asked an
audience of Sir Hugh, and at once, with his accustomed vehemence,
declared himself bound eternally, life and soul, to his fair niece, Miss
Lynmere; and desired that, in order to pay his addresses to her, he
might be permitted to see her at odd times, when he was off duty.

Sir Hugh was scarce able to understand him, from his volubility, and the
extravagance of his phrases and gestures; but he imputed them to his
violent passion, and therefore answered him with great gentleness,
assuring him he did not mean to doubt his being a proper alliance for
his niece, though he had never heard of him before; but begging he would
not be affronted if he could not accept him, not knowing yet quite
clearly if she were not engaged to a young gentleman in the
neighbourhood.

The Ensign now loudly proclaimed his own news: Mandlebert had protested
himself free, and the whole county already rang with the mistake.

Sir Hugh, who always at a loss how to say no, thought this would have
been a good answer, now sent for Miss Margland, and desired her to speak
herself with the young gentleman.

Miss Margland, much gratified, asked Macdersey if she could look at his
rent roll.

He had nothing of the kind at hand, he said, not being yet come to his
estate, which was in Ireland, and was still the property of a first
cousin, who was not yet dead.

Miss Margland, promising he should have an answer in a few days, then
dismissed him; but more irritated than ever against Mandlebert, from the
contrast of his power to make settlements, she burst forth into her old
declarations of his ill usage of Miss Lynmere; attributing it wholly to
the contrivances of Camilla, whom she had herself, she said, surprized
wheedling Edgar into her snares, when she called last at Etherington;
and who, she doubted not, they should soon hear was going to be married
to him.

Sir Hugh always understood literally whatever was said; these assertions
therefore of ill humour, merely made to vent black bile, affected him
deeply for the honour and welfare of Camilla, and he hastily sent a
messenger for Edgar, determining to beg, if that were the case, he would
openly own the whole, and not leave all the blame to fall all upon his
poor niece.

At this period, Lionel had called, and, by inflaming Miss Margland, had
aggravated the general disturbance.

When Edgar arrived, Sir Hugh told him of the affair, assuring him he
should never have taken amiss his preferring Camilla, which he thought
but natural, if he had only done it from the first.

Edgar, though easily through all this he saw the malignant yet shallow
offices of Miss Margland, found himself, with infinite vexation,
compelled to declare off equally from both the charges; conscious, that
till the very moment of his proposals, he must appear to have no
preference nor designs. He spoke, therefore, with the utmost respect of
the young ladies, but again said it was uncertain if he should not
travel before he formed any establishment.

The business thus explicitly decided, nothing more could be done: but
Miss Margland was somewhat appeased, when she heard that her pupil was
not so disgracefully to be supplanted.

Indiana herself, to whom Edgar had never seemed agreeable, soon forgot
she had ever thought of him; and elated by the acquisition of a new
lover, doubted not, but, in a short time, the publication of her liberty
would prove slavery to all mankind.

Early the next morning, the carriage of Sir Hugh arrived at the rectory
for Camilla. She never refused an invitation from her uncle, but she
felt so little equal to passing a whole day in the presence of Miss
Margland, after the unaccountable, yet alarming relation she had
gathered from Lionel, that she entreated him to accompany her, and to
manage that she should return with him as soon as the horses were fed
and rested.

Lionel, ever good humoured, and ready to oblige, willingly complied; but
demanded that she should go with him, in their way back, to see a new
house which he wanted to examine.

Sir Hugh received her with his usual affection, Indiana with
indifference, and Miss Margland with a malicious smile: but Eugenia,
soon taking her aside, disclosed to her that Edgar, the day before, had
publicly and openly disclaimed any views upon Indiana, and had declared
himself without any passion whatever, and free from all inclination or
intention but to travel.

The blush of pleasure, with which Camilla heard the first sentence of
this speech, became the tingle of shame at the second, and whitened into
surprise and sorrow at the last.

Eugenia, though she saw some disturbance, understood not these changes.
Early absorbed in the study of literature and languages, under the
direction of a preceptor who had never mingled with the world, her
capacity had been occupied in constant work for her memory; but her
judgment and penetration had been wholly unexercised. Like her uncle,
she concluded every body, and every thing to be precisely what they
appeared; and though, in that given point of view, she had keener
intellects to discern, and more skill to appreciate persons and
characters, she was as unpractised as himself in those discriminative
powers, which dive into their own conceptions to discover the latent
springs, the multifarious and contradictory sources of human actions and
propensities.

Upon their return to the company, Miss Margland chose to relate the
history herself. Mr. Mandlebert, she said, had not only thought proper
to acknowledge his utter insensibility to Miss Lynmere, but had declared
his indifference for every woman under the sun, and protested he held
them all cheap alike. 'So I would advise nobody,' she continued, 'to
flatter themselves with making a conquest of him, for they may take my
word for it, he won't be caught very easily.'

Camilla disdained to understand this but in a general sense, and made no
answer. Indiana, pouting her lip, said she was sure she did not want to
catch him: she did not fear having offers enough without him, if she
should happen to chuse to marry.

'Certainly,' said Miss Margland, 'there's no doubt of that; and this
young officer's coming the very moment he heard of your being at
liberty, is a proof that the only reason of your having had no more
proposals, is owing to Mr. Mandlebert. So I don't speak for you, but for
any body else, that may suppose they may please the difficult gentleman
better.'

Camilla now breathed hard with resentment; but still was silent, and
Indiana, answering only for herself, said: 'O, yes! I can't say I'm much
frightened. I dare say if Mr. Melmond had known, ... but he thought like
everybody else ... however, I'm sure, I'm very glad of it, only I wish
he had spoke a little sooner, for I suppose Mr. Melmond thinks me as
much out of his reach as if I was married. Not that I care about it;
only it's provoking.'

'No, my dear,' said Miss Margland, 'it would be quite below your dignity
to think about him, without knowing better who he is, or what are his
expectations and connexions. As to this young officer, I shall take
proper care to make enquiries, before he has his answer. He belongs to a
very good family; for he's related to Lord O'Lerney, and I have friends
in Ireland who can acquaint me with his situation and fortune. There's
time enough to look about you; only as Mr. Mandlebert has behaved so
unhandsomely, I hope none of the family will give him their countenance.
I am sure it will be to no purpose, if any body should think of doing it
by way of having any design upon him. It will be lost labour, I can tell
them.'

'As to that, I am quite easy,' said Indiana, tossing her head, 'any body
is welcome to him for me;--my cousin, or any body else.'

Camilla, now, absolutely called upon to speak, with all the spirit she
could assume, said, 'With regard to me, there is no occasion to remind
me how much I am out of the question; yet suffer me to say, respect for
myself would secure me from forming such plans as you surmise, if no
other sense of propriety could save me from such humiliation.'

'Now, my dear, you speak properly,' said Miss Margland, taking her hand;
'and I hope you will have the spirit to shew him you care no more for
him than he cares for you.'

'I hope so too,' answered Camilla, turning pale; 'but I don't suppose--I
can't imagine--that it is very likely he should have mentioned anything
good or bad--with regard to his care for me?'

This was painfully uttered, but from a curiosity irrepressible.

'As to that, my dear, don't deceive yourself; for the question was put
home to him very properly, that you might know what you had to expect,
and not keep off other engagements from a false notion.'

'This indeed,' said Camilla, colouring with indignation, 'this has been
a most useless, a most causeless enquiry!'

'I am very glad you treat the matter as it deserves, for I like to see
young ladies behave with dignity.'

'And pray, then, what--was there any--did he make--was there any--any
answer--to this--to--.'

'O, yes, he answered without any great ceremony, I can assure you! He
said, in so many words, that he thought no more of you than of our
cousin, and was going abroad to divert and amuse himself, better than by
entering into marriage, with either one or other of you; or with any
body else.'

Camilla felt half killed by this answer; and presently quitting the
room, ran out into the garden, and to a walk far from the house, before
she had power to breathe, or recollection to be aware of the sensibility
she was betraying.

She then as hastily went back, secretly resolving never more to think of
him, and to shew both to himself and to the world, by every means in her
power, her perfect indifference.

She could not, however, endure to encounter Miss Margland again, but
called for Lionel, and begged him to hurry the coachman.

Lionel complied--she took a hasty leave of her uncle, and only saying,
'Good by, good by!' to the rest, made her escape.

Sir Hugh, ever unsuspicious, thought her merely afraid to detain her
brother; but Eugenia, calm, affectionate, and divested of cares for
herself, saw evidently that something was wrong, though she divined not
what, and entreated leave to go with her sister to Etherington, and
thence return, without keeping out the horses.

Sir Hugh was well pleased, and the two sisters and Lionel set off
together.




CHAPTER II

_Specimens of Taste_


The presence of Lionel stifled the enquiries of Eugenia; and pride, all
up in arms, absorbed every softer feeling in Camilla.

When they had driven half a mile, 'Now, young ladies,' said he, 'I shall
treat you with a frolic.' He then stopt the carriage, and told the
coachman to drive to Cornfield; saying, 'Tis but two miles about, and
Coachy won't mind that; will you Coachy?'

The coachman, looking forward to half a crown, said his horses would be
all the better for a little more exercise; and Jacob, familiarly fond of
Lionel from a boy, made no difficulty.

Lionel desired his sisters to ask no questions, assuring them he had
great designs, and a most agreeable surprise in view for them.

In pursuance of his directions, they drove on till they came before a
small house, just new fronted with deep red bricks, containing, on the
ground floor, two little bow windows, in a sharp triangular form,
enclosing a door ornamented with small panes of glass, cut in various
shapes; on the first story, a little balcony, decorated in the middle
and at each corner with leaden images of Cupids; and, in the attic
story, a very small venetian window, partly formed with minute panes of
glass, and partly with glazed tiles; representing, in blue and white,
various devices of dogs and cats, mice and birds, rats and ferrets, as
emblems of the conjugal state.

'Well, young ladies, what say you to this?' cried he, 'does it hit your
fancy? If it does, 'tis your own!'

Eugenia asked what he meant.

'Mean? to make a present of it to which ever is the best girl, and can
first cry bo! to a goose. Come, don't look disdainfully. Eugenia, what
say you? won't it be better to be mistress of this little neat, tight,
snug box, and a pretty little tidy husband, that belongs to it, than to
pore all day long over a Latin theme with old Dr. Orkborne? I have often
thought my poor uncle was certainly out of his wits, when he set us
all, men, women, and children, to learn Latin, or else be whipt by the
old doctor. But we all soon got our necks out of the collar, except poor
Eugenia, and she's had to work for us all. However, here's an
opportunity--see but what a pretty place--not quite finished, to be
sure, but look at that lake? how cool, how rural, how refreshing!'

'Lake?' repeated Eugenia, 'I see nothing but a very dirty little pond,
with a mass of rubbish in the middle. Indeed I see nothing else but
rubbish all round, and every where.'

'That's the very beauty of the thing, my dear; it's all in the exact
state for being finished under your own eye, and according to your own
taste.'

'To whom does it belong?'

'It's uninhabited yet; but it's preparing for a very spruce young spark,
that I advise you both to set your caps at. Hold! I see somebody
peeping; I'll go and get some news for you.'

He then jumped from the coach, and ran up five deep narrow steps, formed
of single large rough stones, which mounted so much above the threshold
of the house, that upon opening the door, there appeared a stool to
assist all comers to reach the floor of the passage.

Eugenia, with some curiosity, looked out, and saw her brother, after
nearly forcing his entrance, speak to a very mean little man, dressed in
old dirty cloaths, who seemed willing to hide himself behind the door,
but whom he almost dragged forward, saying aloud, 'O, I can take no
excuse, I insist upon your shewing the house. I have brought two young
ladies on purpose to see it; and who knows but one of them may take a
fancy to it, and make you a happy man for life.'

'As to that, sir,' said the man, still endeavouring to retreat, 'I can't
say as I've quite made my mind up yet as to the marriage ceremony. I've
known partly enough of the state already; but if ever I marry again,
which is a moot point, I sha'n't do it hand over head, like a boy,
without knowing what I'm about. However, it's time enough o'conscience
to think of that, when my house is done, and my workmen is off my
hands.'

Camilla now, by the language and the voice, gathered that this was Mr.
Dubster.

'Pho, pho,' answered Lionel, 'you must not be so hard-hearted when fair
ladies are in the case. Besides, one of them is that pretty girl you
flirted with at Northwick. She's a sister of mine, and I shall take it
very ill if you don't hand her out of the coach, and do the honours of
your place to her.'

Camilla, much provoked, earnestly called to her brother, but utterly in
vain.

'Lauk-a-day! why it is not half finished,' said Mr. Dubster; 'nor a
quarter neither: and as to that young lady, I can't say as it was much
in my mind to be over civil to her any more, begging pardon, after her
giving me the slip in that manner. I can't say as I think it was over
and above handsome, letting me get my gloves. Not that I mind it in the
least, as to that.'

'Pho, pho, man, you must never bear malice against a fair lady. Besides,
she's come now on purpose to make her excuses.'

'O, that's another thing; if the young lady's sorry, I sha'n't think of
holding out. Besides, I can't say but what I thought her agreeable
enough, if it had not been for her behaving so comical just at the last.
Not that I mean in the least to make any complaint, by way of getting of
the young lady scolded.'

'You must make friends now, man, and think no more of it;' cried Lionel,
who would have drawn him to the carriage; but he protested he was quite
ashamed to be seen in such a dishabille, and should go first and dress
himself. Lionel, on the contrary, declaring nothing so manly, nor so
becoming, as a neglect of outward appearance, pulled him to the coach
door, notwithstanding all his efforts to disengage himself, and the most
bashful distortions with which he strove to sneak behind his conductor.

'Ladies,' said he, 'Mr. Dubster desires to have the honour of walking
over his house and grounds with you.'

Camilla declared she had no time to alight; but Lionel insisted, and
soon forced them both from the coach.

Mr. Dubster, no longer stiff, starched, and proud, as when full dressed,
was sunk into the smallest insignificance; and when they were compelled
to enter his grounds, through a small Chinese gate, painted of a deep
blue, would entirely have kept out of sight; but for a whisper from
Lionel, that the ladies had owned they thought he looked to particular
advantage in that careless attire.

Encouraged by this, he came boldly forward, and suddenly facing them,
made a low bow saying: 'Young ladies, your humble.'

They courtsied slightly, and Camilla said she was very sorry to break in
upon him.

'O, it don't much matter,' cried he, extremely pleased by this civility,
'I only hope, young ladies, you won't take umbrage at my receiving you
in this pickle; but you've popt upon me unawares, as one may say. And my
best coat is at this very minute at Tom Hicks's, nicely packed and
papered up, and tied all round, in a drawer of his, up stairs, in his
room. And I'd have gone for it with the greatest pleasure in life, to
shew my respect, if the young gentleman would have let me.'

And then, recollecting Eugenia, 'Good lauk, ma'am,' said he, in a low
voice to Camilla, 'that's that same lame little lady as I saw at the
ball?'

'That lady, sir,' answered she, provoked, 'is my sister.'

'Mercy's me!' exclaimed he, lifting up his hands, 'I wish I'd known as
much at the time. I'm sure, ma'am, if I'd thought the young lady was any
ways related to you, I would not have said a word disrespectful upon no
account.'

Lionel asked how long he had had this place.

'Only a little while. I happened of it quite lucky. A friend of mine was
just being turned out of it, in default of payment, and so I got it a
bargain. I intend to fit it up a little in taste, and then, whether I
like it or no, I can always let it.'

They were now, by Lionel, dragged into the house, which was yet
unfurnished, half papered, and half white washed. The workmen, Mr.
Dubster said, were just gone to dinner, and he rejoiced that they had
happened to come so conveniently, when he should be no loser by leaving
the men to themselves, in order to oblige the young ladies with his
company.

He insisted upon shewing them not only every room, but every closet,
every cupboard, every nook, corner, and hiding place; praising their
utility, and enumerating all their possible appropriations, with the
most minute encomiums.

'But I'm quite sorry,' cried he, 'young ladies, to think as I've nothing
to offer you. I eats my dinner always at the Globe, having nobody here
to cook. However I'd have had a morsel of cake or so, if the young
gentleman had been so kind as to give me an item beforehand of your
intending me the favour. But as to getting things into the house hap
hazard, really everything is so dear--it's quite out of reason.'

The scampering of horses now carrying them to a window, they saw some
hounds in full cry, followed by horse-men in full gallop. Lionel
declared he would borrow Jacob's mare, and join them, while his sisters
walked about the grounds: but Camilla, taking him aside, made a serious
expostulation, protesting that her father, with all his indulgence, and
even her uncle himself, would be certainly displeased, if he left them
alone with this man; of whom they knew nothing but his very low trade.

'Why what is his trade?'

'A tinker's: Mrs. Arlbery told me so.'

He laughed violently at this information, protesting he was rejoiced to
find so much money could be made by the tinkering business, which he was
determined to follow in his next distress for cash: yet added, he feared
this was only the malice of Mrs. Arlbery, for Dubster, he had been told,
had kept a shop for ready made wigs.

He gave up, however, his project, forgetting the chace when he no longer
heard the hounds, and desired Mr. Dubster to proceed in shewing his
lions?

'Lauk a day! sir, I've got no lions, nor tygers neither. It's a deal of
expence keeping them animals; and though I know they reckon me near, I
sha'n't do no such thing; for if a man does not take a little care of
his money when once he has got it, especially if it's honestly, I think
he's a fool for his pains; begging pardon for speaking my mind so
freely.'

He then led them again to the front of the house, where he desired they
would look at his pond. 'This,' said he, 'is what I value the most of
all, except my summer house and my labyrinth. I shall stock it well; and
many a good dinner I hope to eat from it. It gets me an appetite,
sometimes, I think, only to look at it.'

''Tis a beautiful piece of water,' said Lionel, 'and may be useful to
the outside as well as the inside, for, if you go in head foremost, you
may bathe as well as feed from it.'

'No, I sha'n't do that, sir, I'm not over and above fond of water at
best. However, I shall have a swan.'

'A swan? why sure you won't be contented with only one?'

'O yes, I shall. It will only be made of wood, painted over in white.
There's no end of feeding them things if one has 'em alive. Besides it
will look just as pretty; and won't bite. And I know a friend of mine
that one of them creatures flew at, and gave him such a bang as almost
broke his leg, only for throwing a stone at it, out of mere play. They
are mortal spiteful, if you happen to hurt them when you're in their
reach.'

He then begged them to go over to his island, which proved to be what
Eugenia had taken for a mass of rubbish. They would fain have been
excused crossing a plank which he called a bridge, but Lionel would not
be denied.

'Now here,' said he, 'when my island's finished, I shall have something
these young ladies will like; and that's a lamb.'

'Alive, or dead?' cried Lionel.

'Alive,' he replied, 'for I shall have good pasture in a little bit of
ground just by, where I shall keep me a cow; and here will be grass
enough upon my island to keep it from starving on Sundays, and for now
and then, when I've somebody come to see me. And when it's fit for
killing, I can change it with the farmer down the lane, for another
young one, by a bargain I've agreed with him for already; for I don't
love to run no risks about a thing for mere pleasure.'

'Your place will be quite a paradise,' said Lionel.

'Why, indeed, sir, I think I've earned having a little recreeting, for I
worked hard enough for it, before I happened of meeting with my first
wife.'

'O, ho! so you began with marrying a fortune?'

'Yes, sir, and very pretty she was too, if she had not been so puny. But
she was always ailing. She cost me a mort of money to the potecary
before she went off. And she was a tedious while a dying, poor soul!'

'Your first wife? surely you have not been twice married already?'

'Yes, I have. My second wife brought me a very pretty fortune too. I
can't say but I've rather had the luck of it, as far as I've gone yet
awhile.'

They now repassed the plank, and were conducted to an angle, in which a
bench was placed close to the chinese rails, which was somewhat shaded
by a willow, that grew in a little piece of stagnant water on the other
side. A syringa was planted in front, and a broom-tree on the right
united it with the willow; in the middle there was a deal table.

'Now, young ladies,' said Mr. Dubster, 'if you have a taste to breathe a
little fresh country air, here's where I advise you to take your rest.
When I come to this place first, my arbour, as I call this, had no look
out, but just to the fields, so I cut away them lilacs, and now there's
a good pretty look out. And it's a thing not to be believed what a sight
of people and coaches, and gentlemen's whiskeys and stages, and flys,
and wagons, and all sorts of things as ever you can think of, goes by
all day long. I often think people's got but little to do at home.'

Next, he desired to lead them to his grotto, which he said was but just
begun. It was, indeed, as yet, nothing but a little square hole, dug
into a chalky soil, down into which, no steps being yet made, he slid as
well as he could, to the no small whitening of his old brown coat, which
already was thread bare.

He begged the ladies to follow, that he might shew them the devices he
had marked out with his own hand, and from his own head, for fitting up
the inside. Lionel would not suffer his sisters to refuse compliance,
though Mr. Dubster himself cautioned them to come carefully, 'in
particular,' he said, 'the little lady, as she has happened of an ugly
accident already, as I judge, in one of her hips, and 'twould be pity,
at her time of life, if she should happen of another at t'other side.'

Eugenia, not aware this misfortune was so glaring, felt much hurt by
this speech; and Camilla, very angry with its speaker, sought to silence
him by a resentful look; but not observing it; 'Pray, ma'am,' he
continued, 'was it a fall? or was you born so?'

Eugenia looked struck and surprized; and Camilla hastily whispered it
was a fall, and bid him say no more about it; but, not understanding
her, 'I take it, then,' he said, 'that was what stinted your growth so,
Miss? for, I take it, you're not much above the dwarf as they shew at
Exeter Change? Much of a muchness, I guess. Did you ever see him,
ma'am?'

'No, sir.'

'It would be a good sight enough to see you together. He'd think himself
a man in a minute. You must have had the small pox mortal bad, ma'am. I
suppose you'd the conflint sort?'

Camilla here, without waiting for help, slid down into the intended
grotto, and asked a thousand questions to change the subject; while
Eugenia, much disconcerted, slowly followed, aided by Lionel.

Mr. Dubster then displayed the ingenious intermixture of circles and
diamonds projected for the embellishment of his grotto; the first of
which were to be formed with cockle-shells, which he meant to colour
with blue paint; and the second he proposed shaping with bits of shining
black coal. The spaces between would each have an oyster-shell in the
middle, and here and there he designed to leave the chalk to itself,
which would always, he observed, make the grotto light and cheery.
Shells he said, unluckily, he did not happen to have; but as he had
thoughts of taking a little pleasure some summer at Brighthelmstone or
Margate, for he intended to see all those places, he should make a
collection then; being told he might have as curious shells, and pebbles
too, as a man could wish to look at, only for the trouble of picking
them up off the shore.

They next went to what he called his labyrinth, which was a little walk
he was cutting, zig-zag, through some brushwood, so low that no person
above three foot height could be hid by it. Every step they took here,
cost a rent to some lace or some muslin of one of the sisters; which Mr.
Dubster observed with a delight he could not conceal; saying this was a
true country walk, and would do them both a great deal of good; and
adding: 'we that live in town, would give our ears for such a thing as
this.' And though they could never proceed a yard at a time, from the
continual necessity of disentangling their dress from thorns and briars,
he exultingly boasted that he should give them a good appetite for their
dinner; and asked if this rural ramble did not make them begin to feel
hungry. 'For my part,' continued he, 'if once I get settled a bit, I
shall take a turn in this zig-zag every day before dinner, which may
save me my five grains of rhubarb, that the doctor ordered me for my
stomach, since my having my illness, which come upon me almost as soon
as I was a gentleman; from change of life, I believe, for I never knew
no other reason; and none of the doctors could tell me nothing about it.
But a man that's had a deal to do, feels quite unked at first, when he's
only got to look and stare about him, and just walk from one room to
another, without no employment.'

Lionel said he hoped, at least, he would not require his rhubarb to get
down his dinner to day.

'I hope so too, 'squire,' answered he, licking his lips, 'for I've
ordered a pretty good one, I can tell you; beef steaks and onions; and I
don't know what's better. Tom Hicks is to dine with me at the Globe, as
soon as I've give my workmen their tasks, and seen after a young lad
that's to do me a job there, by my grotto. Tom Hicks is a very good
fellow; I like him best of any acquaintance I've made in these here
parts. Indeed, I've made no other, on account of the unconvenience of
dressing, while I'm so much about with my workmen. So I keep pretty
incog from the genteel; and Tom does well enough in the interim.'

He then requested them to make haste to his summer-house, because his
workmen would be soon returned, and he could not then spare a moment
longer, without spoiling his own dinner.

'My summer-house,' said he, 'is not above half complete yet; but it will
be very pretty when it's done. Only I've got no stairs yet to it; but
there's a very good ladder, if the ladies a'n't afraid.'

The ladies both desired to be excused mounting; but Lionel protested he
would not have his friend affronted; and as neither of them were in the
habit of resisting him, nor of investigating with seriousness any thing
that he proposed, they were soon teized into acquiescence, and he
assisted them to ascend.

Mr. Dubster followed.

The summer-house was, as yet, no more than a shell; without windows,
scarcely roofed, and composed of lath and plaister, not half dry. It
looked on to the high road, and Mr. Dubster assured them, that, on
market days, the people passed so thick, there was no seeing them for
the dust.

Here they had soon cause to repent their facility,--that dangerous, yet
venial, because natural fault of youth;--for hardly had they entered
this place, ere a distant glimpse of a fleet stag, and a party of
sportsmen, incited Lionel to scamper down; and calling out: 'I shall be
back presently,' he made off towards the house, dragging the ladder
after him.

The sisters eagerly and almost angrily remonstrated; but to no purpose;
and while they were still entreating him to return and supposing him,
though out of sight, within hearing, they suddenly perceived him passing
the window by the high road, on horse-back, switch in hand, and looking
in the utmost glee. 'I have borrowed Jacob's mare,' he cried, 'for just
half an hour's sport, and sent Jacob and Coachy to get a little
refreshment at the next public house; but don't be impatient; I shan't
be long.'

Off then, he galloped, laughing; in defiance of the serious entreaties
of his sisters, and without staying to hear even one sentence of the
formal exhortations of Mr. Dubster.




CHAPTER III

_A few Compliments_


The two young ladies and Mr. Dubster, left thus together, and so
situated that separation without assistance was impossible, looked at
one another for some time in nearly equal dismay; and then Mr. Dubster,
with much displeasure, exclaimed--'Them young gentlemen are as full of
mischief, as an egg's full of meat! Who'd have thought of a person's
going to do such a thing as this?--it's mortal convenient, making me
leave my workmen at this rate; for I dare say they're come, or coming,
by this time. I wish I'd tied the ladder to this here rafter.'

The sisters, though equally provoked, thought it necessary to make some
apology for the wild behaviour of their brother.

'O, young ladies,' said he, formally waving his hand by way of a bow, 'I
don't in the least mean to blame you about it, for you're very welcome
to stay as long as it's agreeable; only I hope he'll come back by my
dinner time; for a cold beef-steak is one or other the worst morsel I
know.'

He then kept an unremitting watch from one window to another, for some
passenger from whom he could claim aid; but, much as he had boasted of
the numbers perpetually in sight, he now dolorously confessed, that,
sometimes, not a soul came near the place for half a day together: 'And,
as to my workmen,' continued he, 'the deuce can't make 'em hear if once
they begin their knocking and hammering.'

And then, with a smirk at the idea, he added--'I'll tell you what; I'd
best give a good squall at once, and then if they are come, I may catch
'em; in the proviso you won't mind it, young ladies.'

This scheme was put immediately into practice; but though the sisters
were obliged to stop their ears from his vociferation, it answered no
purpose.

'Well, I'll bet you what you will,' cried he, 'they are all deaf:
however, it's as well as it is, for if they was to come, and see me
hoisted up in this cage, like, they'd only make a joke of it; and then
they'd mind me no more than a pin never again. It's surprising how them
young gentlemen never think of nothing. If he'd served me so when I was
a 'prentice, he'd have paid pretty dear for his frolic; master would
have charged him half a day's work, as sure as a gun.'

Soon after, while looking out of the window, 'I do think,' he exclaimed,
'I see somebody!--It shall go hard but what I'll make 'em come to us.'

He then shouted with great violence; but the person crossed a stile into
a field, without seeing or hearing him.

This provoked him very seriously; and turning to Camilla, rather
indignantly, he said--'Really, ma'am, I wish you'd tell your brother, I
should take it as a favour he'd never serve me o' this manner no more!'

She hoped, she said, he would in future be more considerate.

'It's a great hindrance to business, ma'am, such things; and it's a
sheer love of mischief, too, begging pardon, for it's of no manner of
use to him, no more than it is to us.'

He then desired, that if any body should pass by again, they might all
squall out at once; saying, it was odds, then, but they might be heard.

'Not that it's over agreeable, at the best,' added he; 'for if one was
to stop any poor person, and make 'em come round, and look for the
ladder, one could not be off giving them something: and as to any of the
gentlefolks, one might beg and pray as long as one would before they'd
stir a step for one: and as to any of one's acquaintance, if they was to
go by, it's ten to one but they'd only fall a laughing. People's
generally ill-natured when they sees one in jeopardy.'

Eugenia, already thoughtful and discomposed, now grew uneasy, lest her
uncle should be surprised at her long absence; this a little appeased
Mr. Dubster, who, with less resentment, said--'So I see, then, we're all
in the same quandary! However, don't mind it, young ladies; you can have
no great matters to do with your time, I take it; so it does not so much
signify. But a man's quite different. He looks like a fool, as one may
say, poked up in such a place as this, to be stared at by all comers and
goers; only nobody happens to pass by.'

His lamentations now were happily interrupted by the appearance of three
women and a boy, who, with baskets on their heads, were returning from
the next market town. With infinite satisfaction, he prepared to assail
them, saying, he should now have some chance to get a bit of dinner: and
assuring the ladies, that if they should like a little scrap for a
relish, he should be very willing to send 'em it by their footman; 'For
it's a long while,' said he, 'young ladies, to be fasting, that's the
truth of it.'

The market women now approached, and were most clamourously hailed,
before their own loud discourse, and the singing and whistling of the
boy, permitted their hearing the appeal.

'Pray, will you be so kind,' said Mr. Dubster, when he had made them
stop, 'as to step round by the house, and see if you can see the
workmen; and if you can, tell 'em a young gentleman, as come here while
they was at dinner, has taken away the ladder, and left us stuck up here
in the lurch.'

The women all laughed, and said it was a good merry trick; but were
preparing to follow his directions, when Mr. Dubster called after the
boy, who loitered behind, with an encouraging nod: 'If you'll bring the
ladder with you upon your shoulders, my lad, I'll give you a
half-penny!'

The boy was well contented; but the women, a little alarmed, turned back
and said--'And what will you give to us, master?' 'Give?' repeated he, a
little embarrassed; 'why, I'll give--why I'll thank you kindly; and it
won't be much out of your way, for the house is only round there.'

'You'll thank us kindly, will you?' said one of the women; it's like you
may! But what will you do over and above?'

'Do? why it's no great matter, just to stop at the house as you go by,
and tell 'em----'

Here Eugenia whispered she would herself satisfy them, and begged he
would let them make their own terms.

'No, Miss, no; I don't like to see nobody's money fooled away, no more
than my own. However, as you are so generous, I'll agree with 'em to
give 'em a pot of beer.'

He then, with some parade, made this concession; but said, he must see
the ladder, before the money should be laid down.

'A pot of beer for four!--a pot of beer for four!' they all exclaimed in
a breath; and down everyone put her basket, and set her arms a-kembo,
unanimously declaring, they would shame him for such stinginess.

The most violent abuse now followed, the boy imitating them, and every
other sentence concluding with--'A pot of beer for four!--ha!'

Camilla and Eugenia, both frightened, besought that they might have any
thing, and every thing, that could appease them; but Mr. Dubster was
inflexible not to submit to imposition, because of a few foul words;
'For, dear heart,' said he, 'what harm will they do us!--they an't of no
consequence.'

Then, addressing them again, 'As to four,' he cried, 'that's one over
the bargain, for I did not reckon the boy for nothing.'

'You didn't, didn't you?' cried the boy; 'i'cod, I hope I'm as good as
you, any day in the year!'

'You'll thank us kindly, will you?' said one of the women; 'I'fackens,
and so you shall, when we're fools enough to sarve you!--A pot of beer
for four!'

'We help you down!--we get you a ladder!' cried another; 'yes, forsooth,
it's like we may!--no, stay where you are like a toad in a hole as you
be!'

Camilla and Eugenia now, tired of vain application to Mr. Dubster, who
heard all this abuse with the most sedate unconcern, advanced themselves
to the window; and Eugenia, ever foremost where money was to be given,
began--'Good women----' when, with a violent loud shout, they called
out--'What! are you all in Hob's pound? Well, they as will may let you
out for we; so I wish you a merry time of it!'

Eugenia began again her--'Good women----' when the boy exclaimed--'What
were you put up there for, Miss? to frighten the crows?'

Eugenia, not understanding him, was once more re-commencing; but the
first woman said--'I suppose you think we'll sarve you for looking
at?--no need to be paid?'

'Yes, yes,' cried the second, 'Miss may go to market with her beauty;
she'll not want for nothing if she'll shew her pretty face!'

'She need not be afeard of it, however,' said the third, 'for 'twill
never be no worse. Only take care, Miss, you don't catch the small pox!'

'O fegs, that would be pity!' cried the boy, 'for fear Miss should be
marked.'

Eugenia, astonished and confounded, made no farther attempt; but
Camilla, though at that moment she could have inflicted any punishment
upon such unprovoked assailants, affected to give but little weight to
what they said, and gently drew her away.

'Hoity, toity!' cried one of the women, as she moved off, 'why, Miss, do
you walk upon your knees?'

'Why my Poll would make two of her,' said another, 'though she's only
nine years old.'

'She won't take much for cloaths,' cried another, 'that's one good
thing.'

'I'd answer to make her a gown out of my apron,' said the third.

'Your apron?' cried another, 'your pocket handkerchief you mean!--why
she'd be lost in your apron, and you might look half an hour before
you'd find her.'

Eugenia, to whom such language was utterly new, was now in such visible
consternation, that Camilla, affrighted, earnestly charged Mr. Dubster
to find any means, either of menace or of reward, to make them depart.

'Lauk, don't mind them, ma'am,' cried he, following Eugenia, 'they can't
do you no hurt; though they are rather rude, I must needs confess the
truth, to say such things to your face. But one must not expect people
to be over polite, so far from London. However, I see the sporting
gentry coming round, over that way, yonder; and I warrant they'll gallop
'em off. Hark'ee, Mistresses! them gentlemen that are coming here, shall
take you before the justice, for affronting Sir Hugh's Tyrold's
Heiresses to all his fortunes.

The women, to whom the name and generous deeds of Sir Hugh Tyrold were
familiar, were now quieted and dismayed. They offered some aukward
apologies, of not guessing such young ladies could be posted up in such
a place; and hoped it would be no detriment to them at the ensuing
Christmas, when the good Baronet gave away beef and beer; but Mr.
Dubster pompously ordered them to make off, saying, he would not accept
the ladder from them now, for the gentry that were coming would get it
for nothing: 'So troop off,' cried he; 'and as for you,' to the boy,
'you shall have your jacket well trimmed, I promise you: I know who you
are, well enough; and I'll tell your master of you, as sure as you're
alive.'

Away then, with complete, though not well-principled repentance, they
all marched.

Mr. Dubster, turning round with exultation, cried--'I only said that to
frighten them, for I never see 'em before, as I know of. But I don't
mind 'em of a rush; and I hope you don't neither. Though I can't pretend
it's over agreeable being made fun of. If I see anybody snigger at me, I
always ask 'em what it's for; for I'd as lieve they'd let it alone.'

Eugenia, who, as there was no seat, had sunk upon the floor for rest and
for refuge, remained silent, and seemed almost petrified; while Camilla,
affectionately leaning over her, began talking upon other subjects, in
hopes to dissipate a shock she was ashamed to console.

She made no reply, no comment; but, sighed deeply.

'Lauk!' cried Mr. Dubster, 'what's the matter with the young lady! I
hope she don't go for to take to heart what them old women says? she'll
be never the worse to look at, because of their impudence. Besides,
fretting does no good to nothing. If you'll only come and stand here,
where I do, Miss, you may have a peep at ever so many dogs, and all the
gentlemen, riding helter skelter round that hill. It's a pretty sight
enough for them as has nothing better to mind. I don't know but I might
make one among them myself, now and then, if it was not for the
expensiveness of hiring of a horse.'

Here some of the party came galloping towards them; and Mr. Dubster made
so loud an outcry, that two or three of the sportsmen looked up, and one
of them, riding close to the summer-house, perceived the two young
ladies, and, instantly dismounting, fastened his horse to a tree, and
contrived to scramble up into the little unfinished building.

Camilla then saw it was Major Cerwood. She explained to him the
mischievous frolick of her brother, and accepted his offered services to
find the ladder and the carriage.

Eugenia meanwhile rose and courtsied in answer to his enquiries after
her health, and then, gravely fixing her eyes upon the ground, took no
further notice of him.

The object of the Major was not Eugenia; her taciturnity therefore did
not affect him; but pleased to be shut up with Camilla, he soon found
out that though to mount had been easy, to descend would be difficult;
and, after various mock efforts, pronounced it would be necessary to
wait till some assistance arrived from below: adding, young Mr. Tyrold
would soon return, as he had seen him in the hunt.

Camilla, whose concern now was all for her sister, heard this with
indifference; but Mr. Dubster lost all patience. 'So here,' said he, 'I
may stay, and let Tom Hicks eat up all my dinner! for I can't expect him
to fast, because of this young gentleman's comical tricks. I've half a
mind to give a jump down myself, and go look for the ladder; only I'm
not over light. Besides, if one should break one's leg, it's but a hard
thing upon a man to be a cripple in the middle of life. It's no such
great hindrance to a lady, so I don't say it out of disrespect; because
ladies can't do much at the best.'

The Major, finding Dubster was his host, thought it necessary to take
some notice of him, and ask him if he never rode out.

'Why no, not much of that, Sir,' he answered; 'for when a man's not over
used to riding, one's apt to get a bad tumble sometimes. I believe it's
as well let alone. I never see as there was much wit in breaking one's
neck before one's time. Besides, half them gentlemen are no better than
sharpers, begging pardon, for all they look as if they could knock one
down.'

'How do you mean sharpers, Sir?'

'Why they don't pay everyone his own, not one in ten of them. And
they're as proud as Lucifer. If I was to go among them to-morrow, I'll
lay a wager they'd take no notice of me: unless I was to ask them to
dinner. And a man may soon eat up his substance, if he's so over
complaisant.'

'Surely, Major,' cried Camilla, 'my brother cannot be much longer before
he joins us?--remembers us rather.'

'Who else could desert or forget you?' cried the Major.

'It's a moot point whether he'll come or no, I see that,' said Mr.
Dubster, quite enraged; 'them young 'squires never know what to do for
their fun. I must needs say I think it's pity but what he'd been brought
up to some calling. 'Twould have steadied him a little, I warrant. He
don't seem to know much of the troubles of life.'

A shower of rain now revived his hopes that the fear of being wet might
bring him back; not considering how little sportsmen regard wet jackets.

'However,' continued he, 'it's really a piece of good luck that he was
not taken with a fancy to leave us upon my island; and then we might all
have been soused by this here rain: and he could just as well have
walked off with my bridge as with the ladder.'

Here, to his inexpressible relief, Lionel, from the road, hailed them;
and Camilla, with emotion the most violent, perceived Edgar was by his
side.

Mr. Dubster, however, angry as well as glad, very solemnly said, 'I
wonder, Sir, what you think my workmen has been doing all this time,
with nobody to look after them? Besides that I promised a pot o'beer to
a lad to wheel me away all that rubbish that I'd cut out of my grotto;
and it's a good half day's work, do it who will; and ten to one if
they've stirred a nail, all left to themselves so.'

'Pho, pho, man, you've been too happy, I hope, to trouble your mind
about business. How do do my little girls? how you have been
entertained?'

'This is a better joke to you than to us 'squire; but pray, Sir, begging
pardon, how come you to forget what I told you about the Globe? I know
very well that they say it's quite alley-mode to make fun, but I can't
pretend as I'm over fond of the custom.'

He then desired that, at least, if he would not get the ladder himself,
he would tell that other gentleman, that was with him, what he had done
with it.

Edgar, having met Lionel, and heard from him how and where he had left
his sisters, had impatiently ridden with him to their relief; but when
he saw that the Major made one in the little party, and that he was
standing by Camilla, he felt hurt and amazed, and proceeded no farther.

Camilla believed herself careless of his opinion; what she had heard
from Miss Margland of his professed indifference, gave her now as much
resentment, as at first it had caused her grief. She thought such a
declaration an unprovoked indignity; she deigned not even to look at
him, resolved for ever to avoid him; yet to prove herself, at the same
time, unmortified and disengaged, talked cheerfully with the Major.

Lionel now, producing the ladder, ran up it to help his sisters to
descend; and Edgar, dismounting, could not resist entering the grounds,
to offer them his hand as they came down.

Eugenia was first assisted; for Camilla talked on with the Major, as if
not hearing she was called: and Mr. Dubster, his complaisance wholly
worn out, next followed, bowing low to everyone separately, and begging
pardon, but saying he could really afford to waste no more time, without
going to give a little look after his workmen, to see if they were alive
or dead.

At this time the horse of the Major, by some accident, breaking loose,
his master was forced to run down, and Lionel scampered after to assist
him.

Camilla remained alone; Edgar, slowly mounting the ladder, gravely
offered his services; but, hastily leaning out of the window, she
pretended to be too much occupied in watching the motions of the Major
and his horse, to hear or attend to any thing else.

A sigh now tore the heart of Edgar, from doubt if this were preference
to the Major, or the first dawn of incipient coquetry; but he called not
upon her again; he stood quietly behind, till the horse was seized, and
the Major re-ascended the ladder. They then stood at each side of it,
with offers of assistance.

This appeared to Camilla a fortunate moment for making a spirited
display of her indifference: she gave her hand to the Major, and,
slightly courtesying to Edgar as she passed, was conducted to the
carriage of her uncle.

Lionel again was the only one who spoke in the short route to
Etherington, whence Eugenia, without alighting, returned to Cleves.




CHAPTER IV

_The Danger of Disguise_


Edgar remained behind, almost petrified: he stood in the little
building, looking after them, yet neither descending nor stirring, till
one of the workmen advanced to fetch the ladder. He then hastily quitted
the spot, mounted his horse, and galloped after the carriage; though
without any actual design to follow it, or any formed purpose whither to
go.

The sight, however, of the Major, pursuing the same route, made him,
with deep disgust, turn about, and take the shortest road to Beech Park.

He hardly breathed the whole way from indignation; yet his wrath was
without definition, and nearly beyond comprehensibility even to himself,
till suddenly recurring to the lovely smile with which Camilla had
accepted the assistance of Major Cerwood, he involuntarily clasped his
hands and called out: 'O happy Major!'

Awakened by his ejaculation to the true state of his feelings, he
started as from a sword held at his breast. 'Jealousy!' he cried, 'am I
reduced to so humiliating a passion? Am I capable of love without trust?
Unhappy enough to cherish it with hope? No! I will not be such a slave
to the delusions of inclination. I will abandon neither my honour nor my
judgment to my wishes. It is not alone even her heart that can fully
satisfy me; its delicacy must be mine as well as its preference.
Jealousy is a passion for which my mind is not framed, and which I must
not find a torment, but an impossibility!'

He now began to fear he had made a choice the most injudicious, and that
coquetry and caprice had only waited opportunity, to take place of
candour and frankness.

Yet, recollecting the disclaiming speeches he had been compelled to make
at Cleves, he thought, if she had heard them, she might be actuated by
resentment. Even then, however, her manner of shewing it was alarming,
and fraught with mischief. He reflected with fresh repugnance upon the
gay and dissipated society with which she was newly mixing, and which,
from her extreme openness and facility, might so easily, yet so fatally,
sully the fair artlessness of her mind.

He then felt tempted to hint to Mr. Tyrold, who, viewing all things, and
all people in the best light, rarely foresaw danger, and never suspected
deception, the expediency of her breaking off this intercourse, till she
could pursue it under the security of her mother's penetrating
protection. But it occurred to him next, it was possible the Major might
have pleased her. Ardent as were his own views, they had never been
declared, while those of the Major seemed proclaimed without reserve. He
felt his face tingle at the idea, though it nearly made his heart cease
to beat; and determined to satisfy his conjecture ere he took any
measure for himself.

To speak to her openly, he thought the surest as well as fairest way,
and resolved, with whatever anguish, should he find the Major favoured,
to aid her choice in his fraternal character, and then travel till he
should forget her in every other.

For this purpose, it was necessary to make immediate enquiry into the
situation of the Major, and then, if she would hear him, relate to her
the result; well assured to gather the state of her heart upon this
subject, by her manner of attending to the least word by which it should
be introduced.

Camilla, meanwhile, was somewhat comforted by the exertion she had
shewn, and by her hopes it had struck Edgar with respect.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next morning, Sir Hugh sent for her again, and begged she would pass
the whole day with her sister Eugenia, and use all her pretty ways to
amuse her; for she had returned home, the preceding morning, quite moped
with melancholy, and had continued pining ever since; refusing to leave
her room, even for meals, yet giving no reason for her behaviour. What
had come to her he could not tell; but to see her so, went to his heart;
for she had always, he said, till now, been chearful and even tempered,
though thinking over her learning made her not much of a young person.

Camilla flew up stairs, and found her, with a look of despondence,
seated in a corner of her room, which she had darkened by nearly
shutting all the shutters.

She knew but too well the rude shock she had received, and sought to
revive her with every expression of soothing kindness. But she shook her
head, and continued mute, melancholy, and wrapt in meditation.

More than an hour was spent thus, the strict orders of Sir Hugh
forbidding them any intrusion: but when, at length, Camilla ventured to
say, 'Is it possible, my dearest Eugenia, the passing insolence of two
or three brutal wretches can affect you thus deeply?' She awakened from
her silent trance, and raising her head, while something bordering upon
resentment began to kindle in her breast, cried, 'Spare me this
question, Camilla, and I will spare you all reproach.'

'What reproach, my dear sister,' cried Camilla, amazed, 'what reproach
have I merited?'

'The reproach,' answered she, solemnly; 'that, from me, all my family
merit! the reproach of representing to me, that thousands resembled me!
of assuring me I had nothing peculiar to myself, though I was so unlike
all my family--of deluding me into utter ignorance of my unhappy
defects, and then casting me, all unconscious and unprepared, into the
wide world to hear them!'

She would now have shut herself into her book-closet; but Camilla,
forcing her way, and almost kneeling to be heard, conjured her to drive
such cruel ideas from her mind, and to treat the barbarous insults that
she had suffered with the contempt they deserved.

'Camilla,' said she, firmly; 'I am no longer to be deceived nor trifled
with. I will no more expose to the light a form and face so hideous:--I
will retire from all mankind, and end my destined course in a solitude
that no one shall discover.'

Camilla, terrified, besought her to form no such plan, bewailed the
unfortunate adventure of the preceding day, inveighed against the
inhuman women, and pleaded the love of all her family with the most
energetic affection.

'Those women,' said she, calmly, 'are not to blame; they have been
untutored, but not false; and they have only uttered such truths as I
ought to have learnt from my cradle. My own blindness has been
infatuated; but it sprung from inattention and ignorance.--It is now
removed!--Leave me, Camilla; give notice to my Uncle he must find me
some retreat. Tell all that has passed to my father. I will myself write
to my mother--and when my mind is more subdued, and when sincerely and
unaffectedly I can forgive you all from my heart, I may consent to see
you again.'

She then positively insisted upon being left.

Camilla, penetrated with her undeserved, yet irremediable distress,
still continued at her door, supplicating for re-admittance in the
softest terms; but without any success till the second dinner bell
summoned her down stairs. She then fervently called upon her sister to
speak once more, and tell her what she must do, and what say?

Eugenia steadily answered: 'You have already my commission: I have no
change to make in it.'

Unable to obtain anything further, she painfully descended: but the
voice of her Uncle no sooner reached her ears from the dining parlour,
than, shocked to convey to him so terrible a message, she again ran up
stairs, and casting herself against her sister's door, called out
'Eugenia, I dare not obey you! would you kill my poor Uncle? My Uncle,
who loves us all so tenderly? Would you afflict--would you make him
unhappy?'

'No, not for the universe!' she answered, opening the door; and then,
more gently, yet not less steadfastly, looking at her, 'I know,' she
continued, 'you are all very good; I know all was meant for the best; I
know I must be a monster not to love you for the very error to which I
am a victim.--I forgive you therefore all! and I blush to have felt
angry.--But yet--at the age of fifteen--at the instant of entering into
the world--at the approach of forming a connection which--O Camilla!
what a time, what a period, to discover--to know--that I cannot even be
seen without being derided and offended!'

Her voice here faltered, and, running to the window curtain, she
entwined herself in its folds, and called out: 'O hide me! hide me! from
every human eye, from every thing that lives and breathes! Pursue me,
persecute me no longer, but suffer me to abide by myself, till my
fortitude is better strengthened to meet my destiny!'

The least impatience from Eugenia was too rare to be opposed; and
Camilla, who, in common with all her family, notwithstanding her extreme
youth, respected as much as she loved her, sought only to appease her by
promising compliance. She gave to her, therefore, an unresisted, though
unreturned embrace, and went to the dining-parlour.

Sir Hugh was much disappointed to see her without her sister; but she
evaded any account of her commission till the meal was over, and then
begged to speak with him alone.

Gently and gradually she disclosed the source of the sadness of Eugenia:
but Sir Hugh heard it with a dismay that almost overwhelmed him. All his
contrition for the evils of which, unhappily, he had been the cause,
returned with severest force, and far from opposing her scheme of
retreat, he empowered Camilla to offer her any residence she chose; and
to tell her he would keep out of her sight, as the cause of all her
misfortunes; or give her the immediate possession and disposal of his
whole estate, if that would make her better amends than to wait till his
death.

This message was no sooner delivered to Eugenia, than losing at once
every angry impression, she hastened down stairs, and casting herself at
the knees of her Uncle, begged him to pardon her design, and promised
never to leave him while she lived.

Sir Hugh, most affectionately embracing her, said--'You are too good, my
dear, a great deal too good, to one who has used you so ill, at the very
time when you were too young to help yourself. I have not a word to
offer in my own behalf; except to hope you will forgive me, for the sake
of its being all done out of pure ignorance.'

'Alas, my dearest Uncle! all I owe to your intentions, is the deepest
gratitude; and it is your's from the bottom of my heart. Chance alone
was my enemy; and all I have to regret is, that no one was sincere
enough, kind enough, considerate enough, to instruct me of the extent of
my misfortunes, and prepare me for the attacks to which I am liable.'

'My dear girl,' said he, while tears started into his eyes, 'what you
say nobody can reply to; and I find I have been doing you one wrong
after another, instead of the least good: for all this was by my own
order; which it is but fair to your brothers and sisters, and father and
mother, and the servants, to confess. God knows, I have faults enough of
my own upon my head, without taking another of pretending to have none!'

Eugenia now sought to condole him in her turn, voluntarily promising to
mix with the family as usual, and only desiring to be excused from going
abroad, or seeing any strangers.

'My dear,' said he, 'you shall judge just what you think fit, which is
the least thing I can do for you, after your being so kind as to forgive
me; which I hope to do nothing in future not to deserve more; meaning
always to ask my brother's advice; which might have saved me all my
worst actions, if I had done it sooner: for I've used poor Camilla no
better; except not giving her the small pox, and that bad fall. But
don't hate me, my dears, if you can help it, for it was none of it done
for want of love; only not knowing how to shew it in the proper manner;
which I hope you'll excuse for the score of my bad education.'

'O, my Uncle!' cried Camilla, throwing her arms round his neck, while
Eugenia embraced his knees, 'what language is this for nieces who owe so
much to your goodness, and who, next to their parents, love you more
than anything upon earth!'

'You are both the best little girls in the world, my dears, and I need
have nothing upon my conscience if you two pass it over; which is a
great relief to me; for there's nobody else I've used so bad as you two
young girls; which, God knows, goes to my heart whenever I think of
it.--Poor little innocents!--what had you ever done to provoke me?'

The two sisters, with the most virtuous emulation, vied with each other
in demonstrative affection, till he was tolerably consoled.

The rest of the day was ruffled but for one moment; upon Sir Hugh's
answering, to a proposition of Miss Margland for a party to the next
Middleton races,--that there was no refusing to let Eugenia take that
pleasure, after her behaving so nobly: her face was then again overcast
with the deepest gloom; and she begged not to hear of the races, nor of
any other place, public or private, for going abroad, as she meant
during the rest of her life, immoveably to remain at home.

He looked much concerned, but assured her she should be mistress in
every thing.

Camilla left them in the evening, with a promise to return the next day;
and with every anxiety of her own, lost in pity for her innocent and
unfortunate sister.

She was soon, however, called back to herself, when, with what light yet
remained, she saw Edgar ride up to the coach door.

With indefatigable pains he had devoted the day to the search of
information concerning the Major. Of Mrs. Arlbery he had learned, that
he was a man of fashion, but small fortune; and from the Ensign he had
gathered, that even that small fortune was gone, and that the estate in
which it was vested, had been mortgaged for three thousand pounds, to
pay certain debts of honour.

Edgar had already been to the Parsonage House, but hearing Camilla was
at Cleves, had made a short visit, and determined to walk his horse upon
the road till he met the carriage of Sir Hugh; believing he could have
no better opportunity of seeing her alone.

Yet when the coach, upon his riding up to the door, stopt, he found
himself in an embarrassment for which he was unprepared. He asked how
she did; desired news of the health of all the family one by one; and
then, struck by the coldness of her answers, suffered the carriage to
drive on.

Confounded at so sudden a loss of all presence of mind, he continued,
for a minute or two, just where she left him; and then galloped after
the coach, and again presented himself at its window.

In a voice and manner the most hurried, he apologised for this second
detention. 'But, I believe,' he said, 'some genius of officiousness has
to-day taken possession of me, for I began it upon a Quixote sort of
enterprise, and a spirit of knight-errantry seems willing to accompany
me through it to the end.'

He stopt; but she did not speak. Her first sensation at his sight had
been wholly indignant: but when she found he had something to say which
he knew not how to pronounce, her curiosity was awakened, and she looked
earnest for an explanation.

'I know,' he resumed, with considerable hesitation, 'that to give advice
and to give pain is commonly the same thing:--I do not, therefore,
mean--I have no intention--though so lately you allowed me a privilege
never to be forgotten'--

He could not get on; and his embarrassment, and this recollection, soon
robbed Camilla of every angry emotion. She looked down, but her
countenance was full of sensibility, and Edgar, recovering his voice,
proceeded--

'My Quixotism, I was going to say, of this morning, though for a person
of whom I know almost nothing, would urge me to every possible
effort--were I certain the result would give pleasure to the person for
whom alone--since with regard to himself,--I--it is merely----'

Involved in expressions he knew not how to clear or to finish, he was
again without breath: and Camilla, raising her eyes, looked at him with
astonishment.

Endeavouring then to laugh, 'One would think,' cried he, 'this same
Quixotism had taken possession of my intellects, and rendered them as
confused as if, instead of an agent, I were a principal.'--

Still wholly in the dark as to his aim, yet, satisfied by these last
words, it had no reference to himself, she now lost enough of the
acuteness of her curiosity to dare avow what yet remained; and begged
him, without further preface, to be more explicit.

Stammering, he then said, that the evident admiration with which a
certain gentleman was seen to sigh in her train, had awakened for him an
interest, which had induced some inquiries into the state of his
prospects and expectations. 'These,' he continued, 'turn out to be,
though not high, nor by any means adequate to--to----however they are
such as some previous friendly exertions, with settled future
oeconomy, might render more propitious: and for those previous
exertions--Mr. Tyrold has a claim which it would be the pride and
happiness of my life to see him honour;--if--if--'

The if almost dropt inarticulated: but he added--'I shall make some
further enquiries before I venture to say any more.'

'For yourself, then, be they made, Sir!' cried she, suddenly seizing the
whole of the meaning--'not for me?--whoever this person may be to whom
you allude--to me he is utterly indifferent.'

A flash of involuntary delight beamed in the eyes of Edgar at these
words: he had almost thanked her, he had almost dropt the reins of his
horse to clasp his hands: but filled only with her own emotions, without
watching his, or waiting for any answer, she coldly bid him good night,
and called to the coachman to drive fast home.

Edgar, however, was left with a sunbeam of the most lively delight. 'He
is wholly indifferent to her,' he cried, 'she is angry at my
interference; she has but acted a part in the apparent preference--and
for _me_, perhaps, acted it!'

Momentary, however, was the pleasure such a thought could afford
him;--'O, Camilla,' he cried, 'if, indeed, I might hope from you any
partiality, why act any part at all?--how plain, how easy, how direct
your road to my heart, if but straightly pursued!'




CHAPTER V

_Strictures on Deformity_


Camilla went on to Etherington in deep distress; every ray of hope was
chaced from her prospects, with a certainty more cruel, though less
offensive, to her feelings, than the crush given them by Miss Margland.
He cares not for me! she cried; he even destines me for another! He is
the willing agent of the Major; he would portion me, I suppose, for him,
to accelerate the impossibility of ever thinking of me! And I imagined
he loved me!--what a dream!--what a dream!--how has he deceived me!--or,
alas! how have I deceived myself!

She rejoiced, however, that she had made so decided an answer with
regard to Major Cerwood, whom she could not doubt to be the person
meant, and who, presented in such a point of view, grew utterly odious
to her.

The tale she had to relate to Mr. Tyrold, of the sufferings and sad
resolution of Eugenia, obviated all comment upon her own disturbance. He
was wounded to the heart by the recital. 'Alas!' he cried, 'your wise
and excellent mother always foresaw some mischief would ensue, from the
extreme caution used to keep this dear unfortunate child ignorant of her
peculiar situation. This dreadful shake might have been palliated, at
least, if not spared, by the lessons of fortitude that noble woman would
have inculcated in her young and ductile mind. But I could not resist
the painful entreaties of my poor brother, who, thinking himself the
author of her calamities, believed he was responsible for saving her
from feeling them; and, imagining all the world as soft-hearted as
himself, concluded, that what her own family would not tell her, she
could never hear elsewhere. But who should leave any events to the
caprices of chance, which the precautions of foresight can determine?'

These reflections, and the thoughts of her sister, led at once and aided
Camilla to stifle her own unhappiness; and for three days following, she
devoted herself wholly to Eugenia.

On the morning of the fourth, instead of sending the carriage, Sir Hugh
arrived himself to fetch Camilla, and to tell his brother, he must come
also, to give comfort to Eugenia; for, though he had thought the worst
was over, because she appeared quiet in his presence, he had just
surprised her in tears, by coming upon her unawares. He had done all he
could, he said, in vain; and nothing remained but for Mr. Tyrold to try
his hand himself: 'For it is but justice,' he added, 'to Dr. Orkborne,
to say she is wiser than all our poor heads put together; so that there
is no answering her for want of sense.' He then told him to be sure to
put one of his best sermons in his pocket to read to her.

Mr. Tyrold was extremely touched for his poor Eugenia, yet said he had
half an hour's business to transact in the neighbourhood, before he
could go to Cleves. Sir Hugh waited his time, and all three then
proceeded together.

Eugenia received her Father with a deliberate coldness that shocked him.
He saw how profound was the impression made upon her mind, not merely of
her personal evils, but of what she conceived to be the misconduct of
her friends.

After a little general discourse, in which she bore no share, he
proposed walking in the park; meaning there to take her aside, with less
formality than he could otherwise desire to speak with her alone.

The ladies and Sir Hugh immediately looked for their hats or gloves: but
Eugenia, saying she had a slight head-ache, walked away to her room.

'This, my dear brother,' cried Sir Hugh, sorrowfully following her with
his eyes, 'is the very thing I wanted you for; she says she'll never
more stir out of these doors as long as she's alive; which is a sad
thing to say, considering her young years; and nobody knowing how
Clermont may approve it. However, it's well I've had him brought up from
the beginning to the classics, which I rejoice at every day more and
more, it being the only wise thing I ever did of my own head; for as to
talking Latin and Greek, which I suppose is what they will chiefly be
doing, there's no doubt but they may do it just as well in a room as in
the fields, or the streets.'

Mr. Tyrold, after a little consideration, followed her. He tapped at her
door; she asked, in a tone of displeasure, who was there?--'Your Father,
my dear,' he answered; and then, hastily opening it, she proposed
returning with him down stairs.

'No,' he said; 'I wish to converse with you alone. The opinion I have
long cherished of your heart and your understanding, I come now to put
to the proof.'

Eugenia, certain of the subject to which he would lead, and feeling she
could not have more to hear than to say, gave him a chair, and
composedly seated herself next to him.

'My dear Eugenia,' said he, taking her passive hand, 'this is the moment
that more grievously than ever I lament the absence of your invaluable
Mother. All I have to offer to your consideration she could much better
have laid before you; and her dictates would have met with the attention
they so completely deserve.'

'Was my Mother, then, Sir,' said she, reproachfully, 'unapprized of the
worldly darkness in which I have been brought up? Is she unacquainted
that a little knowledge of books and languages is what alone I have been
taught?'

'We are all but too apt,' answered Mr. Tyrold, mildly, though surprised,
'to deem nothing worth attaining but what we have missed, nothing worth
possessing but what we are denied. How many are there, amongst the
untaught and unaccomplished, who would think an escape such as yours, of
all intellectual darkness, a compensation for every other evil!'

'They could think so only, Sir, while, like me, they lived immured
always in the same house, were seen always by the same people, and were
total strangers to the sensations they might excite in any others.'

'My dear Eugenia, grieved as I am at the present subject of your
ruminations, I rejoice to see in you a power of reflection, and of
combination, so far above your years. And it is a soothing idea to me to
dwell upon the ultimate benevolence of Providence, even in circumstances
the most afflicting: for if chance has been unkind to you, Nature seems,
with fostering foresight, to have endowed you with precisely those
powers that may best set aside her malignity.'

'I see, Sir,' cried she, a little moved, 'the kindness of your
intention; but pardon me if I anticipate to you its ill success. I have
thought too much upon my situation and my destiny to admit any
fallacious comfort. Can you, indeed, when once her eyes are opened, can
you expect to reconcile to existence a poor young creature who sees
herself an object of derision and disgust? Who, without committing any
crime, without offending any human being, finds she cannot appear but to
be pointed at, scoffed and insulted!'

'O my child! with what a picture do you wound my heart, and tear your
own peace and happiness! Wretches who in such a light can view outward
deficiencies cannot merit a thought, are below even contempt, and ought
not to be disdained, but forgotten. Make a conquest, then, my Eugenia,
of yourself; be as superior in your feelings as in your understanding,
and remember what Addison admirably says in one of the Spectators: 'A
too acute sensibility of personal defects, is one of the greatest
weaknesses of self-love.'

'I should be sorry, Sir, you should attribute to vanity what I now
suffer. No! it is simply the effect of never hearing, never knowing,
that so severe a call was to be made upon my fortitude, and therefore
never arming myself to sustain it.'

Then, suddenly, and with great emotion clasping her hands: 'O if ever I
have a family of my own,' she cried, 'my first care shall be to tell my
daughters of all their infirmities! They shall be familiar, from their
childhood, to their every defect--Ah! they must be odious indeed if they
resemble their poor mother!'

'My dearest Eugenia! let them but resemble you mentally, and there is no
person, whose approbation is worth deserving, that will not love and
respect them. Good and evil are much more equally divided in this world
than you are yet aware: none possess the first without alloy, nor the
second without palliation. Indiana, for example, now in the full bloom
of all that beauty can bestow, tell me, and ask yourself strictly, would
you change with Indiana?'

'With Indiana?' she exclaimed; 'O! I would forfeit every other good to
change with Indiana! Indiana, who never appears but to be admired, who
never speaks but to be applauded.'

'Yet a little, yet a moment, question, and understand yourself before
you settle you would change with her. Look forward, and look inward.
Look forward, that you may view the short life of admiration and
applause for such attractions from others, and their inutility to their
possessor in every moment of solitude or repose; and look inward, that
you may learn to value your own peculiar riches, for times of
retirement, and for days of infirmity and age!'

'Indeed, Sir,--and pray believe me, I do not mean to repine I have not
the beauty of Indiana; I know and have always heard her loveliness is
beyond all comparison. I have no more, therefore, thought of envying it,
than of envying the brightness of the sun. I knew, too, I bore no
competition with my sisters; but I never dreamt of competition. I knew I
was not handsome, but I supposed many people besides not handsome, and
that I should pass with the rest; and I concluded the world to be full
of people who had been sufferers as well as myself, by disease or
accident. These have been occasionally my passing thoughts; but the
subject never seized my mind; I never reflected upon it at all, till
abuse, without provocation, all at once opened my eyes, and shewed me to
myself! Bear with me, then, my father, in this first dawn of terrible
conviction! Many have been unfortunate,--but none unfortunate like me!
Many have met with evils--but who with an accumulation like mine!'

Mr. Tyrold, extremely affected, embraced her with the utmost tenderness:
'My dear, deserving, excellent child,' he cried, 'what would I not
endure, what sacrifice not make, to soothe this cruel disturbance, till
time and your own understanding can exert their powers?' Then, while
straining her to his breast with the fondest parental commiseration, the
tears, with which his eyes were overflowing, bedewed her cheeks.

Eugenia felt them, and, sinking to the ground, pressed his knees. 'O my
father,' she cried, 'a tear from your revered eyes afflicts me more than
all else! Let me not draw forth another, lest I should become not only
unhappy, but guilty. Dry them up, my dearest father--let me kiss them
away.'

'Tell me, then, my poor girl, you will struggle against this ineffectual
sorrow! Tell me you will assert that fortitude which only waits for your
exertion; and tell me you will forgive the misjudging compassion which
feared to impress you earlier with pain!'

'I will do all, every thing you desire! my injustice is subdued! my
complaints shall be hushed! you have conquered me, my beloved father!
Your indulgence, your lenity shall take place of every hardship, and
leave me nothing but filial affection!'

Seizing this grateful moment, he then required of her to relinquish her
melancholy scheme of seclusion from the world: 'The shyness and the
fears which gave birth to it,' said he, 'will but grow upon you if
listened to; and they are not worthy the courage I would instil into
your bosom--the courage, my Eugenia, of virtue--the courage to pass by,
as if unheard, the insolence of the hard-hearted, and ignorance of the
vulgar. Happiness is in your power, though beauty is not; and on that to
set too high a value would be pardonable only in a weak and frivolous
mind; since, whatever is the involuntary admiration with which it meets,
every estimable quality and accomplishment is attainable without it: and
though, which I cannot deny, its immediate influence is universal, yet
in every competition and in every decision of esteem, the superior, the
elegant, the better part of mankind give their suffrages to merit alone.
And you, in particular, will find yourself, through life, rather the
more than the less valued, by every mind capable of justice and
compassion, for misfortunes which no guilt has incurred.'

Observing her now to be softened, though not absolutely consoled, he
rang the bell, and begged the servant, who answered it, to request his
brother would order the coach immediately, as he was obliged to return
home; 'And you, my love,' said he, 'shall accompany me; it will be the
least exertion you can make in first breaking through your averseness to
quit the house.'

Eugenia would not resist; but her compliance was evidently repugnant to
her inclination; and in going to the glass to put on her hat, she turned
aside from it in shuddering, and hid her face with both her hands.

'My dearest child,' cried Mr. Tyrold, wrapping her again in his arms,
'this strong susceptibility will soon wear away; but you cannot be too
speedy nor too firm in resisting it. The omission of what never was in
our power cannot cause remorse, and the bewailing what never can become
in our power cannot afford comfort. Imagine but what would have been the
fate of Indiana, had your situations been reversed, and had she, who can
never acquire your capacity, and therefore never attain your knowledge,
lost that beauty which is her all; but which to you, even if retained,
could have been but a secondary gift. How short will be the reign of
that all! how useless in sickness! how unavailing in solitude! how
inadequate to long life! how forgotten, or repiningly remembered in old
age! You will live to feel pity for all you now covet and admire; to
grow sensible to a lot more lastingly happy in your own acquirements and
powers; and to exclaim, with contrition and wonder, Time was when I
would have changed with the poor mind-dependent Indiana!'

The carriage was now announced; Eugenia, with reluctant steps,
descended; Camilla was called to join them, and Sir Hugh saw them set
off with the utmost delight.




CHAPTER VI

_Strictures on Beauty_


To lengthen the airing, Mr. Tyrold ordered the carriage by a new road;
and to induce Eugenia to break yet another spell, in walking as well as
riding, he proposed their alighting, when they came to a lane, and
leaving the coach in waiting while they took a short stroll.

He walked between his daughters a considerable way, passing, wherever it
was possible, close to cottages, labourers, and children. Eugenia
submitted with a sigh, but held down her head, affrighted at every fresh
object they encountered, till, upon approaching a small miserable hut,
at the door of which several children were playing, an unlucky boy
called out, 'O come! come! look!--here's the little hump-back
gentlewoman!'

She then, clinging to her father, could not stir another step, and cast
upon him a look of appeal and reproach that almost overset him; but,
after speaking to her some words of kindness, he urged her to go on, and
alone, saying, 'Throw only a shilling to the senseless little crew, and
let Camilla follow and give nothing, and see which will become the most
popular.'

They both obeyed, Eugenia fearfully and with quickness casting amongst
them some silver, and Camilla quietly walking on.

'O, I have got a sixpence!' cried one; 'and I've got a shilling!' said
another; while the mother of the little tribe came from her wash-tub,
and called out, 'God bless your ladyship!' and the father quitted a
little garden at the side of his cottage, to bow down to the ground, and
cry, 'Heaven reward you, good madam! you'll have a blessing go with you,
go where you will!'

The children then, dancing up to Camilla, begged her charity; but when,
seconding the palpable intention of her father, she said she had nothing
for them, they looked highly dissatisfied, while they redoubled their
blessings to Eugenia.

'See, my child,' said Mr. Tyrold, now joining them, 'how cheaply
preference, and even flattery, may be purchased!'

'Ah, Sir!' she answered, recovered from her terrour, yet deep in
reflection, 'this is only by bribery, and gross bribery, too! And what
pleasure, or what confidence can accrue from preference so earned!'

'The means, my dear Eugenia, are not beneath the objects: if it is only
from those who unite native hardness with uncultured minds and manners,
that civility is to be obtained by such sordid materials, remember,
also, it is from such only it can ever fail you. In the lowest life,
equally with the highest, wherever nature has been kind, sympathy
springs spontaneously for whatever is unfortunate, and respect for
whatever seems innocent. Steel yourself, then, firmly to withstand
attacks from the cruel and unfeeling, and rest perfectly secure you will
have none other to apprehend.'

The clear and excellent capacity of Eugenia, comprehended in this
lesson, and its illustration, all the satisfaction Mr. Tyrold hoped to
impart; and she was ruminating upon it with abated despondence, when, as
they came to a small house, surrounded with a high wall, Mr. Tyrold,
looking through an iron gate at a female figure who stood at one of the
windows, exclaimed--'What a beautiful creature! I have rarely, I think
seen a more perfect face.'

Eugenia felt so much hurt by this untimely sight, that, after a single
glance, which confirmed the truth of what he said, she bent her eyes
another way; while Camilla herself was astonished that her kind father
should call their attention to beauty, at so sore and critical a
juncture.

'The examination of a fine picture,' said he, fixing his eyes upon the
window, and standing still at the iron gate, 'is a constant as well as
exquisite pleasure; for we look at it with an internal security, that
such as it appears to us to-day, it will appear again tomorrow, and
tomorrow, and tomorrow; but in the pleasure given by the examination of
a fine face, there is always, to a contemplative mind, some little
mixture of pain; an idea of its fragility steals upon our admiration,
and blends with it something like solicitude; the consciousness how
short a time we can view it perfect, how quickly its brilliancy of bloom
will be blown, and how ultimately it will be nothing.--'

'You would have me, Sir,' said Eugenia, now raising her eyes, 'learn to
see beauty with unconcern, by depreciating its value? I feel your kind
intention; but it does not come home to me; reasoning such as this may
be equally applicable to any thing else, and degrade whatever is
desirable into insignificance.'

'No, my dear child, there is nothing, either in its possession or its
loss, that can be compared with beauty; nothing so evanescent, and
nothing that leaves behind it a contrast which impresses such regret. It
cannot be forgotten, since the same features still remain, though they
are robbed of their effect upon the beholder; the same complexion is
there, though faded into a tint bearing no resemblance with its original
state; and the same eyes present themselves to the view, though bereft
of all the lustre that had rendered them captivating.'

'Ah, Sir! this is an argument but formed for the moment. Is not the loss
of youth the same to every body? and is not age equally unwelcome to the
ugly and to the handsome?'

'For activity, for strength, and for purposes of use, certainly, my dear
girl, there can be no difference; but for motives to mental regret,
there can be no comparison. To those who are commonly moulded, the
gradual growth of decay brings with it its gradual endurance, because
little is missed from day to day; hope is not roughly chilled, nor
expectation rudely blasted; they see their friends, their connections,
their contemporaries, declining by the same laws, and they yield to the
immutable and general lot rather imperceptibly than resignedly; but it
is not so with the beauty; her loss is not only general, but peculiar;
and it is the peculiar, not the general evil, that constitutes all
hardship. Health, strength, agility, and animal spirits, she may
sorrowing feel diminish; but she hears everyone complain of similar
failures, and she misses them unmurmuring, though not unlamenting; but
of beauty, every declension is marked with something painful to
self-love. The change manifested by the mirror might patiently be borne;
but the change manifested in the eyes of every beholder, gives a shock
that does violence to every pristine feeling.'

'This may certainly, sir, be cruel; trying at least; but then,--what a
youth has she first passed! Mortification comes upon her, at least, in
succession; she does not begin the world with it,--a stranger at all
periods to anything happier!'

'Ah, my child! the happiness caused by personal attractions pays a dear
after-price! The soldier who enters the field of battle requires not
more courage, though of a different nature, than the faded beauty who
enters an assembly-room. To be wholly disregarded, after engaging every
eye; to be unassisted, after being habituated to seeing crowds anxiously
offer their services; to be unheard, after monopolising every ear--can
you, indeed, persuade yourself a change such as this demands but
ordinary firmness? Yet the altered female who calls for it, has the
least chance to obtain it; for even where nature has endowed her with
fortitude, the world and its flatteries have almost uniformly enervated
it, before the season of its exertion.'

'All this may be true,' said Eugenia, with a sigh; 'and to me, however
sad in itself, it may prove consolatory; and yet--forgive my sincerity,
when I own--I would purchase a better appearance at any price, any
expence, any payment, the world could impose!'

Mr. Tyrold was preparing an answer, when the door of the house, which he
had still continued facing, was opened, and the beautiful figure, which
had for some time retired from the window, rushed suddenly upon a lawn
before the gate against which they were leaning.

Not seeing them, she sat down upon the grass, which she plucked up by
hands full, and strewed over her fine flowing hair.

Camilla, fearing they should seem impertinent, would have retreated; but
Eugenia, much struck, sadly, yet with earnestness, compelled herself to
regard the object before her, who was young, fair, of a tall and
striking figure, with features delicately regular.

A sigh, not to be checked, acknowledged how little either reasoning or
eloquence could subdue a wish to resemble such an appearance, when the
young person, flinging herself suddenly upon her face, threw her white
arms over her head, and sobbed aloud with violence.

Astonished, and deeply concerned, Eugenia internally said, alas! what a
world is this! even beauty so exquisite, without waiting for age or
change, may be thus miserable!

She feared to speak, lest she should be heard; but she looked up to her
father, with an eye that spoke concession, and with an interest for the
fair afflicted, which seemed to request his assistance.

He motioned to her to be quiet; when the young person, abruptly half
rising, burst into a fit of loud, shrill, and discordant laughter.

Eugenia now, utterly confounded, would have drawn her father away; but
he was intently engaged in his observations, and steadily kept his
place.

In two minutes, the laugh ceased all at once, and the young creature,
hastily rising, began turning round with a velocity that no machine
could have exceeded.

The sisters now fearfully interchanged looks that shewed they thought
her mad, and both endeavoured to draw Mr. Tyrold from the gate, but in
vain; he made them hold by his arms, and stood still.

Without seeming giddy, she next began to jump; and he now could only
detain his daughters, by shewing them the gate, at which they stood, was
locked.

In another minute, she perceived them, and, coming eagerly forward,
dropt several low courtesies, saying, at every fresh bend--'Good
day!--Good day!--Good day!'

Equally trembling, they now both turned pale with fear; but Mr. Tyrold,
who was still immovable, answered her by a bow, and asked if she were
well.

'Give me a shilling!' was her reply, while the slaver drivelled
unrestrained from her mouth, rendering utterly disgusting a chin that a
statuary might have wished to model.

'Do you live at this house!' said Mr. Tyrold.

'Yes, please--yes, please--yes, please,' she answered, twenty times
following, and almost black in the face before she would allow herself
to take another breath.

A cat now appearing at the door, she seized it, and tried to twine it
round her neck with great fondling, wholly unresisting the scratches
which tore her fine skin.

Next, capering forward with it towards the gate, 'Look! look!' she
cried, 'here's puss!--here's puss!--here's puss!'

Then, letting it fall, she tore her handkerchief off her neck, put it
over her face, strained it as tight as she was able, and tied it under
her chin; and then struck her head with both her hands, making a noise
that resembled nothing human.

'Take, take me away, my father!' cried Eugenia, 'I see, I feel your
awful lesson! but impress it no further, lest I die in receiving it!'

Mr. Tyrold immediately moved off without speaking; Camilla, penetrated
for her sister, observed the same silence; and Eugenia, hanging upon her
father, and absorbed in profound rumination, only by the depth of her
sighs made her existence known; and thus, without the interchange of a
word, slowly and pensively they walked back to the carriage.

Eugenia broke the silence as soon as they were seated: 'O, my father!'
she exclaimed, 'what a sight have you made me witness! how dread a
reproof have you given to my repining spirit! Did you know this unhappy
beauty was at that house? Did you lead me thither purposely to display
to me her shocking imbecility?'

'Relying upon the excellence of your understanding, I ventured upon an
experiment more powerful, I well knew, than all that reason could urge;
an experiment not only striking at the moment, but which, by playing
upon the imagination, as well as convincing the judgment, must make an
impression that can never be effaced. I have been informed for some
time, that this poor girl was in our neighbourhood; she was born an
idiot, and therefore, having never known brighter days, is insensible to
her terrible state. Her friends are opulent, and that house is taken,
and a woman is paid, to keep her in existence and in obscurity. I had
heard of her uncommon beauty, and when the news reached me of my dear
Eugenia's distress, the idea of this meeting occurred to me; I rode to
the house, and engaged the woman to detain her unfortunate charge at the
window till we appeared, and then to let her loose into the garden.
Poor, ill fated young creature! it has been, indeed, a melancholy
sight.'

'A sight,' cried Eugenia, 'to come home to me with shame!--O, my dear
Father! your prescription strikes to the root of my disease!--shall I
ever again dare murmur!--will any egotism ever again make me believe no
lot so hapless as my own! I will think of her when I am discontented; I
will call to my mind this spectacle of human degradation--and submit, at
least with calmness, to my lighter evils and milder fate.'

'My excellent child! this is just what I expected from the candour of
your temper, and the rectitude of your sentiments. You have seen, here,
the value of intellects in viewing the horrour of their loss; and you
have witnessed, that beauty, without mind, is more dreadful than any
deformity. You have seized my application, and left me nothing to
enforce; my dear, my excellent child! you have left for your fond Father
nothing but tender approbation! With the utmost thankfulness to
Providence, I have marked from your earliest childhood, the native
justness of your understanding; which, with your studious inclination to
sedentary accomplishments, has proved a reviving source of consolation
to your mother and to me, for the cruel accidents we have incessantly
lamented. How will that admirable mother rejoice in the recital I have
to make to her! What pride will she take in a daughter so worthily her
own, so resembling her in nobleness of nature, and a superior way of
thinking! Her tears, my child, like mine, will thank you for your
exertions! she will strain you to her fond bosom, as your father strains
you at this moment!'

'Yes, Sir,' cried Eugenia, 'your kind task is now completed with your
vanquished Eugenia! her thoughts, her occupations, her happiness, shall
henceforth all be centred in filial gratitude and contentment.'

The affectionate Camilla, throwing her arms about them both, bathed each
with the tears of joy and admiration, which this soothing conclusion to
an adventure so severe excited.




CHAPTER VII

_The Pleadings of Pity_


To oblige Mr. Tyrold, who had made the arrangement with Sir Hugh,
Eugenia consented to dine and spend the day at Etherington, which she
quitted at night in a temper of mind perfectly composed.

Camilla was deeply penetrated by the whole of this affair. The
sufferings, so utterly unearned by fault or by folly, of a sister so
dear to her, and the affecting fortitude which, so quickly upon her
wounds, and at so early a period of life, she already began to display,
made her blush at the dejection into which she was herself cast by every
evil, and resolve to become in future more worthy of the father and the
sister, who at this moment absorbed all her admiration.

Too reasonable, in such a frame of mind, to plan forgetting Mandlebert,
she now only determined to think of him as she had thought before her
affections became entangled; to think of him, in short, as he seemed
himself to desire; to seek his friendly offices and advice, but to
reject every offered establishment, and to live single for life.

Gratified by indulgent praise, and sustained by exerted virtue, the
revived Eugenia had nearly reached Cleves, on her return, when the
carriage was stopt by a gentleman on horseback, who, approaching the
coach window, said, in a low voice, as if unwilling to be heard by the
servants--'O, Madam! has Fate set aside her cruelty? and does Fortune
permit me to live once more?'

She then recollected Mr. Bellamy. She had only her maid in the carriage,
who was sent for her by Sir Hugh, Miss Margland being otherwise engaged.

All that had so lately passed upon her person and appearance being full
upon her mind, she involuntarily shrunk back, hiding her face with her
cloak.

Bellamy, by no means conceiving this mark of emotion to be unfavourable,
steadied his horse, by leaning one hand on the coach-window, and said,
in a yet lower voice--'O, Madam! is it possible you can hate me so
barbarously?--will you not even deign to look at me, though I have so
long been banished from your presence?'

Eugenia, during this speech, called to mind, that though new, in some
measure, to herself, she was not so to this gentleman, and ventured to
uncover her face; when the grief painted on the fine features of
Bellamy, so forcibly touched her, that she softly answered--'No, Sir,
indeed I do not hate you; I am incapable of such ingratitude; but I
conjure--I beseech you to forget me!'

'Forget you?--O, Madam! you command an impossibility!--No, I am
constancy itself, and not all the world united shall tear you from my
heart!'

Jacob, who caught a word or two, now rode up to the other window, and as
Eugenia began--'Conquer, Sir, I entreat you, this ill-fated
partiality!--' told her the horses had been hard-worked, and must go
home.

As Jacob was the oracle of Sir Hugh about his horses, his will was
prescriptive law: Eugenia never disputed it, and only saying--'Think of
me, Sir, no more!' bid the coachman drive on.

Bellamy, respectfully submitting, continued, with his hat in his hand,
as the maid informed her mistress, looking after the carriage till it
was out of sight.

A tender sorrow now stole upon the just revived tranquillity of the
gentle and generous Eugenia. 'Ah!' thought she, 'I have rendered, little
as I seem worthy of such power, I have rendered this amiable man
miserable, though possibly, and probably, he is the only man in
existence whom I could render happy!--Ah! how may I dare expect from
Clermont a similar passion?'

Molly Mill, a very young girl, and daughter of a poor tenant of Sir
Hugh, interrupted these reflections from time to time, with remarks upon
their object. 'Dearee me, Miss,' she cried, 'what a fine gentleman that
was!--he sighed like to split his heart when you said, don't think about
me no more. He's some loveyer, like, I'm sure.'

Eugenia returned home so much moved by this incident, that Sir Hugh,
believing his brother himself had failed to revive her, was disturbed
all anew with acute contrition for her disasters, and feeling very
unwell, went to bed before supper time.

Eugenia retired also; and after spending the evening in soft compassion
for Bellamy, and unfixed apprehensions and distaste for young Lynmere,
was preparing to go to bed, when Molly Mill, out of breath with haste,
brought her a letter.

She eagerly opened it, whilst enquiring whence it came.

'O, Miss, the fine gentleman--that same fine gentleman--brought it
himself: and he sent for me out, and I did not know who I was to go to,
for Mary only said a boy wanted me; but the boy said, I must come with
him to the stile; and when I come there, who should I see but the fine
gentleman himself! And he gave me this letter, and he asked me to give
it you--and see! look Miss! what I got for my trouble!'

She then exhibited a half-guinea.

'You have not done right, Molly, in accepting it. Money is bribery; and
you should have known that the letter was improperly addressed, if
bribery was requisite to make it delivered.'

'Dearee me, Miss, what's half-a-guinea to such a gentleman as that? I
dare say he's got his pockets full of them!'

'I shall not read it, certainly,' cried Eugenia, 'now I know this
circumstance. Give me the wax--I will seal it again.'

She then hesitated whether she ought to return it, or shew it to her
uncle, or commit it to the flames.

That to which she was most unwilling, appeared, to the strictness of her
principles, to be most proper: she therefore determined that the next
morning she would relate her evening's adventure, and deliver the unread
letter to Sir Hugh.

Had this epistle not perplexed her, she had meant never to name its
writer. Persuaded her last words had finally dismissed him, she thought
it a high point of female delicacy never to publish an unsuccessful
conquest.

This resolution taken, she went to bed, satisfied with herself, but
extremely grieved at the sufferings she was preparing for one who so
singularly loved her.

The next morning, however, her uncle did not rise to breakfast, and was
so low spirited, that fearing to disturb him, she deemed it most prudent
to defer the communication.

But when, after she had taken her lesson from Dr. Orkborne, she returned
to her room, she found Molly Mill impatiently waiting for her: 'O,
Miss,' she cried, 'here's another letter for you! and you must read it
directly, for the gentleman says if you don't it will be the death of
him.'

'Why did you receive another letter?' said Eugenia, displeased.

'Dearee me, Miss, how could I help it? if you'd seen the taking he was
in, you'd have took it yourself. He was all of a quake, and ready to go
down of his two knees. Dearee me, if it did not make my heart go pit-pat
to see him! He was like to go out of his mind, he said, and the tears,
poor gentleman, were all in his eyes.'

Eugenia now turned away, strongly affected by this description.

'Do, Miss,' continued Molly, 'write him a little scrap, if it's never so
scratched and bad. He'll take it kinder than nothing. Do, Miss, do.
Don't be ill-natured. And just read this little letter, do, Miss,
do;--it won't take you much time, you reads so nice and fast.'

'Why,' cried Eugenia, 'did you go to him again? how could you so
incautiously entrust yourself to the conduct of a strange boy?'

'A strange boy! dearee me, Miss, don't you know it was Tommy Hodd? I
knows him well enough; I knows all the boys, I warrant me, round about
here. Come, Miss, here's pen and ink; you'll run it off before one can
count five, when you've a mind to it. He'll be in a sad taking till he
sees me come back.'

'Come back? is it possible you have been so imprudent as to have
promised to see him again?'

'Dearee me, yes, Miss! he'd have made away with himself if I had not.
He'd been there ever since six in the morning, without nothing to eat or
drink, a riding up and down the road, till he could see me coming to the
stile. And he says he'll keep a riding there all day long, and all night
too, till I goes to him.'

Eugenia conceived herself now in a situation of unexampled distress. She
forced Molly Mill to leave her, that she might deliberate what course to
pursue.

Having read no novels, her imagination had never been awakened to scenes
of this kind; and what she had gathered upon such subjects in the poetry
and history she had studied with Dr. Orkborne, had only impressed her
fancy in proportion as love bore the character of heroism, and the lover
that of an hero. Though highly therefore romantic, her romance was not
the common adoption of a circulating library: it was simply that of
elevated sentiments, formed by animated credulity playing upon youthful
inexperience.

'Alas!' cried she, 'what a conflict is mine! I must refuse a man who
adores me to distraction, in disregard of my unhappy defects, to cast
myself under the guidance of one who, perhaps, may estimate beauty so
highly as to despise me for its want!'

This idea pleaded so powerfully for Bellamy, that something like a wish
to open his letters, obtained pardon to her little maid for having
brought them. She suppressed, however, the desire, though she held them
alternately to her eyes, conjecturing their contents, and bewailing for
their impassioned writer the cruel answer they must receive.

Though checked by shame, she had some desire to consult Camilla; but she
could not see her in time, Mrs. Arlbery having insisted upon carrying
her in the evening to a play, which was to be performed, for one night
only, by a company of passing strollers at Northwick.

'My decision,' she cried, 'must be my own, and must be immediate. Ah!
how leave a man such as this, to wander night and day neglected and
uncertain of his fate! With tears he sent me his letters!--what must not
have been his despair when such was his sensibility? tears in a
man!--tears, too, that could not be restrained even till his messenger
was out of sight!--how touching!--'

Her own then fell, in tender commiseration, and it was with extreme
repugnance she compelled herself to take such measures as she thought
her duty required. She sealed the two letters in an empty cover, and
having directed them to Mr. Bellamy, summoned Molly Mill, and told her
to convey them to the gentleman, and positively acquaint him she must
receive no more, and that those which were returned had never been read.
She bid her, however, add, that she should always wish for his
happiness, and be grateful for his kind partiality; though she earnestly
conjured him to vanquish a regard which she did not deserve, and must
never return.

Molly Mill would fain have remonstrated; but Eugenia, with that firmness
which, even in the first youth, accompanies a consciousness of
preferring duty to inclination, silenced, and sent her off.

Relieved for herself, now the struggle was over, she secretly rejoiced
that it was not for Melmond she had so hard a part to act: and this
idea, while it rendered Bellamy less an object of regret, diminished
also something of her pity for his conflict, by reminding her of the
success which had attended her own similar exertions.

But when Molly returned, her distress was renewed: she brought her these
words, written with a pencil upon the back of her own cover:

     'I do not dare, cruellest of your sex, to write you another letter;
     but if you would save me from the abyss of destruction, you will
     let me hear my final doom from your own mouth. I ask nothing more!
     Ah! walk but one moment in the park, near the pales; deny not your
     miserable adorer this last single request, and he will fly this
     fatal climate which has swallowed up his repose for ever! But, till
     then, here he will stay, and never quit the spot whence he sends
     you these lines, till you have deigned to pronounce verbally his
     doom, though he should famish for want of food!

     ALPHONSO BELLAMY.'

Eugenia read this with horrour and compassion. She imagined he perhaps
thought her confined, and would therefore believe no answer that did not
issue immediately from her own lips. She sent Molly to him again with
the same message; but Molly returned with a yet worse account of his
desperation, and a strong assurance, that if she would only utter to him
a single word, he would obey, depart, and live upon it the rest of his
life.

This completely softened her. Rather than imperiously suffer such a
pattern of respectful constancy to perish, she consented to speak her
own negative. But fearing she might be moved to some sympathy by his
grief, she resolved to be accompanied by Camilla, and deferred,
therefore, the interview till the next day.

Molly brought back his humble acknowledgments for this concession, and
an account that, at last, slowly and sadly, he had ridden away.

Her feelings were now better satisfied than her understanding. She
feared what she had granted was a favour; yet her heart was too tender
to reproach a compliance made upon such conditions, and to prevent such
evils.




CHAPTER VIII

_The disastrous Buskins_


Camilla, though her personal sorrows were blunted by the view of the
calamities and resignation of her sister, was so little disposed for
amusement, that she had accepted the invitation of Mrs. Arlbery, only
from wanting spirit to resist its urgency. Mr. Tyrold was well pleased
that such a recreation came in her way, but desired Lavinia might be of
the party: not only that she might partake of the same pleasure, but
from a greater security in her prudence, than in that of her naturally
thoughtless sister.

The town of Etherington afforded no theatre; and the room fitted up for
the night's performance could contain but two boxes, one of which was
secured for Mrs. Arlbery and her friends.

The attentive Major was ready to offer his hand to Camilla upon her
arrival. The rest of the officers were in the box.

The play was Othello; and so miserably represented, that Lavinia would
willingly have retired after the first scene: but the native spirits of
Camilla revisited her in the view of the ludicrous personages of the
drama. And they were soon joined by Sir Sedley Clarendel, whose quaint
conceits and remarks assisted the risibility of the scene. She thought
him the least comprehensible person she had ever known; but as he was
totally indifferent to her, his oddity entertained without tormenting
her.

The actors were of the lowest strolling kind, and so utterly without
merit, that they had never yet met with sufficient encouragement to
remain one week in the same place. They had only a single scene for the
whole performance, which depictured a camp, and which here served for a
street, a senate, a city, a castle, and a bed-chamber.

The dresses were almost equally parsimonious, everyone being obliged to
take what would fit him, from a wardrobe that did not allow quite two
dresses a person for all the plays they had to enact. Othello,
therefore, was equipped as king Richard the third, save that instead of
a regal front he had a black wig, to imitate wool: while his face had
been begrimed with a smoked cork.

Iago wore a suit of cloaths originally made for Lord Foppington:
Brabantio had borrowed the armour of Hamlet's Ghost: Cassio, the
Lieutenant General in the christian army, had only been able to equip
himself in Osmyn's Turkish vest; and Roderigo, accoutred in the garment
of Shylock, came forth a complete Jew.

Desdemona, attired more suitably to her fate than to her expectations,
went through the whole of her part, except the last scene, in the sable
weeds of Isabella. And Amelia was fain to content herself with the habit
of the first witch in Macbeth.

The gestures, both of the gentlemen and ladies, were as outrageous as if
meant rather to intimidate the audience, than to shew their own
animation; and the men approached each other so closely with arms
a-kimbo, or double fists, that Sir Sedley, with pretended alarm, said
they were giving challenges for a boxing match.

The ladies also, in the energy of their desire not to be eclipsed, took
so much exercise in their action, that they tore out the sleeves of
their gowns; which, though pinned up every time they left the stage,
completely exposed their shoulders at the end of every act; and they
raised their arms so high while facing each other, that Sir Sedley
expressed frequent fears they meant to finish by pulling caps.

So imperfect were they also in their parts, that the prompter was the
only person from whom any single speech passed without a blunder.

Iago, who was the master of the troop, was the sole performer who spoke
not with a provincial dialect; the rest all betrayed their birth and
parentage the first line they uttered.

Cassio proclaimed himself from Norfolk:

    The Deuk dew greet yew, General,
    -----------
    Being not at yew're lodging to be feund--
    The senate sent above tree several quests, &c.

Othello himself proved a true Londoner; and with his famed soldier-like
eloquence in the senate-scene, thus began his celebrated defence.

    Most potent, grawe, and rewerend Seignors,
    My wery noble and approwed good masters,
    That I have ta'en avay this old man's darter--
    I vill a round, unwarnish'd tale deliver
    Of my whole course of love; vhat drugs, vhat charms,
    Vhat conjuration, and vhat mighty magic
    I von his darter with----
    Her father lov'd me, oft inwited me----
    ----My story being done,
    She gave me for my pains a vorld of sighs,
    She svore in faith 'tvas strange, 'tvas passing strange,
    'Tvas pitiful, 't'vas vondrous pitiful;
    She vish'd she had not heard it; yet she vish'd
    That Heawen had made her such a man.----
    This only is the vitchcraft I have us'd;
    Here comes the lady, let her vitness it.

This happily making the gentle Desdemona recognised, notwithstanding her
appearance was so little bridal, her Somersetshire father cried:

        I preay you hear 'ur zpeak.
    If a confez that a waz half the woer
    Deztruction on my head, if my bead bleame
    Light o' the mon!

His daughter, in the Worcestershire pronunciation, answered:

                Noble father,
    Hi do perceive ere a divided duty;
    To you hi howe my life hand heducation,
    My life hand heducation both do teach me
    Ow to respect you. You're the lord hof duty;
    Hi'm itherto your daughter: but ere's my usband!----

The fond Othello then exclaimed:

        Your woices, lords! beseech you let her vill
    Have a free vay!-- -- --

And Brabantio took leave with

    Look to'ur, Moor! if th' azt eyez to zee;
    A haz deceiv'd 'ur veather, and may thee.--

They were detained so long between the first and second act, that Sir
Sedley said he feared poor Desdemona had lost the thread-paper from
which she was to mend her gown, and recommended to the two young ladies
to have the charity to go and assist her. 'Consider,' he said, 'the
trepidation of a fair bride but just entered into her shackles. Who
knows but Othello may be giving her a strapping, in private, for wearing
out her cloaths so fast! you young ladies think nothing of these little
conjugal freedoms.'

Mrs. Arlbery, though for some time she had been as well diverted by the
play as Camilla, less new to such exhibitions, was soon tired of the
sameness of the blunders, and, at the end of the fourth act, proposed
retiring. But Camilla, who had long not felt so much entertained, looked
so disappointed, that her good humour overcame her fatigue, and she was
insisting upon staying; when a gentleman, who visited them from the
opposite box, proposed that the young ladies should be carried home by
his mother, a lady who lived at Etherington, and was acquainted at the
rectory, and who intended to stay out not only the play but the farce.
Lavinia consented; the son went with the proposition, and the business
was soon arranged. Mrs. Arlbery, who had three miles to go beyond the
parsonage-house, and who, though she delighted to oblige, was but
little in the habit of practising self-denial, then consigned the young
ladies to General Kinsale, to be conducted to the opposite box, and was
handed by Colonel Andover to her coach.

The General guarded the eldest sister; the Major took care of Camilla:
but they were all stopt in their passage by the sudden seizure of a
pickpocket, and forced hastily back to the box they had quitted.

This commotion, though it had disturbed all the audience, had not stopt
the performance; and Desdemona being just now discovered in bed,
Camilla, not to lose the interesting scene, persuaded her sister to wait
till the play was over, before they attempted again to cross to the
opposite box; into which, in a few minutes after, she saw Mandlebert
enter.

They had both already seated themselves as much out of sight as
possible; and Camilla now began to regret she had not accompanied Mrs.
Arlbery. She had thought only of the play and its entertainment, till
the sight of Mandlebert told her that her situation was improper; and
the idea only occurred to her by considering that it would occur to him.

Mandlebert had dined out with a party of men, and had stept in to see
what was going forwards, without any knowledge whom he should meet: he
instantly discerned Lavinia, and felt anxious to know why Camilla was
not with her, and why she sat so much out of sight: but Camilla so
completely hid herself, he could only see there was a female, whom he
concluded to be some Etherington lady; and he determined to make further
enquiry when the act should be over.

The performance now became so truly ludicrous, that Camilla,
notwithstanding all her uneasiness, was excited to almost perpetual
laughter.

Desdemona, either from the effect of a bad cold, or to give more of
nature to her repose, breathed so hard, as to raise a general laugh in
the audience; Sir Sedley, stopping his ears, exclaimed, 'O! if she
snores I shall plead for her no more, if she tear her gown to tatters!
Suffocation is much too lenient for her. She's an immense horrid
personage! nasal to alarm!'

Othello then entered, with a tallow candle in his hand, staring and
dropping grease at every step; and, having just declared he would not

    Scar that vhiter skin of hers than snow,

perceived a thief in the candle, which made it run down so fast over his
hand, and the sleeve of his coat, that, the moment not being yet arrived
for extinguishing it, he was forced to lay down his sword, and, for want
of better means, snuff it with his fingers.

Sir Sedley now protested himself completely disordered: 'I must be
gone,' cried he, 'incontinently; this exceeds resistance: I shan't be
alive in another minute. Are you able to form a notion of anything more
annihilating? If I did not build upon the pleasure of seeing him stop up
those distressing nostrils of the gentle Desdemona, I could not breathe
here another instant.'

But just after, while Othello leant over the bed to say--

              Vhen I've pluck'd the rose
    I cannot give it wital growth again,
    It needs must vither----

his black locks caught fire.

The candle now fell from his hand, and he attempted to pull off his wig;
but it had been tied close on, to appear more natural, and his fright
disabled him; he therefore flung himself upon the bed, and rolled the
coverlid over his head.

Desdemona, excessively frightened, started up, and jumped out, shrieking
aloud--'O, Lord! I shall be burnt!'

This noble Venetian Dame then exhibited, beneath an old white satin
bedgown, made to cover her arms and breast, the dress in which she had
equipped herself, between the acts, to be ready for trampling home;
namely, a dirty red and white linen gown, an old blue stuff quilted
coat, and black shoes and stockings.

In this pitiable condition, she was running, screaming, off the stage,
when Othello, having quenched the fire, unconscious that half his curls
had fallen a sacrifice to the flames, hastily pursued her, and, in a
violent passion, called her a fool, and brought her back to the bed; in
which he assisted her to compose herself, and then went behind the
scenes to light his candle; which having done, he gravely returned, and,
very carefully putting it down, renewed his part with the line.

    Be thus vhen thou art dead, and I vill kill thee
    And love thee after--

Amidst roars of laughter from the whole audience, who, when he kissed
her, almost with one voice called out--'Ay ay, that's right--kiss and
friends!'

And when he said--

    I must veep----

'So must I too, my good friend,' cried Sir Sedley, wiping his eyes, 'for
never yet did sorrow cost me more salt rheum! Poor Blacky! thou hast
been most indissolubly comic, I confess. Thou hast unstrung me to a
degree. A baby of half an hour might demolish me.'

And again, when Othello exclaimed--

    She vakes!

'The deuce she does?' cried Sir Sedley, 'what! has she been asleep again
already? She's a very caricatura of Morpheus. Ay, do thy worst, honest
Mungo. I can't possibly beg her off. I would sooner snift thy farthing
candle once a day, than sustain that nasal cadence ever more.'

'He's the finest fellow upon the face of the earth,' cried Mr.
Macdersey, who had listened to the whole play with the most serious
interest; 'the instant he suspects his wife, he cuts her off without
ceremony; though she's dearer to him than his eye sight, and beautiful
as an angel. How I envy him!'

'Don't you think 'twould have been as well,' said General Kinsale, 'if
he'd first made some little enquiry?'

'He can do that afterwards, General; and then nobody will dare surmise
it's out of weakness. For to be sure and certain, he ought to right her
fame; that's no more than his duty, after once he has satisfied his own.
But a man's honour is dearest to him of all things. A wife's a bauble to
it--not worth a thought.'

The suffocating was now beginning but just as Desdemona begged to be
spared--

    But alf han our--

the door-keeper forced his way into the pit, and called out--'Pray, is
one Miss Tyrold here in the play-house?'

The sisters, in much amazement hung back, entreating the gentlemen to
screen them; and the man, receiving no answer, went away.

While wondering what this could mean, the play was finished, when one of
the comedians, a brother of the Worcestershire Desdemona, came to the
pit door, calling out--'Hi'm desired to hask hif Miss Camilla Tyrold's
hany way ere hin the ouse, for hi'm hordered to call er hout, for her
Huncle's hill and dying.'

A piercing shriek from Camilla now completed the interruption of all
attention to the performance, and betrayed her hiding place.
Concealment, indeed, was banished her thoughts, and she would herself
have opened the box door to rush out, had not the Major anticipated her,
seizing, at the same time, her hand to conduct her through the crowd.




CHAPTER IX

_Three Golden Maxims_


Lavinia, almost equally terrified, followed her sister; and Sir Sedley,
burying all foppery in compassion and good nature, was foremost to
accompany and assist. Camilla had no thought but to get instantly to
Cleves; she considered not how; she only forced herself rapidly on,
persuaded she could walk it in ten minutes, and ejaculating incessantly,
'My Uncle!--my dear Uncle!'--

They almost instantly encountered Edgar, who, upon the fatal call, had
darted round to meet them, and finding each provided with an attendant,
inquired whose carriage he should seek?

Camilla, in a broken voice, answered she had no carriage, and should
walk.

'Walk?' he repeated; 'you are near five miles from Cleves!'

Scarce in her senses, she hurried on without reply.

'What carriage did you come in, Miss Tyrold?' said Edgar to Lavinia.

'We came with Mrs. Arlbery.'

'Mrs. Arlbery?--she has been gone this half hour; I met her as I
entered.'

Camilla had now rushed out of doors, still handed by the Major.

'If you have no carriage in waiting,' said Edgar, 'make use, I beseech
you, of mine!'

'O, gladly! O, thankfully!' cried Camilla, almost sobbing out her words.

He flew then to call for his chaise, and the door-keeper, for whom Sir
Sedley had inquired, came to them, accompanied by Jacob.

'O, Jacob!' she cried, breaking violently from the Major, 'tell
me!--tell me!--my Uncle!--my dearest Uncle!'

Jacob, in a tone of deep and unfeigned sorrow, said, his Master had been
seized suddenly with the gout in his stomach, and that the doctor, who
had been instantly fetched, had owned there was little hope.

She could hear no more; the shock overpowered her, and she sunk nearly
senseless into the arms of her sister.

She was recovered, however, almost in a minute, and carried by Edgar
into his chaise, in which he placed her between himself and the weeping
Lavinia; hastily telling the two gentlemen, that his intimate connection
with the family authorized his assisting and attending them at such a
period.

This was too well known to be disputed; and Sir Sedley and the Major,
with great concern, uttered their good wishes and retreated.

Jacob had already been for Mr. Tyrold, who had set off instantaneously
on horseback.

Camilla spoke not a word the first mile, which was spent in an hysteric
sobbing: but, recovering a little afterwards, and sinking on the
shoulder of her sister, 'O, Lavinia!' she cried, 'should we lose my
Uncle----'

A shower of tears wetted the neck of Lavinia, who mingled with them her
own, though less violently, from having less connection with Sir Hugh,
and a sensibility less ungovernable.

She called herself upon the postillion to drive faster, and pressed
Edgar continually to hurry him; but though he gave every charge she
could desire, so much swifter were her wishes than any possible speed,
that twenty times she entreated to get out, believing she could walk
quicker than the horses galloped.

When they arrived at the park gate, she was with difficulty held back
from opening the chaise door; and when, at length, they stopt at the
house porch, she could not wait for the step, and before Edgar could
either precede or prevent her, threw herself into the arms of Jacob,
who, having just dismounted, was fortunately at hand to save her from
falling.

She stopt not to ask any question; 'My Uncle!--my Uncle!' she cried,
impetuously, and, rushing past all she met, was in his room in a moment.

Edgar, though he could not obstruct, followed her close, dreading lest
Sir Hugh might already be no more, and determined, in that case, to
force her from the fatal spot.

Eugenia, who heard her footstep, received her at the door, but took her
immediately from the room, softly whispering, while her arms were thrown
round her waist--'He will live! he will live, my sister! his agonies are
over--he is fallen asleep, and he will live!'

This was too sudden a joy for the desponding Camilla, whose breath
instantly stopt, and who must have fallen upon the floor, had she not
been caught by Edgar; who, though his own eyes copiously overflowed with
delight, at such unexpected good news of the universally beloved
Baronet, had strength and exertion sufficient to carry her downstairs
into the parlour, accompanied by Eugenia.

There, hartshorn and water presently revived her, and then, regardless
of the presence of Edgar, she cast herself upon her knees, to utter a
fervent thanksgiving, in which Eugenia, with equal piety, though more
composure, joined.

Edgar had never yet beheld her in a light so resplendent--What a heart,
thought he, is here! what feelings, what tenderness, what animation!--O,
what a heart!--were it possible to touch it!

The two sisters went both gently up stairs, encouraging and
congratulating each other in soft whispers, and stationed themselves in
an ante-room: Mr. Tyrold, by medical counsel, giving directions that no
one but himself should enter the sick chamber.

Edgar, though he only saw the domestics, could not persuade himself to
leave the house till near two o'clock in the morning: and by six, his
anxiety brought him thither again. He then heard, that the Baronet had
passed a night of more pain than danger, the gout having been expelled
his stomach, though it had been threatening almost every other part.

Three days and nights passed in this manner; during which, Edgar saw so
much of the tender affections, and softer character of Camilla, that
nothing could have withheld him from manifesting his entire sympathy in
her feelings, but the unaccountable circumstance of her starting forth
from a back seat at the play, where she had sat concealed, attended by
the Major, and without any matron protectress.

Miss Margland, meanwhile, scowled at him, and Indiana pouted in vain.
His earnest solicitude for Sir Hugh surmounted every such obstacle to
his present visits at Cleves; and he spent there almost the whole of his
time.

On the fourth day of the attack, Sir Hugh had a sleep of five hours'
continuance, from which he awoke so much revived, that he raised himself
in his bed, and called out--'My dear Brother! you are still here?--you
are very good to me, indeed; poor sinner that I am! to forgive me for
all my bad behaviour to your Children.'

'My dearest Brother! my Children, like myself, owe you nothing but
kindness and beneficence; and, like myself, feel for you nothing but
gratitude and tenderness.'

'They are very good, very good indeed,' said Sir Hugh, with a deep sigh;
'but Eugenia!--poor little Eugenia has nearly been the death of me;
though not meaning it in the least, being all her life as innocent as a
lamb.'

Mr. Tyrold assured him, that Eugenia was attached to him with the most
unalterable fondness. But Sir Hugh said, that the sight of her,
returning from Etherington, with nearly the same sadness as ever, had
wounded him to the heart, by shewing him she would never recover; which
had brought back upon him all his first contrition, about the smallpox,
and the fall from the plank, and had caused his conscience to give him
so many twitches, that it never let him rest a moment, till the gout
seized upon his stomach, and almost took him off at once.

Mr. Tyrold attributed solely to his own strong imagination the idea of
the continuance of the dejection of Eugenia, as she had left Etherington
calm, and almost chearful. He instantly, therefore, fetched her,
intimating the species of consolation she could afford.

'Kindest of Uncles!' cried she, 'is it possible you can ever, for a
moment, have doubted the grateful affection with which your goodness has
impressed me from my childhood? Do me more justice, I beseech you, my
dearest Uncle! recover from this terrible attack, and you shall soon see
your Eugenia restored to all the happiness you can wish her.'

'Nobody has got such kind nieces as me!' cried Sir Hugh, again
dissolving into tenderness; 'for all nobody has deserved so ill of them.
My generous little Camilla, forgave me from the very first, before her
young soul had any guile in it, which, God knows, it never has had to
this hour, no more than your own. However, this I can tell you, which
may serve to keep you from repenting being good, and that is, that your
kindness to your poor Uncle may be the means of saving a christian's
life; which, for a young person at your age, is as much as can be
expected: for I think, I may yet get about again, if I could once be
assured I should see you as happy as you used to be; and you've been the
contentedest little thing, till those unlucky market-women, that ever
was seen: always speaking up for the servants, and the poor, from the
time you were eight years old. And never letting me be angry, but taking
every body's part, and thinking them all as good as yourself, and only
wanting to make them as happy.'

'Ah, my dear Uncle! how kind a memory is yours! retaining only what can
give pleasure, and burying in oblivion whatever might cause pain!--'

'Is my Uncle well enough to speak?' cried Camilla, softly opening the
door, 'and may I--for one single moment,--see him?----'

'That's the voice of my dear Camilla!' said Sir Hugh; 'come in, my
little love, for I shan't shock your tender heart now, for I'm going to
get better.'

Camilla, in an ecstasy, was instantly at his bedside, passionately
exclaiming, 'My dear, dear Uncle! will you indeed recover?--'

Sir Hugh, throwing his feeble arms round her neck, and leaning his head
upon her shoulder, could only faintly articulate, 'If God pleases, I
shall, my little darling, my heart's delight and joy! But don't vex,
whether I do or not, for it is but in the course of nature for a man to
die, even in his youth; but how much more when he comes to be old?
Though I know you can't help missing me, in particular at the first,
because of all your goodness to me.'

'Missing you? O my Uncle! we can never be happy again without you! never
never!--when your loved countenance no longer smiles upon us,--when your
kind voice no longer assembles us around you!----'

'My dear child--my own little Camilla,' cried Sir Hugh, in a faint
voice, 'I am ready to die!'

Mr. Tyrold here forced her away, and his brother grew so much worse,
that a dangerous relapse took place, and for three days more, the
physician, the nurse, and Mr. Tyrold, were alone allowed to enter his
room.

During this time, the whole family suffered the truest grief, and
Camilla was inconsolable.

When again he began to revive, he called Mr. Tyrold to him, and said
that this second shake persuaded him he had but a short time more for
this world; and begged therefore he would prepare him for his exit.

Mr. Tyrold complied, and found, with more happiness than surprise, his
perfect and chearful resignation either to live or to die, rejoicing as
much as himself, in the innocent benevolence of his past days.

Composed and strengthened by religious duties, he then desired to see
Eugenia and Indiana, that he might give them his last exhortations and
counsel, in case of a speedy end.

Mr. Tyrold would fain have spared him this touching exertion, but he
declared he could not go off with a clear conscience, unless he told
them the advice which he had been thinking of for them, between whiles,
during all his illness.

Mr. Tyrold then feared that opposition might but discompose him, and
summoned his youngest daughter and his niece, charging them both to
repress their affliction, lest it should accelerate what they most
dreaded.

Camilla, always upon the watch, glided in with them, supplicating her
Father not to deny her admittance; though fearful of her impetuous
sorrows, he wished her to retreat; but Sir Hugh no sooner heard her
murmuring voice, than he declared he would have her refused nothing,
though he had meant to take a particular leave of her alone, for the
last thing of all.

Gratefully thanking him, she advanced trembling to his bedside; solemnly
promising her Father that no expression of her grief should again risk
agitating a life and health so precious.

Sir Hugh then desired to have Lavinia called also, because, though he
had thought of nothing to say to her, she might be hurt, after he was
gone, in being left out.

He was then raised by pillows and sat upright, and they knelt round his
bed. Mr. Tyrold entreated him to be concise, and insisted upon the
extremest forbearance and fortitude in his little audience. He seated
himself at some distance, and Sir Hugh, after swallowing a cordial
medicine, began:

'My dear Nieces, I have sent for you all upon a particular account,
which I beg you to listen to, because, God only knows whether I may ever
be able to give you so much advice again. I see you all look very
melancholy, which I take very kind of you. However don't cry, my little
dears, for we must all go off, so it matters but little the day or the
hour; dying being, besides, the greatest comfort of us all, taking us
off from our cares; as my Brother will explain to you better than me.

'The chief of what I have got to say, in regard to what I have been
studying in my illness, is for you two, my dear Eugenia and Indiana;
because, having brought you both up, I can't get it out of my head what
you'll do, when I am no longer here to keep you out of the danger of bad
designers.

'My hope had been to have seen you both married while I was alive and
amongst you, and I made as many plans as my poor head knew how, to bring
it about; but we've all been disappointed alike, for which reason we
must put up with it properly.

'What I have now last of all, to say to you, my little dears, is three
maxims, which may serve for you all four alike, though I thought of
them, at first, only for you two.

'In the first place, _Never be proud_: if you are, your superiors
will laugh at you, your equals won't love you, and your dependants
will hate you. And what is there for poor mortal man to be proud
of?--Riches!----why they are but a charge, and if we don't use them
well, we may envy the poor beggar that has so much less to answer
for.--Beauty!----why, we can neither get it when we haven't it; nor keep
it when we have it.--Power!----why we scarce ever use it one way, but
what we are sorry we did not use it another!

'In the second place, _Never trust a Flatterer_. If a man makes you a
great many compliments, always suspect him of some bad design, and never
believe him your friend, till he tells you of some of your faults. Poor
little things! you little imagine how many you have, for all you're so
good!

'In the third place, _Do no harm to others, for the sake of any good it
may do to yourselves_; because the good will last you but a little
while; and the repentance will stick by you as long as you live; and
what is worse, a great while longer, and beyond any count the best
Almanack-maker knows how to reckon.

'And now, my dear Nieces, this is all; except the recommending to my
dear Eugenia to be kind to my poor servants, who have all used me so
well, knowing I have nothing to leave them.'

Eugenia, suppressing her sobs, promised to retain them all, as long as
they should desire to remain with her, and to provide for them
afterwards.

'I know, you'll forget nobody, my dear little girl,' cried the Baronet,
'which makes me die contented; not even Mrs. Margland, a little
particularity not being to be considered at one's last end: and much
less Dr. Orkborne, who has so much a better right from you. As to
Indiana, she'll have her own little fortune when she comes of age; and I
dare say her pretty face will marry her before long.--And as to
Clermont, he'll come off rather short, finding I leave him nothing; but
you'll make up for the deficiency, by giving him the whole, as well as a
good wife. As to Lionel, I leave him my blessing; and as to any other
legacy I never happened to promise him any; which is very good luck for
me, as well as my best excuse; and I may say the same to my dear
Lavinia, which is the reason I called her in, because she may not often
have an opportunity to hear a man speak upon his death-bed. However all
I wish for is, that I could leave you all equal shares, as well as give
Eugenia the whole.'

'O my dear Uncle!' exclaimed Eugenia, 'make a new Will immediately! do
everything your tenderness can dictate!--or tell me what I shall do in
your name, and every word, every wish shall be sacredly obeyed!'

'Dear, generous, noble girl! no! I won't take from you a shilling! keep
it all--nobody will spend it so well;--and I can't give you back your
beauty; so keep it, my dear, all, for my oath's sake, when I am gone;
and don't make me die under a prevaricating; which would be but a
grievous thing for a person to do; unless he was but a bad believer:
which, God help us! there are enough, without my helping to make more.'

Mr. Tyrold now again remonstrated, motioning to the weeping group to be
gone.

'Ah! my dear Brother!' said Sir Hugh, 'you are the only right person
that ought to have had it all, if it had not been for my poor weak
brain, that made me always be looking askew instead of strait forward.
And indeed I always meant you to have had it for your life, till the
smallpox put all things out of my head. However, I hope you won't object
to preach my funeral sermon, for all my bad faults, for nobody else will
speak of me so kindly; which may serve as a better lesson for those I
leave behind.'

Tears flowed fast down the cheeks of Mr. Tyrold, as he uttered whatever
he could suggest most tenderly soothing to his Brother: and the young
mourners, not daring to resist, were all gliding away, except Camilla,
whose hand was fast grasped in that of her Uncle.

'Ah, my Camilla,' cried he, as she would gently have withdrawn it, 'how
shall I part with my little dear darling? this is the worst twitch to me
of all, with all my contentedness! And the more because I know you love
your poor old Uncle, just as well as if he had left you all he was
worth, though you won't get one penny by his death!'

'O my dear, dearest Uncle--' exclaimed Camilla, in a passionate flood of
tears; when Mr. Tyrold, assuring them both the consequences might be
fatal, tore her away from the bed and the room.


END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.




VOLUME III




BOOK V




CHAPTER I

_A Pursuer_


Notwithstanding the fears so justly excited from the mixt emotions and
exertions of Sir Hugh, Mr. Tyrold had the happiness to see him fall into
a tranquil sleep, from which he awoke without any return of pain; his
night was quiet; the next day was still better; and the day following he
was pronounced out of danger.

The rapture which this declaration excited in the house, and diffused
throughout the neighbourhood, when communicated to the worthy baronet,
gave a gladness to his heart that recompensed all he had suffered.

The delight of Camilla exceeded whatever she had yet experienced: her
life had lost half its value in her estimation, while she believed that
of her uncle to be in danger.

No one single quality is perhaps so endearing, from man to man, as
good-nature. Talents excite more admiration; wisdom, more respect; and
virtue, more esteem: but with admiration envy is apt to mingle, and fear
with respect; while esteem, though always honourable, is often cold: but
good-nature gives pleasure without any allay; ease, confidence, and
happy carelessness, without the pain of obligation, without the exertion
of gratitude.

If joy was in some more tumultuous, content was with none so penetrating
as with Eugenia. Apprised now that she had been the immediate cause of
the sufferings of her uncle, his loss would have given to her peace a
blow irrecoverable; and she determined to bend the whole of her thoughts
to his wishes, his comfort, his entire restoration.

To this end all her virtue was called in aid; a fear, next to aversion,
having seized her of Clermont, from the apprehension she might never
inspire in him such love as she had inspired in Bellamy, nor see in him,
as in young Melmond, such merit as might raise similar sentiments for
himself.

Molly Mill had not failed to paint to her the disappointment of Bellamy
in not seeing her; but she was too much engrossed by the dangerous state
of her uncle, to feel any compunction in her breach of promise; though
touched with the account of his continual sufferings, she became very
gentle in her reprimands to Molly for again meeting him; and, though
Molly again disobeyed, she again was pardoned. He came daily to the lane
behind the park pales, to hear news of the health of Sir Hugh, without
pressing either for an interview or a letter; and Eugenia grew more and
more moved by his respectful obsequiousness. She had yet said nothing to
Camilla upon the subject; not only because a dearer interest mutually
occupied them, but from a secret shame of naming a lover at a period so
ungenial.

But now that Sir Hugh was in a fair way of recovery, her situation
became alarming to herself. Openly, and before the whole house, she had
solemnly been assigned to Clermont Lynmere; and, little as she wished
the connexion, she thought it, from circumstances, her duty not to
refuse it. Yet this gentleman had attended her so long, had endured so
many disappointments, and borne them so much to her satisfaction, that,
though she lamented her concession as an injury to Clermont, and grew
ashamed to name it even to Camilla, she believed it would be cruelty
unheard of to break it. She determined, therefore, to see him, to
pronounce a farewell, and then to bend all her thoughts to the partner
destined her by her friends.

Molly Mill was alone to accompany her to give her negative, her good
wishes, and her solemn declaration that she could never again see or
hear of him more. He could deem it no indelicacy that she suffered Molly
to be present, since she was the negociator of his own choice.

Molly carried him, therefore, this news, with a previous condition that
he was not to detain her mistress one minute. He promised all
submission; and the next morning, after breakfast, Eugenia, in extreme
dejection at the ungrateful task she had to perform, called for Molly,
and walked forth.

Camilla, who was then accidentally in her own room, was, soon after,
summoned by three smart raps to her chamber door.

There, to her great surprise, she saw Edgar, who, after a hasty apology,
begged to have a few minutes conference with her alone.

She descended with him into the parlour, which was vacant.

'You suspect, perhaps,' said he, in an hurried manner, though attempting
to smile, 'that I mean to fatigue you with some troublesome advice; I
must, therefore, by an abrupt question, explain myself. Does Mr. Bellamy
still continue his pretensions to your sister Eugenia?'

Startled in a moment from all thoughts of self, that at first had been
rushing with violence to her heart, Camilla answered, 'No! why do you
ask?'

'I will tell you: In my regular visits here of late, I have almost
constantly met him, either on foot or on horseback, in the vicinity of
the park. I suspected he watched to see Eugenia; but I knew she now
never left the house; and concluded he was ignorant of the late general
confinement. This moment, however, upon my entrance, I saw him again;
and, as he hastily turned away upon meeting my eye, I dismounted, gave
my horse to my man, and determined to satisfy myself which way he was
strolling. I then followed him to the little lane to the right of the
park, where I perceived an empty post-chaise-and-four in waiting: he
advanced, and spoke with the postillion--I came instantly into the house
by the little gate. This may be accidental; yet it has alarmed me; and I
ventured, therefore, thus suddenly to apply to you, in order to urge you
to give a caution to Eugenia, not to walk out, just at present,
unattended.'

Camilla thanked him, and ran eagerly to speak to her sister; but she was
not in her room; nor was she with her uncle; nor yet with Dr. Orkborne.
She returned uneasily to the parlour, and said she would seek her in the
park.

Edgar followed; but they looked around for her in vain: he then, deeming
the danger urgent, left her, to hasten to the spot where he had seen the
post-chaise.

Camilla ran on alone; and, when she reached the park gate, perceived her
sister, Molly Mill, and Bellamy, in the lane.

They heard her quick approach, and turned round.

The countenance of Bellamy exhibited the darkest disappointment, and
that of Eugenia the most excessive confusion. 'Now then, Sir,' she
cried, 'delay our separation no longer.'

'Ah, permit me,' said he, in a low voice, 'permit me to hope you will
hear my last sad sentence, my final misery, another day!--I will defer
my mournful departure for that melancholy joy, which is the last I shall
feel in my wretched existence!'

He sighed so deeply, that Eugenia, who seemed already in much sorrow,
could not utter an abrupt refusal; and, as Camilla now advanced, she
turned from him, without attempting to say any thing further.

Camilla, in the delight of finding her sister safe, after the horrible
apprehensions she had just experienced, could not speak to her for
tears.

Abashed at once, and amazed, Eugenia faintly asked what so affected her?
She gave no explanation, but begged her to turn immediately back.

Eugenia consented; and Bellamy, bowing to them both profoundly, with
quick steps walked away.

Camilla asked a thousand questions; but Eugenia seemed unable to answer
them.

In a few minutes they were joined by Edgar, who, walking hastily up to
them, took Camilla apart.

He told her he firmly believed a villainous scheme to have been laid: he
had found the chaise still in waiting, and asked the postillion to whom
he belonged. The man said he was paid for what he did; and refused
giving any account of himself. Bellamy then appeared: he seemed
confounded at his sight; but neither of them spoke; and he left him and
his chaise, and his postillion, to console one another. He doubted not,
he said, but the design had been to carry Eugenia off, and he had
probably only pretended to take leave, that the chaise might advance,
and the postillion aid the elopement: though finding help at hand, he
had been forced to give up his scheme.

Camilla even with rapture blest his fortunate presence; but was
confounded with perplexity at the conduct of Eugenia. Edgar, who feared
her heart was entangled by an object who sought only her wealth,
proposed dismissing Molly Mill, that he might tell her himself the
opinion he had conceived of Bellamy.

Camilla overtook her sister, who had walked on without listening to or
regarding them; and, sending away Molly, told her Edgar wished
immediately to converse with her, upon something of the utmost
importance.

'You know my high esteem of him,' she answered; 'but my mind is now
occupied upon a business of which he has no information, and I entreat
that you will neither of you interrupt me.'

Camilla, utterly at a loss what to conjecture, joined Mandlebert alone,
and told him her ill success. He thought every thing was to be feared
from the present state of the affair, and proposed revealing at once all
he knew of it to Mr. Tyrold: but Camilla desired him to take no step
till she had again expostulated with her sister, who might else be
seriously hurt or offended. He complied, and said he would continue in
the house, park, or environs, incessantly upon the watch, till some
decisive measure were adopted.

Joining Eugenia then again, she asked if she meant seriously to
encourage the addresses of Bellamy.

'By no means,' she quietly answered.

'My dear Eugenia, I cannot at all understand you; but it seems clear to
me that the arrival of Edgar has saved you from some dreadful violence.'

'You hurt me, Camilla, by this prejudice. From whom should I dread
violence? from a man who--but too fatally for his peace--values me more
than his life?'

'If I could be sure of his sincerity,' said Camilla, 'I should be the
last to think ill of him: but reflect a little, at least, upon the risk
that you have run; my dear Eugenia! there was a post-chaise in waiting,
not twenty yards from where I stopt you!'

'Ah, you little know Bellamy! that chaise was only to convey him away;
to convey him, Camilla, to an eternal banishment!'

'But why, then, had he prevailed with you to quit the park?'

'You will call me vain if I tell you.'

'No; I shall only think you kind and confidential.'

'Do me then the justice,' said Eugenia, blushing, 'to believe me as much
surprised as yourself at his most unmerited passion: but he told me,
that if I only cast my eyes upon the vehicle which was to part him from
me for ever, it would not only make it less abhorrent to him, but
probably prevent the loss of his senses.'

'My dear Eugenia,' said Camilla, half smiling, 'this is a violent
passion, indeed, for so short an acquaintance!'

'I knew you would say that,' answered she, disconcerted; 'and it was
just what I observed to him myself: but he satisfied me that the reason
of his feelings being so impetuous was, that this was the first and only
time he had ever been in love.--So handsome as he is!--what a choice for
him to make!'

Camilla, tenderly embracing her, declared, 'the choice was all that did
him honour in the affair.'

'He never,' said she, a little comforted, 'makes me any compliments; I
should else disregard, if not disdain him: but indeed he seems,
notwithstanding his own extraordinary manly beauty, to be wholly
superior to external considerations.'

Camilla now forbore expressing farther doubt, from the fear of painful
misapprehension; but earnestly entreated her to suffer Edgar to be
entrusted and consulted: she decidedly, however, refused her consent. 'I
require no advice,' cried she, 'for I am devoted to my uncle's will: to
speak then of this affair would be the most cruel indelicacy, in
publishing a conquest which, since it is rejected, I ought silently,
though gratefully, to bury in my own heart.'

She then related the history of all that had passed to Camilla; but
solemnly declared she would never, to any other human being, but him who
should hereafter be entitled to her whole heart, betray the secret of
the unhappy Bellamy.




CHAPTER II

_An Adviser_


The wish of Camilla was to lay this whole affair before her father; but
she checked it, from an apprehension she might seem displaying her duty
and confidence at the expence of those of her sister; whose motives for
concealment were intentionally the most pure, however, practically, they
might be erroneous; and whom she both pitied and revered for her
proposed submission to her uncle, in opposition to her palpable
reluctance.

She saw not, however, any obstacle to consulting with Edgar, since he
was already apprised of the business, and since his services might be
essentially useful to her sister: while, with respect to herself, there
seemed, at this time, more of dignity in meeting than shunning his
friendly intercourse, since his regard for her seemed to have lost all
its peculiarity. He has precisely, cried she, the same sentiments for my
sisters as for me,--he is equally kind, disinterested, and indifferent
to us all! anxious alike for Eugenia with Mr. Bellamy, and for me with
the detestable Major! Be it so!--we can no where obtain a better friend;
and I should blush, indeed, if I could not treat as a brother one who
can treat me as a sister.

Tranquil, though not gay, she returned to converse with him; but when
she had related what had passed, he confessed that his uneasiness upon
the subject was increased. The heart of Eugenia appeared to him
positively entangled; and he besought Camilla not to lose a moment in
acquainting Mr. Tyrold with her situation.

She pleaded against giving this pain to her sister with energetic
affection: her arguments failed to convince, but her eloquence
powerfully touched him; and he contented himself with only entreating
that she would again try to aid him with an opportunity of conversing
with Eugenia.

This she could not refuse; nor could he then resist the opportunity to
inquire why Mrs. Arlbery had left her and Lavinia at the play. She
thanked him for remembering his character of her monitor, and
acknowledged the fault to be her own, with a candour so unaffected,
that, captivated by the soft seriousness of her manner, he flattered
himself his fear of the Major was a chimæra, and hoped that, as soon as
Sir Hugh was able to again join his family, no impediment would remain
to his begging the united blessings of the two brothers to his views.

When Camilla told her sister the request of Edgar, she immediately
suspected the attachment of Bellamy had been betrayed to him; and
Camilla, incapable of any duplicity, related precisely how the matter
had passed. Eugenia, always just, no sooner heard than she forgave it,
and accompanied her sister immediately down stairs.

'I must rest all my hope of pardon,' cried Edgar, 'for the part I am
taking, to your conviction of its motive; a filial love and gratitude to
Mr. Tyrold, a fraternal affection and interest for all his family.'

'My own sisterly feelings,' she answered, 'make me both comprehend and
thank your kind solicitude: but, believe me, it is now founded in error.
I am shocked to find you informed of this unhappy transaction; and I
charge and beseech that no interference may wound its ill-fated object,
by suffering him to surmise your knowledge of his humiliating
situation.'

'I would not for the world give you pain,' answered Edgar: 'but permit
me to be faithful to the brotherly character in which I consider myself
to stand with you ... all.'

A blush had overspread his face at the word Brotherly; while at that of
_all_, which recovered him, a still deeper stained the cheeks of
Camilla: but neither of them looked at the other; and Eugenia was too
self-absorbed to observe either.

'Your utter inexperience in life,' he continued, 'makes me, though but
just giving up leading-strings myself, an adept in the comparison.
Suffer me then, as such, to represent to you my fears, that your
innocence and goodness may expose you to imposition. You must not judge
all characters by the ingenuousness of your own; nor conclude, however
rationally and worthily a mind such as yours might--may--and will
inspire a disinterested regard, that there is no danger of any other,
and that mercenary views are out of the question, because mercenary
principles are not declared.'

'I will not say your inference is severe,' replied Eugenia, 'because you
know not the person of whom you speak: but permit me to make this
irrefragable vindication of his freedom from all sordid motives; he has
never once named the word fortune, neither to make any inquiries into
mine, nor any professions concerning his own. Had he any inducement to
duplicity, he might have asserted to me what he pleased, since I have no
means of detection.'

'Your situation,' said Edgar, 'is pretty generally known; and for
his ... pardon me if I hint it may be possible that silence is no virtue.
However, since I am unacquainted, you say, with his character, will you
give me leave to make myself better informed?'

'There needs no investigation; to me it is perfectly known.'

'Forgive me if I ask how!'

'By his letters and by his conversation.'

A smile which stole upon the features of Edgar obliged him to turn his
head another way; but presently recovering, 'My dear Miss Eugenia,' he
cried, 'will it not be most consonant to your high principles, and
scrupulous delicacy, to lay the whole of what has passed before Mr.
Tyrold?'

'Undoubtedly, if my part were not strait forward. Had I the least
hesitation, my father should be my immediate and decisive umpire.
But ... I am not at liberty even for deliberation!--I am not ... I
know ... at my own disposal!'--

She blushed and looked down, confused; but presently, with firmness,
added, 'It is not, indeed, fit that I should be; my uncle completely
merits to be in all things my director. To know his wishes, therefore,
is not only to know, but to be satisfied with my doom. Such being my
situation, you cannot misunderstand my defence of this unhappy young
man. It is but simple justice to rescue an amiable person from calumny.'

'Let us allow all this,' said Edgar; 'still I see no reason why Mr.
Tyrold....'

'Mr. Mandlebert,' interrupted she, 'you must do what you judge right. I
can desire no one to abstain from pursuing the dictates of their own
sense of honour. I leave you, therefore, unshackled: but there is no
consideration which, in my opinion, can justify a female in spreading,
even to her nearest connexions, an unrequited partiality. If, therefore,
I am forced to inflict this undue mortification, upon a person to whom I
hold myself so much obliged, an uneasiness will remain upon my mind,
destructive of my forgetfulness of an event which I would fain banish
from my memory.'

She then refused to be any longer detained.

'How I love the perfect innocence, and how I reverence the respectable
singularity of that charming character!' cried Edgar; 'yet how vain are
all arguments against such a combination of fearless credulity, and
enthusiastic reasoning? What can we determine?'

'I am happy to retort upon you that question,' replied Camilla; 'for I
am every way afraid to act myself, lest I should hurt this dear sister,
or do wrong by my yet dearer father.'

'What a responsibility you cast upon me! I will not, however, shrink
from it, for the path seems far plainer to me since I have had this
conversation. Eugenia is at present safe; I see, now, distinctly, her
heart is yet untouched. The readiness with which she met the subject,
the openness with which she avows her esteem, the unembarrassed, though
modest simplicity with which she speaks of his passion and his distress,
all shew that her pity results from generosity, not from love. Had it
been otherwise, with all her steadiness, all her philosophy, some
agitation and anxiety would have betrayed her secret soul. The internal
workings of hopes and fears, the sensitive alarms of repressed
consciousness....' A deep glow, which heated his face, forced him here
to break off; and, abruptly leaving his sentence unfinished, he hastily
began another.

'We must not, nevertheless, regard this as security for the future,
though it is safety for the present; nor trust her unsuspicious
generosity of mind to the dangerous assault of artful distress. I speak
without reserve of this man; for though I know him not, as she
remonstrated, I cannot, from the whole circumstances of his clandestine
conduct, doubt his being an adventurer.... You say nothing? tell me, I
beg, your opinion.'

Camilla had not heard one word of this last speech. Struck with his
discrimination between the actual and the possible state of Eugenia's
mind, and with the effect the definition had produced upon himself, her
attention was irresistibly seized by a new train of ideas, till finding
he waited for an answer, she mechanically repeated his last word
'opinion?'

He saw her absence of mind, and suspected his own too palpable
disturbance had occasioned it: but in what degree, or from what
sensations, he could not conjecture. They were both some time silent;
and then, recollecting herself, she said it was earnestly her wish to
avoid disobliging her sister, by a communication, which, made by any one
but herself, must put her into a disgraceful point of view.

Edgar, after a pause, said, they must yield, then, to her present
fervour, and hope her sounder judgment, when less played upon, would see
clearer. It appeared to him, indeed, that she was so free, at this
moment, from any dangerous impression, that it might, perhaps, be even
safer to submit quietly to her request, than to urge the generous
romance of her temper to new workings. He undertook, meantime, to keep a
constant watch upon the motions of Bellamy, to make sedulous inquiries
into his character and situation in life, and to find out for what
ostensible purpose he was in Hampshire: entreating leave to communicate
constantly to Camilla what he might gather, and to consult with her,
from time to time, upon what measures should be pursued: yet ultimately
confessing, that if Eugenia did not steadily persist in refusing any
further rejections, he should hold himself bound in conscience to
communicate the whole to Mr. Tyrold.

Camilla was pleased, and even thankful for the extreme friendliness and
kind moderation of this arrangement; yet she left him mournfully, in a
confirmed belief his regard for the whole family was equal.

Eugenia, much gratified, promised she would henceforth take no step with
which Edgar should not first be acquainted.




CHAPTER III

_Various Confabulations_


Mr. Tyrold saw, at first, the renewed visits of Edgar at Cleves with
extreme satisfaction; but while all his hopes were alive from an
intercourse almost perpetual, he perceived, with surprise and
perplexity, that his daughter became more and more pensive after every
interview: and as Edgar, this evening, quitted the house, he observed
tears start into her eyes as she went up stairs to her own room.

Alarmed and disappointed, he thought it now high time to investigate the
state of the affair, and to encourage or prevent future meetings, as it
appeared to him to be propitious or hopeless.

Penetrated with the goodness, while lamenting the indifference of Edgar,
Camilla had just reached her room; when, as she turned round to shut her
door, Mr. Tyrold appeared before her.

Hastily, with the back of her hand, brushing off the tears from her
eyes, she said, 'May I go to my uncle, Sir?... can my uncle admit me?'

'He can always admit you,' he answered; 'but, just now, you must forget
him a moment, and consign yourself to your father.'

He then entered, shut the door, and making her sit down by him, said,
'What is this sorrow that assails my Camilla? Why is the light heart of
my dear and happy child thus dejected?'

Speech and truth were always one with Camilla; who, as she could not in
this instance declare what were her feelings, remained mute and
confounded.

'Hesitate not, my dear girl,' cried he kindly, 'to unbosom your griefs
or your apprehensions, where they will be received with all the
tenderness due to such a confidence, and held sacred from every human
inspection; unless you permit me yourself to entrust your best and
wisest friend.'

Camilla now trembled, but could not even attempt to speak.

He saw her disorder, and presently added, 'I will forbear to probe your
feelings, when you have satisfied me in one doubt;--Is the sadness I
have of late remarked in you the effect of secret personal disturbance,
or of disappointed expectation?'

Camilla could neither answer nor look up: she was convinced, by this
question, that the subject of her melancholy was understood, and felt
wholly overcome by the deeply distressing confusion, with which wounded
pride and unaffected virgin modesty impress a youthful female, in the
idea of being suspected of a misplaced, or an unrequited partiality.

Her silence, a suffocating sigh, and her earnest endeavour to hide her
face, easily explained to Mr. Tyrold all that passed within; and
respecting rather than wishing to conquer a shame flowing from fearful
delicacy, 'I would spare you,' he said, 'all investigation whatever,
could I be certain you are not called into any action; but, in that
case, I know not that I can justify to myself so implicit a confidence,
in youth and inexperience so untried in difficulties, so unused to evil
or embarrassment as yours. Tell me then, my dear Camilla, do you sigh
under the weight of any disingenuous conduct? or do you suffer from some
suspence which you have no means of terminating?'

'My dearest father, no!' cried she, sinking upon his breast. 'I have no
suspence!'

She gasped for breath.

'And how has it been removed, my child?' said Mr. Tyrold, in a mournful
tone; 'has any deception, any ungenerous art....'

'O no, no!... he is incapable ... he is superior ... he....' She stopt
abruptly; shocked at the avowal these few words at once inferred of her
partiality, of its hopelessness, and of its object.

She walked, confused, to a corner of the room, and, leaning against the
wainscot, enveloped her face in her handkerchief, with the most painful
sensations of shame.

Mr. Tyrold remained in deep meditation. Her regard for Edgar he had
already considered as undoubted, and her undisguised acknowledgment
excited his tenderest sympathy: but to find she thought it without
return, and without hope, penetrated him with grief. Not only his own
fond view of the attractions of his daughter, but all he had observed,
even from his childhood, in Edgar, had induced him to believe she was
irresistibly formed to captivate him; and what had lately passed had
seemed a confirmation of all he had expected. Camilla, nevertheless,
exculpated him from all blame; and, while touched by her artlessness,
and honouring her truth, he felt, at least, some consolation to find
that Edgar, whom he loved as a son, was untainted by deceit, unaccused
of any evil. He concluded that some unfortunate secret entanglement, or
some mystery not yet to be developed, directed compulsatorily his
conduct, and checked the dictates of his taste and inclination.

Gently, at length, approaching her, 'My dearest child,' he said, 'I will
ask you nothing further; all that is absolutely essential for me to
know, I have gathered. You will never, I am certain, forget the noble
mother whom you are bound to revere in imitating, nor the affectionate
father whom your ingenuousness renders the most indulgent of your
friends. Dry up your tears then, my Camilla, and command your best
strength to conceal for ever their source, and, most especially ... from
its cause.'

He then embraced, and left her.

'Yes, my dearest father,' cried she, as she shut the door, 'most perfect
and most lenient of human beings! yes, I will obey your dictates; I will
hide till I can conquer this weak emotion, and no one shall ever know,
and Edgar least of all, that a daughter of yours has a feeling she ought
to disguise!'

Elevated by the kindness of a father so adored, to deserve his good
opinion now included every wish. The least severity would have chilled
her confidence, the least reproof would have discouraged all effort to
self-conquest; but, while his softness had soothed, his approbation had
invigorated her; and her feelings received additional energy from the
conscious generosity with which she had represented Edgar as blameless.
Blameless, however, in her own breast, she could not deem him: his
looks, his voice, his manner, ... words that occasionally dropt from
him, and meanings yet more expressive which his eyes or his attentions
had taken in charge, all, from time to time, had told a flattering tale,
which, though timidity and anxious earnestness had obscured from her
perfect comprehension, her hopes and her sympathy had prevented from
wholly escaping her. Yet what, internally, she could not defend she
forgave; and, acquitting him of all intentional deceit, concluded that
what he had felt for her, he had thought too slight and immaterial to
deserve repressing on his own part, or notice on her's. To continue with
him her present sisterly conduct was all she had to study, not doubting
but that what as yet was effort, would in time become natural.

Strengthened thus in fortitude, she descended cheerfully to supper,
where Mr. Tyrold, though he saw with pain that her spirits were
constrained, felt the fondest satisfaction in the virtue of her
exertion.

Her night passed in the consolation of self-applause. My dear father,
thought she, will see I strive to merit his lenity, and that soothing
consideration with the honourable friendship of Edgar, will be
sufficient for the happiness of my future life, in the single and
tranquil state in which it will be spent.

Thus comforted, she again met the eye of Mr. Tyrold the next day at
breakfast; in the midst of which repast Edgar entered the parlour. The
tea she was drinking was then rather gulped than sipped; yet she
maintained an air of unconcern, and returned his salutation with
apparent composure.

Edgar, while addressing to Mr. Tyrold his inquiries concerning Sir Hugh,
saw, from the window, his servant, whom he had out-galloped, thrown with
violence from his horse. He rushed out of the parlour; and the first
person to rise, with involuntary intent to follow him, was Camilla. But,
as she reached the hall-door, she saw that the man was safe, and
perceived that her father was the only person who had left the room
besides herself. Ashamed, she returned, and found the female party
collected at the windows.

Hoping to retrieve the error of her eagerness, she seated herself at the
table, and affected to finish her breakfast.

Eugenia told her they had discovered the cause of the accident, which
had been owing to a sharp stone that had penetrated into the horse's
hoof, and which Edgar was now endeavouring to extract.

A general scream, just then, from the window party, and a cry from
Eugenia of 'O Edgar!' carried her again to the hall-door with the
swiftness of lightning, calling out, 'Where?... What?... Good
Heaven!...'

Molly Mill, accidentally there before her, said, as she approached, that
the horse had kicked Mr. Mandlebert upon the shoulder.

Every thing but tenderness and terror was now forgotten by Camilla; she
darted forward with unrestrained velocity, and would have given, in a
moment, the most transporting amazement to Edgar, and to herself the
deepest shame, but that Mr. Tyrold, who alone had his face that way,
stopt, and led her back to the house, saying, 'There is no mischief; a
bee stung the poor animal at the instant the stone was extracted, and
the surprise and pain made it kick; but, fortunately, without any bad
effect. I wish to know how your uncle is; I should be glad you would go
and sit with him till I can come.'

With these words he left her; and, though abashed and overset, she found
no sensation so powerful as joy for the safety of Edgar.

Still, however, too little at ease for conversing with her uncle, she
went straight to her own chamber, and flew involuntarily to a window,
whence the first object that met her eyes was her father, who was
anxiously looking up. She retreated, utterly confounded, and threw
herself upon a chair at the other end of the room.

Shame now was her only sensation. The indiscretion of her first
surprise, she knew, he must forgive, though she blushed at its
recollection; but a solicitude so pertinacious, an indulgence so
repeated of feelings he had enjoined her to combat ... how could she
hope for his pardon? or how obtain her own, to have forfeited an
approbation so precious?

She could not go to her uncle; she would have remained where she was
till summoned to dinner, if the house-maid, after finishing all her
other work, had not a third time returned to inquire if she might clean
her room.

She then determined to repair to the library, where she was certain only
to encounter Eugenia, who would not torment, or Dr. Orkborne, who would
not perceive her: but at the bottom of the stairs she was stopt by Miss
Margland, who, with a malicious smile, asked if she was going to hold
the bason?

'What bason?' cried she, surprised.

'The bason for the surgeon.'

'What surgeon?' repeated she, alarmed.

'Mr. Burton, who is come to bleed Mr. Mandlebert.'

She asked nothing more. She felt extremely faint, but made her way into
the park, to avoid further conference.

Here, in the most painful suspence, dying for information, yet shirking
whoever could give it her, she remained, till she saw the departure of
the surgeon. She then went round by a back way to the apartment of
Eugenia, who informed her that the contusion, though not dangerous, was
violent, and that Mr. Tyrold had insisted upon immediate bleeding. The
surgeon had assured them this precaution would prevent any ill
consequence; but Sir Hugh, hearing from the servants what had happened,
had desired that Edgar would not return home till the next day.

The joy of Camilla, that nothing was more serious, banished all that was
disagreeable from her thoughts, till she was called back to reflections
less consoling, by meeting Mr. Tyrold, as she was returning to her own
room; who, with a gravity unusual, desired to speak with her, and
preceded her into the chamber.

Trembling, and filled with shame, she followed, shut the door, and
remained at it without daring to look up.

'My dear Camilla,' cried he with earnestness, 'let me not hope in vain
for that exertion you have promised me, and to which I know you to be
fully equal. Risk not, my dear girl, to others, those outward marks of
sensibility which, to common or unfeeling observers, seem but the effect
of an unbecoming remissness in the self-command which should dignify
every female who would do herself honour. I had hoped, in this house at
least, you would not have been misunderstood; but I have this moment
been undeceived: Miss Margland has just expressed a species of
compassion for what she presumes to be the present state of your mind,
that has given me the severest pain.'

He stopt, for Camilla looked thunderstruck.

Approaching her, then, with a look of concern, and a voice of
tenderness, he kindly took her hand, and added: 'I do not tell you this
in displeasure, but to put you upon your guard. You will hear from
Eugenia that we shall not dine alone; and from what I have dropt you
will gather how little you can hope to escape scrutiny. Exert yourself
to obviate all humiliating surmises, and you will amply be repaid by the
balm of self-approbation.'

He then kissed her, and quitted the room.

She now remained in utter despair: the least idea of disgrace totally
broke her spirit, and she sat upon the same spot on which Mr. Tyrold had
left her, till the ringing of the second dinner bell.

She then gloomily resolved to plead an head-ache, and not to appear.

When a footman tapt at her door, to acquaint her every body was seated
at the table, she sent down this excuse: forming to herself the further
determination, that the same should suffice for the evening, and for the
next morning, that she might avoid the sight of Edgar, in presence
either of her father or Miss Margland.

Eugenia, with kind alarm, came to know what was the matter, and informed
her, that Sir Hugh had been so much concerned at the accident of Edgar,
that he had insisted upon seeing him, and, after heartily shaking hands,
had promised to think no more of past mistakes and disappointments, as
they had now been cleared up to the county, and desired him to take up
his abode at Cleves for a week.

Camilla heard this with mixt pleasure and pain. She rejoiced that Edgar
should be upon his former terms with her beloved uncle; but how preserve
the caution demanded from her for so long a period, in the constant
sight of her now watchful father, and the malicious Miss Margland?

She had added to her own difficulties by this present absconding, and,
with severe self-blame, resolved to descend to tea. But, while settling
how to act, after her sister had left her, she was struck with hearing
the name of Mandlebert pronounced by Mary, the house-maid, who was
talking with Molly Mill upon the landing place. Why it had been spoken
she knew not; but Molly answered: 'Dearee me, never mind; I'll help you
to do his room, if Nanny don't come in time. My little mistress would
rather do it herself, than he should want for anything.'

'Why, it's natural enough,' said Mary, 'for young ladies to like young
gentlemen; and there's none other comes a nigh 'em, which I often thinks
dull enough for our young misses. And, to be certain, Mr. Mandlebert
would be as pretty a match for one of 'em as a body could desire.'

'And his man,' said Molly, 'is as pretty a gentleman sort of person, to
my mind, as his master. I'm sure I'm as glad as my young lady when they
comes to the house.'

'O, as to Miss Eugeny,' said Mary, 'I believe, in my conscience, she
likes our crack-headed old Doctor as well as e'er a young gentleman in
Christendom; for there she'll sit with him, hour by hour, poring over
such a heap of stuff as never was seed, reading, first one, then
t'other, God knows what; for I believe never nobody heard the like of it
before; and all the time never give the old Doctor a cross word.--'

'She never given nobody a cross word,' interrupted Molly; 'if I was Mr.
Mandlebert, I'd sooner have her than any of 'em, for all she's such a
nidging little thing.'

'For certain,' said Mary, 'she's very good, and a deal of good she does,
to all as asks her; but Miss Camilla for my money. She's all alive and
merry, and makes poor master young again to look at her. I wish Mr.
Mandlebert would have her, for I have overheard Miss Margland telling
Miss Lynmere she was desperate fond of him, and did all she could to get
him.'

Camilla felt flushed with the deepest resentment, and could scarcely
command herself to forbear charging Miss Margland with this persecuting
cruelty.

Nanny, the under house-maid, now joining them, said she had been
detained to finish altering a curtain for Miss Margland. 'And the cross
old Frump,' she added, 'is in a worse spite than ever, and she kept
abusing that sweet Mr. Mandlebert to Miss Lynmere all the while, till
she went down to dinner, and she said she was sure it was all Miss
Camilla's doings his staying here again, for she could come over master
for any thing: and she said she supposed it was to have another catch at
the young 'Squire's heart, but she hoped he would not be such a fool.'

'I'm sure I wish he would,' cried Molly Mill, 'if it was only to spite
her, she's such a nasty old viper. And Miss Camilla's always so
good-natured, and so affable, she'd make him a very agreeable wife, I
dare say.'

'And she's mortal fond of him, that's true,' said Mary, 'for when they
was both here, I always see her a running to the window, to see who was
a coming into the park, when he was rode out; and when he was in the
house, she never so much as went to peep, if there come six horses, one
after t'other. And she was always a saying, "Mary, who's in the parlour?
Mary, who's below?" while he was here; but before he come, duce a bite
did she ask about nobody.'

'I like when I meets her,' said Molly Mill, 'to tell her Mr.
Mandlebert's here, Miss; or Mr. Mandlebert's there, Miss;--Dearee me,
one may almost see one self in her eyes, it makes them shine so.'

Camilla could endure no more; she arose, and walked about the room; and
the maids, who had concluded her at dinner, hearing her step, hurried
away, to finish their gossiping in the room of Mandlebert.

Camilla now felt wholly sunk; the persecutions of Miss Margland seemed
nothing to this blow: they were cruel, she could therefore repine at
them; they were unprovoked, she could therefore repel them: but to find
her secret feelings, thus generally spread, and familiarity commented
upon, from her own unguarded conduct, exhausted, at once, patience,
fortitude, and hope, and left her no wish but to quit Cleves while Edgar
should remain there.

Certain, however, that her father would not permit her to return to
Etherington alone, a visit to Mrs. Arlbery was the sole refuge she could
suggest; and she determined to solicit his permission to accept
immediately the invitation of that lady.




CHAPTER IV

_A Dodging_


Camilla waited in the apartment of Mr. Tyrold till he came up stairs,
and then begged his leave to spend a few days at the Grove; hinting,
when he hesitated, though with a confusion that was hardly short of
torture, at what had passed amongst the servants.

He heard her with the tenderest pity, and the kindest praise of her
sincerity; and, deeply as he was shocked to find her thus generally
betrayed, he was too compassionate to point out, at so suffering a
moment, the indiscretions from which such observations must have
originated. Yet he saw consequences the most unpleasant in this rumour
of her attachment; and though he still privately hoped that the
behaviour of Mandlebert was the effect of some transient embarrassment,
he wished her removed from all intercourse with him that was not sought
by himself, while the incertitude of his intentions militated against
her struggles for indifference. The result, therefore, of a short
deliberation was to accede to her request.

Camilla then wrote her proposition to Mrs. Arlbery, which Mr. Tyrold
sent immediately by a stable-boy of the baronet's.

The answer was most obliging; Mrs. Arlbery said she would herself fetch
her the next morning, and keep her till one of them should be tired.

The relief which this, at first, brought to Camilla, in the week's
exertions it would spare, was soon succeeded by the most acute
uneasiness for the critical situation of Eugenia, and the undoubted
disapprobation of Edgar. To quit her sister at a period when she might
serve her; ... to forsake Cleves at the moment Edgar was restored to it,
seemed selfish even to herself, and to him must appear unpardonable.
'Alas!' she cried, 'how for ever I repent my hasty actions! Why have I
not better struggled against my unfortunate feelings?'

She now almost hated her whole scheme, regretted its success, wished
herself suffering every uneasiness Miss Margland could inflict, and all
the shame of being watched and pitied by every servant in the house, in
preference to deserting Eugenia, and making Mandlebert deem her
unworthy. But self-upbraiding was all that followed her contrition: Mrs.
Arlbery was to fetch her by appointment; and it was now too late to
trifle with the conceding goodness of her father.

She did not dare excuse herself from appearing at breakfast the next
morning, lest Mr. Tyrold should think her utterly incorrigible to his
exhortations.

Edgar earnestly inquired after her health as she entered the room; she
slightly answered she was better; and began eating, with an apparent
eagerness of appetite: while he, who had expected some kind words upon
his own accident, surprised and disappointed, could swallow nothing.

Mr. Tyrold, seeing and pitying what passed in her mind, gave her a
commission, that enabled her, soon, to leave the room without
affectation; and, happy to escape, she determined to go down stairs no
more till Mrs. Arlbery arrived. She wished to have conversed first upon
the affairs of Eugenia with Edgar: but to name to him whither she was
herself going, when she could not possibly name why; to give to him a
surprise that must recoil upon herself in disapprobation, was more than
she could endure. She had invested him with full powers to counsel and
to censure her; he would naturally use them to dissuade her from a visit
so ill-timed; and what could she urge in opposition to his arguments
that would not seem trifling or wilful?

The present moment was all that occupied, the present evil all that ever
alarmed the breast of Camilla: to avoid him, therefore, now, was the
whole of her desire, unmolested with one anxiety how she might better
meet him hereafter.

She watched at her window till she saw the groom of Mrs. Arlbery gallop
into the Park. She hastened then to take leave of Sir Hugh, whom Mr.
Tyrold had prepared for her departure; but, at the door of his
apartment, she encountered Edgar.

'You are going out?' cried he, perceiving an alteration in her dress.

'I am ... just going to ... to speak to my uncle,' cried she, stammering
and entering the room at the same moment.

Sir Hugh kindly wished her much amusement, and hoped she would make him
long amends when he was better. She took leave; but again, on the
landing-place, met Edgar, who, anxious and perlexed, watched to speak to
her before she descended the stairs. Eagerly advancing, 'Do you walk?'
he cried; 'may I ask? or ... am I indiscreet?'

She answered she had something to say to Eugenia, but should be back in
an instant. She then flew to the chamber of her sister, and conjured her
to consult Edgar in whatever should occur during her absence. Eugenia
solemnly consented.

Jacob presently tapped at the door, to announce that Mrs. Arlbery was
waiting below in her carriage.

How to pass or escape Edgar became now her greatest difficulty; she
could suggest nothing to palliate to him the step she was taking, yet
could still less bear to leave him to wild conjecture and certain blame:
and she was standing irresolute and thoughtful, when Mr. Tyrold came to
summon her.

After mildly representing the indecorum of detaining any one she was to
receive by appointment, he took her apart, and putting a packet into her
hand, 'I would not,' he said, 'agitate your spirits this morning, by
entering upon any topic that might disturb you: I have therefore put
upon paper what I most desire you to consider. You will find it a little
sermon upon the difficulties and the conduct of the female heart. Read
it alone, and with attention. And now, my dearest girl, go quietly into
the parlour, and let one brief and cheerful good-morrow serve for every
body alike.'

He then returned to his brother.

She made Eugenia accompany her down stairs, to avoid any solitary attack
from Edgar; he suffered them to pass; but followed to the parlour, where
she hastily bid adieu to Miss Margland and Indiana; but was stopt from
running off by the former, who said, 'I wish I had known you intended
going out, for I designed asking Sir Hugh for the chariot for myself
this morning, to make a very particular visit.'

Camilla, in a hesitating voice, said she should not use her uncle's
chariot.

'You walk then?'

'No, ... ma'am ... but--there is--there is a carriage--I believe, now at
the door.'

'O dear, whose?' cried Indiana; 'do, pray, tell me where you are going?'
while Edgar, still more curious than either, held out his hand to
conduct her, that he might obtain better information.

'I am very glad your head-ache is so well,' said Miss Margland; 'but,
pray--is Mr. Mandlebert to be your chaperon?'

They both blushed, though both affected not to hear her: but, before
they could quit the room, Indiana, who had run to a bow-window,
exclaimed, 'Dear! if there is not Mrs. Arlbery in a beautiful high
phaeton!'

Edgar, astonished, was now as involuntarily drawing back, as Camilla,
involuntarily, was hurrying on: but Miss Margland, insisting upon an
answer, desired to know if she should return to dinner?

She stammered out, No. Miss Margland pursued her to ask at what time the
chariot was to fetch her; and forced from her a confession that she
should be away for some days.

She was now permitted to proceed. Edgar, impressed with the deepest
displeasure, leading her in silence across the hall: but, stopping an
instant at the door, 'This excursion,' he gravely said, 'will rescue you
from no little intended importunity: I had purposed tormenting you, from
time to time, for your opinion and directions with respect to Miss
Eugenia.'

And then, bowing coldly to Mrs. Arlbery, who eagerly called out to
welcome her, he placed her in the phaeton, which instantly drove off.

He looked after them for some time, almost incredulous of her departure:
but, as his amazement subsided into certainty, the most indignant
disappointment succeeded. That she could leave Cleves at the very moment
he was reinstated in its society, seemed conviction to him of her
indifference; and that she could leave it in the present state of the
affairs of Eugenia, made him conclude her so great a slave to the love
of pleasure, that every duty and all propriety were to be sacrificed to
its pursuit. 'I will think of her,' cried he, 'no more! She concealed
from me her plan, lest I should torment her with admonitions: the
glaring homage of the Major is better adapted to her taste,--She flies
from my sincerity to receive his adulation,--I have been deceived in her
disposition,--I will think of her no more!'




CHAPTER V

_A Sermon_


The kind reception of Mrs. Arlbery, and all the animation of her
discourse, were thrown away upon Camilla. An absent smile, and a few
faint acknowledgments of her goodness were all she could return: Eugenia
abandoned when she might have been served, Edgar contemning when he
might have been approving ... these were the images of her mind, which
resisted entrance to all other.

Tired of fruitless attempts to amuse her, Mrs. Arlbery, upon their
arrival at the Grove, conducted her to an apartment prepared for her,
and made use of no persuasion that she would leave it before dinner.

Camilla then, too unhappy to fear any injunction, and resigned to
whatever she might receive, read the discourse of Mr. Tyrold.

     _For Miss_ Camilla Tyrold.

     It is not my intention to enumerate, my dear Camilla, the many
     blessings of your situation; your heart is just and affectionate,
     and will not forget them: I mean but to place before you your
     immediate duties, satisfied that the review will ensure their
     performance.

     Unused to, because undeserving control, your days, to this period,
     have been as gay as your spirits. It is now first that your
     tranquillity is ruffled; it is now, therefore, that your fortitude
     has its first debt to pay for its hitherto happy exemption.

     Those who weigh the calamities of life only by the positive, the
     substantial, or the irremediable mischiefs which they produce,
     regard the first sorrows of early youth as too trifling for
     compassion. They do not enough consider that it is the suffering,
     not its abstract cause, which demands human commiseration. The man
     who loses his whole fortune, yet possesses firmness, philosophy, a
     disdain of ambition, and an accommodation to circumstances, is less
     an object of contemplative pity, than the person who, without one
     real deprivation, one actual evil, is first, or is suddenly forced
     to recognise the fallacy of a cherished and darling hope.

     That its foundation has always been shallow is no mitigation of
     disappointment to him who had only viewed it in its
     super-structure. Nor is its downfall less terrible to its
     visionary elevator, because others had seen it from the beginning
     as a folly or a chimæra; its dissolution should be estimated, not
     by its romance in the unimpassioned examination of a rational
     looker on, but by its believed promise of felicity to its credulous
     projector.

     Is my Camilla in this predicament? had she wove her own destiny in
     the speculation of her wishes? Alas! to blame her, I must first
     forget, that delusion, while in force, has all the semblance of
     reality, and takes the same hold upon the faculties as truth. Nor
     is it till the spell is broken, till the perversion of reason and
     error of judgment become wilful, that Scorn ought to point 'its
     finger' or Censure its severity.

     But of this I have no fear. The love of right is implanted
     indelibly in your nature, and your own peace is as dependant as
     mine and as your mother's upon its constant culture.

     Your conduct hitherto has been committed to yourself. Satisfied
     with establishing your principles upon the adamantine pillars of
     religion and conscience, we have not feared leaving you the entire
     possession of general liberty. Nor do I mean to withdraw it, though
     the present state of your affairs, and what for some time past I
     have painfully observed of your precipitance, oblige me to add
     partial counsel to standing precept, and exhortation to advice. I
     shall give them, however, with diffidence, fairly acknowledging and
     blending my own perplexities with yours.

     The temporal destiny of woman is enwrapt in still more impenetrable
     obscurity than that of man. She begins her career by being involved
     in all the worldly accidents of a parent; she continues it by being
     associated in all that may environ a husband: and the difficulties
     arising from this doubly appendant state, are augmented by the next
     to impossibility, that the first dependance should pave the way for
     the ultimate. What parent yet has been gifted with the foresight to
     say, 'I will educate my daughter for the station to which she shall
     belong?' Let us even suppose that station to be fixed by himself,
     rarely as the chances of life authorise such a presumption; his
     daughter all duty, and the partner of his own selection solicitous
     of the alliance: is he at all more secure he has provided even for
     her external welfare? What, in this sublunary existence, is the
     state from which she shall neither rise nor fall? Who shall say
     that in a few years, a few months, perhaps less, the situation in
     which the prosperity of his own views has placed her, may not
     change for one more humble than he has fitted her for enduring, or
     more exalted than he has accomplished her for sustaining? The
     conscience, indeed, of the father is not responsible for events,
     but the infelicity of the daughter is not less a subject of pity.

     Again, if none of these outward and obvious vicissitudes occur, the
     proper education of a female, either for use or for happiness, is
     still to seek, still a problem beyond human solution; since its
     refinement, or its negligence, can only prove to her a good or an
     evil, according to the humour of the husband into whose hands she
     may fall. If fashioned to shine in the great world, he may deem the
     metropolis all turbulence; if endowed with every resource for
     retirement, he may think the country distasteful. And though her
     talents, her acquirements, may in either of these cases be set
     aside, with an only silent regret of wasted youth and application;
     the turn of mind which they have induced, the appreciation which
     they have taught of time, of pleasure, or of utility, will have
     nurtured inclinations and opinions not so ductile to new sentiments
     and employments, and either submission becomes a hardship, or
     resistance generates dissention.

     If such are the parental embarrassments, against which neither
     wisdom nor experience can guard, who should view the filial without
     sympathy and tenderness?

     You have been brought up, my dear child, without any specific
     expectation. Your mother and myself, mutually deliberating upon the
     uncertainty of the female fate, determined to educate our girls
     with as much simplicity as is compatible with instruction, as much
     docility for various life as may accord with invariable principles,
     and as much accommodation with the world at large, as may combine
     with a just distinction of selected society. We hoped, thus, should
     your lots be elevated, to secure you from either exulting
     arrogance, or bashful insignificance; or should they, as is more
     probable, be lowly, to instil into your understandings and
     characters such a portion of intellectual vigour as should make you
     enter into an humbler scene without debasement, helplessness, or
     repining.

     It is now, Camilla, we must demand your exertions in return. Let
     not these cares, to fit you for the world as you may find it, be
     utterly annihilated from doing you good, by the uncombated sway of
     an unavailing, however well-placed attachment.

     We will not here canvass the equity of that freedom by which women
     as well as men should be allowed to dispose of their own
     affections. There cannot, in nature, in theory, nor even in common
     sense, be a doubt of their equal right: but disquisitions on this
     point will remain rather curious than important, till the
     speculatist can superinduce to the abstract truth of the position
     some proof of its practicability.

     Meanwhile, it is enough for every modest and reasonable young woman
     to consider, that where there are two parties, choice can belong
     only to one of them: and then let her call upon all her feelings of
     delicacy, all her notions of propriety, to decide: Since Man must
     choose Woman, or Woman Man, which should come forward to make the
     choice? Which should retire to be chosen?

     A prepossession directed towards a virtuous and deserving object
     wears, in its first approach, the appearance of a mere tribute of
     justice to merit. It seems, therefore, too natural, perhaps too
     generous, to be considered either as a folly or a crime. It is only
     its encouragement where it is not reciprocal, that can make it
     incur the first epithet, or where it ought not to be reciprocal
     that can brand it with the second. With respect to this last, I
     know of nothing to apprehend:--with regard to the first--I grieve
     to wound my dearest Camilla, yet where there has been no subject
     for complaint, there can have been none for expectation.

     Struggle then against yourself as you would struggle against an
     enemy. Refuse to listen to a wish, to dwell even upon a
     possibility, that opens to your present idea of happiness. All that
     in future may be realised probably hangs upon this conflict. I mean
     not to propose to you in the course of a few days to reinstate
     yourself in the perfect security of a disengaged mind. I know too
     much of the human heart to be ignorant that the acceleration, or
     delay, must depend upon circumstance: I can only require from you
     what depends upon yourself, a steady and courageous warfare against
     the two dangerous underminers of your peace and of your fame,
     imprudence and impatience. You have champions with which to
     encounter them that cannot fail of success, ... good sense and
     delicacy.

     Good sense will shew you the power of self-conquest, and point out
     its means. It will instruct you to curb those unguarded movements
     which lay you open to the strictures of others. It will talk to you
     of those boundaries which custom forbids your sex to pass, and the
     hazard of any individual attempt to transgress them. It will tell
     you, that where allowed only a negative choice, it is your own best
     interest to combat against a positive wish. It will bid you, by
     constant occupation, vary those thoughts that now take but one
     direction, and multiply those interests which now recognise but one
     object: and it will soon convince you, that it is not strength of
     mind which you want, but reflection, to obtain a strict and
     unremitting control over your passions.

     This last word will pain, but let it not shock you. You have no
     passions, my innocent girl, at which you need blush, though enough
     at which I must tremble!--For in what consists your constraint,
     your forbearance? your wish is your guide, your impulse is your
     action. Alas! never yet was mortal created so perfect, that every
     wish was virtuous, or every impulse wise!

     Does a secret murmur here demand: if a discerning predilection is
     no crime, why, internally at least, may it not be cherished? whom
     can it injure or offend, that, in the hidden recesses of my own
     breast, I nourish superior preference of superior worth?

     This is the question with which every young woman beguiles her
     fancy; this is the common but seductive opiate, with which
     inclination lulls reason.

     The answer may be safely comprised in a brief appeal to her own
     breast.

     I do not desire her to be insensible to merit; I do not even demand
     she should confine her social affections to her own sex, since the
     most innocent esteem is equally compatible, though not equally
     general with ours: I require of her simply, that, in her secret
     hours, when pride has no dominion, and disguise would answer no
     purpose, she will ask herself this question, 'Could I calmly hear
     that this elect of my heart was united to another? Were I to be
     informed that the indissoluble knot was tied, which annihilates all
     my own future possibilities, would the news occasion me no
     affliction?' This, and this alone, is the test by which she may
     judge the danger, or the harmlessness of her attachment.

     I have now endeavoured to point out the obligations which you may
     owe to good sense. Your obligations to delicacy will be but their
     consequence.

     Delicacy is an attribute so peculiarly feminine, that were your
     reflections less agitated by your feelings, you could delineate
     more distinctly than myself its appropriate laws, its minute
     exactions, its sensitive refinements. Here, therefore, I seek but
     to bring back to your memory what livelier sensations have
     inadvertently driven from it.

     You may imagine, in the innocency of your heart, that what you
     would rather perish than utter can never, since untold, be
     suspected: and, at present, I am equally sanguine in believing no
     surmise to have been conceived where most it would shock you: yet
     credit me when I assure you, that you can make no greater mistake,
     than to suppose that you have any security beyond what sedulously
     you must earn by the most indefatigable vigilance. There are so
     many ways of communication independent of speech, that silence is
     but one point in the ordinances of discretion. You have nothing, in
     so modest a character, to apprehend from vanity or presumption; you
     may easily, therefore, continue the guardian of your own dignity:
     but you must keep in mind, that our perceptions want but little
     quickening to discern what may flatter them; and it is mutual to
     either sex to be to no gratification so alive, as to that of a
     conscious ascendance over the other.

     Nevertheless, the female who, upon the softening blandishment of an
     undisguised prepossession, builds her expectation of its
     reciprocity, is, in common, most cruelly deceived. It is not that
     she has failed to awaken tenderness; but it has been tenderness
     without respect: nor yet that the person thus elated has been
     insensible to flattery; but it has been a flattery to raise
     himself, not its exciter in his esteem. The partiality which we
     feel inspires diffidence: that which we create has a contrary
     effect. A certainty of success in many destroys, in all weakens,
     its charm: the bashful excepted, to whom it gives courage; and the
     indolent, to whom it saves trouble.

     Carefully, then, beyond all other care, shut up every avenue by
     which a secret which should die untold can further escape you.
     Avoid every species of particularity; neither shun nor seek any
     intercourse apparently; and in such meetings as general prudence
     may render necessary, or as accident may make inevitable, endeavour
     to behave with the same open esteem as in your days of
     unconsciousness. The least unusual attention would not be more
     suspicious to the world, than the least undue reserve to the
     subject of our discussion. Coldness or distance could only be
     imputed to resentment; and resentment, since you have received no
     offence, how, should it be investigated, could you vindicate? or
     how, should it be passed in silence, secure from being attributed
     to pique and disappointment?

     There is also another motive, important to us all, which calls for
     the most rigid circumspection. The person in question is not merely
     amiable; he is also rich: mankind at large, therefore, would not
     give merely to a sense of excellence any obvious predilection. This
     hint will, I know, powerfully operate upon your disinterested
     spirit.

     Never from personal experience may you gather, how far from
     soothing, how wide from honourable, is the species of compassion
     ordinarily diffused by the discovery of an unreturned female
     regard. That it should be felt unsought may be considered as a mark
     of discerning sensibility; but that it should be betrayed uncalled
     for, is commonly, however ungenerously, imagined rather to indicate
     ungoverned passions, than refined selection. This is often both
     cruel and unjust; yet, let me ask--Is the world a proper confident
     for such a secret? Can the woman who has permitted it to go abroad,
     reasonably demand that consideration and respect from the
     community, in which she has been wanting to herself? To me it would
     be unnecessary to observe, that her indiscretion may have been the
     effect of an inadvertence which owes its origin to artlessness, not
     to forwardness: She is judged by those, who, hardened in the ways
     of men, accustom themselves to trace in evil every motive to
     action; or by those, who, preferring ridicule to humanity, seek
     rather to amuse themselves wittily with her susceptibility, than to
     feel for its innocence and simplicity.

     In a state of utter constraint, to appear natural is, however, an
     effort too difficult to be long sustained; and neither precept,
     example, nor disposition, have enured my poor child to the
     performance of any studied part. Discriminate, nevertheless,
     between hypocrisy and discretion. The first is a vice; the second a
     conciliation to virtue. It is the bond that keeps society from
     disunion; the veil that shades our weakness from exposure, giving
     time for that interior correction, which the publication of our
     infirmities would else, with respect to mankind, make of no avail.

     It were better no doubt, worthier, nobler, to meet the scrutiny of
     our fellow-creatures by consent, as we encounter, per force, the
     all-viewing eye of our Creator: but since for this we are not
     sufficiently without blemish, we must allow to our unstable
     virtues all the encouragement that can prop them. The event of
     discovered faults is more frequently callousness than amendment;
     and propriety of example is as much a duty to our fellow-creatures,
     as purity of intention is a debt to ourselves.

     To delicacy, in fine, your present exertions will owe their future
     recompence, be your ultimate lot in life what it may. Should you,
     in the course of time, belong to another, you will be shielded from
     the regret that a former attachment had been published; or should
     you continue mistress of yourself, from a blush that the world is
     acquainted it was not by your choice.

     I shall now conclude this little discourse by calling upon you to
     annex to whatever I have offered you of precept, the constant
     remembrance of your mother for example.

     In our joint names, therefore, I adjure you, my dearest Camilla,
     not to embitter the present innocence of your suffering by
     imprudence that may attach to it censure, nor by indulgence that
     may make it fasten upon your vitals! Imprudence cannot but end in
     the demolition of that dignified equanimity, and modest propriety,
     which we wish to be uniformly remarked as the attributes of your
     character: and indulgence, by fixing, may envenom a dart that as
     yet may be gently withdrawn, from a wound which kindness may heal,
     and time may close; but which, if neglected, may wear away, in
     corroding disturbance, all your life's comfort to yourself, and all
     its social purposes to your friends and to the world.

     AUGUSTUS TYROLD.




CHAPTER VI

_A Chat_


The calm sadness with which Camilla had opened her letter was soon
broken in upon by the interest of its contents, the view it displayed of
her duties, her shame at her recent failures, and her fears for their
future execution; and yet more than all, by the full decision in which
it seemed written, that the unhappy partiality she had exposed, had been
always, and would for ever remain unreturned.

She started at the intimation how near she stood to detection even from
Edgar himself, and pride, reason, modesty, all arose to strengthen her
with resolution, to guard every future conflict from his observation.

The article concerning fortune touched her to the quick. Nothing
appeared to her so degrading as the most distant idea that such a
circumstance could have any force with her. But the justice done to
Edgar she gloried in, as an apology for her feelings, and exculpatory of
her weakness. Her tears flowed fast at every expression of kindness to
herself, her burning blushes dried them up as they were falling, at
every hint of her feebleness, and the hopelessness of its cause; but
wholly subdued by the last paragraph, which with reverence she pressed
to her lips, she offered up the most solemn vows of a strict and entire
observance of every injunction which the letter contained.

She was thus employed, unnoticing the passage of time, when Mrs. Arlbery
tapped at her door, and asked if she wished to dine in her own room.

Surprised at the question, and ashamed to be thus seen, she was
beginning a thousand apologies for not being yet dressed: but Mrs.
Arlbery, interrupting her, said, 'I never listen to excuses. 'Tis the
only battery that overpowers me. If, by any mischance, and in an evil
hour, some country cousin, not knowing my ways, or some antediluvian
prig, not minding them, happen to fall upon me with formal speeches,
where I can make no escape, a fit of yawning takes me immediately, and I
am demolished for the rest of the day.'

Camilla, attempting to smile, promised to play the country cousin no
more. Mrs. Arlbery then observed she had been weeping; and taking her
hand, with an examining look, 'My lovely young friend,' she cried, 'this
will never do!'

'What, ma'am?... how?... what?...'

'Nay, nay, don't be frightened. Come down to dinner, and we'll talk over
the hows? and the whats? afterwards. Never mind your dress; we go no
where this evening; and I make a point not to suffer any body to change
their attire in my house, merely because the afternoon is taking place
of the morning. It seems to me a miserable compliment to the mistress of
a mansion, to see her guests only equip themselves for the table. For my
part, I deem the garb that is good enough for me, good enough for my
geese and turkies ... apple and oyster-sauce included.'

Camilla then followed her down stairs, where she found no company but
Sir Sedley Clarendel.

'Come, my dear Miss Tyrold,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'you and I may now
consider ourselves as _tête-à-tête_; Sir Sedley won't be much in our
way. He hears and sees nothing but himself.'

'Ecstatically flattering that!' cried Sir Sedley; 'dulcet to every
nerve!'

'O, I know you listen just now, because you are yourself my theme. But
the moment I take another, you will forget we are either of us in the
room.'

'Inhuman to the quick!' cried he; 'barbarous to a point!'

'This is a creature so strange, Miss Tyrold,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'that I
must positively initiate you a little into his character;--or, rather,
into its own caricature; for as to character, he has had none
intelligible these three years.--See but how he smiles at the very
prospect of being portrayed, in defiance of all his efforts to look
unconcerned! yet he knows I shall shew him no mercy. But, like all other
egotists, the only thing to really disconcert him, would be to take no
notice of him. Make him but the first subject of discourse, and praise
or abuse are pretty much the same to him.'

'O shocking! shocking! killing past resuscitation! Abominably horrid, I
protest!'

'O I have not begun yet. This is an observation to suit thousands. But
do not fear; you shall have all your appropriations. Miss Tyrold, you
are to be auditor and judge: and I will save you the time and the
trouble which decyphering this animal, so truly a non-descript, might
cost you.'

'What a tremendous exordium! distressing to a degree! I am agued with
trepidation!

'O you wretch! you know you are enchanted. But no further interruption!
I send you to Coventry for the next ten minutes.'

'This man, my dear Miss Tyrold, whom we are about to delineate, was
meant by nature, and prepared by art, for something greatly superior to
what he now appears: but, unhappily, he had neither solidity of
judgment, nor humility of disposition, for bearing meekly the early
advantages with which he set out in life; a fine person, fine parts, and
a fine estate, all dashed into consciousness at the presuming age of one
and twenty. By this aggregate of wealthy, of mental, and of personal
prosperity, he has become at once self spoilt, and world spoilt. Had
you known him, as I have done, before he was seized with this systematic
affectation, which, I am satisfied, causes him more study than the
united pedants of both universities could inflict upon him, you would
have seen the most delightful creature breathing! a creature combining,
in one animated composition, the very essences of spirit, of gaiety, and
of intelligence. But now, with every thing within his reach, nothing
seems worth his attainment. He has not sufficient energy to make use of
his own powers. He has no one to command him, and he is too indolent to
command himself. He has therefore turned fop from mere wantonness of
time and of talents; from having nothing to do, no one to care for, and
no one to please. Take from him half his wit, and by lessening his
presumption, you will cure him of all his folly. Rob him of his fortune,
and by forcing him into exertion, you will make him one of the first men
of his day. Deface and maim his features and figure, and by letting him
see that to appear and be admired is not the same thing, you will render
him irresistible.'

'Have you done?' cried the baronet smiling.

'I protest,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'I believe you are a little touched! And
I don't at all want to reform you. A perfect character only lulls me to
sleep.'

'Obliging in the superlative! I must then take as a consolation, that I
have never given you a nap?'

'Never, Clarendel, I assure you; and yet I don't hate you! Vice is
detestable; I banish all its appearances from my coteries; and I would
banish its reality, too, were I sure I should then have any thing but
empty chairs in my drawing-room--but foibles make all the charm of
society. They are the only support of convivial raillery, and domestic
wit. If formerly, therefore, you more excited my admiration, it is now,
believe me, you contribute most to my entertainment.'

'Condoling to a phenomenon! I have really, then, the vastly prodigious
honour to be exalted in your fair graces to the level of a mountebank? a
quack doctor? his merry Andrew? or any other such respectable buffoon?'

'Piqued! piqued! I declare! this exceeds my highest ambition. But I must
not weaken the impression by dwelling upon it.'

She then asked Camilla if she had any message for Cleves, as one of her
servants was going close to the park gate.

Camilla, glad to withdraw, said she would write a few words to her
father, and retired for that purpose.

       *       *       *       *       *

'What in the world, my dear Clarendel,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'can I do
with this poor thing? She has lost all her sprightliness, and vapours me
but to look at her. She has all the symptoms upon her of being in the
full meridian of that common girlish disease, an hopeless passion.'

'Poor little tender dove!' cried the baronet. ''Twould be odious to cure
her. Unfeeling to excess. What in nature can be half so mellifluously
interesting? I shall now look at her with most prodigious softness.
Ought one not to sigh as she approaches?'

'The matter to be sure is silly enough,' answered Mrs. Arlbery; 'but,
this nonsense apart, she is a charming girl. Besides, I perceive I am a
violent favourite with her; and flattery, my dear Clarendel, will work
its way, even with me! I really owe her a good turn: Else I should no
longer endure her; for the tender passion has terribly flattened her. If
we can't restore her spirits, she will be a mere dead weight to me.'

'O a very crush! a cannon ball would be a butterfly in the comparison!
But who is the irresistible? What form has the little blind traitor
assumed?'

'O, assure yourself, that of the first young man who has come in her
sight. Every damsel, as she enters the world, has some picture ready
painted upon her imagination, of an object worthy to enslave her: and
before any experience forms her judgment, or any comparison her taste,
she is the dupe of the first youth who presents himself to her, in the
firm persuasion of her ductile fancy, that he is just the model it had
previously created.'

She then added, she had little doubt but young Mandlebert was the hero,
from their private conferences after the raffle, and from her blushes
when forced to name him.

'Nay, nay, this is not the first incongruity!' said the young baronet,
'not romantic to outrage. Beech Park has nothing very horrific in it.
Nothing invincibly beyond the standard of a young lady's philosophy.'

'Depend upon it, that's the very idea its master has conceived of the
matter himself. You wealthy Cavaliers rarely want flappers to remind
you of your advantages. That Mandlebert, you must know, is my aversion.
He has just that air and reputation of faultlessness that gives me the
spleen. I hope, for her sake, he won't think of her; he will lead her a
terrible life. A man who piques himself upon his perfections, finds no
mode so convenient and ready for displaying them, as proving all about
him to be constantly in the wrong. However, a character of that stamp
rarely marries; especially if he is rich, and has no obstacles in his
way. What can I do, then, for this poor thing? The very nature of her
malady is to make her entertain false hopes. I am quite bent upon curing
them. The only difficulty, according to custom, is how. I wish you would
take her in hand yourself.'

'I?... preposterous in the extreme! what particle of chance should I
have against Mandlebert?'

'O you vain wretch! to be sure you don't know, that though he is rich,
you are richer? and, doubtless, you never took notice, that though he is
handsome, you are handsomer? As to manners, there is little to choose
between you, for he is as much too correct, as you are too fantastic. In
conversation, too, you are nearly upon a par, for he is as regularly too
right, as you are ridiculously too wrong,--but O the charm of dear
amusing wrong, over dull commanding right! you have but to address
yourself to her with a little flattering distinction, and Mandlebert
ever after will appear to her a pedant.'

'What a wicked sort of sprite is a female wit!' cried Sir Sedley,
'breathing only in mischief! a very will-o'-the-wisp, personified and
petticoated, shining but to lead astray. Dangerous past all fathom! Have
the goodness, however, my fair Jack-o'-lanthorn, to intimate what you
mean I should do with this languishing dulcinea, should I deliver her
from thraldom? You don't advise me, I presume, to take unto myself a
wife? I protest I am shivered to the utmost point north at the bare
suggestion! frozen to an icicle!'

'No, no; I know you far too confirmed an egotist for any thing but an
old bachelor. Nor is there the least necessity to yoke the poor child to
the conjugal plough so early. The only sacrifice I demand from you is a
little attention; the only good I aim at for her, is to open her eyes,
which have now a film before them, and to let her see that Mandlebert
has no other pre-eminence, than that of having been the first young man
with whom she became acquainted. Never imagine I want her to fall in
love with you. Heaven help the poor victim to such a complication of
caprice!'

'Nay, now I am full south again! burning with shame and choler! How you
navigate my sensations from cold to heat at pleasure! Cooke was a mere
river water-man to you. My blood chills or boils at your command. Every
sentence is a new climate. You waft me from extreme to extreme, with a
rapidity absolutely dizzying. A balloon is a broad-wheeled wagon to
you.'

'Come, come, jargon apart, will you make yourself of any use? The cure
of a romantic first flame is a better surety to subsequent discretion,
than all the exhortations of all the fathers, and mothers, and
guardians, and maiden aunts in the universe. Save her now, and you serve
her for life;--besides giving me a prodigious pleasure in robbing that
frigid Mandlebert of such a conquest.'

'Unhappy young swain! I pity him to immensity. How has he fallen thus
under the rigour of your wrath? Do you banish him your favour, like
another Aristides, to relieve your ear from hearing him called the
Just?'

'Was ever allusion so impertinent? or, what is worse, for aught I can
determine, so true? for, certainly, he has given me no offence; yet I
feel I should be enchanted to humble him. Don't be concerned for him,
however; you may assure yourself he hates me. There is a certain spring
in our propensities to one another, that involuntarily opens and shuts
in almost exact harmony, whether of approbation or antipathy. Except,
indeed, in the one article of love, which, distinguishing nothing, is
ready to grasp at any thing.'

'But why have you not recourse to the gallant cockade?'

'The Major? O, I have observed, already, she receives his devoirs
without emotion; which, for a girl who has seen nothing of the world, is
respectable enough, his red coat considered. Whether the man has any
meaning himself, or whether he knows there is such a thing, I cannot
tell: but as I do not wish to see her surrounded with brats, while a
mere brat herself, it is not worth inquiry. You are the thing,
Clarendel, the very thing! You are just agreeable enough to annul her
puerile fascination, yet not interesting enough to involve her in any
new danger.'

'Flattering past imitability! divine Arlberiana!'

'Girls, in general,' continued she, 'are insupportable nuisances to
women. If you do not set them to prate about their admirers, or their
admired, they die of weariness;--if you do, the weariness reverberates
upon yourself.'

Camilla here returned. She had written a few lines to Eugenia, to
enforce her reliance upon Edgar, with an earnest request to be sent for
immediately, if any new difficulty occurred. And she had addressed a few
warmly grateful words to her father, engaging to follow his every
injunction with her best ability.

Sir Sedley now rung for his carriage; and Camilla, for the rest of the
evening, exerted herself to receive more cheerfully the kind civilities
of her lively hostess.




CHAPTER VII

_A Recall_


After two days passed with tolerable, though not natural cheerfulness at
the Grove, Camilla was surprised by the arrival of the carriage of Sir
Hugh with a short note from Eugenia.

     _To Miss_ Camilla Tyrold.

     An incident has happened that overpowers me with sadness and
     horror. I cannot write. I send the chariot. O! come and pass an
     hour or two at Cleves with your distressed.

     EUGENIA!

Camilla could scarcely stop to leave a message for Mrs. Arlbery, before
she flew to the carriage; nor even inquire for her uncle at Cleves,
before she ran to the apartment of Eugenia, and, with a thousand tender
caresses, desired to know what had thus cruelly afflicted her.

'Alas!' she answered, 'my uncle has written to Clermont to come
over,--and informed him with what view!'

She then related, that Indiana, the preceding day, had prevailed with
Sir Hugh to let her go to the Middleton races; and she found he would be
quite unhappy if she refused to be also of the party. That they had been
joined by Bellamy on the race ground, who only, however, spoke to Miss
Margland, as Edgar, watchful and uneasy, scarce let him even see anyone
else. But the horses having taken fright, while they were in a great
crowd, Bellamy had persuaded Miss Margland to alight, while the coach
passed a terrible concourse of carriages; and, in that interval, he had
contrived to whisper a claim upon her tacit promise of viewing the
chaise which was for ever to convey him away from her; and, though her
engagement to Edgar made her refuse, he had drawn her, she knows not
herself how, from her party, and, while she was angrily remonstrating,
and he seemed in the utmost despair at her displeasure, Edgar, who had
been at first eluded by being on horseback, dismounted, forced his way
to her, and almost carried her back to the coach, leaving Bellamy, who
she was sure had no sinister design, nearly dead with grief at being
unworthily suspected. Edgar, she however added, was fixed in believing
he meant to convey her away; and Jacob, asserting he saw him purposely
frighten the horses, had told his surmises to Sir Hugh; which he had
corroborated by an account that the same gentleman had stopt to converse
with her in her last return from Etherington. Sir Hugh, terrified, had
declared he would no longer live without Clermont upon the spot. She had
felt too much for his disturbance to oppose him at the moment, but had
not imagined his plan would immediately be put into execution, till,
early this morning, he had sent for her, and produced his letter of
recall, which had taken him, he said, the whole night to compose and
finish. Urged by surprise and dissatisfaction, she was beginning a
little remonstrance; but found it made him so extremely unhappy, that,
in the fear of a relapse, she desisted; and, with a shock she knew not
when she should overcome, saw the fatal letter delivered for the post.

Camilla, with much commiseration, inquired if she had consulted with
Edgar. Yes, she answered; and he had extorted her permission to relate
the whole transaction to her father, though in a manner wide from
justice to the ill-fated Bellamy; whose design might be extraordinary,
but whose character, she was convinced, was honourable.

Camilla, whose education, though private, had not like that of Eugenia,
been secluded and studious, was far less credulous than her sister,
though equally artless. She knew, too, with regard to this affair, the
opinion of Edgar, and to know and be guided by it was imperceptibly one.
She declared herself, therefore, openly against Bellamy, and made her
motives consist in a commentary upon his proceedings.

Eugenia warmly defended him, declaring the judgment of Camilla, and that
of all her friends, to be formed in the dark; for that none of them
could have doubted a moment his goodness or his honour, had they seen
the distracted suffering that was marked in his countenance.

'And what,' cried Camilla, 'says my father to all this?'

'He says just what Edgar says:--he is all that is kind and good, but he
has never beheld Bellamy--how, then, should he know him?'

A message came now from Sir Hugh to Camilla, that he would see her
before she went, but that he was resting at present from the fatigue of
writing a letter. He sent her, however, with his love, the foul copy, to
amuse her till she could come to him.

     _To_ Clermont Lynmere _Esq._

     Dear Nephew,

     I have had a very dangerous illness, and the doctors themselves are
     all surprised that I recovered; but a greater doctor than them was
     pleased to save me, for which I thank God. But as this attack has
     made me think more than ever I thought before, I am willing to turn
     my thoughts to good account.

     Now, as I have not the gift of writing, at which, thank God, I have
     left off repining, from the reason of its great troublesomeness in
     acquiring, I can't pretend to any thing of a fine letter, but shall
     proceed to business.

     My dear Clermont, I write now to desire you would come over out of
     hand; which I hope you won't take unkind, foreign parts being no
     great pleasure to see, in comparison of old England; besides which,
     I have another apology to offer, which is, having a fine prize in
     view for you; which is the more essential, owing to some unlucky
     circumstances, in which I did not behave quite as well as I wish,
     though very unwillingly; which I mention to you as a warning.
     However, you have no need to be cast down, for this prize will set
     all right, and make you as rich as a lord, at the same time that
     you are as wise as a philosopher. And as learning, though I have
     the proper respect for it, won't serve to make the pot boil, you
     must needs be glad of more substantial fuel; for there's no living
     upon air, however you students may affect to think eating mere
     gluttony.

     Now, this prize is no other than your cousin Eugenia Tyrold, whom I
     don't tell you is a beauty; but if you are the sensible lad I take
     you for, you won't think the worse of her for wanting such frail
     perfections. Besides, we should not be too nice amongst relations,
     for if we are, what can we expect from the wide world? So I beg you
     to come over with all convenient speed, for fear of her falling a
     prey to some sharper, many such being to be found; especially at
     horse-races, and so forth. I remain,

     Dear nephew,
     Your affectionate uncle,

     HUGH TYROLD.

Eugenia, from motives of delicacy and of shame, declined reading the
copy as she had declined reading the letter; but looked so extremely
unhappy, that Camilla offered to plead with her uncle, and use her
utmost influence that he would countermand the recall.

'No,' answered she, 'no! 'tis a point of duty and gratitude, and I must
bear its consequences.'

She was now called down to Mr. Tyrold. Camilla accompanied her.

He told her he had gathered, from the kind zeal and inquiries of Edgar,
that Bellamy had certainly laid a premeditated plan for carrying her
off, if she went to the races; which, as the whole neighbourhood was
there, might reasonably be expected.

Eugenia, with fervour, protested such wickedness was impossible.

'I am unwilling, my dear child,' he answered, 'to adulterate the purity
of your thoughts and expectations, by inculcating suspicions; but,
though nature has blessed you with an uncommon understanding, remember,
in judgment you are still but fifteen, and in experience but a child.
One thing, however, tell me candidly, is it from love of justice, or is
it for your happiness you combat thus ardently for the integrity of this
young man?'

'For my justice, Sir!' said she firmly.

'And no latent reason mingles with and enforces it?'

'None, believe me! save only what gratitude dictates.'

'If your heart, then, is your own, my dear girl, do not be uneasy at the
letter to Clermont. Your uncle is the last man upon earth to put any
constraint upon your inclinations; and need I add to my dearest Eugenia,
I am the last father to thwart or distress them? Resume, therefore,
your courage and composure; be just to your friends, and happy in
yourself.'

Reason was never thrown away upon Eugenia. Her mind was a soil which
received and naturalized all that was sown in it. She promised to look
forward with more cheerfulness, and to dwell no longer upon this
agitating transaction.

Edgar now came in. He was going to Beech Park to meet Bellamy. He was
charged with a long message for him from Sir Hugh; and an order to
inform him that his niece was engaged; which, however, he declined
undertaking, without first consulting her.

This was almost too severe a trial of the duty and fortitude of Eugenia.
She coloured, and was quitting the room in silence: but presently
turning back, 'My uncle,' she cried, 'is too ill now for argument, and
he is too dear to me for opposition:--Say, then, just what you think
will most conduce to his tranquillity and recovery.'

Her father embraced her; Camilla shed tears; and Edgar, in earnest
admiration, kissed her hand. She received their applause with
sensibility, but looked down with a secret deduction from its force, as
she internally uttered, 'My task is not so difficult as they believe!
touched as I am with the constancy of Bellamy--It is not Melmond who
loves me! it is not Melmond I reject!--'

Edgar was immediately setting off, but, stopping him--'One thing alone I
beg,' she said; 'do not communicate your intelligence abruptly. Soften
it by assurances of my kind wishes.--Yet, to prevent any deception, any
future hope--say to him--if you think it right--that I shall regard
myself, henceforward, as if already in that holy state so sacred to one
only object.'

She blushed, and left them, followed by Camilla.

'If born but yesterday,' cried Mr. Tyrold, while his eyes glistened,
'she could not be more perfectly free from guile.'

'Yet that,' said Edgar, 'is but half her praise; she is perfectly free,
also, from self! she is made up of disinterested qualities and liberal
sensations. To the most genuine simplicity, she joins the most singular
philosophy; and to knowledge and cultivation, the most uncommon, adds
all the modesty as well as innocence of her extreme youth and
inexperience.'

Mr. Tyrold subscribed with frankness to this just praise of his
highly-valued daughter; and they then conferred upon the steps to be
taken with Bellamy, whom neither of them scrupled to pronounce a mere
fortune-hunter. All the inquiries of Edgar were ineffectual to learn any
particulars of his situation. He said he was travelling for his
amusement; but he had no recommendation to anyone; though, by being
constantly well-dressed, and keeping a shewy footman, he had contrived
to make acquaintance almost universally in the neighbourhood. Mr. Tyrold
determined to accompany Edgar to Beech Park himself, and there, in the
most peremptory terms, to assure him of the serious measures that would
ensue, if he desisted not from his pursuit.

He then went to take leave of Camilla, who had been making a visit to
her uncle, and was returning to the Grove.

He had seen with concern the frigid air with which Edgar had bowed to
her upon his entrance, and with compassion the changed countenance with
which she had received his formal salutation. His hope of the alliance
now sunk; and so favourite a wish could not be relinquished without
severe disappointment; yet his own was immaterial to him when he looked
at Camilla, and saw in her expressive eyes the struggle of her soul to
disguise her wounded feelings. He now regretted that she had not
accompanied her mother abroad; and desired nothing so earnestly as any
means to remove her from all intercourse with Mandlebert. He seconded,
therefore, her speed to be gone, happy she would be placed where
exertion would be indispensable; and gently, yet clearly, intimated his
wish that she should remain at the Grove, till she could meet Edgar
without raising pain in her own bosom, or exciting suspicions in his.
Cruelly mortified, she silently acquiesced. He then said whatever was
most kind to give her courage; but, dejected by her conscious failure,
and afflicted by the change in Edgar, she returned to Mrs. Arlbery in a
state of mind the most melancholy.

And here, nothing could be less exhilarating nor less seasonable than
the first news she heard.

The regiment of General Kinsale was ordered into Kent, in the
neighbourhood of Tunbridge: It was the season for drinking the water of
that spring; and Mr. Dennel was going thither with his daughter. Sir
Sedley Clarendel conceived it would be serviceable also to his own
health; and had suddenly proposed to Mrs. Arlbery forming a party to
pass a few weeks there. With a vivacity always ready for any new
project, she instantly agreed to it, and the journey was settled to
take place in three days. When Camilla was informed of this intended
excursion, the disappointment with which it overpowered her was too
potent for disguise: and Mrs. Arlbery was so much struck with it, that,
during coffee, she took Sir Sedley apart, and said; 'I feel such concern
for the dismal alteration of that sweet girl, that I could prevail with
myself, all love-lorn as she is, to take her with me to Tunbridge, if
you will aid my hardy enterprise of driving that frozen composition of
premature wisdom from her mind. If you are not as invulnerable as
himself, you cannot refuse me this little sleight of gallantry.'

Sir Sedley gave a laughing assent, declaring, at the same time, with the
strongest professed diffidence, his conscious inability. Mrs. Arlbery,
in high spirits, said she scarce knew which would most delight her, to
mortify Edgar, or restore Camilla to gaiety and independance. Yet she
would watch, she said, that matters went no further than just to shake
off a whining first love; for the last thing upon earth she intended was
to entangle her in a second.

Camilla received the invitation with pleasure yet anxiety: for though
glad to be spared returning to Cleves in a state of disturbance so
suspicious, she was bitterly agitated in reflecting upon the dislike of
Edgar to Mrs. Arlbery, the pains he had taken to prevent her mingling
with this society, and the probably final period to his esteem and
good-will, that would prove the result of her accompanying such a party
to a place of amusement.




CHAPTER VIII

_A Youth of the Times_


Mrs. Arlbery accompanied Camilla the next day to Cleves, to ask
permission of Mr. Tyrold for the excursion. She would trust the request
to none but herself, conscious of powers of persuasion unused to
repulse.

Mr. Tyrold was distressed by the proposition: he was not satisfied in
trusting his unguarded Camilla to the dissipation of a public place,
except under the wing of her mother; though he felt eager to remove her
from Edgar, and rejoiced in any opportunity to allow her a change of
scene, that might revive her natural spirits, and unchain her heart from
its unhappy subjection.

Perceiving him undetermined, Mrs. Arlbery called forth all her artillery
of eloquence and grace, to forward her conquest. The licence she allowed
herself in common of fantastic command, gave way to the more feminine
attraction of soft pleading: her satire, which, though never malignant,
was often alarming, was relinquished for a sportive gaiety that diffused
general animation; and Mr. Tyrold soon, though not caught like his
daughter, ceased to wonder that his daughter had been caught.

In this indecision he took Camilla apart, and bade her tell him, without
fear or reserve, her own feelings, her own wishes, her own opinion upon
this scheme. She held such a call too serious and too kind for disguise:
she hid her face upon his shoulder and wept; he soothed and encouraged
her to confidence; and, in broken accents, she then acknowledged herself
unequal, as yet, to fulfilling his injunctions of appearing cheerful and
easy, though sensible of their wisdom.

Mr. Tyrold, with a heavy heart, saw how much deeper was her wound, than
the airiness of her nature had prepared him to expect, and could no
longer hesitate in granting his consent. He saw it was her wish to go;
but he saw that the pleasures of a public place had no share in exciting
it. To avoid betraying her conscious mortification was her sole and
innocent motive; and though he would rather have sent her to a more
private spot, and have trusted her to a more retired character; he yet
thought it possible, that what opportunity presented unsought, might,
eventually, prove more beneficial than what his own choice would have
dictated; for public amusements, to the young and unhackneyed, give
entertainment without requiring exertion; and spirits lively as those of
Mrs. Arlbery create nearly as much gaiety as they display.

Fixed, now, for the journey, he carried Camilla to her uncle to take
leave. The prospect of not seeing her again for six weeks was gloomy to
Sir Hugh; though he bore it better at this moment, when his fancy was
occupied by arranging preparations for the return of Clermont, than he
could have done at almost any other. He put into her hand a fifty pound
Bank note for her expences, and when, with mingled modesty and
dejection, she would have returned the whole, as unnecessary even to her
wishes, Mr. Tyrold, interfering, made her accept twenty pounds. Sir
Hugh pressed forward the original sum in vain; his brother, though
always averse to refuse his smallest desire, thought it here a duty to
be firm, that the excursion, which he granted as a relief to her
sadness, might not lead to pleasures ever after beyond her reach, nor to
their concomitant extravagance. She could not, he knew, reside at
Tunbridge with the oeconomy and simplicity to which she was accustomed
at Etherington; but he charged her to let no temptation make her forget
the moderate income of which alone she was certain; assuring her, that
where a young woman's expences exceeded her known expectations, those
who were foremost to praise her elegance, would most fear to form any
connection with her, and most despise or deride her in any calamity.

Camilla found no difficulty in promising the most exact observance of
this instruction; her heart seemed in sackcloth and ashes, and she cared
not in what manner her person should be arrayed.

Sir Hugh earnestly enjoined her not to fail to be at Cleves upon the
arrival of Clermont, intimating that the nuptials would immediately take
place.

She then sought Eugenia, whom she found with Dr. Orkborne, in a state of
mind so perfectly calm and composed, as equally to surprise and rejoice
her. She saw with pleasure that all Bellamy had inspired was the most
artless compassion; for since his dismission had now positively been
given, and Clermont was actually summoned, she devoted her thoughts
solely to the approaching event, with the firm, though early wisdom
which distinguished her character.

Indiana joined them; and, in a low voice, said to Camilla, 'Pray,
cousin, do you know where Mr. Macdersey is? because I am sadly afraid
he's dead.'

Camilla, surprised, desired to know why she had such an apprehension?

'Because he told me he'd shoot himself through the brains if I was
cruel--and I am sure I had no great choice given me: for, between
ourselves, Miss Margland gave all the answers for me, without once
stopping to ask me what I should chuse. So if he has really done it, the
fault is more her's than mine.'

She then said, that, just after Camilla's departure the preceding day,
Mr. Macdersey arrived, and insisted upon seeing her, and speaking to Sir
Hugh, as he was ordered into Kent, and could not go so far in suspence.
Sir Hugh was not well enough to admit him; and Miss Margland, upon whom
the office devolved, took upon her to give him a positive refusal; and
though she went into the room while he was there, never once would let
her make an answer for herself.

Miss Margland, she added, had frightened Sir Hugh into forbidding him
the house, by comparing him with Mr. Bellamy; but Mr. Macdersey had
frightened them all enough, in return, as he went away, by saying, that
as soon as ever Sir Hugh was well, he would call him out, because of his
sending him word down stairs not to come to Cleves any more, for he had
been disturbed enough already by another Irish fortune-hunter, that came
after another of his nieces; and he was the more sure Mr. Macdersey was
one of them, because of his being a real Irishman, while Mr. Bellamy was
only an Englishman. 'But don't you think now, cousin,' she continued,
'Miss Margland might as well have let me speak for myself?'

Camilla inquired if she was sorry for the rejection.

'N ... o,' she answered, with some hesitation; 'for Miss Margland says
he's got no rent-roll; besides, I don't think he's so agreeable as Mr.
Melmond; only Mr. Melmond's worth little or no fortune they say: for
Miss Margland inquired about it, after Mr. Mandlebert behaved so. Else I
can't say I thought Mr. Melmond disagreeable.'

Mrs. Arlbery now sent to hasten Camilla, who, in returning to the
parlour, met Edgar. He had just gathered her intended excursion, and,
sick at heart, had left the room. Camilla felt the consciousness of a
guilty person at his sight; but he only slightly bowed; and coldly
saying, 'I hope you will have much pleasure at Tunbridge,' went on to
his own room.

And there, replete with resentment for the whole of her late conduct, he
again blessed Dr. Marchmont for his preservation from her toils; and,
concluding the excursion was for the sake of the Major, whose regiment
he knew to be just ordered into Kent, he centered every former hope in
the one single wish that he might never see her more.

Camilla, shocked by such obvious displeasure, quitted Cleves with still
increasing sadness; and Mrs. Arlbery would heartily have repented her
invitation, but for her dependance upon Sir Sedley Clarendel.

At Etherington they stopt, that Camilla might prepare her package for
Tunbridge. Mrs. Arlbery would not alight.

While Camilla, with a maid-servant, was examining her drawers, the
chamber door was opened by Lionel, for whom she had just inquired, and
who, telling her he wanted to speak to her in private, turned the maid
out of the room.

Camilla begged him to be quick, as Mrs. Arlbery was waiting.

'Why then, my dear little girl,' cried he, 'the chief substance of the
matter is neither more nor less than this: I want a little money.'

'My dear brother,' said Camilla, pleasure again kindling in her eyes as
she opened her pocket-book, 'you could never have applied to me so
opportunely. I have just got twenty pounds, and I do not want twenty
shillings. Take it, I beseech you, any part, or all.'

Lionel paused and seemed half choaked. 'Camilla,' he cried presently,
'you are an excellent girl. If you were as old and ugly as Miss
Margland, I really believe I should think you young and pretty. But this
sum is nothing. A drop of water to the ocean.'

Camilla now, drawing back, disappointed and displeased, asked how it was
possible he should want more.

'More, my dear child? why I want two or three cool hundred.'

'Two or three hundred?' repeated she, amazed.

'Nay, nay, don't be frightened. My uncle will give you two or three
thousand, you know that. And I really want the money. It's no joke, I
assure you. It's a case of real distress.'

'Distress? impossible! what distress can you have to so prodigious an
amount?'

'Prodigious! poor little innocent! dost think two or three hundred
prodigious?'

'And what is become of the large sums extorted from my uncle Relvil?'

'O that was for quite another thing. That was for debts. That's gone and
over. This is for a perfectly different purpose.'

'And will nothing--O Lionel!--nothing touch you? My poor mother's
quitting England ... her separation from my father and her family ... my
uncle Relvil's severe attack ... will nothing move you to more
thoughtful, more praise-worthy conduct?'

'Camilla, no preaching! I might as well cast myself upon the old ones at
once. I come to you in preference, on purpose to avoid sermonising.
However, for your satisfaction, and to spur you to serve me, I can
assure you I have avoided all new debts since the last little deposit of
the poor sick hypochondriac miser, who is pining away at the loss of a
few guineas, that he had neither spirit nor health to have spent for
himself.'

'Is this your reasoning, your repentance, Lionel, upon such a
catastrophe?'

'My dear girl, I am heartily concerned at the whole business, only, as
it's over, I don't like talking of it. This is the last scrape I shall
ever be in while I live. But if you won't help me, I am undone. You know
your influence with my uncle. Do, there's a dear girl, use it for your
brother! I have not a dependance in the world, now, but upon you!'

'Certainly I will do whatever I can for you,' said she, sighing; 'but
indeed, my dear Lionel, your manner of going on makes my very heart
ache! However, let this twenty pounds be in part, and tell me your very
smallest calculation for what must be added?'

'Two hundred. A farthing less will be of no use; and three will be of
thrice the service. But mind!... you must not say it's for me!'

'How, then, can I ask for it?'

'O, vamp up some dismal ditty.'

'No, Lionel!' exclaimed she, turning away from him; 'you propose what
you know to be impracticable.'

'Well, then, if you must needs say it's for me, tell him he must not for
his life own it to the old ones.'

'In the same breath, must I beg and command?'

'O, I always make that my bargain. I should else be put into the lecture
room, and not let loose again till I was made a milk-sop. They'd talk me
so into the vapours, I should not be able to act like a man for a month
to come.'

'A man, Lionel?'

'Yes, a man of the world, my dear; a knowing one.'

Mrs. Arlbery now sent to hasten her, and he extorted a promise that she
would go to Cleves the next morning, and procure a draft for the money,
if possible, to be ready for his calling at the Grove in the afternoon.

She felt this more deeply than she had time or courage to own to
Lionel, but her increased melancholy was all imputed to reflections
concerning Mandlebert by Mrs. Arlbery.

       *       *       *       *       *

That lady lent her chaise the next morning, with her usual promptitude
of good humour, and Camilla went to Cleves, with a reluctance that never
before accompanied her desire to oblige.

Her visit was received most kindly by all the family, as merely an
additional leave taking; in which light, though she was too sincere to
place it, she suffered it to pass. Having no chance of being alone with
her uncle by accident, she was forced to beg him, in a whisper, to
request a _tête-à-tête_ with her: and she then, covered with all the
confusion of a partner in his extravagance, made the petition of Lionel.

Sir Hugh seemed much surprised, but protested he would rather part with
his coat and waistcoat than refuse anything to Camilla. He gave her
instantly a draft upon his banker for two hundred pounds; but added, he
should take it very kind of her, if she would beg Lionel to ask him for
no more this year, as he was really so hard run, he should not else be
able to make proper preparations for the wedding, till his next rents
became due.

Camilla was now surprised in her turn; and Sir Hugh then confessed,
that, between presents and petitions, his nephew had had no less than
five hundred pounds from him the preceding year, unknown to his parents;
and that for this year, the sum she requested made the seventh hundred;
without the least account for what purpose it was given.

Camilla now heartily repented being a partner in a business so
rapacious, so unjustifiable, and so mysterious; but, kindly interrupting
her apology, 'Don't be concerned, my dear,' he cried, 'for there's no
help for these things; though what the young boys do with all their
money now-a-days, is odd enough, being what I can't make out. However,
he'll soon be wiser, so we must not be too severe with him; though I
told him, the last time, I had rather he would not ask me so often;
which was being almost too sharp, I'm afraid, considering his youngness;
for one can't expect him to be an old man at once.'

Camilla gave voluntarily her word no such application should find her
its ambassadress again: and though he would have dispensed with the
promise, she made it the more readily as a guard against her own
facility.

'At least,' cried the baronet, 'say nothing to my poor brother, and more
especially to your mother; it being but vexatious to such good parents
to hear of such idleness, not knowing what to think of it; for it is a
great secret, he says, what he does with it all; for which reason one
can't expect him to tell it. My poor brother, to be sure, had rather he
should be studying _hic_, _hæc_, _hoc_; but, Lord help him! I believe he
knows no more of that than I do myself; and I never could make out much
meaning of it, any further than it's being Latin; though I suppose, at
the time, Dr. Orkborne might explain it to me, taking it for granted he
did what was right.'

Camilla was most willing to agree to concealing from her parents what
she knew must so painfully afflict them, though she determined to assume
sufficient courage to expostulate most seriously with her brother,
against whom she felt sensations of the most painful anger.

Again she now took leave; but upon re-entering the parlour, found Edgar
there alone.

Involuntarily she was retiring; but the counsel of her father recurring
to her, she compelled herself to advance, and say, 'How good you have
been to Eugenia! how greatly are we all indebted for your kind vigilance
and exertion!'

Edgar, who was reading, and knew not she was in the house, was
surprised, both by her sight and her address, out of all his
resolutions; and, with a softness of voice he meant evermore to deny
himself, answered, 'To me? can any of the Tyrold family talk of being
indebted to me?--my own obligations to all, to every individual of that
name, have been the pride, have been--hitherto--the happiness of my
life!--'

The word 'hitherto,' which had escaped, affected him: he stopt,
recollected himself, and presently, more drily added, 'Those obligations
would be still much increased, if I might flatter myself that one of
that race, to whom I have ventured to play the officious part of a
brother, could forget those lectures, she can else, I fear, with
difficulty pardon.'

'You have found me unworthy your counsel,' answered Camilla, gravely,
and looking down; 'you have therefore concluded I resent it: but we are
not always completely wrong, even when wide from being right. I have
not been culpable of quite so much folly as not to feel what I have owed
to your good offices; nor am I now guilty of the injustice to blame
their being withdrawn. You do surely what is wisest, though
not--perhaps--what is kindest.'

To these last words she forced a smile; and, wishing him good morning,
hurried away.

Amazed past expression, and touched to the soul, he remained, a few
instants, immoveable; then, resolving to follow her, and almost
resolving to throw himself at her feet, he opened the door she had shut
after her: he saw her still in the hall, but she was in the arms of her
father and sisters, who had all descended, upon hearing she had left Sir
Hugh, and of whom she was now taking leave.

Upon his appearance, she said she could no longer keep the carriage;
but, as she hastened from the hall, he saw that her eyes were swimming
in tears.

Her father saw it too, with less surprise, but more pain. He knew her
short and voluntary absence from her friends could not excite them: his
heart ached with paternal concern for her; and, motioning everybody else
to remain in the hall, he walked with her to the carriage himself,
saying, in a low voice, as he put her in, 'Be of better courage, my
dearest child. Endeavour to take pleasure where you are going--and to
forget what you are leaving: and, if you wish to feel or to give
contentment upon earth, remember always, you must seek to make
circumstance contribute to happiness, not happiness subservient to
circumstance.'

Camilla, bathing his hand with her tears, promised this maxim should
never quit her mind till they met again.

She then drove off.

'Yes,' she cried, 'I must indeed study it; Edgar cares no more what
becomes of me! resentment next to antipathy has taken place of his
friendship and esteem!'

She wrote down in her pocket-book the last words of her father; she
resolved to read them daily, and to make them the current lesson of her
future and disappointed life.

       *       *       *       *       *

Lionel, too impatient to wait for the afternoon, was already at the
Grove, and handed her from the chaise. But, stopping her in the portico,
'Well,' he cried, 'where's my draft?'

'Before I give it you,' said she, seriously, and walking from the
servants, 'I must entreat to speak a few words to you.'

'You have really got it, then?' cried he, in a rapture; 'you are a
charming girl! the most charming girl I know in the world! I won't take
your poor twenty pounds: I would not touch it for the world. But come,
where's the draft? Is it for the two or the three?'

'For the two; and surely, my dear Lionel--'

'For the two? O, plague take it!--only for the two?--And when will you
get me the odd third?'

'O brother! O Lionel! what a question! Will you make me repent, instead
of rejoice, in the pleasure I have to assist you?'

'Why, when he was about it, why could he not as well come down like a
gentleman at once? I am sure I always behaved very handsomely to him.'

'How do you mean?'

'Why, I never frightened him; never put him beside his poor wits, like
t'other poor nuncle. I don't remember I ever did him an ill turn in my
life, except wanting Dr. Pothook, there, to flog him a little for not
learning his book. It would have been a rare sight if he had!--Don't you
think so?'

'Rare, indeed, I hope!'

'Why, now, what could he have done, if the Doctor had really performed
it? He could not in justice have found fault, when he put himself to
school to him. But he'd have felt a little queer. Don't you think he
would?'

'You only want to make me laugh, to prevent my speaking to the purpose;
but I am not disposed to laugh; and therefore--'

'O, if you are not disposed to laugh, you are no company for me. Give me
my draft, therefore.'

'If you will not hear, I hope, at least, Lionel, you will think; and
that may be much more efficacious. Shall I put up the twenty? I really
do not want it. And it is all, all, all I can ever procure you! Remember
that!'

'What?--all?--this all?--what, not even the other little mean hundred?'

'No, my dear brother! I have promised my uncle no further application--'

'Why what a stingy, fusty old codger, to draw such a promise from you!'

'Hold, hold, Lionel! I cannot endure to hear you speak in such a manner
of such an uncle! the best, the most benevolent, the most indulgent--'

'Lord, child, don't be so precise and old maidish. Don't you know it's a
relief to a man's mind to swear, and say a few cutting things when he's
in a passion? when all the time he would no more do harm to the people
he swears at, than you would, that mince out all your words as if you
were talking treason, and thought every man a spy that heard you.
Besides, how is a man the worse for a little friendly curse or two,
provided he does not hear it? It's a very innocent refreshment to a
man's mind, my dear; only you know nothing of the world.'

Mrs. Arlbery now approaching, he hastily took the draft, and, after a
little hesitation, the twenty pounds, telling her, if she would not ask
for him, she must ask for herself, and that he felt no compunction, as
he was certain she might draw upon her uncle for every guinea he was
worth.

He then heartily embraced her; said she was the best girl in the world,
when she did not mount the pulpit, and rode off.

Camilla felt no concern at the loss of her twenty pounds: lowered and
unhappy, she was rather glad than sorry that her means for being abroad
were diminished, and that to keep her own room would soon be most
convenient.

The next day was fixed for the journey.




BOOK VI




CHAPTER I

_A Walk by Moonlight_


Mrs. Arlbery and Camilla set off in the coach of Mr. Dennel, widower of
a deceased sister of the husband of Mrs. Arlbery, whom she was induced
to admit of the party that he might aid in bearing the expenses, as she
could not, from some family considerations, refuse taking her niece into
her coterie. Sir Sedley Clarendel drove his own phaeton; but instead of
joining them, according to the condition which occasioned the treaty,
cantered away his ponies from the very first stage, and left word, where
he changed horses, that he should proceed to the hotel upon the
Pantiles.

Mrs. Arlbery was nearly provoked to return to the Grove. With Mr. Dennel
she did not think it worth while to converse; her niece she regarded as
almost an idiot; and Camilla was so spiritless, that, had not Sir Sedley
acceded to her plan, this was the last period in which she would have
chosen her for a companion.

They travelled very quietly to within a few miles of Tunbridge, when an
accident happened to one of the wheels of the carriage, that the
coachman said would take some hours to repair. They were drawn on, with
difficulty, to a small inn upon the road, whence they were obliged to
send a man and horse to Tunbridge for chaises.

As they were destined, now, to spend some time in this place, Mrs.
Arlbery retired to write letters, and Mr. Dennel to read newspapers;
and, invited by a bright moon, Camilla and Miss Dennel wandered from a
little garden to an adjoining meadow, which conducted them to a lane,
rendered so beautiful by the strong masses of shade with which the trees
intercepted the resplendent whiteness of the moon, that they walked on,
catching fresh openings with fresh pleasure, till the feet of Miss
Dennel grew as weary with the length of the way, unbroken by any
company, as the ears of Camilla with her incessant prattling, unaided by
any idea. Miss Dennel proposed to sit down, and, while relieving herself
by a fit of yawning and stretching, Camilla strolled a little further in
search of a safe and dry spot.

Miss Dennel, following in a moment, on tiptoe, and trembling, whispered
that she was sure she heard a voice. Camilla, with a smile, asked if
only themselves were privileged to enjoy so sweet a night? 'Hush!' cried
she, 'hush! I hear it again!' They listened; and, in a minute, a soft
plaintive tone reached their ears, too distant to be articulate, but
undoubtedly female.

'I dare say it's a robber!' exclaimed Miss Dennel shaking; 'If you don't
run back, I shall die!'

Camilla assured her, from the gentleness of the sound, she must be
mistaken; and pressed her to advance a few steps further, in case it
should be anybody ill.

'But you know,' said Miss Dennel, speaking low, 'people say that
sometimes there are noises in the air, without its being anybody?
Suppose it should be that?'

Still, though almost imperceptibly, Camilla drew her on, till, again
listening, they distinctly heard the words, 'My lovely friend.'

'La! how pretty!' said Miss Dennel; 'let's go a little nearer.'

They advanced, and presently, again stopping heard, 'Could pity pour
balm into my woes, how sweetly would they be alleviated by your's, my
lovely friend?'

Miss Dennel now looked enchanted, and eagerly led the way herself.

In a few minutes, arriving at the end of the lane, which opened upon a
wild and romantic common, they caught a glimpse of a figure in white.

Miss Dennel turned pale. 'Dear!' cried she, in the lowest whisper, 'what
is it?'

'A lady,' answered Camilla, equally cautious not to be heard, though
totally without alarm.

'Are you sure of that?' said Miss Dennel, shrinking back, and pulling
her companion to accompany her.

'Do you think it's a ghost?' cried Camilla, unresisting the retreat, yet
walking backwards to keep the form in sight.

'Fie! how can you talk so shocking? all in the dark so, except only for
the moon?'

'Your's, my lovely friend!' was now again pronounced in the tenderest
accent.

'She's talking to herself!' exclaimed Miss Dennel; 'Lord, how
frightful!' and she clung close to Camilla, who, mounting a little
hillock of stones, presently perceived that the lady was reading a
letter.

Miss Dennel, tranquillised by hearing this, was again content to stop,
when their ears were suddenly struck by a piercing shriek.

'O Lord! we shall be murdered!' cried she, screaming still louder
herself.

They both ran back some paces down the lane, Camilla determining to send
somebody from the inn to inquire what all this meant: but presently,
through an opening in the common, they perceived the form in white
darting forwards, with an air wild and terrified. Camilla stopt, struck
with compassion and curiosity at once; Miss Dennel could not quit her,
but after the first glance, hid her face, faintly articulating, 'O,
don't let it see us! don't let it see us! I am sure it's nothing
natural! I dare say it's somebody walking!'

The next instant, they perceived a man, looking earnestly around, as if
to discover who had echoed the scream; the place they occupied was in
the shade, and he did not observe them. He soon rushed hastily on, and
seized the white garment of the flying figure, which appeared, both by
its dress and form, to be an elegant female. She clasped her hands in
supplication, cast up her eyes towards heaven, and again shrieked aloud.

Camilla, who possessed that fine internal power of the thinking and
feeling mind to adopt courage for terror, where any eminent service may
be the result of immediate exertion, was preparing to spring to her
relief; while Miss Dennel, in extreme agony holding her, murmured out,
'Let's run away! let's run away! she's going to be murdered!' when they
saw the man prostrate himself at the lady's feet, in the humblest
subjection.

Camilla stopt her flight; and Miss Dennel, appeased, called out; 'La!
his kneeling! how pretty it looks! I dare say it's a lover. How I wish
one could hear what he says!'

An exclamation, however, from the lady, uttered in a tone of mingled
affright and disgust, of 'leave me! leave me!' was again the signal to
Miss Dennel of retreat, but of Camilla to advance.

The rustling of the leaves, caused by her attempt to make way through
the breach, caught the ears of the suppliant, who hastily arose; while
the lady folded her arms across her breast, and seemed ejaculating the
most fervent thanks for this relief.

Camilla now forced a passage through the hedge, and the lady, as she saw
her approach, called out, in a voice the most touching, 'Surely 'tis
some pitying Angel, mercifully come to my rescue!'

The pursuer drew back, and Camilla, in the gentlest words, besought the
lady to accompany her to the friends she had just left, who would be
happy to protect her.

She gratefully accepted the proposal, and Camilla then ventured to look
round, to see if the object of this alarm had retreated: but, with an
astonishment that almost confounded her, she perceived him, a few yards
off, taking a pinch of snuff, and humming an opera air.

The lady, then, snatching up her letter, which had fallen to the ground,
touched it with her lips, and carefully folding, put it into her bosom,
tenderly ejaculating, 'I have preserved thee!... O from what danger!
what violation!'

Then pressing the hand of Camilla, 'You have saved me,' she cried, 'from
the calamity of losing what is more dear than I have words to express!
Take me but where I may be shielded from that wretch, and what shall I
not owe to you?'

The moon now shining full upon her face, Camilla saw seated on it youth,
sensibility, and beauty. Her pleasure, involuntarily rather than
rationally, was redoubled that she had proved serviceable to her, as, in
equal proportion, was her abhorrence of the man who had caused the
disturbance.

The three females were now proceeding, when the offender, with a
careless air, and yet more careless bow, advancing towards them,
negligently said, 'Shall I have the honour to see you safe home,
ladies?'

Camilla felt indignant; Miss Dennel again screamed; and the stranger,
with a look of horror and disgust, said; 'Persecute me no more!'

'O hang it! O curse it!' cried he, swinging his cane to and fro, 'don't
be serious. I only meant to frighten you about the letter.'

The lady deigned no answer, but murmured to herself 'that letter is more
precious to me than life or light!'

They now walked on; and, when they entered the lane, they had the
pleasure to observe they were not pursued. She then said to Camilla,
'You must be surprised to see any one out, and unprotected, at this late
hour; but I had employed myself, unthinkingly, in reading some letters
from a dear and absent friend, and forgot the quick passage of time.'

A man in a livery now appearing at some distance, she hastily summoned
him, and demanded where was the carriage?

In the road, he answered, where she had left it, at the end of the lane.

She then took the hand of Camilla, and with a smile of the utmost
softness said, 'When the shock I have suffered is a little over, I must
surely cease to lament I have sustained it, since it has brought to me
such sweet succour. Where may I find you tomorrow, to repeat my thanks?'

Camilla answered, 'she was going to Tunbridge immediately, but knew not
yet where she should lodge.'

'Tunbridge!' she repeated; I am there myself; I shall easily find you
out tomorrow morning, for I shall know no rest till I have seen you
again.'

She then asked her name, and, with the most touching acknowledgments,
took leave.

Camilla recounted her adventure to Mrs. Arlbery, with an animated
description of the fair Incognita, and with the most heart-felt delight
of having, though but accidentally, proved of service to her. Mrs.
Arlbery laughed heartily at the recital, assuring her she doubted not
but she had made acquaintance with some dangerous fair one, who was
playing upon her inexperience, and utterly unfit to be known to her.
Camilla warmly vindicated her innocence, from the whole of her
appearance, as well as from the impossibility of her knowing that her
scream could be heard: yet was perplexed how to account for her not
naming herself, and for the mystery of the carriage and servant in
waiting so far off. These latter she concluded to belong to her father,
as she looked too young to have any sort of establishment of her own.

'What I don't understand in the matter is, that there reading of letters
by the light of the moon;' said Mr. Dennel. 'Where's the necessity of
doing that, for a person that can afford to keep her own coach and
servants?'

Mr. Dennel was a man as unfavoured by nature as he was uncultivated by
art. He had been accepted as a husband by the sister of Mr. Arlbery,
merely on account of a large fortune, which he had acquired in
business. The marriage, like most others made upon such terms, was as
little happy in its progression as honourable in its commencement; and
Miss Dennel, born and educated amidst domestic dissention, which robbed
her of all will of her own, by the constant denial of one parent to what
was accorded by the other, possessed too little reflexion to benefit by
observing the misery of an alliance not mentally assorted; and grew up
with no other desire but to enter the state herself, from an ardent
impatience to shake off the slavery she experienced in singleness. The
recent death of her mother had given her, indeed, somewhat more liberty;
but she had not sufficient sense to endure any restraint, and languished
for the complete power which she imagined a house and servants of her
own would afford.

When they arrived at the hotel, in Tunbridge, Mrs. Arlbery heard, with
some indignation, that Sir Sedley Clarendel was gone to the rooms,
without demonstrating, by any sort of inquiry, the smallest solicitude
at her non-appearance.




CHAPTER II

_The Pantiles_


A servant tapt early at the door of Camilla, the next morning, to
acquaint her that a lady, who called herself the person that had been so
much obliged to her the preceding day, begged the honour of being
admitted.

Camilla was sorry, after the suspicions of Mrs. Arlbery, that she did
not send up her name; yet, already partially disposed, her prepossession
was not likely to be destroyed by the figure that now appeared.

A beautiful young creature, with an air of the most attractive softness,
eyes of the most expressive loveliness, and a manner which by every look
and every motion announced a soul 'tremblingly alive,' glided gently
into the room, and advancing, with a graceful confidence of kindness,
took both her hands, and pressing them to her heart, said, 'What
happiness so soon to have found you! to be able to pour forth all the
gratitude I owe you, and the esteem with which I am already inspired!'

Camilla was struck with admiration and pleasure; and gave way to the
most lively delight at the fortunate accident which occasioned her
walking out in a place entirely unknown to her; declaring she should
ever look back to that event as to one of the marked blessings of her
life.

'If you,' answered the fair stranger, 'have the benevolence thus to
value our meeting, how should it be appreciated by one who is so
eternally indebted to it? I had not perceived the approach of that
person. He broke in upon me when least a creature so ungenial was
present to my thoughts. I was reading a letter from the most amiable of
friends, the most refined--perhaps--of human beings!'

Camilla, impatient for some explanation, answered, 'I hope, at least,
that friend will be spared hearing of your alarm?'

'I hope so! for his own griefs already overwhelm him. Never may it be my
sad lot to wound where I mean only to console.'

At the words _his own_, Camilla felt herself blush. She had imagined it
was some female friend. She now found her mistake, and knew not what to
imagine next.

'I had retired,' she continued, 'from the glare of company, and the
weight of uninteresting conversation, to read, at leisure and in
solitude, this dear letter--heart-breaking from its own woes,
heart-soothing to mine! In a place such as this, seclusion is difficult.
I drove some miles off, and ordered my carriage to wait in the high
road, while I strolled alone upon the common. I delight in a solitary
ramble by moonlight. I can then indulge in uninterrupted rumination, and
solace my melancholy by pronouncing aloud such sentences, and such
names, as in the world I cannot utter. How exquisitely sweet do they
sound to ears unaccustomed to such vibrations!'

Camilla was all astonishment and perplexity. A male friend so beloved,
who seemed to be neither father, brother, nor husband; a carriage at her
command, though without naming one relation to whom either that or
herself might belong; and sentiments so tender she was almost ashamed to
listen to them; all conspired to excite a wonder that painfully prayed
for relief: and in the hope to obtain it, with some hesitation, she
said, 'I should have sought you myself this morning, for the pleasure of
inquiring after your safety, but that I was ignorant by what name to
make my search.'

The fair unknown looked down for a moment, with an air that shewed a
perfect consciousness of the inquiry meant by this speech; but turning
aside the embarrassment it seemed to cause her, she presently raised her
head, and said, 'I had no difficulty to find you, for my servant,
happily, made his inquiry at once at this hotel.'

Disappointed and surprised by this evasion, Camilla saw now an evident
mystery, but knew not how to press forward any investigation. She began,
therefore, to speak of other things, and her fair guest, who had every
mark of an education rather sedulously than naturally cultivated, joined
readily in a conversation less personal.

They did not speak of Tunbridge, of public places, nor diversions; their
themes, all chosen by the stranger, were friendship, confidence, and
sensibility, which she illustrated and enlivened by quotations from
favourite poets, aptly introduced and feelingly recited; yet always
uttered with a sigh, and an air of tender melancholy. Camilla was now in
a state so depressed, that, notwithstanding her native vivacity, she
fell as imperceptibly into the plaintive style of her new acquaintance,
who seemed habitually pensive, as if sympathy rather than accident had
brought them together.

Yet when chance led to some mention of the adventure of the preceding
evening, and the lady made again an animated eulogium of the friend
whose letter she was perusing; she hazarded, with an half smile, saying:
'I hope--for his own sake, this friend is some sage and aged personage?'

'O no!' she answered; 'he is in the bloom of youth.'

Camilla, again a little disconcerted, paused; and the lady went on.

'It was in Wales I first met him; upon a spot so beautiful that painting
can never do it justice. I have made, however, a little sketch of it,
which, some day or other, I will shew you, if you will have the goodness
to let me see more of you.'

Camilla could not refrain from an eager affirmative; and the
conversation was then interrupted by a message from Mrs. Arlbery, who
always breakfasted in her own room, to announce that she was going out
lodging-hunting.

Camilla would rather have remained with her new acquaintance, better
adapted to her present turn of mind than Mrs. Arlbery; but this was
impossible, and the lovely stranger hastened away, saying she would
call herself the next morning to shew the way to her house, where she
hoped they might pass together many soothing and consolatory hours.

       *       *       *       *       *

Camilla found Mrs. Arlbery by no means in her usual high spirits. The
opening of her Tunbridge campaign had so far from answered its trouble
and expence, that she heartily repented having quitted the Grove. The
Officers either were not arrived in the neighbourhood, or were wholly
engaged in military business; Camilla, instead of contributing to the
life of the excursion, seemed to hang heavily both upon that, and upon
herself; and Sir Sedley Clarendel, whose own proposition had brought it
to bear, had not yet made his appearance, though lodging in the same
hotel.

Thus vexatiously disappointed, she was ill-disposed to listen with
pleasure to the history Camilla thought it indispensable to relate of
her recent visit: and in answer to all praise of this fair Incognita,
only replied by asking her name and connexions. Camilla felt extremely
foolish in confessing she had not yet learnt them. Mrs. Arlbery then
laughed unmercifully at her commendations, but concluded with saying:
'Follow, however, your own humour; I hate to torment or be tormented:
only take care not to be seen with her.'

Camilla rejoiced she did not exact any further restriction, and hoped
all raillery would soon be set aside, by an honourable explanation.

       *       *       *       *       *

They now repaired to the Pantiles, where the gay company and gay shops
afforded some amusement to Camilla, and to Miss Dennel a wonder and
delight, that kept her mouth open, and her head jerking from object to
object, so incessantly, that she saw nothing distinctly, from the
eagerness of her fear lest anything should escape her.

Mrs. Arlbery, meeting with an old acquaintance in the bookseller's shop,
there sat down with him, while the two young ladies loitered at the
window of a toy-shop, struck with just admiration of the beauty and
ingenuity of the Tunbridge ware it presented to their view; till
Camilla, in a party of young men who were strolling down the Pantiles,
and who went into the bookseller's shop, distinguished the offender of
the fair unknown.

To avoid following, or being recollected by a person so odious to her,
she entered the toy-shop with Miss Dennel, where she amused herself,
till Mrs. Arlbery came in search of her, in selecting such various
little articles for purchase as she imagined would amount to about half
a crown; but which were put up for her at a guinea. This a little
disconcerted her: though, as she was still unusually rich, from Mr.
Tyrold's having advanced her next quarterly allowance, she consoled
herself that they would serve for little keep-sakes for her sisters and
her cousin: yet she determined, when next she entered a shop for
convenience, to put nothing apart as a buyer, till she had inquired its
price.

The assaulter, Lord Newford, a young nobleman of the _ton_, after taking
a staring survey of every thing and every body around, and seeing no one
of more consequence, followed Mrs. Arlbery, with whom formerly he had
been slightly acquainted, to the toy-shop. He asked her how she did,
without touching his hat; and how long she had been at Tunbridge,
without waiting for an answer; and said he was happy to have the
pleasure of seeing her, without once looking at her.

To his first sentence, Mrs. Arlbery made a civil answer; but, repenting
it upon the two sentences that succeeded, she heard them without seeming
to listen, and fixing her eyes upon him, when he had done, coolly said,
'Pray have you seen any thing of my servant?'

Lord Newford, somewhat surprised, replied, 'No.'

'Do look for him, then,' cried she, negligently, 'there's a good man.'

Lord Newford, a little piqued, and a little confused at feeling so, said
he should be proud to obey her; and turning short off to his companion,
cried, 'Come, Offy, why dost loiter? where shall we ride this morning?'
And, taking him by the arm, quitted the Pantiles.

Mrs. Arlbery, laughing heartily, now felt her spirits a little revive;
'I doat,' she cried, 'upon meeting, now and then, with insolence, for I
have a little taste for it myself, which I make some conscience of not
indulging unprovoked.'

They then proceeded to the milliner's, to equip themselves for going to
the rooms at night. Mrs. Arlbery and Miss Dennel, who were both rich,
gave large orders: Camilla, indifferent to every thing except to avoid
appearing in a manner that might disgrace her party, told the milliner
to choose for her what she thought fashionable that was most reasonable.
She was soon fitted up with what was too pretty to disapprove, and
desiring immediately to pay her bill, found it amounted to five guineas;
though she had imagined she should have change out of two.

She had only six, and some silver; but was ashamed to dispute, or desire
any alteration; she paid the money; and only determined to apply to
another person than the seller, when next she wanted any thing
reasonable.

Mrs. Arlbery now ordered the carriage, and they drove to Mount Pleasant,
where she hired a house for the season, to which they were to remove the
next day.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the evening, they went to the Rooms, where the decidedly fashionable
mien and manner of Mrs. Arlbery, attracted more general notice and
admiration than the youthful captivation of Camilla, or the pretty face
and expensive attire of Miss Dennel.

Dressed by the milliner of the day, Camilla could not fail to pass
uncensured, at least, with respect to her appearance; but her eyes
wanted their usual lustre, from the sadness of her heart, and she never
looked less herself, nor to less advantage.

The master of the ceremonies brought to her Sir Theophilus Jarard; but
as she had seen him the companion of Lord Newford, to whom she had
conceived a strong aversion, she declined dancing. He looked surprised,
but rather offended than disappointed, and with a little laugh, half
contemptuous, as if ashamed of having offered himself, stalked away.

Sir Sedley Clarendel was now sauntering into the room. Mrs. Arlbery,
willing to shew her young friend in a favourable point of view to him,
though more from pique at his distance, than from any thought at that
moment of Camilla, told her she must positively accept Sir Theophilus,
whose asking her must be regarded as a particular distinction, for he
was notoriously a man of the _ton_. And, heedless of her objections,
told Mr. Dennel to call him back.

'How can I do that,' said Mr. Dennel, 'after seeing her refuse him with
my own eyes?'

'O, nobody cares about a man's eyes,' said Mrs. Arlbery; 'go and tell
him Miss Tyrold has changed her mind, and chooses to dance.'

'As to her changing her mind,' he answered, 'that's likely enough; but I
don't see how it's any reason I should go of a fool's errand.'

'Pho, pho, go directly; or you sha'n't dine before eight o'clock for the
whole Tunbridge season.'

'Nay,' said Mr. Dennel, who had an horror of late hours, 'if you will
promise we shall dine more in reason'--

'Yes, yes,' cried Mrs. Arlbery, hurrying him off, notwithstanding the
reiterated remonstrances of Camilla.

'See, my dear,' she then added, laughing, 'how many weapons you must
have in use, if you would govern that strange animal called man! yet
never despair of victory; for, depend upon it, there is not one of the
race that, with a little address, you may not bring to your feet.'

Camilla, who had no wish but for one single votary, and whose heart was
sunk from her failure in obtaining that one, listened with so little
interest or spirit, that Mrs. Arlbery, quite provoked, resolved not to
throw away another idea upon her for the rest of the evening. And
therefore, as her niece went completely and constantly for nothing with
her, she spoke no more, till, to her great relief, she was joined by
General Kinsale.

Mr. Dennel returned with an air not more pleased with his embassy, than
her own appeared with her auditress. The gentleman, he said, had joined
two others, and they were all laughing so violently together, that he
could not find an opportunity to deliver his message, for they seemed as
if they would only make a joke of it.

Mrs. Arlbery then saw that he had got between Lord Newford and Sir
Sedley, and that they were all three amusing themselves, without
ceremony or disguise, at the expense of every creature in the room; up
and down which they strolled, arm in arm, looking familiarly at every
body, but speaking to nobody; whispering one another in hoarse low
voices, and then laughing immoderately loud: while nothing was
distinctly heard, but from time to time, 'What in the world is become of
Mrs. Berlinton to-night?' or else, 'How stupid the Rooms are without
Lady Alithea.'

Mrs. Arlbery, who, like the rest of the world, saw her own defects in
as glaring colours, and criticised them with as much animated ridicule
as those of her neighbours, when exhibited by others, no sooner found
she was neglected by this set, than she raved against the prevailing ill
manners of the leaders in the _ton_, with as much asperity of censure,
as if never for a moment betrayed herself, by fashion, by caprice, nor
by vanity, to similar foibles. 'Yet, after all,' cried she presently,
'to see fools behave like fools, I am well content. I have no anger,
therefore, against Lord Newford, nor Sir Theophilus Jarard; if they were
not noticed for being impertinent, how could they expect to be noticed
at all? When there is but one line that can bring them forward, I rather
respect them that they have found it out. But what shall we say to Sir
Sedley Clarendel? A man as much their superior in capacity as in powers
of pleasing? 'Tis a miserable thing, my dear General, to see the dearth
of character there is in the world. Pope has bewailed it in women;
believe me, he might have extended his lamentation. You may see, indeed,
one man grave, and another gay; but with no more "mark or likelihood,"
no more distinction of colouring, than what simply belongs to a dismal
face or a merry one: and with just as little light and shade, just as
abrupt a skip from one to the other, as separates inevitably the old man
from the young one. We are almost all, my good General, of a nature so
pitifully plastic, that we act from circumstances, and are fashioned by
situation.'

Then, laughing at her own pique, 'General,' she added, 'shall I make you
a confession? I am not at all sure, if that wretched Sir Sedley had
behaved as he ought to have done, and been at my feet all the evening,
that I should not, at this very moment, be amused in the same manner
that he is himself! yet it would be very abominable, I own.'

'This is candid, however.'

'O, we all acknowledge our faults, now; 'tis the mode of the day: but
the acknowledgment passes for current payment; and therefore we never
amend them. On the contrary, they take but deeper root, by losing all
chance of concealment. Yet I am vexed to see that odious Sir Sedley shew
so silly a passion for being a man of the _ton_, as to suffer himself to
be led in a string by those two poor paltry creatures, who are not more
troublesome as fops, than tiresome as fools, merely because they are
better known than himself upon the turf and at the clubs.'

Here, she was joined by Lord O'Lerney and the honourable Mr. Ormsby.
And, in the next saunter of the _tonnish_ triumvirs, Lord Newford,
suddenly seeing with whom she was associated, stopt, and looking at her
with an air of surprise, exclaimed, 'God bless me! Mrs. Arlbery! I hope
you are perfectly well?'

'Infinitely indebted to your lordship's solicitude!' she answered,
rather sarcastically. But, without noticing her manner, he desired to be
one in her tea-party, which she was then rising to form.

She accepted the offer, with a glance of consciousness at the General,
who, as he conducted her, said: 'I did not expect so much grace would so
immediately have been accorded.'

'Alas! my dear General, what can one do? These _tonnish_ people,
cordially as I despise them, lead the world; and if one has not a few of
them in one's train, 'twere as well turn hermit. However, mark how he
will fare with me! But don't judge from the opening.'

She now made his lordship so many gay compliments, and mingled so much
personal civility with the general entertainment of her discourse, that,
as soon as they rose from tea, he professed his intention of sitting by
her, for the rest of the evening.

She immediately declared herself tired to death of the Rooms, and
calling upon Miss Dennel and Camilla, abruptly made her exit.

The General, again her conductor, asked how she could leave thus a
conquest so newly made.

'I leave,' she answered, 'only to secure it. He will be piqued that I
should go, and that pique will keep me in his head till to-morrow. 'Tis
well, my dear General, to put any thing there! But if I had stayed a
moment longer, my contempt might have broken forth into satire, or my
weariness into yawning: and I should then inevitably have been cut by
the _ton_ party for the rest of the season.'

Miss Dennel, who had been dancing, and was again engaged to dance,
remonstrated against retiring so soon; but Mrs. Arlbery had a regular
system never to listen to her. Camilla, whom nothing had diverted, was
content to retreat.

At the door stood Sir Sedley Clarendel, who, as if now first perceiving
them, said to Mrs. Arlbery, 'Ah! my fair friend!--And how long have you
been at the Wells?'

'Intolerable wretch!' cried she, taking him apart, 'is it thus you keep
your conditions? did you draw me into bringing this poor love-sick thing
with me, only to sigh me into the vapours?'

'My dear madam!' exclaimed he, in a tone of expostulation, 'who can
think of the same scheme two days together? Could you possibly form a
notion of anything so patriarchal?'

       *       *       *       *       *

Before they retired to their chambers at the hotel, Camilla told Mrs.
Arlbery how shocking to her was the sight, much more any acquaintance
with Lord Newford, who was the person that had so much terrified the
lady she had met on their journey. Mrs. Arlbery assured her he should be
exiled her society, if, upon investigation, he was found the aggressor;
but while there appeared so much mystery in the complaint and the
conduct of this unknown lady, she should postpone his banishment.

Camilla was obliged to submit: but scarce rested till she saw again her
new favourite the next morning.




CHAPTER III

_Mount Ephraim_


This expected guest arrived early. Camilla received her with the only
sensation of pleasure she had experienced at Tunbridge. Yet what she
excited seemed still stronger: the fair stranger besought her friendship
as a solace to her existence, and hung upon her as upon a treasure long
lost, and dearly recovered. Camilla soon caught the infection of her
softness, and felt a similar desire to cultivate her regard. She found
her beauty attractive, her voice melodious, and her manners bewitchingly
caressing.

Fearing, nevertheless, while yet in ignorance of her connexions, to
provoke further ridicule from Mrs. Arlbery by going abroad with her, she
proposed deferring to return her visit till another day: the lady
consented, and they spent together two hours, which each thought had
been but two minutes, when Mrs. Arlbery summoned Camilla to a walk.

The fair unknown then took leave, saying her servant was in waiting; and
Camilla and Mrs. Arlbery went to the bookseller's.

Here, that lady was soon joined by Lord O'Lerney and General Kinsale,
who were warm admirers of her vivacity and observations. Mr. Dennel took
up the Daily Advertiser; his daughter stationed herself at the door to
see the walkers upon the Pantiles; Sir Theophilus Jarard, under colour
of looking at a popular pamphlet, was indulging in a nap in a corner;
Lord Newford, noticing nothing, except his own figure as he past a
mirrour, was shuffling loud about the floor, which was not much
embellished by the scraping of his boots; and Sir Sedley Clarendel,
lounging upon a chair in the middle of the shop, sat eating _bon bons_.

Mrs. Arlbery, for some time, confined her talents to general remarks:
but finding these failed to move a muscle in the face of Sir Sedley, at
whom they were directed, she suddenly exclaimed: 'Pray, my Lord
O'Lerney, do you know any thing of Sir Sedley Clarendel?'

'Not so much,' answered his Lordship, 'as I could wish; but I hope to
improve my acquaintance with him.'

'Why then, my lord, I am much afraid you will conclude, when you see him
in one of those reveries, from the total vacancy of his air, that he is
thinking of nothing. But pray permit me to take his part. Those apparent
cogitations, to which he is so much addicted, are moments only of
pretended torpor, but of real torment, devoted, not as they appear, to
supine insipidity, but to painful secret labour how next he may call
himself into notice. Nevertheless, my lord, don't let what I have said
hurt him in your opinion; he is quaint, to be sure, but there's no harm
in him. He lives in my neighbourhood; and, I assure your lordship, he
is, upon the whole, what may be called a very good sort of man.'

Here she yawned violently; and Sir Sedley, unable to maintain his
position, twice crossed his legs, and then arose and took up a book:
while Lord Newford burst into so loud a laugh, that he awakened Sir
Theophilus Jarard, by echoing, 'A good sort of man! O poor Clary!... O
hang it!... O curse it!... poor Clary!'

'What's the matter with Clary?' cried Sir Theophilus, rubbing his eyes;
'I have been boring myself with this pamphlet, till I hardly know
whether I am awake or asleep.'

'Why, he's a good sort of man!' replied Lord Newford.

Sir Sedley, though he expected, and even hoped for some pointed
strictures, and could have defied even abuse, could not stand this
mortifying praise; and, asking for the subscription books, which,
already, he had twice examined, said: 'Is there any body here one
knows?'

'O, ay, have you any names?' cried Lord Newford, seizing them first; and
with some right, as they were the only books in the shop he ever read.

'Come, I'll be generous,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'and add another signature
against your lordship's next lecture.'

She then wrote her name, and threw down half-a-guinea. Camilla, to whom
the book was next presented, concluded this the established custom, and,
from mere timidity, did the same; though somewhat disturbed to leave
herself no more gold than she gave. Miss Dennel followed; but her
father, who said he did not come to Tunbridge to read, which he could do
at home, positively refused to subscribe.

Sir Theophilus now, turning, or rather, tossing over the leaves, cried:
'I see no name here one knows any thing of, but Lady Alithea Selmore.'

'Why, there's nobody else here,' said Lord Newford, 'not a soul!'

Almost every body present bowed; but wholly indifferent to reproof, he
again whistled, again streamed up and down the room, and again took a
bold and full survey of himself in the looking-glass.

'On the contrary,' cried Sir Sedley, 'I hear there is a most
extraordinary fine creature lately arrived, who is invincible to a
degree.'

'O that's Mrs. Berlinton;' said Sir Theophilus; 'yes, she's a pretty
little thing.'

'She's very beautiful indeed,' said Lord O'Lerney.

'Where can one see her?' cried Mrs. Arlbery.

'If she is not at the Rooms to-night,' said Sir Sedley, 'I shall be
stupified to petrifaction. They tell me she is a marvel of the first
water; turning all heads by her beauty, winning all hearts by her
sweetness, fascinating all attention by her talents, and setting all
fashions by her elegance.'

'This paragon,' cried Mrs. Arlbery, to Camilla, 'can be no other than
your mysterious fair. The description just suits your own.'

'But my fair mysterious,' said Camilla, 'is of a disposition the most
retired, and seems so young, I don't at all think her married.'

'This divinity,' said Sir Sedley, 'for the blessing of everyone, yet

    Lord of Himself, uncumber'd by a Wife[1],

[Footnote 1: Dryden]

is safely noosed; and amongst her attributes are two others cruel to
desperation; she excited every hope by a sposo properly detestable--yet
gives birth to despair, by a coldness the most shivering.'

'And what,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'is this Lady Alithea Selmore?'

'Lady Alithea Selmore,' drily, but with a smile, answered General
Kinsale.

'Nay, nay, that's not to be mentioned irreverently,' returned Mrs.
Arlbery; 'a title goes for a vast deal, where there is nothing else;
and, where there is something, doubles its value.

Mr. Dennel, saying he found, by the newspaper, a house was to be sold
upon Mount Ephraim, which promised to be a pretty good bargain, proposed
walking thither, to examine what sort of condition it was in.

Lord O'Lerney inquired if Camilla had yet seen Mount Ephraim. No, she
answered; and a general party was made for an airing. Sir Sedley ordered
his phaeton; Mrs. Arlbery drove Camilla in her's; Miss Dennel walked
with her father; and the rest of the gentlemen went on horseback.

       *       *       *       *       *

Arrived at Mount Ephraim, they all agreed to alight, and enjoy the view
and pure air of the hill, while Mr. Dennel visited the house. But, just
as Mrs. Arlbery had descended from the phaeton, her horses, taking
fright at some object that suddenly struck them, reared up, in a manner
alarming to the spectators, and still more terrific to Camilla, in whose
hands Mrs. Arlbery had left the reins: and the servant, who stood at the
horses' heads, received a kick that laid him flat on the ground.

'O, jump out! jump out!' cried Miss Dennel, 'or else you'll be
murdered!'

'No! no! keep your seat, and hold the reins!' cried Mrs. Arlbery: 'For
heaven's sake, don't jump out!'

Camilla, mentally giddy, but personally courageous, was sufficiently
mistress of herself to obey the last injunction, though with infinite
labour, difficulty, and terror, the horses plunging and flouncing
incessantly.

'Don't you think she'll be killed?' cried Lord Newford, dismounting,
lest his own horse should also take fright. 'Do you think one could
help her?' said Sir Theophilus Jarard, steadily holding the bridle of
his mare from the same apprehension.

Lord O'Lerney was already on foot to afford her assistance, when the
horses, suddenly turning round, gave to the beholders the dreadful
menace of going down the steep declivity of Mount Ephraim full gallop.

Camilla now, appalled, had no longer power to hold the reins; she let
them go, with an idea of flinging herself out of the carriage, when Sir
Sedley, who had darted like lightning from his phaeton, presented
himself at the horses' heads, on the moment of their turning, and, at
the visible and imminent hazard of his life, happily stopt them while
she jumped to the ground. They then, with a fury that presently dashed
the phaeton to pieces, plunged down the hill.

The fright of Camilla had not robbed her of her senses, and the exertion
and humanity of Sir Sedley seemed to restore to him the full possession
of his own: yet one of his knees was so much hurt, that he sunk upon the
grass.

Penetrated with surprise, as well as gratitude, Camilla, notwithstanding
her own tremor, was the first to make the most anxious inquiries:
secretly, however, sighing to herself: Ah! had Edgar thus rescued me!
yet struck equally with a sense of obligation and of danger, from the
horrible, if not fatal mischief she had escaped, and from the
extraordinary hazard and kindness by which she had been saved, she
expressed her concern and acknowledgments with a softness, that even Sir
Sedley himself could not listen to unmoved.

He received, indeed, from this adventure, almost every species of
pleasure of which his mind was capable. His natural courage, which he
had nearly annihilated, as well as forgotten, by the effeminate part he
was systematically playing, seemed to rejoice in being again exercised;
his good nature was delighted by the essential service he had performed;
his vanity was gratified by the publicity of the praise it brought
forth; and his heart itself experienced something like an original
feeling, unspoilt by the apathy of satiety, from the sensibility he had
awakened in the young and lovely Camilla.

The party immediately flocked around him, and he was conveyed to a house
belonging to Lord O'Lerney, who resided upon Mount Ephraim, and his
lordship's carriage was ordered to take him to his apartment at the
hotel.

Mrs. Arlbery, whose high spirits were totally subdued by the terror with
which she had been seized at the danger of Camilla, was so delighted by
her rescue, and the courage with which it was effected, that all her
spleen against Sir Sedley was changed into the warmest approbation. When
he was put into the coach, she insisted upon seeing him safe to the
hotel; Camilla, with her usual inartificial quickness, seconding the
motion, and Lord O'Lerney, a nobleman far more distinguished by
benevolence and urbanity than by his rank, taking the fourth place
himself. The servant, who was considerably hurt, he desired might remain
at his house.

In descending Mount Ephraim, Camilla turned giddy with the view of what
she had escaped, and cast her eyes with doubled thankfulness upon Sir
Sedley as her preserver. Fragments of the phaeton were strewed upon the
road; one of the horses [lay] dead at the bottom of the hill; and the
other was so much injured as to be totally disabled for future service.

When they came to the hotel, they all alighted with the young baronet,
Camilla with as little thought, as Mrs. Arlbery with little care for
doing any thing that was unusual. They waited in an adjoining apartment
till they were assured nothing of any consequence was the matter, and
Lord O'Lerney then carried them to their new lodging upon Mount
Pleasant.

Mrs. Arlbery bore her own share in this accident with perfect
good-humour, saying it would do her infinite good, by making her a rigid
oeconomist; for she could neither live without a phaeton, nor yet
build one, and buy ponies, but by parsimonious savings from all other
expenses.

       *       *       *       *       *

At night they went again to the Rooms. But Mrs. Arlbery found in them as
little amusement as Camilla. Sir Sedley was not there, either to attack
or to flatter; the celebrated Mrs. Berlinton still appeared not to
undergo a scrutiny; and Lady Alithea Selmore sat at the upper end of the
apartment, attended by all the beaux, except the General, now at
Tunbridge.

This was not to be supported. She arose, and declaring she would take
her tea with the invalid, bid the General escort her to his room.

In their way out, she perceived the assembly books. Recollecting she had
not subscribed, she entered her name, but protested she could afford but
half-a-guinea, upon her present new and avaricious plan.

Camilla, with much secret consternation, concluded it impossible to give
less; and a few shillings were now all that remained in her purse. Her
uneasiness, however, presently passed away, upon recollecting she should
want no more money, as she was now free of the rooms, and of the
library, and equipped in attire for the whole time she should stay.

Miss Dennel put down a guinea; but her father, telling her half-a-crown
would have done, said, for that reason, he should himself pay nothing.

Sir Sedley received them with the most unaffected pleasure: forced upon
solitude, and by no means free from pain, he had found no resource but
in reading, which of late had been his least occupation, except the mere
politics of the day. Even reflection had discovered its way to him,
though a long banished guest, which had quitted her post, to make room
for affectation, vanity, and every species of frivolity. Reduced,
however, to be reasonable, even by this short confinement, he now felt
the obligation of their charitable visit, and set his foppery and
conceit apart, from a desire to entertain them. Camilla had not
conceived he had the power of being so pleasantly natural; and the
strong feeling of gratitude in her ever warm heart made her contribute
what she was able to the cheerfulness of the evening.

Some time after, General Kinsale was called out, and presently returned
with Major Cerwood, just arrived from the regiment; who, with some
apology to Sir Sedley, hoped he might be pardoned for the liberty he
took, upon hearing who was at the hotel, of preferring such society to
the Rooms.

As the Major had nothing in him either brilliant or offensive, his
sight, after the first salutations, was almost all of which the company
was sensible.

Camilla, his sole object, he could not approach; she sat between the
baronet and Mrs. Arlbery; and all her looks and all her attention were
divided between them.

Mrs. Arlbery, emerging from the mortifications of neglect, which she had
experienced, almost for the first time in her life, at the Rooms, was
unusually alive and entertaining; Sir Sedley kept pace with her, and
the discourse was so whimsical, that Camilla, amused, and willing to
encourage a sensation so natural to her, after a sadness till now, for
so long a time unremitting, once more heard and welcomed the sound of
her own laughter.

It was instantly, however, and strangely checked; a sigh, so deep that
it might rather be called a groan, made its way through the wainscot of
the next apartment.

Much raillery followed the sight of her changed countenance; the hotel
was pronounced to be haunted, and by a ghost reduced to that plight from
her cruelty. But the good-humour and gaiety of the conversation soon
brought her again to its tone; and time passed with general hilarity,
till they observed that Miss Dennel, who, having no young female to talk
with of her own views and affairs, was thoroughly tired, had fallen fast
asleep upon her chair.

Her father was already gone home to a hot supper, which he had ordered
in his own room, and meant to eat before their return; Mrs. Arlbery, to
his great discomfort, allowing nothing to appear at night but fruit or
oysters.

They now took leave, Mrs. Arlbery conducted by the General, and Camilla,
by the Major; while Miss Dennel, unassisted and half asleep, stumbled,
screamed, and fell, just before she reached the staircase.

The General was first to aid her; the Major, not choosing to quit
Camilla; who, looking round at a light which came from the room whence
the sigh they had heard had issued, perceived, as it glared in her eyes,
it was held by Edgar.

Astonishment, pleasure, hope, and shame, took alternate rapid possession
of her mind; but the last sensation was the first that visibly operated,
and she snatched her hand involuntarily from the Major.

Mrs. Arlbery exclaimed, 'Bless me, Mr. Mandlebert! are you the ghost we
heard sighing in that room yonder?'

Mandlebert attempted to make some slight answer; but his voice refused
all sound.

She went on, then, to the carriage of Mr. Dennel, followed by her young
ladies, and drove off for Mount Pleasant.




CHAPTER IV

_Knowle_


The last words of Camilla to Mandlebert, in quitting Cleves, and the
tears with which he saw her eyes overflowing, had annihilated all his
resentment, and left him no wish but to serve her. Her distinction
between what was wisest and what was kindest, had penetrated him to the
quick. To be thought capable of severity towards so sweet a young
creature, the daughter of his guardian, his juvenile companion, and
earliest favourite, made him detestable in his own eyes. He languished
to follow her, to apologise for what had hurt her, and to vow to her a
fair and disinterested friendship for the rest of his life: and he only
forced himself, from decency, to stay out his promised week with the
baronet, before he set out for Tunbridge.

Upon his arrival, which was late, he went immediately to the Rooms; but
he only saw her name in the books, and learnt, upon inquiring for Mrs.
Arlbery, that she and her party were already retired.

Glad to find her so sober in hours, he went to the hotel, meaning
quietly to read till bed-time, and to call upon her the next morning.

In a few moments, a voice struck his ear that effectually interrupted
his studies. It was the voice of Camilla. Camilla at an hotel at past
eleven o'clock! He knew she did not lodge there; he had seen, in the
books, the direction of Mrs. Arlbery at Mount Pleasant. Mrs. Arlbery's
voice he also distinguished, Sir Sedley Clarendel's, General Kinsale's,
and, least of all welcome, ... the Major's.

Perhaps, however, some lady, some intimate friend of Mrs. Arlbery, was
just arrived, and had made them spend the evening there. He rang for his
man, and bid him inquire who had taken the next room, ... and learnt it
was Sir Sedley Clarendel.

To visit a young man at an hotel; rich, handsome, and splendid; and with
a _chaperon_ so far from past her prime, so elegant, so coquetish, so
alluring, and still so pretty; and to meet there a flashy Officer, her
open pursuer and avowed admirer--'Tis true, he had concluded, Tunbridge
and the Major were one; but not thus, not with such glaring impropriety;
his love, he told himself, was past; but his esteem was still
susceptible, and now grievously wounded.

To read was impossible. To hold his watch in his hand, and count the
minutes she still stayed, was all to which his faculties were equal. No
words distinctly reached him; that the conversation was lively, the tone
of every voice announced, but when that of Camilla struck him by its
laughter, the depth of his concern drew from him a sigh that was heard
into the next apartment.

Of this, with infinite vexation, he was himself aware, from the sudden
silence and pause of all discourse which ensued. Ashamed both of what he
felt and what he betrayed, he grew more upon his guard, and hoped it
might never be known to whom the room belonged.

When, however, as they were retiring, a scream reached his ear, though
he knew it was not the voice of Camilla, he could not command himself,
and rushed forth with a light; but the lady who screamed was as little
noticed as thought of: the Major was holding the hand of Camilla, and
his eye could take in no more: he saw not even that Mrs. Arlbery was
there; and when roused by her question, all voice was denied him for
answer; he stood motionless even after they had descended the stairs,
till the steps of the General and the Major, retiring to their chambers,
brought to him some recollection, and enabled him to retreat.

Fully now, as well as cruelly convinced, of the unabated force of his
unhappy passion, he spent the night in extreme wretchedness; and all
that was not swallowed up in repining and regret, was devoted to
ruminate upon what possible means he could suggest, to restore to
himself the tranquillity of indifference.

The confusion of Camilla persuaded him she thought she was acting wrong;
but whether from disapprobation of the character of the Major, or from
any pecuniary obstacles to their union, he could not devise. To assist
the marriage according to his former plan, would best, he still
believed, sooth his internal sufferings, if once he could fancy the
Major at all worthy of such a wife. But Camilla, with all her
inconsistencies, he thought a treasure unequalled: and to contribute to
bestow her on a man who, probably, only prized her for her beauty, he
now persuaded himself would rather be culpable than generous.

Upon the whole, therefore, he could resolve only upon a complete change
of his last system; to seek, instead of avoiding her; to familiarise
himself with her faults, till he ceased to doat upon her virtues; to
discover if her difficulties were mental or worldly; to enforce them if
the first, and ... whatever it might cost him--to invalidate them if the
last.

This plan, the only one he could form, abated his misery. It reconciled
him to residing where Camilla resided, it was easy to him, therefore, to
conclude it the least objectionable.

       *       *       *       *       *

Camilla, meanwhile, in her way to Mount Pleasant, spoke not a syllable.
Dismay that Edgar should have seen her so situated, while in ignorance
how it had happened, made an uneasiness the most terrible combat the
perplexed pleasure, that lightened, yet palpitated in her bosom, from
the view of Edgar at Tunbridge, and from the sigh which had reached her
ears. Yet, was it for her he sighed? was it not, rather, from some
secret inquietude, in which she was wholly uninterested, and might never
know? Still, however, he was at Tunbridge; still, therefore, she might
hope something relative to herself induced his coming; and she
determined, with respect to her own behaviour, to observe the
injunctions of her father, whose letter she would regularly read every
morning.

Mrs. Arlbery, also, spoke not; the unexpected sight of Mandlebert
occupied all her thoughts; yet, though his confusion was suspicious, she
could not, ultimately, believe he loved Camilla, as she could suggest no
possible impediment to his proclaiming any regard he entertained. His
sigh she imagined as likely to be mere lassitude as love; and supposed,
that having long discovered the partiality of Camilla, his vanity had
been confounded by the devoirs of the Major.

Miss Dennel, therefore, was the only one whose voice was heard during
the ride; for now completely awaked, she talked without cessation of the
fright she had endured. 'La, I thought,' cried she, 'when I tumbled
down, somebody threw me down on purpose, and was going to kill me! dear
me! I thought I should have died! And then I thought it was a robber;
and then I thought that candle that come was a ghost! O la! I never was
so frightened in my life!'

       *       *       *       *       *

The next morning they went, as usual, to the Pantiles, and Mrs. Arlbery
took her seat in the bookseller's shop, where the usual beaux were
encountered; and where, presently, Edgar entering, addressed to her some
discourse, and made some general inquiries after the health of Camilla.

It was a cruel drawback to her hopes to see him first thus in public:
but the manner of Mrs. Arlbery at the hotel, he had thought repulsive;
he had observed that she seemed offended with him since the rencounter
at the breakfast given for Miss Dennel; and he now wished for some
encouragement for renewing his rights to the acquaintance.

Sir Sedley, though with the assistance of a stick he had reached the
library, was not sufficiently at his ease to again mount his horse; a
carriage expedition was therefore agitating for the morning, and to see
Knowle being fixed upon, equipages and horses were ordered.

While they waited their arrival. Lady Alithea Selmore, and a very shewy
train of ladies and gentlemen, came into the library. Sir Sedley, losing
the easy, natural manner which had just so much pleased Camilla, resumed
his affectation, indolence, and inattention, and flung himself back in
his chair, without finishing a speech he had begun, or listening to an
inquiry why he stopt short. His friends, Lord Newford and Sir Theophilus
Jarard, shuffled up to her ladyship; and Sir Sedley, muttering to
himself life would not be life without being introduced to her, got up,
and seizing Lord Newford by the shoulder, whispered what he called the
height of his ambition, and was presented without delay.

He then entered into a little abrupt, half articulated conversation with
Lady Alithea, who, by a certain toss of the chin, a short and half
scornful laugh, and a supercilious dropping of the eye, gave to every
sentence she uttered the air of a _bon mot_; and after each, as
regularly stopt for some testimony of admiration, as a favourite actress
in some scene in which every speech is applauded. What she said, indeed,
had no other mark than what this manner gave to it; for it was neither
good nor bad, wise nor foolish, sprightly nor dull. It was what, if
naturally spoken, would have passed, as it deserved, without censure or
praise. This manner, however, prevailed not only upon her auditors, but
herself, to believe that something of wit, of _finesse_, of peculiarity,
accompanied her every phrase. Thought, properly speaking, there was none
in any thing she pronounced: her speeches were all replies, which her
admirers dignified by the name of repartees, and which mechanically and
regularly flowed from some word, not idea, that preceded.

Mrs. Arlbery, having listened some time, turned entirely away, though
with less contempt of her ladyship than of her hearers. Her own
auditors, however, except the faithful General, had all deserted her.
Even the Major, curious to attend to a lady of some celebrity, had
quitted the chair of Camilla; and Edgar himself, imagining, from this
universal devotion, there was something well worth an audience, had
joined the group.

'We are terribly in the back ground, General!' cried Mrs. Arlbery, in a
low voice. 'What must be done to save our reputations?'

The General, laughing, said, he feared they were lost irretrievably; but
added that he preferred defeat with her, to victory without her.

'Your gallantry, my dear General,' cried she, with a sudden air of glee,
'shall be rewarded! Follow me close, and you shall see the fortune of
the day reversed.'

Rising then, she advanced softly, and with an air of respect, towards
the party, and fixing herself just opposite to Lady Alithea, with looks
of the most profound attention, stood still, as if in admiring
expectation.

Lady Alithea, who had regarded this approach as an intrusion that
strongly manifested ignorance of high life, thought much better of it
when she remarked the almost veneration of her air. She deemed it,
however, wholly beneath her to speak when thus attended to; till,
observing the patient admiration with which even a single word seemed to
be hoped for, she began to pardon what appeared to be a mere tribute to
her fame; and upon Sir Theophilus Jarard's saying, 'I don't think we
have had such a bore of a season as this, these five years;' could not
refuse herself the pleasure of replying: 'I did not imagine, Sir
Theophilus, you were already able to count by lustres.'

Her own air of complacency announced the happiness of this answer. The
company, as usual, took the hint, and approbation was buzzed around her.
Lord Newford gave a loud laugh, without the least conception why; and
Sir Theophilus, after paying the same compliment, wished, as it
concerned himself, to know what had been said; and glided to the other
end of the shop, to look for the word lustre in Entick's dictionary.

But this triumph was even less than momentary; Mrs. Arlbery, gently
raising her shoulders with her head, indulged herself in a smile that
favoured yet more of pity than derision; and, with a hasty glance at the
General, that spoke an eagerness to compare notes with him, hurried out
of the shop; her eyes dropt, as if fearful to trust her countenance to
an instant's investigation.

Lady Alithea felt herself blush. The confusion was painful and unusual
to her. She drew her glove off and on; she dabbed a highly scented
pocket handkerchief repeatedly to her nose; she wondered what it was
o'clock; took her watch in her hand, without recollecting to examine it;
and then wondered if it would rain, though not a cloud was to be
discerned in the sky.

To see her thus completely disconcerted, gave a weight to the
mischievous malice of Mrs. Arlbery, of which the smallest presence of
mind would have robbed it. Her admirers, one by one, dwindled away, with
lessened esteem for her talents; and, finding herself presently alone in
the shop with Sir Theophilus Jarard, she said, 'Pray, Sir Theophilus, do
you know anything of that queer woman?'

The words _queer woman_ were guides sufficient to Sir Theophilus, who
answered, 'No! I have seen her, somewhere, by accident, but--she is
quite out of our line.'

This reply was a sensible gratification to Lady Alithea, who, having
heard her warmly admired by Lord O'Lerney, had been the more susceptible
to her ridicule. Rudeness she could have despised without emotion; but
contempt had something in it of insolence; a commodity she held herself
born to dispense, not receive.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Mrs. Arlbery arrived, laughing, at the bottom of the Pantiles, she
found Edgar making inquiries of the time and manner of drinking the
mineral water.

Camilla heard him, also, and with deep apprehensions for his health. He
did not however look ill; and a second sadness, not less deep, ensued,
that she could now retain no hope of being herself his inducement to
this journey.

But egotism was no part of her composition; when she saw, therefore, the
next minute, Sir Sedley Clarendel advance limping, and heard him ask if
his phaeton were ready, she approached him, saying, 'Will you venture,
Sir Sedley, in your phaeton?'

'There's no sort of reason why not,' answered he, sensibly flattered;
'yet I had certainly rather go as you go!'

'Then that,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'must be in Dennel's coach, with him and
my little niece here: and then I'll drive the General in your phaeton.'

'Agreed!' cried Sir Sedley, seating himself on one of the forms; and
then, taking from a paper some tickets, added; 'I want a few guineas.'

'So do I!' exclaimed Mrs. Arlbery; 'do you know where such sort of
things are to be met with?'

'Lady Alithea Selmore has promised to disperse some twenty tickets for
the master of the ceremonies' ball, and she commands me to help. How
many shall I give you?'

'Ask Mr. Dennel,' answered she negligently; 'he's the only paymaster
just now.'

Mr. Dennel turned round, and was going to walk away; but Mrs. Arlbery,
taking him by the arm, said: 'My good friend, how many tickets shall Sir
Sedley give you?'

'Me!--none at all.'

'O fie! every body goes to the master of the ceremonies' ball. Come, you
shall have six. You can't possibly take less.'

'Six! What should I do with them?'

'Why, you and your daughter will use two, and four you must give away.'

'What for?'

'Was ever such a question? To do what's proper and right, and handsome
and gallant.'

'O, as to all that, it's what I don't understand. It's out of my way.'

He would then have made off; but Mrs. Arlbery, piqued to succeed, held
him fast, and said: 'Come, if you'll be good, I'll be good too, and you
shall have a plain joint of meat at the bottom of the table every day
for a fortnight.'

Mr. Dennel softened a little here into something like a smile; and drew
two guineas from his purse; but more there was no obtaining.

'Come,' cried Sir Sedley, 'you have canvassed well so far. Now for your
fair self.'

'You are a shocking creature!' cried she; 'don't you know I am turned
miser?'

Yet she gave her guinea.

'But the fair Tyrold does not also, I trust, assume that character?'

Camilla had felt very uneasy during this contest; and now, colouring,
said she did not mean to go to the ball.

'Can you ever expect, then,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'to have a partner at
any other? You don't know the rules of these places. The master of the
ceremonies is always a gentleman, and every body is eager to shew him
every possible respect.'

Camilla was now still more distressed; and stammered out, that she
believed the fewer balls she went to, the better her father would be
pleased.

'Your father, my dear, is a very wise man, and a very good man, and a
very excellent preacher: but what does he know of Tunbridge Wells?
Certainly not so much as my dairy maid, for she has heard John talk of
them; but as to your father, depend upon it, the sole knowledge he has
ever obtained, is from some treatise upon its mineral waters; which,
very possibly, he can analyse as well as a physician: but for the
regulation of a country dance, be assured he will do much better to make
you over to Sir Sedley, or to me.'

Camilla laughed faintly, and feeling in her pocket to take out her
pocket handkerchief, by way of something to do, Mrs. Arlbery concluded
she was seeking her purse, and suddenly putting her hand upon her arm to
prevent her, said, 'No, no! if you don't wish to go, or choose to go, or
approve of going, I cannot, in sober earnestness, see you compelled.
Nothing is so detestable as forcing people to be amused. Come, now for
Knowle.'

Sir Sedley was then putting up his tickets; but the Major, taking one of
them out of his hand, presented it to Camilla, saying: 'Let the ladies
take their tickets now, and settle with us afterwards.'

Camilla felt extremely provoked, yet not knowing how to resist, took the
ticket; but, turning pointedly from the Major to Sir Sedley, said: 'I am
your debtor, then, sir, a guinea--the smallest part, indeed, of what I
owe you, though all I can pay!' And she then resolved to borrow that sum
immediately of Mrs. Arlbery.

Sir Sedley began to think she grew handsomer every moment: and,
contrary to his established and systematic inattention, upon hearing the
sound of the carriages, conducted her himself to Mr. Dennel's coach,
which he ascended after her.

Edgar, unable to withstand joining the party, had ordered his horse
during the debate about the tickets.

Lords O'Lerney and Newford, and Sir Theophilus Jarard, and Major
Cerwood, went also on horseback.

Sir Sedley made it his study to procure amusement for Camilla during the
ride; and while he humoured alternately the loquacious folly of Miss
Dennel, and the under-bred positiveness of her father, intermingled with
both comic sarcasms against himself, and pointed annotations upon the
times, that somewhat diverted her solicitude and perplexity.

She forgot them however, more naturally, in examining the noble antique
mansion, pictures, and curiosities of Knowle; and in paying the tribute
that taste must ever pay to the works exhibited there of Sir Joshua
Reynolds.

The house viewed, they all proceeded to the park, where, enchanted with
the noble old trees which venerably adorn it, they strolled delightedly,
till they came within sight of an elegant white form, as far distant as
their eyes could reach, reading under an oak.

Camilla instantly thought of her moonlight friend; but Sir Theophilus
called out, 'Faith, there's the divine Berlinton!'

'Is there, faith?' exclaimed Lord Newford, suddenly rushing forward to
satisfy himself if it were true.

Deeming this an ill-bred and unauthorised intrusion, they all stopt. The
studious fair, profoundly absorbed by her book, did not hear his
lordship's footsteps, till his coat rustled in her ears. Raising then
her eyes, she screamed, dropt her book, and darting up, flew towards the
wood, with a velocity far exceeding his own, though without seeming to
know, or consider, whither her flight might lead her.

Camilla, certain now this was her new friend, felt an indignation the
most lively against Lord Newford, and involuntarily sprung forward. It
was evident the fair fugitive had perceived none of the party but him
she sought to avoid; notwithstanding Lord Newford himself, when
convinced who it was, ceased his pursuit, and seemed almost to find out
there was such a sensation as shame; though by various antics, of
swinging his cane, looking up in the air, shaking his pocket
handkerchief, and sticking his arms a-kimbo, he thought it essential to
his credit to disguise it.

Camilla had no chance to reach the flying beauty, but by calling to her
to stop; which she did instantly at the sound of her voice, and, turning
round with a look of rapture, ran into her arms.

The Major, whose devoirs to Camilla always sought, not avoided the
public eye, eagerly pursued her. Edgar, cruelly envying a licence he
concluded to result from his happy situation, looked on in silent amaze;
but listened with no small attention to the remarks that now fell from
Mrs. Arlbery, who said she was sure this must be the fair Incognita that
Miss Tyrold had met with upon the road; and gave a lively relation of
that adventure.

He could not hear without delight the benevolent courage thus manifested
by Camilla, nor without terror the danger to which it might have exposed
her. But Lord O'Lerney, with an air of extreme surprise, exclaimed: 'Is
it possible Lord Newford could give any cause of alarm to Mrs.
Berlinton?'

'Is she then, my lord, a woman of character?' cried Mrs. Arlbery.

'Untainted!' he answered solemnly; 'as spotless, I believe, as her
beauty: and if you have seen her, you will allow that to be no small
praise. She comes from a most respectable family in Wales, and has been
married but a few months.'

'Married, my lord? my fair female Quixote assured me she was single.'

'No, poor thing! she was carried from the nursery to the altar, and, I
fear, not very judiciously nor happily.'

'Dear!' cried Miss Dennel, 'i'n't she happy?'

'I never presume to judge,' answered his lordship, smiling; 'but she has
always something melancholy in her air.'

'Pray how old is she?' said Miss Dennel.

'Eighteen.'

'Dear! and married?--La! I wonder what makes her unhappy!'

'Not a husband, certainly!' said Mrs. Arlbery, laughing, 'that is
against all chance and probability.'

'Well, I'm resolved when I'm married myself, I won't be unhappy.'

'And how will you help it?'

'O, because I'm determined I won't. I think it's very hard if I may'nt
have my own way when I'm married.'

''Twill at least be very singular!' answered Mrs. Arlbery.

Camilla now returned to her party, having first conducted her new friend
towards a door in the park where her carriage was waiting.

'At length, my dear,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'your fair mysterious has, I
suppose, avowed herself?'

'I made no inquiry,' answered she, painfully looking down.

'I can tell you who she is, then, myself,' said Miss Dennel; 'she is
Mrs. Berlinton, and she's come out of Wales, and she's married, and
she's eighteen.'

'Married!' repeated Camilla, blushing from internal surprise at the
conversations she had held with her.

'Yes; your fair Incognita is neither more nor less,' said Mrs. Arlbery,
'than the honourable Mrs. Berlinton, wife to Lord Berlinton's brother,
and, next only to Lady Alithea Selmore, the first toast, and the
reigning cry of the Wells for this season.'

Camilla, who had seen and considered her in almost every other point of
view, heard this with less of pleasure than astonishment. When a further
investigation brought forth from Lord O'Lerney that her maiden name was
Melmond, Mrs. Arlbery exclaimed: 'O, then, I cease to play the idiot,
and wonder! I know the Melmonds well. They are all half crazy, romantic,
love-lorn, studious, and sentimental. One of them was in Hampshire this
summer, but so immensely "melancholy and gentleman-like[2]," that I
never took him into my society.'

[Footnote 2: Ben Jonson]

''Twas the brother of this young lady, I doubt not,' said Lord O'Lerney;
'he is a young man of very good parts, and of an exemplary character;
but strong in his feelings, and wild in pursuit of whatever excites
them.'

'When will you introduce me to your new friend, Miss Tyrold?' said Mrs.
Arlbery; 'or, rather,' (turning to Lord Newford,) 'I hope your lordship
will do me that honour; I hear you are very kind to her; and take much
care to convince her of the ill effects and danger of the evening air.'

'O hang it! O curse it!' cried his lordship; 'why does a woman walk by
moon-light?'

'Why, rather, should man,' said Lord O'Lerney, 'impede so natural a
recreation?'

The age of Lord O'Lerney, which more than doubled that of Lord Newford,
made this question supported, and even drew forth the condescension of
an attempted exculpation. 'I vow, my lord,' he cried, 'I had no
intention but to look at a letter; and that I thought, she only read in
public to excite curiosity.'

'O but you knelt to her!' cried Miss Dennel, 'you knelt to her! I saw
you! and why did you do that, when you knew she was married, and you
could not be her lover?'

The party being now disposed to return to the Wells, Mrs. Arlbery called
upon the General to attend her to the phaeton. Camilla, impatient to pay
Sir Sedley, followed to speak to her; but, not aware of her wish, Mrs.
Arlbery hurried laughingly on, saying, 'Come, General, let us be gone,
that the coach may be last, and then Dennel must pay the fees! That will
be a good guinea towards my ponies!'




CHAPTER V

_Mount Pleasant_


The shame and distress natural to every unhackneyed mind, in any
necessity of soliciting a pecuniary favour, had now, in that of Camilla,
the additional difficulty of coping against the avowed desire of Mrs.
Arlbery not to open her purse.

When they arrived at Mount Pleasant, she saw all the horsemen alighted,
and in conversation with that lady; and Edgar move towards the carriage,
palpably with a design to hand her out: but as the Major advanced, he
retreated, and, finding himself unnoticed by Mrs. Arlbery, remounted his
horse. Provoked and chagrined, she sprung forwards alone, and when
pursued by the Major, with some of his usual compliments, turned from
him impatiently and went up stairs.

Intent in thinking only of Edgar, she was not herself aware of this
abruptness, till Mrs. Arlbery, following her to her chamber, said, 'Why
were you so suddenly haughty to the Major, my dear Miss Tyrold? Has he
offended you?'

Much surprised, she answered, no; but, forced by further questions, to
be more explicit, confessed she wished to distance him, as his behaviour
had been remarked.

'Remarked! how? by whom?'

She coloured, and was again hardly pressed before she answered, 'Mr.
Mandlebert--once--named it to me.'

'O, ho, did he?' said Mrs. Arlbery, surprised in her turn; 'why then, my
dear, depend upon it, he loves you himself.'

'Me!--Mr. Mandlebert!--' exclaimed Camilla, doubting what she heard.

'Nay, why not?'

'Why not?' repeated she in an excess of perturbation; 'O, he is too
good! too excelling! he sees all my faults--points them out himself--'

'Does he?...' said Mrs. Arlbery thoughtfully, and pausing: 'nay,
then,--if so--he wishes to marry you!'

'Me, ma'am!' cried Camilla, blushing high with mingled delight at the
idea, and displeasure at its free expression.

'Why, else, should he caution you against another?'

'From goodness, from kindness, from generosity!--'

'No, no; those are not the characteristics of young men who counsel
young women! We all heard he was engaged to your beautiful
vacant-looking cousin; but I suppose he grew sick of her. A very young
man seldom likes a silly wife. It is generally when he is further
advanced in life that he takes that depraved taste. He then flatters
himself a fool will be easier to govern.'

She now went away to dress; leaving Camilla a new creature; changed in
all her hopes, though overwhelmed with shame at the freedom of this
attack, and determined to exert her utmost strength of mind, not to
expose to view the secret pleasure with which it filled her.

She was, however, so absent when they met again, that Mrs. Arlbery,
shaking her head, said: 'Ah, my fair friend! what have you been thinking
of?'

Excessively ashamed, she endeavoured to brighten up. The General and Sir
Sedley had been invited to dinner. The latter was engaged in the evening
to Lady Alithea Selmore, who gave tea at her own lodgings. 'The Rooms,
then, will be quite empty,' said Mrs. Arlbery; 'so we had better go to
the play.'

Mr. Dennel had no objection, and Sir Sedley promised to attend them, as
it would be time enough for her ladyship afterwards.

       *       *       *       *       *

So completely was Camilla absorbed in her new ideas, that she forgot
both her borrowed guinea, and the state of her purse, till she arrived
at the theatre. The recollection was then too late; and she had no
resource against completely emptying it.

She was too happy however, at this instant, to admit any regret. The
sagacity of Mrs. Arlbery she thought infallible; and the sight of Edgar
in a box just facing her, banished every other consideration.

The theatre was almost without company. The assembly at Lady Alithea
Selmore's had made it unfashionable, and when the play was over, Edgar
found easily a place in the box.

Lord Newford and Sir Theophilus Jarard looked in just after, and
affected not to know the piece was begun. Sir Sedley retired to his
toilette, and Mr. Dennel to seek his carriage.

Some bills now got into the box, and were read by Sir Theophilus,
announcing a superb exhibition of wild beasts for the next day,
consisting chiefly of monkies who could perform various feats, and a
famous ourang outang, just landed from Africa.

Lord Newford said he would go if he had but two more days to live. Sir
Theophilus echoed him. Mr. Dennel expressed some curiosity; Miss Dennel,
though she protested she should be frightened out of her wits, said she
would not stay at home; Mrs. Arlbery confessed it would be an amusing
sight to see so many representations of the dear human race; but Camilla
spoke not: and scarce heard even the subject of discourse.

'You,' cried the Major, addressing her, 'will be there?'

'Where?' demanded she.

'To see this curious collection of animals.'

'It will be curious, undoubtedly,' said Edgar, pleased that she made no
answer; 'but 'tis a species of curiosity not likely to attract the most
elegant spectators; and rather, perhaps, adapted to give pleasure to
naturalists, than to young ladies.'

Softened, at this moment, in every feeling of her heart towards Edgar,
she turned to him, and said, 'Do you think it would be wrong to go?'

'Wrong,' repeated he, surprised though gratified, 'is perhaps too hard a
word; but, I fear, at an itinerant show, such as this, a young lady
would run some chance of finding herself in a neighbourhood that might
seem rather strange to her.'

'Most certainly then,' cried she, with quickness, 'I will not go!'

The astonished Edgar looked at her with earnestness, and saw the
simplicity of sincerity on her countenance. He looked then at the Major;
who, accustomed to frequent failures in his solicitations, exhibited no
change of features. Again he looked at Camilla, and her eyes met his
with a sweetness of expression that passed straight to his heart.

Mrs. Arlbery now led the way to the coach; the forwardness of the Major,
though in her own despight, procured him the hand of Camilla; but she
had left upon Edgar an impression renovating to all his esteem. She is
still, he thought, the same; candid, open, flexible; still, therefore,
let me follow her, with such counsel as I am able to give. She has
accused me of unkindness;--She was right! I retreated from her service
at the moment when, in honour, I was bound to continue in it. How
selfish was such conduct! how like such common love as seeks only its
own gratification, not the happiness or welfare of its object! Could
she, though but lately so dear to me, that all the felicity of my life
seemed to hang upon her, become as nothing, because destined to another?
No! Her father has been my father, and so long as she retains his
respected name, I will watch by her unceasingly.

       *       *       *       *       *

In their way home, one of the horses tired, and could not be made to
drag the carriage up to Mount Pleasant. They were therefore obliged to
alight and walk. Mrs. Arlbery took the arm of Mr. Dennel, which she did
not spare, and his daughter, almost crying with sleep and fatigue, made
the same use of Camilla's. She protested she had never been so long upon
her feet in her life as that very morning in Knowle Park, and, though
she leant upon her companion with as little scruple as upon a walking
stick, she frequently stopt short, and declared she should stay upon the
road all night, for she could not move another step: and they were still
far from the summit, when she insisted upon sitting down, saying
fretfully, 'I am sure I wish I was married! Nobody minds me. I am sure
if I was, I would not be served so. I'm resolved I'll always have two
coaches, one to come after me, and one to ride in; for I'm determined I
won't marry a man that has not a great fortune. I'm sure papa could
afford it too, if he'd a mind; only he won't. Every body vexes me. I'm
sure I'm ready to cry!'

Mr. Dennel and Mrs. Arlbery, who neither of them, at any time, took the
smallest notice of what she said, passed on, and left the whole weight
both of her person and her complaints to Camilla. The latter, however,
now reached the ears of a fat, tidy, neat looking elderly woman, who, in
a large black bonnet, and a blue checked apron, was going their way; she
approached them, and in a good-humoured voice, said: 'What! poor dear!
why you seem tired to death? come, get up, my dear; be of good heart,
and you shall hold by my arm; for that t'other poor thing's almost
hauled to pieces.'

Miss Dennel accepted both the pity and the proposal; and the substantial
arm of her new friend, gave her far superior aid to the slight one of
Camilla.

'Well, and how did you like the play, my dears?' cried the woman.

'La!' said Miss Dennel, 'how should you know we were at the play?'

'O, I have a little bird,' answered she, sagaciously nodding, 'that
tells me everything! you sat in the stage box?'

'Dear! so we did! How can you tell that? Was you in the gallery?'

'No, my dear, nor yet in the pit neither. And you had three gentlemen
behind you, besides that gentleman that's going up the Mount?'

'Dear! So we had! But how do you know? did you peep at us behind the
scenes?'

'No, my dear; I never went behind the scenes. But come, I hope you'll do
now, for you ha'n't much further to go.'

'Dear! how do you know that?'

'Because you live at that pretty house, there, up Mount Pleasant, that's
got the little closet window.'

'La, yes! who told you so?'

'And there's a pretty cat belonging to the house, all streaked brown and
black?'

'O, la!' exclaimed Miss Dennel, half screaming, and letting go her arm,
'I dare say you're a fortune-teller! Pray, don't speak to me till we get
to the light!'

She now hung back, so terrified that neither Camilla could encourage,
nor the woman appease her; and she was going to run down the hill,
forgetting all her weariness, to seek refuge from the servants, when
the woman said, 'Why what's here to do? Why see, my dear, if I must let
you into the secret--you must know--but don't tell it to the world!--I'm
a gentlewoman!' She then removed her checked apron, and shewed a white
muslin one, embroidered and flounced.

Miss Dennel was now struck with a surprise, of which Camilla bore an
equal share. Their new acquaintance appeared herself in some confusion,
but having exacted a promise not to be discovered to _the world_, she
told them, she lodged at a house upon Mount Pleasant, just by their's,
whence she often saw them; that, having a ticket given her, by a friend,
for the play, she dressed herself and went into a box, with some very
genteel company, who kept their coach, and who sat her down afterwards
at another friend's, where she pretended she should be fetched: 'But I
do my own way,' continued she, 'and nobody knows a word of the matter:
for I keep a large bonnet, and cloak, and a checked apron, and a pair of
clogs, or pattens, always at this friend's; and then when I have put
them on, people take me for a mere common person, and I walk on, ever so
late, and nobody speaks to me; and so by that means I get my pleasure,
and save my money; and yet always appear like a gentlewoman when I'm
known.'

She then again charged them to be discreet, saying that if this were
spread to _the world_, she should be quite undone, for many ladies that
took her about with them, would notice her no more. At the same time, as
she wished to make acquaintance with such pretty young ladies, she
proposed that they should all three meet in a walk before the house, the
next morning, and talk together as if for the first time.

Camilla, who detested all tricks, declined entering into this
engagement; but Miss Dennel, charmed with the ingenuity of her new
acquaintance, accepted the appointment.

       *       *       *       *       *

Camilla had, however, her own new friend for the opening of the next
day. 'Ah! my sweet protectress!' cried she, throwing her arms about her
neck, 'what am I not destined to owe you? The very sight of that man is
horror to me. Amiable, generous creature! what a sight was yours, when
turning round, I met your eyes, and beheld him no more!'

'Your alarm, at which I cannot wonder,' said Camilla, 'prevented your
seeing your safety; for Lord Newford was with a large party.'

'O, he is obnoxious to my view! wherever I may see him, in public or in
private, I shall fly him. He would have torn from me the loved
characters of my heart's best correspondent!--'

Camilla now felt a little shocked, and colouring and interrupting her,
said: 'Is it possible, Mrs. Berlinton--' and stopt not knowing how to go
on.

'Ah! you know me, then! You know my connexions and my situation!' cried
she, hiding her face on Camilla's bosom: 'tell me, at least, tell me,
you do not therefore contemn and abhor me?'

'Heaven forbid!' said Camilla, terrified at such a preparation; 'what
can I hear that can give you so cruel an idea?'

'Alas! know you not I have prophaned at the altar my plighted vows to
the most odious of men? That I have formed an alliance I despise? and
that I bear a name I think of with disgust, and hate ever to own?'

Camilla, thunderstruck, answered; 'No, indeed! I know nothing of all
this!'

'Ah! guard yourself, then, well,' cried she, bursting into tears, 'from
a similar fate! My friends are kind and good, but the temptation of
seeing me rich beguiled them. I was disinterested and contented myself,
but young and inexperienced; and I yielded to their pleadings, unaware
of their consequences. Alas! I was utterly ignorant both of myself and
the world! I knew not how essential to my own peace was an amiable
companion; and I knew not, then,--that the world contained one just
formed to make me happy!'

She now hung down her head, weeping and desponding. Camilla sought to
sooth her, but was so amazed, so fearful, and so perplext, she scarce
knew what either to say or to think.

The fair mourner, at length, a little recovering, added: 'Let me not
agitate your gentle bosom with my sorrows. I regard you as an angel sent
to console them; but it must be by mitigating, not partaking of them.'

Camilla was sensibly touched; and though strangely at a loss what to
judge, felt her affections deeply interested.

'I dreaded,' she continued, 'to tell you my name, for I dreaded to sink
myself into your contempt, by your knowledge of an alliance you must
deem so mercenary. 'Twas folly to hope you would not hear it; yet I
wished first to obtain, at least, your good will. The dear lost name of
Melmond is all I love to pronounce! That name, I believe, is known to
you; so may be, also, perhaps, my brother's unhappy story?'

Melmond, she then said, believing Miss Lynmere betrothed to Mr.
Mandlebert, had quitted Hampshire in misery, to finish his vacation in
Wales, with their mutual friends. There he heard that the rumour was
false; and would instantly have returned and thrown himself at the feet
of the young lady, by whose cousin, Mr. Lionel Tyrold, he had been told
she was to inherit a large fortune; when this second report, also, was
contradicted, and he learnt that Miss Lynmere had almost nothing; 'My
brother,' added she, 'with the true spirit of true sentiment, was but
the more urgent to pursue her; but our relations interfered--and he,
like me, is doomed to endless anguish!'

The accident, she said, of the preceding morning, was owing to her being
engaged in reading Rowe's letters from the dead to the living; which had
so infinitely enchanted her, that, desiring to peruse them without
interruption, yet fearing to again wander in search of a rural retreat,
she had driven to Knowle; where, hearing the noble family was absent,
she had asked leave to view the park, and there had taken out her
delicious book, which she was enjoying in the highest luxury of solitude
and sweet air, when Lord Newford broke in upon her.

Camilla enquired if she feared any bad consequences, by telling Mr.
Berlinton of his impertinence.

'Heaven forbid,' she answered, 'that I should be condemned to speak to
Mr. Berlinton of anything that concerns or befalls me! I see him as
little as I am able, and speak to him as seldom.'

Camilla heard this with grief, but durst not further press a subject so
delicate. They continued together till noon, and then reluctantly
parted, upon a message from Mrs. Arlbery that the carriages were
waiting. Mrs. Berlinton declined being introduced to that lady, which
would only, she said, occasion interruptions to their future
_tête-à-têtes_.

Neither the thoughtlessness of the disposition, nor the gaiety of the
imagination of Camilla, could disguise from her understanding the
glaring eccentricity of this conduct and character: but she saw them
with more of interest than blame; the various attractions with which
they were mixed, blending in her opinion something between pity and
admiration, more captivating, though more dangerous, to the fond fancy
of youth, than the most solid respect, and best founded esteem.




CHAPTER VI

_The accomplished Monkies_


When Camilla descended, she found Sir Sedley Clarendel and General
Kinsale in attendance; and saw, from the parlour window, Miss Dennel
sauntering before the house, with the newly made acquaintance of the
preceding evening.

The Baronet, who was to drive Mrs. Arlbery, enquired if Camilla would
not prefer, also, an open carriage. Mrs. Arlbery seconded the motion.
Miss Dennel, then, running to her father, exclaimed, 'Pray, papa, let's
take this lady I've been talking with in the coach with us. She's the
good-naturedest creature I ever knew.'

'Who is she? what's her name?'

'O, I don't know that, papa; but I'll go and ask her.'

Flying then back, 'Pray, ma'am,' she cried, 'what's your name? because
papa wants to know.'

'Why, my dear, my name's Mittin. So you may think of me when you put on
your gloves.'

'Papa, her name's Mittin,' cried Miss Dennel, scampering again to her
father.

'Well, and who is she?'

'O, la, I'm sure I can't tell, only she's a gentlewoman.'

'And how do you know that?'

'She told me so herself.'

'And where does she live?'

'Just by, papa, at that house you see there.'

'O, well, if she's a neighbour, that's enough. I've no more to say.'

'O, then, I'll ask her!' cried Miss Dennel, jumping, 'dear! I'm so glad!
'twould have been so dull, only papa and I. I'm resolved, when I've a
house of my own, I'll never go alone any where with papa.'

This being muttered, the invitation was made and accepted, and the
parties set forward.

The ride was perfectly pleasing to Camilla, now revived and cheerful;
Sir Sedley was free from airs; Mrs. Arlbery drew them into conversation
with one another, and none of them were glad when Mr. Dennel, called
'stop! or you'll drive too far.'

Camilla, who, supposing she was going, as usual, to the Pantiles, had
got into the phaeton without inquiry; and who, finding afterwards her
mistake, concluded they were merely taking an airing, now observed she
was advancing towards a crowd, and presently perceived a booth, and an
immense sign hung out from it, exhibiting a man monkey, or ourang
outang.

Though excessively fluttered, she courageously, and at once, told Mrs.
Arlbery she begged to be excused proceeding.

Mrs. Arlbery, who had heard, at the play, the general objections of
Mandlebert, though she had not attended to her answer, conjectured her
reason for retreating, and laughed, but said she would not oppose her.

Camilla then begged to wait in Mr. Dennel's carriage, that she might
keep no one else from the show. Sir Sedley, saying it would be an
excruciatingly vulgar sight, proposed they should all return; but she
pleaded strongly against breaking up the party, though, while she was
handed out, to go back to the coach, the Dennels and Mrs. Mittin had
alighted, and it had driven off.

The chagrin of Camilla was so palpable, that Mrs. Arlbery herself agreed
to resign the scheme; and Sir Sedley, who drew up to them, said he
should rejoice in being delivered from it: but Miss Dennel, who was
waiting without the booth for her aunt, was ready to cry at the thought
of losing the sight, which Mrs. Mittin had assured her was extremely
pretty; and, after some discussion, Camilla was reduced to beg she might
do no mischief, and consent to make one.

A more immediate distress now occurred to her; she heard Mr. Dennel call
out to the man stationed at the entrance of the booth, 'What's to pay?'
and recollected she had no money left.

'What your Honor pleases,' was the answer, 'but gentlefolks gives
half-a-crown.'

'I'm sure it's well worth it,' said Mrs. Mittin, 'for it's one of the
most curious things you ever saw. You can't give less, sir.' And she
passed nimbly by, without paying at all: but added, 'I had a ticket the
first day, and now I come every day for nothing, if it don't rain, for
one only need to pay at first.'

Mr. Dennel and his daughter followed, and Camilla was beginning a
hesitating speech to Mrs. Arlbery, as that lady, not attending to her,
said to Mr. Dennel: 'Well, frank me also; but take care what you pay;
I'm not at all sure I shall ever return it. All I save goes to my
ponies.' And, handed by the General, she crossed the barrier; not
hearing the voice of her young friend, which was timidly beseeching her
to stop.

Camilla was now in extreme confusion. She put her hand into her pocket,
took it out, felt again, and again brought forth the hand empty.

The Major, who was before her, and who watched her, begged leave to
settle with the booth-keeper; but Camilla, to whom he grew daily more
irksome, again preferred a short obligation to the Baronet, and
blushingly asked if he would once more be her banker?

Sir Sedley, by no means suspecting the necessity that urged this
condescension, was surprised and delighted, and almost without knowing
it himself, became all that was attentive, obliging, and pleasing.

Before they were seated, the young Ensign, Mr. Macdersey, issuing from a
group of gentlemen, addressed himself to Camilla, though with an air
that spoke him much discomposed and out of spirits. 'I hope you are
well, Miss Camilla Tyrold,' he cried; 'and have left all your family
well? particularly the loveliest of your sex, that angel of beauty, the
divine Miss Lynmere?'

'Except the company present!' said Mrs. Arlbery; 'always except the
company present, when you talk of beauty to women.'

'I would not except even the company absent!' replied he, with warmth;
but was interrupted from proceeding, by what the master of the booth
called his _Consort of Musics_: in which not less than twenty monkies
contributed their part; one dreadfully scraping a bow across the strings
of a vile kit, another beating a drum, another with a fife, a fourth
with a bagpipe, and the sixteen remainder striking together tongs,
shovels, and pokers, by way of marrowbones and cleavers. Every body
stopt their ears, though no one could forbear laughing at their various
contortions, and horrible grimaces, till the master of the booth, to
keep them, he said, in tune, dealt about such fierce blows with a stick,
that they set up a general howling, which he called the _Wocal_ part of
his _Consort_, not more stunning to the ear, than offensive to all
humanity. The audience applauded by loud shouts, but Mrs. Arlbery,
disgusted, rose to quit the booth. Camilla eagerly started up to second
the motion, but her eyes still more expeditiously turned from the door,
upon encountering those of Edgar; who, having met the empty coach of Mr.
Dennel, had not been able to refrain from inquiring where its company
had been deposited; nor, upon hearing it was at the _accomplished
Monkies_, from hastening to the spot, to satisfy himself if or not
Camilla had been steady to her declaration. But he witnessed at once the
propriety of his advice, and its failure.

The master of the booth could not endure to see the departure of the
most brilliant part of his spectators, and made an harangue, promising
the company, at large, if they would submit to postponing the _Consort_,
in order to oblige his friends the Quality, they should have it, with
the newest squalls in taste, afterwards.

The people laughed and clapped, and Mrs. Arlbery sat down.

In a few minutes, the performers were ready for a new exhibition. They
were dressed up as soldiers, who, headed by a corporal, came forward to
do their exercises.

Mrs. Arlbery, laughing, told the General, as he was upon duty, he should
himself take the command: the General, a pleasant, yet cool and sensible
man, did not laugh less; but the Ensign, more warm tempered, and wrong
headed, seeing a feather in a monkey's cap, of the same colour, by
chance, as in his own, fired with hasty indignation, and rising, called
out to the master of the booth: 'What do you mean by this, sir? do you
mean to put an affront upon our corps?'

The man, startled, was going most humbly to protest his innocence of any
such design; but the laugh raised against the Ensign amongst the
audience gave him more courage, and he only simpered without speaking.

'What do you mean by grinning at me, sir?' said Macdersey; 'do you want
me to cane you?'

'Cane me!' cried the man enraged, 'by what rights?'

Macdersey, easily put off all guard, was stepping over the benches, with
his cane uplifted, when his next neighbour, tightly holding him, said,
in a half whisper, 'If you'll take my advice, you'd a deal better
provoke him to strike the first blow.'

Macdersey, far more irritated by this counsel than by the original
offence, fiercely looked back, calling out 'The first blow! What do you
mean by that, sir?'

'No offence, sir,' answered the person, who was no other than the slow
and solemn Mr. Dubster; 'but only to give you a hint for your own good;
for if you strike first, being in his own house, as one may say, he may
take the law of you.'

'The law!' repeated the fiery Ensign; 'the law was made for poltroons: a
man of honour does not know what it means.'

'If you talk at that rate, sir,' said Dubster, in a low voice, 'it may
bring you into trouble.'

'And who are you, sir, that take upon you the presumption to give me
your opinion?'

'Who am I, sir? I am a gentleman, if you must needs know.'

'A gentleman! who made you so?'

'Who made me so? why leaving off business! what would you have make me
so? you may tell me if you are any better, if you come to that.'

Macdersey, of an ancient and respectable family, incensed past measure,
was turning back upon Mr. Dubster; when the General, taking him gently
by the hand, begged he would recollect himself.

'That's very true, sir, very true, General!' cried he, profoundly
bowing; 'what you say is very true. I have no right to put myself into a
passion before my superior officer, unless he puts me into it himself;
in which case 'tis his own fault. So I beg your pardon, General, with
all my heart. And I'll go out of the booth without another half
syllable. But if ever I detect any of those monkies mocking us, and
wearing our feathers, when you a'n't by, I sha'n't put up with it so
mildly. I hope you'll excuse me, General.'

He then bowed to him again, and begged pardon of all the ladies; but, in
quitting the booth, contemptuously said to Mr. Dubster: 'As to you, you
little dirty fellow, you a'n't worth my notice.'

'Little dirty fellow!' repeated Mr. Dubster, when he was gone; 'How come
you to think of that? why I'm as clean as hands can make me!'

'Come, sir, come,' said Mrs. Mittin, reaching over to him, and stroking
his arm, 'don't be angry; these things will happen, sometimes, in public
companies; but gentlemen should be above minding them. He meant no harm,
I dare say.'

'O, as to that, ma'am,' answered Mr. Dubster proudly, 'I don't much care
if he did or not: it's no odds to me. Only I don't know much what right
he has to defame me. I wonder who he thinks he is that he may break the
peace for nothing. I can't say I'm much a friend to such behaviour.
Treating people with so little ceremony.'

'I protest,' cried Sir Sedley to Camilla, ''tis your favourite swain
from the Northwick assembly! wafted on some zephyr of Hope, he has
pursued you to Tunbridge. I flatter myself he has brought his last bran
new cloaths to claim your fair hand at the master of the ceremonies'
ball.'

'Hush! hush!' cried Camilla, in a low voice; 'he will take you literally
should he hear you!'

Mr. Dubster, now perceiving her, bowed low from the place where he
stood, and called out, 'How do you do, ma'am? I ask pardon for not
speaking to you before; but I can't say as I see you.'

Camilla was forced to bow, though she made no answer. But he continued
with his usual steadiness; 'Why, that was but a unked morning we was
together so long, ma'am, in my new summer-house. We was in fine
jeopardy, that's the truth of it. Pray, how does the young gentleman do
as took away our ladder?'

'What a delectable acquaintance!' cried Sir Sedley; 'would you have the
cruelty to keep such a treasure to yourself? present me, I supplicate!'

'O, I know you well enough, sir,' said Mr. Dubster, who overheard him;
'I see you at the hop at the White Hart; and I believe you know me
pretty well too, sir, if I may take account by your staring. Not that I
mind it in the least.'

'Come, come, don't be touchy,' said Mrs. Mittin; 'can't you be
good-natured, and hold your tongue? what signifies taking things amiss?
It only breeds ill words.'

'That's very sensibly observed upon!' said Mr. Dennel; 'I don't know
when I've heard any thing more sensibly said.'

'O, as to that, I don't take it amiss in the least,' cried Mr. Dubster;
'if the gentleman's a mind to stare, let him stare. Only I should like
to know what it's for. It's no better than child's play, as one may say,
making one look foolish for nothing.'

The ourang outang was now announced, and Mrs. Arlbery immediately left
the booth, accompanied by her party, and speedily followed by Edgar.

Neither of the carriages were in waiting, but they would not return to
the booth. Sir Sedley, to whom standing was still rather inconvenient,
begged a cast in the carriage of a friend, who was accidentally passing
by.

Macdersey, who joined them, said he had been considering what that
fellow had proposed to him, of taking the first blow, and found he could
not put up with it: and upon the appearance of Mr. Dubster, who in
quitting the booth was preparing, with his usual leisurely solemnity, to
approach Camilla, darted forward and seizing him by the collar,
exclaimed, 'Retract, sir! Retract!'

Mr. Dubster stared, at first, without speech or opposition; but being
released by the Major, whom the General begged to interfere, he angrily
said: 'Pray, sir, what business have you to take hold of a body in such
a manner as that? It's an assault, sir, and so I can prove. And I'm glad
of it; for now I can serve you as I did another gentleman once before,
that I smarted out of a good ten pound out of his pocket, for a knock he
gave me, for a mere nothing, just like this here pulling one by the
collar, nobody knows why.'

The Major, endeavouring to quiet Macdersey, advised him to despise so
low a person.

'So I will, my dear friend,' he returned, 'as soon as ever I have given
him the proper chastisement for his ignorance. But I must do that first.
You won't take it ill, Major.'

'I believe,' cried Mr. Dubster, holding up both his hands, 'the like of
this was never heard of! Here's a gentleman, as he calls himself, ready
to take away my life, with his own good will, for nothing but giving him
a little bit of advice! However, it's all one to me. The law is open to
all. And if any one plays their tricks upon me, they shall pay for their
fun. I'm none of your tame ones to put up with such a thing for nothing.
I'm above that, I promise you.'

'Don't talk, sir, don't talk!' cried Macdersey; 'it's a thing I can't
bear from a mean person, to be talked to. I had a hundred thousand times
rather stand to be shot at.'

'Not talk, sir? I should be glad to know what right you has to hinder
me, provided I say nothing against the law? And as to being a mean
person, it's more than you can prove, for I'm sure you don't know who I
am, nor nothing about me. I may be a lord, for any thing you know,
though I don't pretend to say I am. But as to what people take me for,
that behave so out of character, it's what I sha'n't trouble my head
about. They may take me for a chimney-sweeper, or they may take me for a
duke; which they like. I sha'n't tell them whether I'm one or t'other,
or whether I'm neither. And as to not talking, I shall hold my tongue
when I think proper.'

'Ask my pardon this instant, fellow!' cried the Ensign, whom the Major,
at the motion of the General, now caught by the arm, and hurried from
the spot: Mrs. Mittin, at the same moment pulling away Mr. Dubster, and
notably expounding to him the advantages of patience and good humour.

Mrs. Arlbery, wearied both of this squabble and of waiting, took the arm
of the General, and said she would walk home; Miss Dennel lovingly held
by Mrs. Mittin, with whom her father also assorted, and by whom Mr.
Dubster was drawn on.

Camilla alone had no immediate companion, as the Major was occupied by
the Ensign. Edgar saw her disengaged. He trembled, he wavered; he wished
the Major back; he wished him still more at a distance too remote ever
to return; he thought he would instantly mount his horse, and gallop
towards Beech Park; but the horse was not ready, and Camilla was in
sight;--and, in less than a minute, he found himself, scarce knowing
how, at her side.

Camilla felt a pleasure that bounded to her heart, though the late
assertions of Mrs. Arlbery prepared her to expect him. He knew not,
however, what to say; he felt mortified and disappointed, and when he
had uttered something scarce intelligible about the weather, he walked
on in silence.

Camilla, whose present train of thoughts had no discordant tendency,
broke through this strangeness herself, and said: 'How frivolous I must
appear to you! but indeed I was at the very door of the booth, before I
knew whither the party was going.'

'You did not, I hope, at least,' he cried, 'when you had entered it,
deem me too rigid, too austere, that I thought the species, both of
company and of entertainment, ill calculated for a young lady?'

'Rigid! austere!' repeated she; 'I never thought you either! never--and
if once again--' she stopt; embarrassed, ashamed.

'If once again what?' cried he in a tremulous voice; 'what would Miss
Camilla say?--would she again--Is there yet--What would Miss Camilla
say?--'

Camilla felt confounded, both with ideas of what he meant to allude to,
and what construction he had put upon her half finished sentence.
Impatient, however, to clear that, 'If once more,' she cried, 'you could
prevail with yourself--now and then--from time to time--to give me an
hint, an idea--of what you think right--I will promise, if not a
constant observance, at least a never-failing sense of your kindness.'

The revulsion in the heart, in the whole frame of Edgar, was almost too
powerful for restraint: he panted for an immediate explanation of every
past and every present difficulty, and a final avowal that she was
either self-destined to the Major, or that he had no rival to fear: But
before he could make any answer, a sudden and violent shower broke up
the conference, and grouped the whole party under a large tree.

This interruption, however, had no power upon their thoughts; neither of
them heard a word that was saying; each ruminated intently, though
confusedly, upon what already was passed. Yet where the wind
precipitated the rain, Edgar stationed himself, and held his hat to
intercept its passage to Camilla; and as her eye involuntarily was
caught by the shower that pattered upon his head and shoulders, she
insensibly pressed nearer to the trunk of the tree, to afford more
shelter to him from its branches.

The rest of the party partook not of this taciturnity: Mr. Dubster,
staring Mrs. Mittin full in the face, exclaimed: 'I think I ought to
know you, ma'am, asking your pardon?'

'No matter for that!' cried she, turning with quickness to Camilla;
'Lord, miss--I don't know your name,--how your poor hat is all I don't
know how! as limp, and as flimzy, as if it had been in a wash-tub!'

'I've just bethought me,' continued he, 'where it was we used to see one
another, and all the whole manner of it. I've got it as clear in my head
as if it was but yesterday. Don't you remember--'

'Can't you stand a little out, there?' interrupted she; 'what signifies
a man's old coat? don't you see how you let all the rain come upon this
young lady? you should never think of yourself, but only of what you can
do to be obliging.'

'A very good rule, that! a very good one indeed!' said Mr. Dennel; 'I
wish everybody would mind it.'

'I'm as willing to mind it, I believe,' said Mr. Dubster, 'as my
neighbours; but as to being wet through, for mere complaisance, I don't
think it fair to expect such a thing of nobody. Besides, this is not
such an old coat as you may think for. If you was to see what I wear at
home, I promise you would not think so bad of it. I don't say it's my
best; who'd be fool then, to wear it every day? However, I believe it's
pretty nigh as good as that I had on that night I saw you at Mrs.
Purdle's, when, you know, one of your pattens--'

'Come, come, what's the man talking about? one person should not take
all the conversation up so. Dear miss ... do tell me your name?... I am
so sorry for your hat, I can't but think of it; it looks as dingy!...'

'Why, now, you won't make me believe,' said Mr. Dubster, 'you've forgot
how your patten broke; and how I squeezed my finger under the iron? And
how I'd like to have lost the use of it? There would have been a fine
job! And how Mrs. Purdle....'

'I'm sure the shower's over,' cried Mrs. Mittin, 'and if we stay here,
we shall have all the droppings of the leaves upon us. Poor miss
thing-o-me's hat is spoilt already. There's no need to make it worse.'

'And how Mrs. Purdle,' he continued, 'was obliged to lend you a pair of
shoes and stockings, because you was wet through your feet? And how they
would not fit you, and kept tumbling off? And how, when somebody come to
fetch you in their own coach, you made us say you was taken ill, because
you was so daubed with mud and mire, you was ashamed to shew yourself?
And how....'

'I can't think what you are talking of,' said Mrs. Mittin; 'but come,
let's you and I go a little way on, to see if the rain's over.' She then
went some paces from the tree, and said: 'What signifies running on so,
Mr. Dubster, about things nobody knows anything of? It's tiring all the
company to death. You should never talk about your own fingers, and
hap-hazards, to genteel people. You should only talk about agreeable
subjects as I do. See how they all like me! That gentleman brought me to
the monkies in his own coach.'

'As to that,' answered he, gravely, 'I did not mean, in the least, to
say anything disagreeable; only I thought it odd you should not seem to
know me again, considering Mrs. Purdle used----'

'Why you've no nous, Mr. Dubster; Mrs. Purdle's a very good sort of
woman and the best friend I have in the world, perhaps, at the bottom;
but she i'n't a sort of person to talk of before gentlefolks. You should
talk to great people about their own affairs, and what you can do to
please them, and find out how you can serve them, if you'd be treated
genteelly by them, as I am. Why, I go every where, and see every thing,
and it costs me nothing. A friend, a lady of great fashion, took me one
day to the monkies, and paid for me; and I've gone since, whenever I
will, for nothing.'

'Nobody treats me to nothing,' answered he, in a melancholy voice,
'whatever's the reason: except when I make friends with somebody that
can let me in free, sometimes. And I get a peep, now and then, at what
goes forward, that way.'

'But you are rich enough to pay for yourself now, Mr. Dubster; good
lack! if I had such a fortune as yours, I'd go all the world over, and
thanks to nobody.'

'And how long would you be rich then, Mrs. Mittin? Who'd give you your
money again when you'd spent it? I got mine hard enough. I sha'n't fool
it away in a hurry, I promise you!'

'I can't say I see that, Mr. Dubster, when two of your wives died so
soon, and left you so handsome.'

'Why, yes, I don't say to the contrary of that; but then, think of the
time before, when I was 'prentice!--'

The shower was now over, and the party proceeded as before.

Edgar, uncertain, irresolute, walked on in silence: yet attentive,
assiduous, even tenderly watchful to guide, guard, and assist his fair
companion in her way. The name of the Major trembled perpetually upon
his lips; but fear what might be the result of his inquiries stopt his
speech till they approached the house; when he commanded voice to say:
'You permit, then, the renewal of my old privilege?--'

'Permit! I wish for it!'

They were now at the door. Edgar, not daring to speak again to Camilla,
and not able to address any one else, took his leave; enchanted that he
was authorized, once more, to inform himself with openness of the state
of her affairs, and of her conduct. And Camilla, dwelling with delight
upon the discernment of Mrs. Arlbery, blest the happy penetration that
had endowed her with courage to speak again to Edgar in terms of
friendship and confidence.

Mrs. Mittin, declaring she could not eat till she had seen what could be
done for the hat of Miss Tyrold, accompanied her upstairs, took it off
herself, wiped it, smoothed, and tried to new arrange it; and, at last,
failing to succeed, insisted upon taking it home, to put it in order,
and promised to return it in the morning time enough for the Pantiles.
Camilla was much ashamed; but she had no means to buy another, and she
had now lost her indifference to going abroad. She thought, therefore,
this new acquaintance at least as useful as she was officious, and
accepted her civility with thanks.




CHAPTER VII

_The Rooms_


The evening, as usual, was destined to the Rooms. The first object
Camilla perceived upon her entrance was Edgar, and the smile with which
she met his eye brought him instantly to her side. That smile was not
less radiant for his nearer approach; nor was his pleasure in it less
animated for observing that Major Cerwood was not of her party, nor as
yet in the room. The opportunity seemed inviting to engage her himself;
to suggest and to find it irresistible was the same thing, and he
inquired if her whole evening were arranged, or she would go down two
dances with an old friend.

The softness of her assent was even exquisite delight to him; and, as
they all walked up and down the apartment, though he addressed her but
little, and though she spoke but in answer, every word he uttered she
received as couching some gentle meaning, and every syllable she
replied, he thought conveyed something of flattering interest: and
although all was upon open and unavoidable subjects, he had no eyes but
for her, she had no attention but for him.

This quiet, yet heart-felt intercourse, was soon a little interrupted by
the appearance of a large and striking party, led on by Lady Alithea
Selmore; for which every body made way, to which every body turned, and
which, passing by all the company without seeming conscious there was
any to pass, formed a mass at the upper end of the room, with an air and
manner of such exclusive attention to their chief, or to one another,
that common observation would have concluded some film before their eyes
obstructed their discerning that they were not the sole engrossers of
the apartment.

But such was not the judgment formed of them by Mrs. Arlbery, who,
forced by the stream to give them passage, paid herself for the
condescension by a commentary upon the passengers. 'Those good people,'
said she, 'strive to make us believe we are nothing to them. They strive
even to believe it themselves. But this is the mere semblance worn by
pride and affectation, to veil internal fatigue. They come hither to
recruit their exhausted powers, not, indeed, by joining in our society,
but by a view of new objects for their senses, and the flattering idea,
for their minds, of the envy or admiration they excite. They are all
people of some consequence, and many of them are people of title: but
these are far the most supportable of the group; their privileged
superiority over the rest is so marked and indisputable, that they are
saved the trouble either of claiming or ascertaining it: but those who
approach their rank without reaching it, live in a constant struggle to
make known their importance. Indeed, I have often seen that people of
title are less gratified with the sound of their own honours, than
people of no title in pronouncing them.'

Sir Sedley Clarendel was of this set. Like the rest he passed Mrs.
Arlbery without seeming to notice her, and was passing Camilla in the
same manner; but not aware this was only to be fine, like the party to
which he belonged, she very innocently spoke to him herself, to hope he
got safe to his lodgings, without feeling any further ill effect from
his accident.

Sir Sedley, though internally much gratified by this interest in his
safety, which in Camilla was the result of having herself endangered it,
looked as if he scarce recollected her, and making hastily a kind of
half bow, walked on with his company.

Camilla, who had no view, nor one serious thought concerning him, was
rather amused than displeased by his caprices; and was preparing to
relate the history of his lameness to Edgar, who seemed surprised and
even hurt by her addressing him, and by his so slightly passing her,
when the entrance of another splendid party interrupted all discourse.

And here, to her utter amaze, she beheld, as chief of the group, her
romantic new friend; not leading, indeed, like Lady Alithea Selmore, a
train, but surrounded by admirers, who, seeking no eye but hers, seemed
dim and humble planets, moving round a radiant sun.

Camilla now, forgetting Sir Sedley, would have taken this moment to
narrate her adventure with Mrs. Berlinton, had not her design been
defeated by the approach of the Major. He belonged to this last group,
but was the only one that separated from it. He spoke to Camilla with
his usual air of devotion, told her he had dined with Mrs. Berlinton, to
whose husband, whom he had taken for her grandfather, he had been just
introduced; and begged to know of Mrs. Arlbery if he might have the
pleasure of bringing them all acquainted; an offer which Camilla,
unauthorised by Mrs. Berlinton, had not ventured to make. Mrs. Arlbery
declined the proposal; not anxious to mix where she had small chance of
presiding.

The party, after traversing the room, took full and exclusive possession
of a considerable spot just below that occupied by Lady Alithea.

These two companies completely engrossed all attention, amply supplying
the rest of the assembly with topics for discourse. The set with Lady
Alithea Selmore was, in general, haughty, supercilious, and taciturn;
looking around with eyes determined to see neither any person nor any
thing before them, and rarely speaking, except to applaud what fell from
her ladyship; who far less proud, because a lover of popularity, deigned
herself, from time to time, a slight glance at the company, to see if
she was observed, and to enjoy its reverence.

The party to which Mrs. Berlinton was the loadstone, was far more
attractive to the disciples of nature, though less sedulously sought by
those whom the manners and maxims of the common world had sophisticated.
They were gay, elegant, desirous to please, because pleased themselves;
and though some of them harboured designs deeper and more dangerous than
any formed by the votaries of rank, they appeared to have nothing more
in view than to decorate with flowers the present moment. The magnetic
influence of beauty was, however, more powerful than that of the _ton_;
for though Mrs. Berlinton, from time to time, allured a beau from Lady
Alithea Selmore, her ladyship, during the whole season, had not one
retaliation to boast. But, on the other hand, the females, in general,
strove to cluster about Lady Alithea; Mrs. Berlinton leaving them no
greater chance of rival-ship in conversation than in charms.

Edgar had made way upon the approach of the Major, who wore an air of
superior claim extremely unpleasant to him; but, since already engaged
to Camilla, he meant to return to her when the dancing began.

She concluded he left her but to speak to some acquaintance, and was,
herself, amply occupied in observing her new friend. The light in which
she now beheld her, admired, pursued, and adulated, elegantly adorned in
her person, and evidently with but one rival for fame and fashion in
Tunbridge, filled her with astonishment. Nothing could less assort with
her passion for solitude, her fondness for literary and sentimental
discussions, and her enthusiasm in friendship. But her surprise was
mixed with praise and admiration, when she reflected upon the soft
humility, and caressing sweetness of her manners, yet found her, by
general consent, holding this elevated rank in society.

The Major earnestly pressed to conduct Camilla to this coterie, assuring
her Mrs. Berlinton would not have passed, had she seen her, for, during
dinner, and at coffee, she had talked of nobody else. Camilla heard this
with pleasure, but shrunk from all advances, and strove rather to hide
than shew herself, that Mrs. Berlinton might have full liberty either to
seek or avoid her. She wished to consult Edgar upon this acquaintance;
though the present splendour of her appearance, and the number of her
followers, made her fear she could never induce him to do justice to the
sweetness and endearment of her social powers.

When the Major found he pleaded in vain, he said he would at least let
Mrs. Berlinton know where to look for her; and went himself to that
lady.

Edgar, who had felt sensibly mortified to observe, when he retreated,
that the eyes and attention of Camilla had been wholly bestowed upon
what he considered merely as a new scene, was now coming forward; when
he saw Mrs. Berlinton hastily rise, suddenly break from all her
adulators, and, with quick steps and animated gestures, traverse the
apartment, to address Camilla, whom, taking by both her hands, which she
pressed to her heart, she conjured, in the most flattering terms, to
accompany her back.

Camilla was much gratified; yet, from delicacy to Mrs. Arlbery,
stimulated by the fear of missing her expected partner in the country
dances, declined the invitation: Mrs. Berlinton looked disappointed; but
said she would not be importunate, and returned alone.

Camilla, a little disturbed, besought the Major to follow, with an
offer of spending with her, if she pleased, the whole of the ensuing
day.

'Charming!' cried the Major, 'for I am engaged to her myself already.'

To Camilla this hearing was distressing; to Edgar it was scarcely
endurable. But she could not retract, and Edgar was stopt in the
inquiries he meant to make concerning this striking new acquaintance, by
an abrupt declaration from Mrs. Arlbery, that the Rooms were
insufferable, and she would immediately go home. She then gave her hand
to the General, and Miss Dennel took the arm of Camilla, murmuring, that
she would never leave the Rooms at such an early hour again, when once
she was married.

To quit Edgar thus, at the very moment of renewed intercourse and amity,
seemed too cruel; and Camilla, though with blushes, and stammering,
whispered Mrs. Arlbery, 'What can I do, ma'am? most unfortunately I have
engaged myself to dance?'

'With whom?'

'With--Mr.--Mandlebert.'

'O, vastly well! Stay, then by all means: but, as he has not engaged me
too, allow me, I beseech you, to escape. Mrs. Berlinton will, I am sure,
be happy to take care of you.'

This scheme was, to Camilla, the most pleasant that could be proposed;
and, at the same instant, the Major returned to her, with these words
written with a pencil upon the back of a letter.

'To-morrow, and next day, and next day, come to me, my lovely friend;
every thing, and every body fatigues me but yourself.'

Camilla, obliged again to have recourse to the Major, wrote, upon the
same paper, 'Can you have the goodness to convey me to Mount Pleasant
to-night, if I stay?' and begged him to bring her an answer. She
entreated, also, Mrs. Arlbery to stop till it arrived, which was almost
in the same minute; for the eye of Mrs. Berlinton had but glanced upon
the words, ere her soft and lovely form was again with their fair
writer, with whom, smiling and delighted, she walked back, arm in arm,
to her place.

Mrs. Arlbery and the General, and Mr. and Miss Dennel, now left the
room.

Edgar viewed all this with amazement. He found that the young lady she
joined was sister-in-law to a peer, and as fashionable as she was
beautiful; but could not fathom how so great an intimacy had so suddenly
been formed.

Camilla, thus distinguished, became now herself an object of peculiar
notice; her own personal claim to particular attention, her dejection
had forfeited, for it had robbed her eyes of their animation, and her
countenance of its play; but no contagion spreads with greater certainty
nor greater speed than that of fashion; slander itself is not more sure
of promulgation. She was now looked at by all present as if seen for the
first time; every one discovered in her some charm, some grace, some
excellence; those who, the minute before, had passed her with perfect
indifference, said it was impossible to see and not be struck with her;
and all agreed she could appear upon no spot under the sun, and not
instinctively be singled out, as formed to shine in the highest sphere.

But he by whom this transaction was observed with most pleasure, was Sir
Sedley Clarendel. The extraordinary service he had performed for
Camilla, and the grateful interest she had shewn him in return, had led
him to consider her with an attention so favourable, that, without half
her merit, or half her beauty, she could not have failed rising in his
estimation, and exciting his regard: and she had now a superior charm
that distanced every other; she had been asked to dance, yet refused it,
by a man of celebrity in the _ton_; and she was publicly sought and
caressed by the only rival at Tunbridge, in that species of renown, to
Lady Alithea Selmore.

He felt an increased desire to be presented to Mrs. Berlinton himself;
and, gliding from his own circle as quietly as he could contrive, not to
offend Lady Alithea, who, though she laughed at _the little Welsh
rustic_, was watchful of her votaries, and jealous of her rising power,
came gently behind Lord O'Lerney and whispered his request.

He was received by the young beauty with that grace, and that sweetness
which rendered her so generally bewitching, yet with an air that proved
her already accustomed to admiration, and untouched by its intoxicating
qualities. All that was voluntary of her attention was bestowed
exclusively upon Camilla, though, when addressed and called upon by
others, she answered without impatience, and looked without displeasure.

This conduct, at the same time that it shewed her in a point of view the
most amiable, raised Camilla higher and higher in the eyes of the
by-standers: and, in a few minutes more, the general cry throughout the
assembly was, to inquire who was the young lady thus brought forward by
Mrs. Berlinton.

Edgar heard this with increased anxiety. Has she discretion, has she
fortitude, thought he, to withstand public distinction? Will it not
spoil her for private life; estrange her from family concerns? render
tasteless and insipid the conjugal and maternal characters, meant by
Nature to form not only the most sacred of duties, but the most
delicious of enjoyments?

Very soon after, this anxiety was tinctured with a feeling more severe;
he saw her spoken to negligently by Sir Sedley; he required, after what
he had already himself deemed impertinence from the Baronet, that she
should have assumed to him a distant dignity; but he perceived, on the
contrary, that she answered him with pleasant alacrity, and, when not
engaged by Mrs. Berlinton, attended to him, even with distinction.

Alas! thought he, the degradation from the true female character is
already begun! already the lure of fashion draws her from what she owes
to delicacy and propriety, to give a willing reception to insolence and
foppery!

Camilla, meanwhile, unsuspicious of his remarks, and persuaded every
civility in her power was due to Sir Sedley, was gay, pleased, and
pleasing; happy to consider herself under the guidance, and restored to
the amity of Edgar, and determined to acquaint him with all her affairs,
and consult him upon all her proceedings.

The dancing, for which mutually they languished, as the mutual means of
reunion, seemed not to be the humour of the evening, and those who were
ready for it, were not of sufficient consequence to bring it forward.
But when Mrs. Berlinton mentioned, that she had been taking some lessons
in a cotillon, a universal cry was raised by all her party, to try one
immediately. She pleaded in vain her inexperience in such dances; they
insisted there was nobody present that could criticise, that her form
alone would compensate for every mistake of rule, and that the best
lesson was easy practice.

She was soon gained, for she was not addicted to denials; but the
application which ensued to Camilla was acceded to less promptly. As
there were but two other ladies in the circle of Mrs. Berlinton, her
assistance was declared to be indispensable. She pleaded inability of
every sort, though to dance without Edgar was her only real objection;
for she had no false shame in being ignorant of what she never had
learnt. But Mrs. Berlinton protested she would not rise if she were the
only novice to be exhibited; and the Major then prepared to prostrate
himself at the feet of Camilla; who, hastily, and ashamed, stood up, to
prevent an action that Edgar might misinterpret.

Hoping, however, now, to at least draw him into their set, she ventured
to acknowledge to Mrs. Berlinton, that she was already engaged, in case
she danced.

The Major, who heard her, and who knew it was not to himself,
strenuously declared this could only be for country dances, and
therefore would not interfere with a cotillon.

'Will country dances, then,' said she, blushing, 'follow?'

'Certainly, if any one has spirit to begin them.'

The cotillon was now played, and the preceding bow from the opposite
Major forced her courtsie in return.

The little skill in this dance of one of the performers, and the total
want of it in another, made it a mere pleasantry to all, though the
youth and beauty of the two who did the worst, rendered them objects of
admiration, that left nearly unnoticed those who did best.

To Camilla what belonged to pleasantry in this business was of short
duration. When the cotillon was over, she saw nothing of Edgar. She
looked around, mortified, disappointed. No one called for a country
dance; and the few who had wished for it, concluding all chance over
when a cotillon was begun, had now retired, or given it up.

What was this disappointment, compared with the sufferings of Edgar?
Something of a contest, and of entreaties, had reached his ears, while
he had hovered near the party, or strolled up and down the room. He had
gathered the subject was dancing, and he saw the Major most earnest with
Camilla. He was sure it was for her hand, and concluded it was for a
country dance; but could she forfeit her engagement? were matters so far
advanced, as to make her so openly shew him all prevailing, all
powerful, not only over all rivals, but, according to the world's
established customs upon these occasions, over all decorum?

Presently, he saw the Major half kneel; he saw her rise to prevent the
prostration; and he heard the dance called.

He could bear no more; pain intolerable seized, distracted him, and he
abruptly quitted the ballroom, lest the Major should approach him with
some happy apology, which he was unfitted to receive.

He could only settle his ideas by supposing she really loved Major
Cerwood, and had suffered her character to be infected by the indelicacy
that made a part of his own. Yet why had she so striven to deny all
regard, all connection? what an unaccountable want of frankness! what a
miserable dereliction of truth!

His first impulse was to set off instantly from Tunbridge; but his
second thoughts represented the confession this would make. He was too
proud to leave the Major, whom he despised, such a triumph, and too much
hurt to permit Camilla herself to know him so poignantly wounded. She
could not, indeed, but be struck by his retreat; he resolved, however,
to try to meet with her the next day, and to speak to her with the amity
they had so lately arranged, yet in a way that should manifest him
wholly free from all other interest or view.




CHAPTER VIII

_Ways to the Heart_


All pleasure to Camilla was completely over from the moment that Edgar
disappeared.

When she returned to Mount Pleasant, Mrs. Arlbery, whom she found alone,
said, 'Did I not understand that you were going to dance with Mr.
Mandlebert? How chanced he to leave you? We were kept ages waiting for
the coach; and I saw him pass by, and walk off.'

Camilla, colouring, related the history of the cotillon; and said, she
feared, not knowing how she had been circumstanced, he was displeased.

'Displeased!' cried Mrs. Arlbery, laughing; 'and do you, at seventeen,
suffer a man to be displeased? How can you do worse when you are fifty?
Know your own power more truly, and use it better. Men, my dear, are all
spoilt by humility, and all conquered by gaiety. Amuse and defy
them!--attend to that maxim, and you will have the world at your feet.'

'I have no such ambition: ... but I should be sensibly hurt to make an
old friend think ill of me.'

'When an old friend,' said Mrs. Arlbery, archly, 'happens to be a young
man, you must conduct yourself with him a little like what you are; that
is, a young woman. And a young woman is never in her proper place, if
such sort of old friends are not taught to know their own. From the
instant you permit them to think of being offended, they become your
masters; and you will find it vastly more convenient to make them your
slaves.'

Camilla pretended to understand this in a mere general sense, and wished
her good night.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next morning, at an early hour, her chamber door was opened with
great suddenness, and no preparation, and Mrs. Mittin tript nimbly into
the room, with a hat in her hand.

'Look here! my dear Miss Tyrold,' cried she, 'for now that other young
lady has told me your name, and I writ it down upon paper, that I might
not forget it again: look at your hat now! Did you ever see anything so
much improved for the better? I declare nobody would know it! Miss
Dennel says it's as pretty again as it was at first. I'll go and shew it
to the other lady.'

Away she went, triumphant, with the trophy of her notability; but
presently returned, saying, 'Do, pray, Miss Tyrold, write me down that
other lady's name upon a scrap of paper. It always goes out of my head.
And one looks as if one knew nobody, when, one forgets people's names.'

Camilla complied, and expressed her shame to have caused her so much
trouble.

'O, my dear, it's none at all. I got all the things at Mrs. Tillden's.'

'Who is Mrs. Tillden?' cried Camilla, staring.

'Why the milliner. Don't you know that?'

'What things?' asked Camilla, alarmed.

'Why these, my dear; don't you see? Why it's all new, except just the
hat itself, and the feathers.'

Camilla was now in extreme embarrassment. She had concluded Mrs. Mittin
had only newly arranged the ornaments, and had not the smallest idea of
incurring a debt which she had no means to discharge.

'It all comes to quite a trifle,' continued Mrs. Mittin, 'for all it's
so pretty. Mrs. Tillden's things are all monstrous cheap. I get things
for next to nothing from her, sometimes, when they are a little past the
mode. But then I recommend her a heap of customers. I get all my
friends, by hook or by crook, to go to her shop.'

'And what,' stammered out Camilla, 'besides my thanks, do I owe you?'

'Oh nothing. She would not be paid; she said, as you was her customer,
and had all your things of her at first, she'd put it down in your bill
for the season.'

This was, at least, some respite; though Camilla felt the disagreeable
necessity of increasing her intended demand upon Mrs. Arlbery.

Miss Dennel came with a summons from that lady to the Pantiles, whither,
as the day was fine, she proposed they should walk.

'O,' cried Mrs. Mittin, 'if you are going upon the Pantiles, you must go
to that shop where there's the curious ear-rings that are be to raffled
for. You'll put in to be sure.'

Camilla said no, with a sigh attributed to the ear-rings, but due to a
tender recollection of the raffle in which Edgar had procured her the
trinket she most valued. Mrs. Mittin proposed accompanying them, and
asked Camilla to introduce her to Mrs. Arlbery. This was very
disagreeable; but she knew not how, after the civility she owed her, to
refuse.

Mrs. Arlbery received her with much surprize, but perfect unconcern;
conscious of her own importance, she feared no disgrace from being seen
with one in a lower station; and she conceived it no honour to appear
with one in a higher.

When they came to the Pantiles, Mrs. Mittin begged to introduce them to
a view of the ear-rings, which belonged, she said, to one of her
particular friends; and as Mrs. Arlbery caught the eye of Sir Sedley
Clarendel in passing the window, she entered the shop.

'Well,' cried Mrs. Mittin, to its master, 'don't say I bring you no
company. I am sure you ought to let me throw for nothing, if it's only
for good luck; for I am sure these three ladies will all put in. Come,
Miss Dennel, do lead the way. 'Tis but half a guinea, and only look what
a prize.'

'Ask papa to pay for me!' cried Miss Dennel.

'Come, good sir, come, put down the half guinea for the young lady. I'm
sure you can't refuse her. Lord! what's half a guinea?'

'That's a very bad way of reasoning,' answered Mr. Dennel; 'and what I
did not expect from a woman of your sense.'

'Why you don't think, sir, I meant that half a guinea's a trifle? No
indeed! I know what money is better than that. I only mean half a guinea
is nothing in comparison to ten guineas, which is the price of the
ear-rings; and so that makes me think it's pity the young lady should
lose an opportunity of getting them so cheap. I'm sure if they were
dear, I should be the last to recommend them, for I think extravagance
the greatest sin under the sun.'

'Well, now you speak like the sensible woman I took you for.'

A very little more eloquence of this sort was necessary, before Mr.
Dennel put down half a guinea.

'Well, I declare,' cried Mrs. Mittin, 'there's only three more names
wanted; and when these two ladies have put in, there will be only one!
I'm sure if I was rich enough, that one would not be far off. But come,
ma'am, where's your half guinea? Come, Miss Tyrold, don't hold back; who
knows but you may win? there's only nineteen against you. Lord, what's
that?'

Camilla turned away, and Mrs. Arlbery did not listen to a word; but when
Sir Sedley said, 'They are really very pretty; won't you throw?' she
answered, 'I must rather make a raffle with my own trinkets, than raffle
for other people's. Think of my ponies! However, I'll put in, if Mr.
Dennel will be my paymaster.'

Mr. Dennel, turning short off, walked out of the shop.

'This is a bad omen!' cried she, laughing; and then desired to look at
the list of rafflers; when seeing amongst the names those of Lady
Alithea Selmore and the Hon. Mrs. Berlinton, she exclaimed: ''Tis a
coalition of all fashion and reputation! We shall be absolutely scouted,
my dear Miss Tyrold, if we shrink. My poor ponies must wait half a
guinea longer! Let us put in together.'

Camilla answered, she had no intention to try for them.

'Well, then, lend me half a guinea; for I never trust myself, now, with
my purse.'

'I have not a half guinea ... I have ... I have no ... gold ... in my
purse,' answered Camilla, with a face deeply tinged with red.

Major Cerwood, who joined the party during this discussion, intreated to
be banker for both the ladies. Camilla positively refused any share; but
Mrs. Mittin said it would be a shame for such a young lady to go
without her chance, and wrote down her name next to that of Mrs.
Arlbery; while the Major, without further question, put down a guinea
upon the counter.

Camilla could not endure this; yet, from a youthful shame of confessing
poverty, forced herself to the ear of Mrs. Arlbery, and whispered an
entreaty that she would pay the guinea herself.

Mrs. Arlbery, surprized, answered she had really come out without her
purse; but seeing her seriously vexed, added, 'If you do not approve of
the Major for a banker till we go home, what say you to Sir Sedley?'

'I shall prefer him a thousand times!'

Mrs. Arlbery, in a low voice, repeated this to the young Baronet, and
receiving his guinea, threw it down; making the Major, without the
smallest excuse or ceremony, take back his own.

This was by no means lost upon Sir Sedley; he felt flattered ... he felt
softened; he thought Camilla looked unusually lovely; he began to wonder
at the coldness of Mandlebert, and to lament that the first affections
of so fair a creature should be cast away.

Mandlebert himself was an object of nothing less than envy. He had
entered the shop during the contest about the raffle, and seen Major
Cerwood pay for Camilla as well as for Mrs. Arlbery. Confirmed in his
notions of her positive engagement, and sick at heart from the
confirmation, he walked further into the shop, upon pretence of looking
at some other articles, before he could assume sufficient composure to
speak to her.

Mrs. Mittin now began woefully to repine that she could not take the
last share for the ear-rings; and, addressing herself to Mr. Dennel, who
re-entered as soon as he saw the money was paid for Mrs. Arlbery, she
said, 'You see, sir, if there was somebody ready to take the last chance
at once, this gentleman might fix a day for the throwing immediately;
but else, it may be dawdled on, nobody knows how long; for one will be
gone, and t'other will be gone, and there'll be no getting the people
together; and all the pleasure of the thing is being here to throw for
one's self: for I don't much like trusting money matters out of sight.'

'If I'd thought of all that,' said Mr. Dennel, 'I should not have put
in.'

'True, sir. But here, if it was not that I don't happen to have half a
guinea to spare just now, how nicely it might all be finished in a
trice! For, as I have been saying to Miss Dennel, this may turn out a
real bargain; for they'll fetch their full value at any time. And I tell
Miss Dennel that's the only way to lay out money, upon things that will
bring it back again if it's wanted; not upon frippery froppery, that's
spoilt in a minute, and then i'n't worth a farthing.'

'Very sensibly said,' cried Mr. Dennel; 'I'm sure she can't hear better
advice; I'm much obliged to you for putting such sensible thoughts into
her head.' And then, hoping she would continue her good lessons to his
daughter, he drew out his purse, and begged her to accept a chance from
it for the prize.

Mrs. Mittin was in raptures; and the following week was settled for the
raffle.

Mrs. Arlbery, who had attended to this scene with much amusement, now
said to General Kinsale, who had taken a seat by her: 'Did I not tell
you well, General, that all men are at the disposition of women? If even
the shrewd monied man cannot resist, what heart shall we find
impenetrable? The connoisseur in human characters knows, that the
pursuit of wealth is the petrifaction of tenderness: yet yonder is my
good brother-in-law, who thinks cash and existence one, allured even to
squander money, merely by the address of that woman, in allowing that
money should be the first study of life! Let even Clarendel have a care
of himself! or, when least he suspects any danger, some fair dairy-maid
will praise his horsemanship, or take a fancy to his favourite spaniel,
or any other favourite that happens to be the foible of the day, and his
invulnerability will be at her feet, and Lady Clarendel be brought
forward in a fortnight.'

Lord O'Lerney now entered the shop, accompanying a lady whose
countenance and appearance were singularly pleasing, and who, having
made some purchase, was quietly retiring, when the master of the shop
inquired if she wished to look at the ear-rings; adding, that though the
number was full, he knew of one person, who would give up her chance, in
case it would oblige a customer.

She answered she had no present occasion for ear-rings, and would not
therefore take up either his time or her own unnecessarily; and then
walked gently away, still attended by Lord O'Lerney.

'Bless me,' cried Mrs. Arlbery, 'who is that? to hear a little plain
common sense is so rare, it strikes one more than wit.'

'It's Lady Isabella Irby, madam,' answered the master of the shop.

Here Lord O'Lerney, who had only handed her to her carriage, returned.

'My Lord,' cried Mrs. Arlbery, 'do you know what a curiosity you brought
in amongst us just now? A woman of rank who looks round upon other
people just as if she thought they were her fellow creatures?'

'Fie, fie!' answered Lord O'Lerney, laughing, 'why will you suppose that
so rare? If we have not as many women who are amiable with titles as
without, it is only because we have not the same number from which to
select them. They are spoilt or unspoilt, but in the same proportion as
the rest of their sex. Their fall, or their escape, is less local than
you imagine; it does not depend upon their titles, but upon their
understandings.'

'Well, my lord, I believe you are right. I was adopting a narrow
prejudice, merely from indolence of thought.'

'But why, my lord,' cried Sir Sedley, 'does this paragon of a divinity
deny her example to the world? Is it in contempt of our incorrigibility?
or in horror of our contagion?'

'My dear Sir Sedley,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'don't flatter yourself with
being so dangerous. Her ladyship does not fly you from fear, take my
word for it. There is nothing in her air that looks as if she could only
be good by being shut up. I dare believe she could meet you every day,
yet be mistress of herself! Nevertheless, why, my lord, is she such a
recluse? Why does one never see her at the Rooms?'

'Never see her there, my dear madam! she is there almost every night;
only being unintruding, she is unnoticed.'

'The satire, then, my lord,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'falls upon the company.
Why is she not surrounded by volunteer admirers? Why, with a person and
manner so formed to charm, joined to such a character, and such rank,
has she not her train?'

'The reason, my dear madam, you could define with more sagacity than
myself; she must be sought! And the world is so lazy, that the most easy
of access, however valueless, is preferred to the most perfect, who must
be pursued with any trouble.'

Admirable Lord O'Lerney! thought Edgar, what a lesson is this to
youthful females against the glare of public homage, the false
brilliancy of unfeminine popularity!

This conversation, however, which alone of any he had heard at Tunbridge
promised him any pleasure, was interrupted by Mr. Dennel, who said the
dinner would be spoilt, if they did not all go home.

Camilla felt extremely vexed to quit the shop, without clearing up the
history of the dance; and Edgar, seeing the persevering Major at her
side as she departed, in urgency to put any species of period to his own
sufferings, followed the party, and precipitately began a discourse with
Lord O'Lerney upon making the tour of Europe. Camilla, for whom it was
designed, intent upon planning her own defence, heard nothing that was
said, till Lord O'Lerney asked him if his route would be through
Switzerland, and he answered: 'My route is not quite fixed, my lord.'

Startled, she now listened, and Mrs. Arlbery, whom she held by the arm,
was equally surprised, and looked to see how she bore this intimation.

'If you will walk with me to my lodgings,' replied Lord O'Lerney, 'I
will shew you my own route, which may perhaps save you some
difficulties. Shall you set out soon?'

'I fancy within a month,' answered Edgar; and, arm in arm, they walked
away together, as Camilla and her party quitted the Pantiles for Mount
Pleasant.




CHAPTER IX

_Counsels for Conquest_


Fortunately for Camilla, no eye was upon her at this period but that of
Mrs. Arlbery; her changed countenance, else, must have betrayed still
more widely her emotion. Mrs. Arlbery saw it with real concern, and
saying she had something to consult her about, hurried on with her
alone.

Camilla scarce knew that she did, or what she suffered; the suddenness
of surprise, which involved so severe a disappointment, almost stupified
her faculties. Mrs. Arlbery did not utter one word by the way, and, when
they arrived at home, saw her to her chamber, pressed her hand, and left
her.

She now, from a sense of shame, came to her full recollection. She was
convinced all her feelings were understood by Mrs. Arlbery; she thought
over what her father had said upon such exposures, and hopeless of any
honorable end to her suspences, earnestly wished herself back at
Etherington, to hide in his revered breast her confusion and grief.

Even Mrs. Arlbery she now believed had been mistaken; Edgar appeared
never to have loved her; his attentions, his kindness, had all flowed
from friendship; his solicitude, his counsel had been the result of
family regard.

When called to dinner, she descended with downcast eyes. She found no
company invited; she felt thankful, yet abashed; and Mrs. Arlbery let
her retire when the meal was over, but soon followed to beg she would
prepare for the play.

She saw her hastily putting away her handkerchief, and dispersing her
tears. 'Ah! my dear,' cried she, taking her hand, 'I am afraid this old
friend of yours does not much contribute to make Tunbridge Wells
salubrious to you!'

Camilla, affecting not to understand her, said she had never been in
better health.

'Of mind, do you mean, or body?' cried Mrs. Arlbery, laughing; but
seeing she only redoubled her distress, more seriously added, 'Will you
suffer me, my dear Miss Tyrold, to play the old friend, also, and speak
to you with openness?'

Camilla durst not say no, though she feared to say yes.

'I must content myself with a tacit compliance, if I can obtain no
other. I am really uneasy to talk with you; not, believe me, from
officiousness nor impertinence, but from a persuasion I may be able to
promote your happiness. You won't speak, I see? And you judge perfectly
right; for the less you disclaim, the less I shall torment you. Permit
me, therefore, to take for granted that you are already aware I am
acquainted with the state of your heart.'

Camilla, trembling, had now no wish but to fly; she fastened her eyes
upon the door, and every thought was devoted to find the means of
escape.

'Nay, nay, if you look frightened in sober sadness, I am gone. But shall
I think less, or know less, for saying nothing? It is not speech, my
dear Miss Tyrold, that makes detections: It only proclaims them.'

A sigh was all the answer of Camilla: though, assured, thus, she had
nothing to gain by flight, she forced herself to stay.

'We understand one another, I see, perfectly. Let me now, then, as
unaffectedly go on, as if the grand explanation had been verbally made.
That your fancy, my fair young friend, has hit upon a tormentor, I will
not deny; yet not upon an ingrate; for this person, little as you seem
conscious of your power, certainly loves you.'

Surprised off all sort of guard, Camilla exclaimed, 'O no!--O no!'

Mrs. Arlbery smiled, but went on. 'Yes, my dear, he undoubtedly does you
that little justice; yet, if you are not well advised, his passion will
be unavailing; and your artlessness, your facility, and your innocence,
with his knowledge, nay, his very admiration of them, will operate but
to separate you.'

Glowing with opposing yet strong emotions at these words, the
countenance of Camilla asked an explanation, in defiance of her earnest
desire to look indifferent or angry.

'You will wonder, and very naturally, how such attractions should work
as repulses; but I will be plain and clear, and you must be candid and
rational, and forgive me. These attractions, my dear, will be the source
of this mischief, because he sees, by their means, that you are
undoubtedly at his command.'

'No, madam! no, Mrs. Arlbery!' cried Camilla, in whose pride now every
other feeling was concentrated, 'he does not, cannot see it!--'

'I would not hurt you for the world, my very amiable young friend; but
pardon me if I say, that not to see it--he must be blinder than I
imagine him!--blinder than ... to tell you the truth, I am much inclined
to think any of his race.'

Confounded, irritated, and wounded, Camilla remained a moment silent,
and then, though scarce articulately, answered: 'If such is your
opinion ... at least he shall see it ... fancy it, I mean ... no
more!...'

'Keep to that resolution, and you will behold him ... where he ought to
be ... at your feet.'

Irresistibly, though most unwillingly, appeased by this unexpected
conclusion, she turned away to hide a blush in which anger had not
solely a place, and suffered Mrs. Arlbery to go on.

'There is but one single method to make a man of his ruminating class
know his own mind: give him cause to fear he will lose you. Animate,
inspirit, inspire him with doubt.'

'But why, ma'am,' cried Camilla, in a faltering voice; 'why shall you
suppose I will take any method at all?'

'The apprehension you will take none is the very motive that urges me to
speak to you. You are young enough in the world to think men come of
themselves. But you are mistaken, my dear. That happens rarely; except
with inflamed and hot-headed boys, whose passions are in their first
innocence as well as violence. Mandlebert has already given the dominion
of his to other rulers, who will take more care of his pride, though not
of his happiness. Attend to one who has travelled further into life than
yourself, and believe me when I assert, that his bane, and yours alike,
is his security.'

With a colour yet deeper than ever, Camilla resentfully repeated,
'Security!'

'Nay, how can he doubt? with a situation in life such as his....'

'Situation in life! Do you think he can ever suppose that would have the
least, the most minute weight with me?'

'Why, it would be a very shocking supposition, I allow! but yet, somehow
or other, that same sordid thing called money, does manage to produce
such abundance of little comforts and pretty amusements, that one is
apt ... to half suspect ... it may really not much add to any matrimonial
aversion.'

The very idea of such a suspicion offended Camilla beyond all else that
had passed; Mrs. Arlbery appeared to her indelicate, unkind, and
ungenerous, and regretting she had ever seen, and repenting she had ever
known her, she sunk upon a chair in a passionate burst of tears.

Mrs. Arlbery embraced her, begged her pardon a thousand times; assured
her all she had uttered was the effect of esteem as well as of
affection, since she saw her too delicate, and too inexperienced, to be
aware either of the dangers or the advantages surrounding her; and that
very far from meaning to hurt her, she had few things more at heart than
the desire of proving the sincerity of her regard, and endeavouring to
contribute to her happiness.

Camilla thanked her, dried her eyes, and strove to appear composed; but
she was too deeply affected for internal consolation: she felt herself
degraded in being openly addressed as a love-sick girl; and injured in
being supposed, for a moment, capable of any mercenary view. She desired
to be excused going out, and to have the evening to herself; not on
account of the expence of the play; she had again wholly forgotten her
poverty; but to breathe a little alone, and indulge the sadness of her
mind.

Mrs. Arlbery, unfeignedly sorry to have caused her any pain, would not
oppose her inclination; she repeated her apologies, dragged from her an
assurance of forgiveness, and went down stairs alone to a summons from
Sir Sedley Clarendel.

The first moments of her departure were spent by Camilla in the deepest
dejection; from which, however, the recollection of her father, and her
solemn engagement to him, soon after awakened her. She read again his
injunctions, and resolving not to add to her unhappiness by any failure
in her duty, determined to make her appearance with some spirit before
Mrs. Arlbery set out.

       *       *       *       *       *

'My dear Clarendel,' cried that lady, as she entered the parlour, 'this
poor little girl is in a more serious plight than I had conjectured. I
have been giving her a few hints, from the stores of my worldly
knowledge, and they appear to her so detestably mean and vulgar, that
they have almost broken her heart. The arrival of this odious Mandlebert
has overthrown all our schemes. We are cut up, Sir Sedley! completely
cut up!'

'O, indubitably to a degree!' cried the Baronet, with an air of mingled
pique and conceit; 'how could it be otherwise? Exists the wight who
could dream of competition with Mandlebert!'

'Nay, now, my dear Clarendel, you enchant me. If you view his power with
resentment, you are the man in the world to crumble it to the dust. To
work, therefore, dear creature, without delay.'

'But how must I go about it? a little instruction, for pity!'

'Charming innocent! So you don't know how to try to make yourself
agreeable?'

'Not in the least! I am ignorant to a redundance.'

'And were you never more adroit?'

'Never. A goth in grain! Witless from the first _muling in my nurse's
arms_!'

'Come, come, a truce for a moment, with foppery, and answer me
seriously; Were you ever in love, Clarendel? speak the truth. I am just
seized with a passionate desire to know.'

'Why ... yes ...' answered he, pulling his lips with his fingers, 'I
think--I rather think ... I was once.'

'O tell! tell! tell!'

'Nay, I am not very positive. One hears it is to happen; and one is put
upon thinking of it, while so very young, that one soon takes it for
granted. Define it a little, and I can answer you more accurately. Pray,
is it any thing beyond being very fond, and very silly, with a little
touch of melancholy?'

'Precise! precise! Tell me, therefore, what it was that caught you.
Beauty? Fortune? Flattery? or Wit? Speak! speak! I die to know!'

'O, I have forgotten all that these hundred years! I have not the
smallest trace left!'

'You are a terrible coxcomb, my dear Clarendel! and I am a worse myself
for giving you so much encouragement. But, however, we must absolutely
do something for this fair and drooping violet. She won't go even to the
play tonight.'

'Lovely lily! how shall we rear it? Tell her I beg her to be of our
party.'

'You beg her? My dear Sir Sedley! what do you talk of?'

'Tell her 'tis my entreaty, my supplication!'

'And you think that will make her comply?'

'You will see.'

'Bravo, my dear Clarendel, bravo! However, if you have the courage to
send such a message, I have not to deliver it: but I will write it for
you.'

She then wrote,

'Sir Sedley Clarendel asserts, that if you are not as inexorable as you
are fair, you will not refuse to join our little party tonight at the
theatre.'

Camilla, after a severe conflict from this note, which she concluded to
be the mere work of Mrs. Arlbery to draw her from retirement, sent word
she would wait upon her.

Sir Sedley heard the answer with exultation, and Mrs. Arlbery with
surprise. She declared, however, that since he possessed this power, she
should not suffer it to lie dormant, but make it work upon her fair
friend, till it either excited jealousy in Mandlebert, or brought
indifference to herself. 'My resolution,' cried she, 'is fixt; either to
see him at her feet, or drive him from her heart.'

Camilla, presently descending, looked away from Mrs. Arlbery; but,
unsuspicious as she was undesigning, thanked the Baronet for his
message, and told him she had already repented her solitary plan. The
Baronet felt but the more flattered, from supposing this was said from
the fear of flattering him.

In the way to the theatre, Camilla, with much confusion, recollected her
empty purse; but could not, before Mr. and Miss Dennel and Sir Sedley,
prevail with herself to make it known; she could only determine to ask
Mrs. Arlbery to pay for her at present, and defer the explanation till
night.

But, just as she alighted from the coach, Mrs. Arlbery, in her usual
manner, said: 'Do pay for me, good Dennel; you know how I hate money.'

Camilla, hurrying after her, whispered, 'May I beg you to lend me some
silver?'

'Silver! I have not carried any about with me since I lost my dear
ponies and my pet phaeton. I am as poor as Job; and therefore bent upon
avoiding all temptation. Somebody or other always trusts me. If they get
paid, they bless their stars. If not,--do you hear me, Mr.
Dennel?--'twill be all the same an hundred years hence; so what man of
any spirit will think of it? hey, Mr. Dennel?'

'But--dear madam!--pray--'

'O, they'll change for you, here, my dear, without difficulty.'

'But ... but ... pray stop!... I ... I have no gold neither!'

'Have you done like me, then, come out without your purse?'

'No!...'

This single negative, and the fluttered manner, and low voice in which
it was pronounced, gave Mrs. Arlbery the utmost astonishment. She said
nothing, however, but called aloud to Mr. Dennel to settle for the whole
party.

Mr. Dennel, during the dialogue, had paid for himself and his daughter,
and walked on into the box.

'What a Hottentot!' exclaimed Mrs. Arlbery. 'Come, then, Clarendel, take
pity on two poor distressed objects, and let us pass.'

Sir Sedley, little suspicious of the truth, yet flattered to be always
called upon to be the banker of Camilla, obeyed with alacrity.

Mrs. Arlbery placed Camilla upon a seat before her, and motioned to the
Baronet to remain in a row above; and then, in a low voice, said: 'My
dear Clarendel, do you know they have let that poor girl come to
Tunbridge without a sixpence in her pocket!'

'Is it possible?'

''Tis a fact. I never suspected it till suspicion was followed by
confirmation. She had a guinea or two, I fancy, at first, just to equip
her with one set of things to appear in; which, probably, the good
Parson imagined would last as clean and as long at a public place as at
his parsonage-house, where my best suit is worn about twice in a summer.
But how that rich old uncle of hers could suffer her to come without a
penny, I can neither account for nor forgive. I have seen her shyness
about money-matters for some days past; but I so little conjectured the
possibility of her distress, that I have always rather increased than
spared it.'

'Sweet little angel!' exclaimed the Baronet, in a tone of tenderness; 'I
had indeed no idea of her situation. Heavens! I could lay half my
fortune at her feet to set her at ease!'

'Half, my dear Clarendel!' cried Mrs. Arlbery, laughing; 'nay, why not
the whole? where will you find a more lovely companion?'

'Pho, pho!--but why should it be so vastly horrid an incongruity that a
man who, by chance, is rich, should do something for a woman who, by
chance, is poor? How immensely impertinent is the prejudice that forbids
so natural a use of money! why should the better half of a man's actions
be always under the dominion of some prescriptive slavery? 'Tis hideous
to think of. And how could he more delectably spend, or more
ecstatically enjoy his fortune, than by so equitable a participation?'

'True, Sir Sedley. And you men are all so disinterested, so pure in your
benevolence, so free from any spirit of encroachment, that no possible
ill consequence could ensue from such an arrangement. When once a fair
lady had made you a civil courtesy, you would wholly forget you had ever
obliged her. And you would let her walk her ways, and forget it also:
especially if, by chance, she happened to be young and pretty.'

This raillery was interrupted by the appearance of Edgar in an opposite
box. 'Ah!' cried Mrs. Arlbery, 'look but at that piece of congelation
that nothing seems to thaw! Enter the lists against him, dear Clarendel!
He has stationed himself there merely to watch and discountenance her. I
hate him heartily; yet he rolls in wealth, and she has nothing. I must
bring them, therefore, together, positively: for though a husband ...
such a fastidious one especially ... is not what I would recommend to
her for happiness, 'tis better than poverty. And, after his cold and
selfish manner, I am convinced he loves her. He is evidently in pursuit
of her, though he wants generosity to act openly. Work him but with a
little jealousy, and you will find me right.'

'Me, my dear madam? me, my divine Mrs. Arlbery? Alas! with what chance?
No! see where enters the gallant Major. Thence must issue those poignant
darts that newly vivify the expiring embers of languishing love.'

'Now don't talk such nonsense when I am really serious. You are the very
man for the purpose: because, though you have no feeling, Mandlebert
does not know you are without it. But those Officers are too notoriously
unmeaning to excite a moment's real apprehension. They have a new
dulcinea wherever they newly quarter, and carry about the few ideas they
possess from damsel to damsel, as regularly as from town to town.'

The Major was now in the box, and the conversation ended.

He endeavoured, as usual, to monopolize Camilla; but while her thoughts
were all upon Edgar, the whole she could command of her attention was
bestowed upon Sir Sedley.

This was not unobserved by Edgar, who now again wavered in believing she
loved the Major: but the doubt brought with it no pleasure; it led him
only the more to contemn her. Does she turn, thought he, thus, from one
to the other, with no preference but of accident or caprice? Is her
favour thus light of circulation? Is it now the mawkish Major, and now
the coxcomb Clarendel? Already is she thus versed in the common
dissipation of coquetry?... O, if so, how blest has been my escape! A
coquette wife!...

His heart swelled, and his eye no longer sought her.

       *       *       *       *       *

At night, as soon as she went to her own room, Mrs. Arlbery followed
her, and said: 'My dear Miss Tyrold, I know much better than you how
many six-pences and three-pences are perpetually wanted at places such
as these. Do suffer me to be your banker. What shall we begin our
account with?'

Camilla felt really thankful for being spared an opening upon this
subject. She consented to borrow two guineas; but Mrs. Arlbery would not
leave her with less than five, adding, 'I insist upon doubling it in a
day or two. Never mind what I say about my distress, and my phaeton,
and my ponies; 'tis only to torment Dennel, who trembles at parting with
half-a-crown for half an hour; or else, now and then, to set other
people a staring; which is not unamusing, when nothing else is going
forward. But believe me, my dear young friend, were I really in
distress, or were I really not to discharge these petty debts I incur,
you would soon discover it by the thinness of our parties! These men
that now so flock around us; would find some other loadstone. I know
them pretty well, dear creatures!...'

Though shocked to appear thus destitute, Camilla was somewhat relieved
to have no debt but with Mrs. Arlbery; for she resolved to pay Sir
Sedley and the milliner the next day, and to settle with Mrs. Arlbery
upon her return to Etherington.




CHAPTER X

_Strictures upon the Ton_


The next day was appointed for the master of the ceremonies' ball; which
proved a general rendezvous of all parties, and almost all classes of
company.

Mrs. Mittin, in a morning visit to Camilla, found out that she had only
the same cap for this occasion that she had worn upon every other; and,
assuring her it was grown so old-fashioned, that not a lady's maid in
Tunbridge would now be seen in it, she offered to pin her up a turban,
which should come to next to nothing, yet should be the prettiest, and
simplest, and cheapest thing that ever was seen.

Camilla, though a stranger to vanity, and without any natural turn to
extravagance, was neither of an age, nor a philosophy, to be unmoved by
the apprehension of being exposed to ridicule from her dress: she
thankfully, therefore, accepted the proposal; and Mrs. Mittin, taking a
guinea, said, she would pay Mrs. Tillden for the hat, at the same time
that she bought a new handkerchief for the turban.

When she came back, however, she had only laid out a few shillings at
another shop, for some articles, so cheap, she said it would have been a
shame not to buy them; but without paying the bill, Mrs. Tillden having
desired it might not be discharged till the young lady was leaving the
Wells.

As the turban was made up from a pattern of one prepared for Mrs.
Berlinton, Camilla had every reason to be satisfied of its elegance. Nor
did Mrs. Mittin involve her in much distress how her own trouble might
be recompensed; the cap she found unfit for Camilla, she could contrive,
she said, to alter for herself; and as a friend had given her a ticket
for the ball, it would be mighty convenient to her, as she had nothing
of the kind ready.

       *       *       *       *       *

Far different were the sensations with which Edgar and Camilla saw each
other this night, from those with which, so lately they had met in the
same apartment. Edgar thought her degenerating into the character of a
coquette, and Camilla, in his intended tour, anticipated a period to all
their intercourse.

She was received, meanwhile, in general, with peculiar and flattering
attention. Sir Sedley Clarendel made up to her, with public smiles and
courtesy; even Lord Newford and Sir Theophilus Jarard, though they
passed by Mrs. Arlbery without speaking to her, singled out Camilla for
their devoirs. The distinction paid her by the admired Mrs. Berlinton
had now not only marked her as an object whom it would not be derogatory
to treat with civility, but as one who might, hence-forward, be regarded
herself as admitted into _certain circles_.

Mrs. Arlbery, though every way a woman of fashion, they conceived to be
somewhat wanting in _ton_, since she presided in no party, was unnoticed
by Lady Alithea Selmore, and unknown to Mrs. Berlinton.

_Ton_, in the scale of connoisseurs in the _certain circles_, is as much
above fashion, as fashion is above fortune: for though the latter is an
ingredient that all alike covet to possess, it is courted without being
respected, and desired without being honoured, except only by those who,
from earliest life, have been taught to earn it as a business. _Ton_,
meanwhile, is as attainable without birth as without understanding,
though in all the _certain circles_ it takes place of either. To define
what it is, would be as difficult to the most renowned of its votaries,
as to an utter stranger to its attributes. That those who call
themselves of the _ton_ either lead, or hold cheap all others, is
obtrusively evident: but how and by what art they attain such
pre-eminence, they would be perplexed to explain. That some whim has
happily called forth imitators; that some strange phrase has been
adopted; that something odd in dress has become popular; that some
beauty, or some deformity, no matter which, has found annotators; may
commonly be traced as the origin of their first public notice. But to
whichever of these accidents their early fame may be attributed, its
establishment and its glory is built upon vanity that knows no
deficiency, or insolence that knows no blush.

Notwithstanding her high superiority both in capacity and knowledge,
Mrs. Arlbery felt piqued by this behaviour, though she laughed at
herself for heeding it. 'Nevertheless,' cried she, 'those who shew
contempt, even though themselves are the most contemptible, always seem
on the higher ground. Yet 'tis only, with regard to these animals of the
_ton_, that nobody combats them. Their presumption is so notorious,
that, either by disgust or alarm, it keeps off reprehension. Let anyone
boldly, and face to face, venture to be more uncivil than themselves,
and they would be overpowered at once. Their valour is no better than
that of a barking cur, who affrights all that go on without looking at
him, but who, the moment he is turned upon with a stamp and a fierce
look, retreats himself, amazed, afraid, and ashamed.'

'If you, Mrs. Arlbery,' said the General, 'would undertake to tutor
them, what good you might do!'

'O, Heavens, General, suspect me not of such reforming Quixotism! I have
not the smallest desire to do them any good, believe me! If nature has
given them no sense of propriety, why should I be more liberal? I only
want to punish them; and that not, alas! from virtue, but from spite!'

The conversation of the two men of the _ton_ with Camilla was soon over.
It was made up of a few disjointed sentences, abusing Tunbridge, and
praising the German Spa, in cant words, emphatically and conceitedly
pronounced, and brought round upon every occasion, and in every speech,
with so precise an exclusion of all other terms, that their vocabulary
scarce consisted of forty words in totality.

Edgar occupied the space they vacated the moment of their departure; but
not alone; Mrs. Mittin came into it with him, eager to tell Camilla how
everybody had admired her turban; how sweetly she looked in it; how
everybody said, they should not have known her again, it became her so;
and how they all agreed her head had never been so well dressed before.

Edgar, when he could be heard, began speaking of Sir Sedley Clarendel;
he felt miserable in what he thought her inconsiderate encouragement of
such impertinence; and the delicacy which restrained him from expressing
his opinion of the Major, had no weight with him here, as jealousy had
no share in his dislike to the acquaintance: he believed the young
Baronet incapable of all love but for himself, and a decidedly destined
bachelor: without, therefore, the smallest hesitation, he plainly avowed
that he had never met with a more thoroughly conceited fop, a more
elaborate and self-sufficient coxcomb.

'You see him only,' said Camilla, 'with the impression made by his
general appearance; and that is all against him: I always look for his
better qualities and rejoice in finding them. His very sight fills me
with grateful pleasure, by reminding me of the deliverance I owe to
him.'

Edgar, amazed, intreated an explanation; and, when she had given it,
struck and affected, clasped his hands, and exclaimed: 'How providential
such a rescue! and how differently shall I henceforth behold him!' And,
almost involuntarily turning to Mrs. Arlbery, he intreated to be
presented to the young Baronet.

Sir Sedley received his overtures with some surprise, but great
civility; and then went on with a ludicrous account he was giving to
Lord Newford and Sir Theophilus, of the quarrel of Macdersey with Mr.
Dubster.

'How awake thou art grown, Clary?' cried Sir Theophilus; 'A little while
ago thou wast all hip and vapour; and now thou dost nothing but
patronise fun.'

'Why, yes,' answered the Baronet, 'I begin to tire of _ennui_. 'Tis
grown so common. I saw my footman beginning it but last week.'

'O, hang it! O, curse it!' cried Lord Newford, 'your footman!'

'Yes, the rogue is not without parts. I don't know if I shan't give him
some lessons, upon leaving it off myself. The only difficulty is to find
out what, in this nether world, to do without it. How can one fill up
one's time? Stretching, yawning, and all that, are such delicious
ingredients for coaxing on the lazy hours!'

'O, hang it, O, curse it,' cried Lord Newford; 'who can exist without
them? I would not be bound to pass half an hour without yawning and
stretching for the Mogul's empire. I'd rather snap short at once.'

'No, no, don't snap short yet, little Newy,' cried Sir Sedley. 'As to
me, I am never at a loss for an expedient. I am not without some
thoughts of falling in love.'

He looked at Edgar; who, not aware this was designed to catch his
attention, naturally exclaimed: 'Thoughts! can you choose, or avoid at
pleasure?'

'Most certainly. After four-and-twenty a man is seldom taken by
surprise; at least, not till he is past forty: and then, the fear of
being too late, sometimes renovates the eagerness of the first youth.
But, in general, your willing slaves are boys.'

Edgar, laughing, begged a little information, how he meant to put his
thoughts in execution.

'Nothing so facile! 'Tis but to look at some fair object attentively, to
follow her with your eyes when she quits the room; never to let them
rest without watching for her return; filling up the interval with a few
sighs; to which, in a short time, you grow so habituated, that they
become natural; and then, before you are aware, a certain solicitude and
restlessness arise, which the connoisseurs in natural history dub
falling in love.'

'These would be good hints,' said Edgar, 'to urge on waverers, who wish
to persuade themselves to marry.'

'O no, my dear sir! no! that's a mistake of the first magnitude; no man
is in love when he marries. He may have loved before; I have even heard
he has sometimes loved after: but at the time never. There is something
in the formalities of the matrimonial preparations that drive away all
the little cupidons. They rarely stand even a demand of consent--unless
they doubt obtaining it; but a settlement! Parchments! Lawyers!--No!
there is not a little Love in the Island of Cyprus, that is not ready to
lend a wing to set passion, inspiration, and tenderness to flight, from
such excruciating legalities.'

'Don't prose, Clary; don't prose,' cried Sir Theophilus, gaping till his
mouth was almost distorted.

'O, killing! O, murder!' cried Lord Newford; 'what dost talk of marriage
for?'

'It seems, then,' said Edgar, 'to be much the same thing what sort of
wife falls to a man's lot; whether the woman of his choice, or a person
he should blush to own?'

'Blush!' repeated Sir Sedley, smiling; 'no! no! A man of any fashion
never blushes for his wife, whatever she may be. For his mistress,
indeed, he may blush: for if there are any small failings there, his
taste may be called in question.'

'Blush about a wife!' exclaimed Lord Newford; 'O, hang it! O, curse it!
that's too bad!'

'Too bad, indeed,' cried Sir Theophilus; 'I can't possibly patronise
blushing for a wife.'

''Tis the same, then, also,' said Edgar, 'how she turns out when the
knot is tied, whether well or ill?'

'To exactitude! If he marry her for beauty, let her prove what she may,
her face offers his apology. If for money, he needs none. But if,
indeed, by some queer chance, he marries with a view of living with her,
then, indeed, if his particularity gets wind, he may grow a little
anxious for the acquittal of his oddity, in seeing her approved.'

'Approved! Ha! ha!' cried Lord Newford; 'a wife approved! That's too
bad, Clary; that's too bad!'

'Poor Clary, what art prosing about?' cried Sir Theophilus. 'I can't
possibly patronise this prosing.'

The entrance of the beautiful Mrs. Berlinton and her train now
interrupted this conversation; the young Baronet immediately joined her;
though not till he had given his hand to Edgar, in token of his
willingness to cultivate his acquaintance.

Edgar, returning to Camilla, confessed he had too hastily judged Sir
Sedley, when he concluded him a fool, as well as a fop; 'For,' added he,
with a smile, 'I see, now, one of those epithets is all he merits. He is
certainly far from deficient in parts, though he abuses the good gifts
of nature with such pedantry of affectation and conceit.'

Camilla was now intent to clear the history of the cotillon; when Mrs.
Berlinton approaching, and, with graceful fondness, taking her hand,
entreated to be indulged with her society: and, since she meant not to
dance, for Edgar had not asked her, and the Major she had refused, she
could not resist her invitation. She had lost her fear of displeasing
Mrs. Arlbery by quitting her, from conceiving a still greater, of
wearying by remaining with her.

Edgar, anxious both to understand and to discuss this new connexion,
hovered about the party with unremitting vigilance. But, though he could
not either look at or listen to Mrs. Berlinton, without admiring her,
his admiration was neither free from censure of herself, nor terrour
for her companion: he saw her far more beautiful than prudent, more
amiable than dignified. The females in her group were few, and little
worthy notice; the males appeared, to a man, without disguise, though
not without restraint, her lovers. And though no one seemed selected, no
one seemed despised; she appeared to admit their devoirs with little
consideration; neither modestly retiring from power, nor vainly
displaying it.

Camilla quitted not this enchantress till summoned by Mrs. Arlbery; who,
seeing herself again, from the arrival of Lady Alithea Selmore, without
any distinguished party, that lady drawing into her circle all people of
any consequence not already attracted by Mrs. Berlinton, grew sick of
the ball and the rooms, and impatient to return home. Camilla, in
retiring, presented, folded in a paper, the guinea, half-guinea, and
silver, she had borrowed of Sir Sedley; who received it without
presuming at any contest; though not, after what he had heard from Mrs.
Arlbery, without reluctance.

Edgar watched the instant when Camilla moved from the gay group; but
Mrs. Mittin watched it also; and, approaching her more speedily, because
with less embarrassment, seized her arm before he could reach her: and
before he could, with any discretion, glide to her other side, Miss
Dennel was there.

'Well now, young ladies,' said Mrs. Mittin, 'I'm going to tell you a
secret. Do you know, for all I call myself Mrs. I'm single?'

'Dear, la!' exclaimed Miss Dennel; 'and for all you're so old!'

'So old, Miss! Who told you I was so old? I'm not so very old as you may
think me. I'm no particular age, I assure you. Why, what made you think
of that?'

'La, I don't know; only you don't look very young.'

'I can't help that, Miss Dennel. Perhaps you mayn't look young yourself
one of these days. People can't always stand still just at a particular
minute. Why, how old, now, do you take me to be? Come, be sincere.'

'La! I'm sure I can't tell; only I thought you was an old woman.'

'An old woman! Lord, my dear, people would laugh to hear you. You don't
know what an old woman is. Why it's being a cripple, and blind, and
deaf, and dumb, and slavering, and without a tooth. Pray, how am I like
all that?'

'Nay, I'm sure I don't know; only I thought, by the look of your face,
you must be monstrous old.'

'Lord, I can't think what you've got in your head, Miss Dennel! I never
heard as much before, since I was born. Why the reason I'm called Mrs.
is not because of that, I assure you; but because I'd a mind to be taken
for a young widow, on account everybody likes a young widow; and if one
is called Miss, people being so soon to think one an old maid, that it's
quite disagreeable.'

This discourse brought them to the carriage.




CHAPTER XI

_Traits of Character_


The following morning, Mrs. Mittin came with eager intelligence, that
the raffle was fixed for one o'clock; and, without any scruple,
accompanied the party to the shop, addressing herself to every one of
the set as to a confirmed and intimate friend. But her chief supporter
was Mr. Dennel, whose praise of her was the vehicle to his censure of
his sister-in-law. That lady was the person in the world whom he most
feared and disliked. He had neither spirit for the splendid manner in
which she lived, nor parts for the vivacity of her conversation. The
first, his love of money made him condemn as extravagant, and the latter
his self-love made him hate, because he could not understand. He
persuaded himself, therefore, that she had more words than meaning; and
extolled all the obvious truths uttered by Mrs. Mittin, to shew his
superior admiration of what, being plain and incontrovertible, he
dignified with the panegyric of being sensible.

When they came upon the Pantiles, they were accosted by Mr. Dubster; who
having solemnly asked them, one by one, how they all did, joined Mrs.
Mittin, saying: 'Well, I can't pretend as I'm over sorry you've got
neither of those two comical gentlemen with you, that behaved so free to
me for nothing. I don't think it's particular agreeable being treated
so; though it's a thing I don't much mind. It's not worth fretting
about.'

'Well, don't say any more about it,' cried Mrs. Mittin, endeavouring to
shake him off; 'I dare say you did something to provoke 'em, or they're
too genteel to have taken notice of you.'

'Me provoke them! why what did I do? I was just like a mere lamb, as one
may say, at the very time that young Captain fell abusing me so, calling
of me a little dirty fellow, without no provocation. If I'm little, or
big, I don't see that it's any business of his. And as to dirty, I'd put
on all clean linen but the very day before, as the people can tell you
at the inn; so the whole was a mere piece of falsehood from one end to
t'other.'

'Well, well, what do you talk about it for any more? You should never
take anything ill of a young gentleman. It's only aggravating him so
much the worse.'

'Aggravating him, Mrs. Mittin! why what need I mind that? Do you think
I'm to put up with his talking of caning me, and such like, because of
his being a young gentleman? Not I, I assure you! I'm no such person.
And if once I feel his switch across these here shoulders, it won't be
so well for him!'

The party now entered the shop where the raffle was to be held.

Edgar was already there; he had no power to keep away from any place
where he was sure to behold Camilla; and a raffle brought to his mind
the most tender recollections. He was now with Lord O'Lerney, in whose
candour and benevolence of character he took great delight, and with
whom he had joined Lady Isabella Irby, who had been drawn, as a quiet
spectatress, to the sight, by a friend, who, having never seen the
humours of a raffle, had entreated, through her means, to look on. He
languished to see Camilla presented to this lady, in whose manners and
conversation, dignity and simplicity were equally blended.

While he was yet, though absently, conversing with them, Lord O'Lerney
pointed out Camilla to Lady Isabella.

'I have taken notice of her already at the Rooms;' answered her
Ladyship; 'and I have seldom, I think, seen a more interesting young
creature.'

'The character of her countenance,' said Lord O'Lerney, 'strikes me very
peculiarly. 'Tis so intelligent, yet so unhackneyed, so full of meaning,
yet so artless, that, while I look at her, I feel myself involuntarily
anxious for her welfare.'

'I don't think she seems happy,' said Lady Isabella; 'Do you know who
she is, my Lord?'

Edgar, here, with difficulty suppressed a sigh. Not happy! thought he;
ah! wherefore? what can make Camilla unhappy?

'I understand she is a niece of Sir Hugh Tyrold,' answered his Lordship;
'a Yorkshire Baronet. She is here with an acquaintance of mine, Mrs.
Arlbery, who is one of the first women I have ever known, for wit and
capacity. She has an excellent heart, too; though her extraordinary
talents, and her carelessness of opinion make it sometimes, but very
unjustly, doubted.'

Edgar heard this with much pleasure. A good word from Lord O'Lerney
quieted many fears; he hoped he had been unnecessarily alarmed; he
determined, in future, to judge her more favourably.

'I should be glad,' continued his Lordship, 'to hear this young lady
were either well established, or returned to her friends without
becoming an object of public notice. A young woman is no where so rarely
respectable, or respected, as at these water-drinking places, if seen at
them either long or often. The search of pleasure and dissipation, at a
spot consecrated for restoring health to the sick, the infirm, and the
suffering, carries with it an air of egotism, that does not give the
most pleasant idea of the feeling and disposition.'

'Yet, may not the sick, my Lord, be rather amended than hurt by the
sight of gaiety around them?'

'Yes, my dear Lady Isabella; and the effect, therefore, I believe to be
beneficial. But as this is not the motive why the young and the gay seek
these spots, it is not here they will find themselves most honoured. And
the mixture of pain and illness with splendor and festivity, is so
unnatural, that probably it is to that we must attribute that a young
woman is no where so hardly judged. If she is without fortune, she is
thought a female adventurer, seeking to sell herself for its attainment;
if she is rich, she is supposed a willing dupe, ready for a snare, and
only looking about for an ensnarer.'

'And yet, young women seldom, I believe, my Lord, merit this severity of
judgment. They come but hither in the summer, as they go to London in
the winter, simply in search of amusement, without any particular
purpose.'

'True; but they do not weigh what their observers weigh for them, that
the search of public recreation in the winter is, from long habit,
permitted without censure; but that the summer has not, as yet,
prescription so positively in its favour; and those who, after meeting
them all the winter at the opera, and all the spring at Ranelagh, hear
of them all the summer at Cheltenham, Tunbridge, &c. and all the autumn
at Bath, are apt to inquire, when is the season for home.'

'Ah, my Lord! how wide are the poor inconsiderate little flutterers from
being aware of such a question! How necessary to youth and
thoughtlessness is the wisdom of experience!'

Why does she not come this way? thought Edgar; why does she not gather
from these mild, yet understanding moralists, instruction that might
benefit all her future life?

'There is nothing,' said Lord O'Lerney, 'I more sincerely pity than the
delusions surrounding young females. The strongest admirers of their
eyes are frequently the most austere satirists of their conduct.'

The entrance of Lord Newford, Sir Theophilus Jarard, and Sir Sedley
Clarendel, all noisily talking and laughing together, interrupted any
further conversation. The two former no sooner saw Camilla, and
perceived neither Lady Alithea Selmore, nor Mrs. Berlinton, than they
made up to her; and Sir Sedley, who now found she was completely
established in the _bon ton_, felt something of pride mix with pleasure
in publicly availing himself of his intimacy with her; and something
like interest mix with curiosity, in examining if Edgar were struck with
her ready attention to him.

Upon Edgar, however, it made not the slightest impression. While Sir
Sedley had appeared to him a mere fop, he had thought it degraded her;
but how he regarded him as her preserver, it seemed both natural and
merited.

Sir Sedley, not aware of this reasoning, was somewhat piqued; and taking
him to another part of the shop, whispered: 'I am horribly vapoured! Do
you know I have some thoughts of trying that little girl? Do you think
one could make anything of her?'

'How? what do you mean?' cried Edgar, with sudden alarm.

Sir Sedley, a little flattered, affectedly answered: 'O, if you have any
serious designs that way, incontestably I won't interfere.'

'Me!' cried Edgar, surprised and offended; 'believe me, no! I have all
my life considered her--as my sister.'

Sir Sedley saw this was spoken with effort; and negligently replied:
'Nay you are just at the first epocha for marrying from inclination; but
you are in the right not to perform so soon the funeral honours of
liberty. 'Tis what you may do at any time. So many girls want
establishments, that a man of sixty can just as easily get a wife of
eighteen, as a man of one-and-twenty. The only inconvenience in that
sort of alliance is, that though she begins with submitting to her
venerated husband as prettily as to her papa, she is terribly apt to
have a knack of running away from him, afterwards, with equal facility.'

'That is rather a discouraging article, I confess,' cried Edgar, 'for
the tardy votaries of Hymen!'

'O, no! 'tis no great matter!' answered he, patting his snuffbox; 'we
are impenetrable in the extreme to those sort of grievances now-a-days.
We are at such prodigious expence of sensibility in public, for tales of
sorrow told about pathetically, at a full board, that if we suffered
much for our private concerns to boot, we must always meet one another
with tears in our eyes. We never weep now, but at dinner, or at some
diversion.'

Lord Newford, pulling him by the arm, called out: 'Come, Clary, what art
about, man? we want thee.'

'Come, Clary! don't shirk, Clary,' cried Sir Theophilus; 'I can't
possibly patronise this shirking.' And they hauled him to a corner of
the shop, where all three resumed their customary laughing whispers.

'You will not, perhaps, suspect, Lady Isabella,' said Lord O'Lerney,
smiling, 'that one of that triumvirate is by no means deficient in
parts, and can even, when he desires it, be extremely pleasing?'

'Your Lordship judges right, I confess! I had not, indeed, done him such
justice!'

'See then,' said his Lordship, 'how futile an animal is man, without
some decided character and principle!

    He's every thing by turns, and nothing long[3].

[Footnote 3: Dryden's Absalom and Achitophel.]

Wise, foolish; virtuous, vicious; active, indolent; prodigal and
avaricious! No contrast is too strong for him while guided but by
accident or impulse. This gentleman also, in common with the rest of his
_tonnish_ brethren, is now daily, though unconsciously, hoarding up a
world of unprepared-for mortification, by not foreseeing that the more
he is celebrated in his youth, for being the leader of the _ton_, and
the man of the day, the earlier he will be regarded as a creature out of
date, an old beau, and a fine gentleman of former times. But 'tis by
reverses, such as these, that folly and impropriety pay their penalties.
We might spare all our anger against the vanity of the beauty, or the
conceit of the coxcomb. Are not wrinkles always in waiting to punish the
one, and age, without honour, to chastise and degrade the other?'

All the rafflers were now arrived, except Mrs. Berlinton, who was
impatiently expected. Lady Alithea Selmore had already sent a proxy to
throw for her in her own woman; much to the dissatisfaction of most part
of the company. A general rising and inquietude to look out for Mrs.
Berlinton, gave Edgar, at length, an opportunity to stand next to
Camilla. 'How I grieve,' he cried 'you should not know Lady Isabella
Irby! she seems to me a model for a woman of rank in her manners, and a
model for a woman of every station in her mind. The world, I believe,
could scarce have tempted her to so offensive a mark of superiority as
has just been exhibited by Lady Alithea Selmore, who has ingeniously
discovered a method of being signalised as the most important person out
of twenty, by making herself nineteen enemies.'

'I wonder,' said Camilla, 'she can think the chance of the ear-rings
worth so high a price!'

A footman, in a splendid livery, now entering, inquired for Miss Tyrold.
She was pointed out to him by Major Cerwood, and he delivered her a
letter from Mrs. Berlinton.

The contents were to entreat she would throw for that lady, who was in
the midst of Akenside's Pleasures of the Imagination, and could not tear
herself away from them.

Camilla blushed excessively in proclaiming she was chosen Mrs.
Berlinton's proxy. Edgar saw with tenderness her modest confusion, and,
with a pleasure the most touching, read the favourable impression it
made upon Lord O'Lerney and Lady Isabella.

This seemed an opportunity irresistible for venting his fears and
cautions about Mrs. Berlinton; and, taking the bustling period in which
the rafflers were arranging the order and manner of throwing, he said,
in a low, and diffident tone of voice, 'You have committed to me an
important and, I fear, an importunate office; yet, while I hold, I
cannot persuade myself not to fulfil it; though I know that to give
advice which opposes sentiment and feeling, is repugnant to independence
and to delicacy. Such, therefore, I do not mean to enforce; but merely
to offer hints--intimations--and observations--that without controlling,
may put you upon your guard.'

Camilla, affected by this unexpected address, could only look her desire
for an explanation.

'The lady,' he continued, 'whom you are presently to represent, appears
to be uncommonly engaging?--'

'Indeed she is! She is attractive, gentle, amiable.'

'She seems, also, already to have caught your affection?'

'Who could have withheld it, that had seen her as I have seen her? She
is as unhappy as she is lovely....'

'I have heard of your first meeting, with as much pleasure in the
presence of mind it called forth on one side, as with doubt and
perplexity, upon every circumstance I can gather, of the other.--'

'If you knew her, you would find it impossible to hold any doubts;
impossible to resist admiring, compassionating, and loving her!'

'If my knowledge of her bribed an interest in her favour, without
convincing me she deserved it, I ought, rather, to regret that you have
not escaped falling into such a snare, than that I could have escaped it
myself.'

'I believe her free, nay incapable of all ill!' cried Camilla warmly;
'though I dare not assert she is always coolly upon her guard.'

'Do not let me hurt you,' said Edgar, gently; 'I have seen how lovely
she is in person, and how pleasing in manners. And she is so young that,
were she in a situation less exposed, want of steadiness or judgment
might, by a little time, be set right. But here, there is surely much to
fear from her early possession of power.... O, that some happier chance
had brought about such a peculiar intercourse for you with Lady Isabella
Irby! There, to the pleasure of friendship, might be added the modesty
of retired elegance, and the security of established respectability.'

'And may not this yet happen, with Mrs. Berlinton? Lady Isabella, though
still young, is not in the extreme youth of Mrs. Berlinton: a few more
years, therefore, may bring equal discretion; and as she has already
every other good quality, you may hereafter equally approve her.'

'Do you think, then,' said Edgar, half smiling, 'that the few years of
difference in their age were spent by Lady Isabella in the manner they
are now spent by Mrs. Berlinton? do you think she paved the way for her
present dignified, though unassuming character, by permitting herself to
be surrounded by professed admirers? by letting their sighs reach her
ears? by suffering their eyes to fasten with open rapture on her face?
and by holding it sufficient not to suppress such liberties, so long as
she does not avowedly encourage them?'

Camilla was startled. She had not seen her conduct in this light: yet
her understanding refused to deny it might bear this interpretation.

Charmed with the candour of her silence, Edgar continued, 'How wide from
all that is open to similar comment, is the carriage and behaviour of
Lady Isabella! how clear! how transparent, how free from all conjecture
of blemish! They may each, indeed, essentially be equally innocent; and
your opinion of Mrs. Berlinton corroborates the impression made by her
beautiful countenance: yet how far more highly is the true feminine
character preserved, where surmise is not raised, than where it can be
parried! Think but of those two ladies, and mark the difference. Lady
Isabella, addressed only where known, followed only because loved, sees
no adulators encircling her, for adulation would alarm her; no admirers
paying her homage, for such homage would offend her. She knows she has
not only her own innocence to guard, but the honour of her husband.
Whether she is happy with him or not, this deposit is equally sacred.--'

He stopt; for Camilla again started. The irrepressible frankness of her
nature revolted against denying how much this last sentence struck her,
and she ingenuously exclaimed: 'O that this most amiable young creature
were but more aware of this duty!'

'Ah, my dear Miss Camilla,' cried Edgar, with energy, 'since you feel
and own ... and with you, that is always one ... this baneful
deficiency, drop, or at least suspend an intercourse too hazardous to be
indulged with propriety! See what she may be sometime hence, ere you
contract further intimacy. At present, unexperienced and unsuspicious,
her dangers may be yours. You are too young for such a risk. Fly, fly
from it, my dear Miss Camilla!... as if the voice of your mother were
calling out to caution you!'

Camilla was deeply touched. An interest so warm in her welfare was
soothing, and the name of her mother rendered it awful; yet, thus
united, it appeared to her more strongly than ever to announce itself as
merely fraternal. She could not suppress a sigh; but he attributed it to
the request he had urged, and, with much concern, added: 'What I have
asked of you, then, is too severe?'

Again irresistibly sighing, yet collecting all her force to conceal the
secret cause, she answered, 'If she is thus exposed to danger ... if her
situation is so perilous, ought I not rather to stay by, and help to
support her, than by abandoning, perhaps contribute to the evil you
think awaiting her?'

'Generous Camilla!' cried he, melted into tender admiration, 'who can
oppose so kind a design? So noble a nature!...'

No more could be said, for all preliminaries had been settled, and the
throwing being arranged to take place alphabetically, she was soon
summoned to represent Mrs. Berlinton.

From this time, Edgar could speak to her no more: even the Major could
scarcely make way to her: the two men of the _ton_ would not quit her,
and Sir Sedley Clarendel appeared openly devoted to her.

Edgar looked on with the keenest emotion. The proof he had just received
that her intrinsic worth was in its first state of excellence, had come
home to his heart, and the fear of seeing her altered and spoilt, by the
flatteries and dangers which environed her, with his wavering belief in
her engagement with Major Cerwood, made him more wretched than ever. But
when, some time after, she was called upon to throw for herself, the
recollection that, from the former raffle, her half-guinea, even when
the prize was in her hand, had been voluntarily withdrawn to be bestowed
upon a poor family, so powerfully affected him, that he could not rest
in the shop; he was obliged to breathe a freer air, and to hide his
disturbance by a retreat.

Her throw was the highest the dice had yet afforded. A Miss Williams
alone came after her, whose throw was the lowest; Miss Camilla Tyrold,
therefore, was proclaimed to be the winner.

This second testimony of the favour of fortune was a most pleasant
surprise to Camilla, and made the room resound with felicitations, till
they were interrupted by a violent quarrel upon the Pantiles, whence the
voice of Macdersey was heard, hollooing out: 'Don't talk, I say sir!
don't presume to say a word!' and that of Mr. Dubster angrily answering,
he would talk as long as he thought proper, whether it was agreeable or
not.

Sir Sedley advanced to the combatants, in order to help on the dispute;
but Edgar, returning at the sound of high words, took the Ensign by the
arm, and prevailed with him to accompany him up and down the Pantiles;
while Mrs. Mittin ran to Mr. Dubster, and pulling him into the shop,
said: 'Mr. Dubster, if I'm not ashamed of you! how can you forget
yourself so? talking to gentlemen at such a rate!'

'Why what should hinder me?' cried he; 'do you think I shall put up with
every thing as I used to do when you first knew me, and we used to meet
at Mr. Typton's, the tallow chandler's, in Shug-lane? no, Mrs. Mittin,
nor no such a thing; I'm turned gentleman myself, now, as much as the
best of 'em; for I've nothing to do, but just what I choose.'

'I protest, Mr. Dubster,' cried Mrs. Mittin, taking him into a corner
'you're enough to put a saint into a pet! how come you to think of
talking of Mr. Typton here? before such gentlefolks? and where's the use
of telling every body he's a tallow chandler? and as to my meeting with
you there once or so, in a way, I desire you'll mention it no more; for
it's so long ago, I have no recollection of it.'

'No! why don't you remember--'

'Fiddle, faddle, what's the good of ripping up old stories about
nothing? when you're with genteel people, you must do as I do; never
talk about business at all.'

Macdersey now entered the shop, appeased by Edgar from shewing any
further wrath, but wantonly inflamed by Sir Sedley, in a dispute upon
the passion of love.

'Do you always, my dear friend,' said the Baronet, 'fall in love at
first sight?'

'To be sure I do! If a man makes a scruple of that, it's ten to one but
he's disappointed of doing it at all; because, after two or three second
sights, the danger is you may spy out some little flaw in the dear
angel, that takes off the zest, and hinders you to the longest day you
have to live.'

'Profoundly cogitated that! you think then, my vast dear sir, the
passion had more conveniently be kindled first, that the flaws may
appear after, to cure it?'

'No, sir! no! when a man's once in love, those flaws don't signify,
because he can't see them; or, if he could, at least he'd scorn to own
them.'

'Live for ever brave Ireland!' exclaimed Mrs. Arlbery; 'what cold,
phelgmatic Englishman would have made a speech of so much gallantry?'

'As to an Englishman,' said Macdersey, 'you must never mind what he says
about the ladies, because he's too sheepish to speak out. He's just as
often in love as his neighbours, only he's so shy he won't own it, till
he sees if the young fair one is as much in love as himself; but a
generous Irishman never scruples to proclaim the girl of his heart,
though he should have twenty in a year.'

'But is that perfectly delicate, my dearest sir, to the several
Dulcineas?'

'Perfectly! your Irishman is the delicatest man upon earth to the fair
sex; for he always talks of their cruelty, if they are never so kind. He
knows every honest heart will pity him, if it's true; and if it i'n't,
he is too much a man of honour not to complain all one; he knows how
agreeable it is to the dear creatures; they always take it for a
compliment.'

'Whether avowedly or clandestinely,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'still you are
all in our chains. Even where you play the tyrant with us, we occupy all
your thoughts; and if you have not the skill to make us happy, your next
delight is to make us miserable; for though, now and then, you can
contrive to hate, you can never arrive at forgetting us.'

'Contrive to hate you!' repeated Macdersey; 'I could as soon contrive to
turn the world into a potato; there is nothing upon earth, nothing under
the whole firmament I value but beauty!'

'A cheerful glass, then,' said Sir Sedley, 'you think horridly
intolerable?'

'A cheerful glass, sir! do you take me for a milk-sop? do you think I
don't know what it is to be a man? a cheerful glass, sir, is the first
pleasure in life; the most convivial, the most exhilarating, the most
friendly joy of a true honest soul! what were existence without it? I
should choose to be off in half an hour; which I should only make so
long, not to shock my friends.'

'Well, the glass is not what I patronise,' said Sir Theophilus; 'it hips
me so consumedly the next day; no, I can't patronise the glass.'

'Not patronise wine?' cried Lord Newford; 'O hang it! O curse it! that's
too bad, Offy! but hunting! what dost think of that, little Offy?'

'Too obstreperous! It rouses one at such aukward hours; no, I can't
patronise hunting.'

'Hunting!' cried Macdersey; 'O, it leaves everything behind it; 'tis the
thing upon the earth for which I have the truest taste. I know nothing
else that is not a bauble to it. A man is no more, in my estimation,
than a child, or a woman, that don't enjoy it.'

'Cards, then,' said Sir Sedley, 'you reprobate?'

'And dice?'--cried Lord Newford--

'And betting?'--cried Sir Theophilus.

'Why what do you take me for, gentlemen?' replied Macdersey, hotly; 'Do
you think I have no soul? no fire? no feeling? Do you suppose me a
stone? a block? a lump of lead? I scorn such suspicions; I don't hold
them worth answering. I am none of that torpid, morbid, drowsy tribe. I
hold nobody to have an idea of life that has not rattled in his own hand
the dear little box of promise. What ecstasy not to know if, in two
seconds, one mayn't be worth ten thousand pounds! or else without a
farthing! how it puts one on the rack! There's nothing to compare with
it. I would not give up that moment to be sovereign of the East Indies!
no, not if the West were to be put into the bargain.'

'All these things,' said Mr. Dennel, 'are fit for nothing but to bring a
man to ruin. The main chance is all that is worth thinking of. 'Tis
money makes the mare to go; and I don't know any thing that's to be done
without it.'

'Money!' exclaimed Macdersey, 'tis the thing under heaven I hold in the
most disdain. It won't give me a moment's concern never to see its
colour again. I vow solemnly, if it were not just for the pleasures of
the table, and a jolly glass with a friend, and a few horses in one's
stable, and a little ready cash in one's purse, for odd uses, I should
not care if the mint were sunk under ground to-morrow; money is what I
most despise of all.'

'That's talking out of reason,' said Mr. Dennel, walking out of the shop
with great disgust.

'Why, if I was to speak,' said Mr. Dubster, encouraged to come forward,
by an observation so much to his own comprehension and taste as the
last; 'I can't but say I think the same; for money--'

'Keep your distance, sir!' cried the fiery Ensign, 'keep your distance,
I tell you! if you don't wish I should say something to you pretty
cutting.'

This broke up the party, which else the lounging spirit of the place,
and the general consent by which all descriptions of characters seem
determined to occupy any spot whatever, to avoid a moment's abode in
their lodgings, would still have detained till the dinner hour had
forced to their respective homes. To suppress all possibility of further
dissention, Mrs. Arlbery put Miss Dennel under the care of Macdersey,
and bid him attend her towards Mount Pleasant.

Mr. Dubster, having stared after them some time in silence, called out:
'Keep my distance! I can't but say but what I think that young Captain
the rudest young gentleman I ever happened to light upon! however, if he
don't like me, I shan't take it much to heart; I can't pretend to say I
like him any better; so he may choose; it's much the same to me; it
breaks no squares.'

Edgar, almost without knowing it, followed Camilla, but he could
displace neither the Baronet nor the Major, who, one with a look of open
exultation, and the other with an air of determined perseverance,
retained each his post at her side.

He saw that all her voluntary attention was to Sir Sedley, and that the
Major had none but what was called for and inevitable. Was this
indifference, or security? was she seeking to obtain in the Baronet a
new adorer, or to excite jealousy, through his means, in an old one?
Silent he walked on, perpetually exclaiming to himself: 'Can it be
Camilla, the ingenuous, the artless Camilla, I find it so difficult to
fathom, to comprehend, to trust?'

He had not spirits to join Mrs. Arlbery, though he lamented he had not,
at once, visited her; since it was now awkward to take such a step
without an invitation, which she seemed by no means disposed to offer
him. She internally resented the little desire he had ever manifested
for her acquaintance; and they had both too much penetration not to
perceive how wide either was from being the favourite of the other.




CHAPTER XII

_Traits of Eccentricity_


Thus passed the first eight days of the Tunbridge excursion, and another
week succeeded without any varying event.

Mrs. Arlbery now, impelled with concern for Camilla, and resentment
against Edgar, renewed the subject of her opinion and advice upon his
character and conduct. 'My dear young friend,' cried she, 'I cannot bear
to see your days, your views, your feelings, thus fruitlessly consumed:
I have observed this young man narrowly, and I am convinced he is not
worth your consideration.'

Camilla, deeply colouring, was beginning to assure her she had no need
of this counsel; but Mrs. Arlbery, not listening, continued.

'I know what you must say; yet, once more, I cannot refrain venturing at
the liberty of lending you my experience. Turn your mind from him with
all the expedition in your power, or its peace may be touched for the
better half of your life. You do not see, he does not, perhaps, himself
know, how exactly he is calculated to make you wretched. He is a
watcher; and a watcher, restless and perturbed himself, infests all he
pursues with uneasiness. He is without trust, and therefore without
either courage or consistency. To-day he may be persuaded you will make
all his happiness; to-morrow, he may fear you will give him nothing but
misery. Yet it is not that he is jealous of any other; 'tis of the
object of his choice he is jealous, lest she should not prove good
enough to merit it. Such a man, after long wavering, and losing probable
happiness in the terror of possible disappointment, will either die an
old batchelor, with endless repinings at his own lingering
fastidiousness, or else marry just at the eve of confinement for life,
from a fit of the gout. He then makes, on a sudden, the first prudent
choice in his way; a choice no longer difficult, but from the
embarrassment of its ease; for she must have no beauty, lest she should
be sought by others, no wit, lest others should be sought by herself;
and no fortune, lest she should bring with it a taste of independence,
that might curb his own will, when the strength and spirit are gone with
which he might have curbed her's.'

Camilla attempted to laugh at this portrait; but Mrs. Arlbery entreated
her to consider it as faithful and exact. 'You have thought of him too
much,' cried she, 'to do justice to any other, or you would not, with
such perfect unconcern, pass by your daily increasing influence with Sir
Sedley Clarendel.'

Excessively, and very seriously offended, Camilla earnestly besought to
be spared any hints of such a nature.

'I know well,' cried she, 'how repugnant to seventeen is every idea of
life that is rational. Let us, therefore, set aside, in our discussions,
any thing so really beneficial, as a solid connection formed with a view
to the worldly comforts of existence, and speak of Sir Sedley's devoirs
merely as the instrument of teaching Mandlebert, that he is not the only
rich, young, and handsome man in this lower sphere, who has viewed Miss
Camilla Tyrold with complacency. Clarendel, it is true, would lose every
charm in my estimation by losing his heart; for the earth holds nothing
comparable for deadness of weight, with a poor soul really in
love--except when it happens to be with oneself!--yet, to alarm the
selfish irresolution of that impenetrable Mandlebert, I should really
delight to behold him completely caught.'

Camilla, distressed and confused, sought to parry the whole as raillery:
but Mrs. Arlbery would not be turned aside from her subject and purpose.
'I languish, I own,' cried she, 'to see that frozen youth worked up into
a little sensibility. I have an instinctive aversion to those cold,
haughty, drawing-back characters, who are made up of the egotism of
looking out for something that is wholly devoted to them, and that has
not a breath to breathe that is not a sigh for their perfections.'

'O! this is far ...' Camilla began, meaning to say, far from the
character of Mandlebert; but ashamed of undertaking his defence, she
stopt short, and only mentally added, Even excellence such as his
cannot, then, withstand prejudice!

'If there is any way,' continued Mrs. Arlbery, 'of animating him for a
moment out of himself, it can only be by giving him a dread of some
other. The poor Major does his best; but he is not rich enough to be
feared, unless he were more attractive. Sir Sedley will seem more
formidable. Countenance, therefore, his present propensity to wear your
chains, till Mandlebert perceives that he is putting them on; and
then ... mount to the rising ground you ought to tread, and shew, at
once, your power and your disinterestedness, by turning from the handsome
Baronet and all his immense wealth, to mark ... since you are determined
to indulge it ... your unbiassed preference for Mandlebert.'

Camilla, irresistibly appeased by a picture so flattering to all her
best feelings, and dearest wishes, looked down; angry with herself to
find she felt no longer angry with Mrs. Arlbery.

Mrs. Arlbery, perceiving a point gained, determined to enforce the blow,
and then leave her to her reflections.

'Mandlebert is a creature whose whole composition is a pile of
accumulated punctilios. He will spend his life in refining away his own
happiness: but do not let him refine away yours. He is just a man to
bewitch an innocent and unguarded young woman from forming any other
connexion, and yet, when her youth and expectations have been sacrificed
to his hesitation, ... to conceive he does not use her ill in thinking
of her no more, because he has entered into no verbal engagement. If his
honour cannot be arraigned of breaking any bond, ... What matters merely
breaking her heart?'

She then left the room; but Camilla dwelt upon nothing she had uttered
except the one dear and inviting project of proving disinterestedness to
Edgar. 'O! if once,' she cried, 'I could annihilate every mercenary
suspicion! If once I could shew Edgar that his situation has no charms
for me ... and it has none! none! then, indeed, I am his equal, though I
am nothing, ... equal in what is highest, in mind, in spirit, in
sentiment!

       *       *       *       *       *

From this time the whole of her behaviour became coloured by this
fascinating idea; and a scheme which, if proposed to her under its real
name of coquetry, she would have fled and condemned with antipathy, when
presented to her as a means to mark her freedom from sordid motives, she
adopted with inconsiderate fondness. The sight, therefore, of Edgar,
wherever she met him, became now the signal for adding spirit to the
pleasure with which, already, and without any design, she had attended
to the young Baronet. Exertion gave to her the gaiety of which
solicitude had deprived her, and she appeared, in the eyes of Sir
Sedley, every day more charming. She indulged him with the history of
her adventure at the house of Mr. Dubster, and his prevalent taste for
the ridiculous made the account enchant him. He cast off, in return, all
airs of affectation, when he conversed with her separately; and though
still, in all mixt companies, they were resumed, the real integrity, as
well as indifference of her heart, made that a circumstance but to
stimulate this new species of intercourse, by representing it to be
equally void of future danger to them both.

All this, however, failed of its desired end. Edgar never saw her
engaged by Sir Sedley, but he thought her youthfully grateful, and
esteemed her the more, or beheld her as a mere coquette, and ceased to
esteem her at all. But never for a moment was any personal uneasiness
excited by their mutually increasing intimacy. The conversations he had
held, both with the Baronet and herself, had satisfied him that neither
entertained one serious thought of the other; and he took, therefore, no
interest in their acquaintance, beyond that which was always alive,--a
vigilant concern for the manner in which it might operate upon her
disposition.

With respect to the Major, he was by no means so entirely at his ease.
He saw him still the declared and undisguised pursuer of her favour; and
though he perceived, at the same time, she rather avoided than sought
him, he still imagined, in general, his acceptance was arranged, from
the many preceding circumstances which had first given him that belief.
The whole of her behaviour, nevertheless, perplexed as much as it
grieved him, and frequently, in the same half hour, she seemed to him
all that was most amiable for inspiring admiration, and all that was
least to be depended upon, for retaining attachment.

Yet however, from time to time, he felt alarmed or offended, he never
ceased to experience the fondest interest in her happiness, nor the most
tender compassion for the dangers with which he saw her environed. He
knew, that though her understanding was excellent, her temper was so
inconsiderate, that she rarely consulted it; and that, though her mind
was of the purest innocence, it was unguarded by caution, and
unprotected by reflexion. He thought her placed where far higher
discretion, far superior experience, might risk being shaken; and he did
not more fervently wish, than internally tremble, for her safety.
Wherever she appeared, she was sure of distinction: ''Tis Miss Tyrold,
the friend of Mrs. Berlinton,' was buzzed round the moment she was seen;
and the particular favour in which she stood with some votaries of the
_ton_, made even her artlessness, her retired education, and her
ignorance of all that pertained to the _certain circles_, past over and
forgiven, in consideration of her personal attractions, her youth, and
newness.

Still, however, even this celebrity was not what most he dreaded: so
sudden and unexpected an elevation upon the heights of fashionable fame
might make her head, indeed, giddy, but her heart he thought formed of
materials too pure and too good to be endangered so lightly; and though
frequently, when he saw her so circumstanced, he feared she was undone
for private life, he could not reflect upon her principles and
disposition, without soon recovering the belief that a short time might
restore her mind to its native simplicity and worth. But another rock
was in the way, against which he apprehended she might be dashed, whilst
least suspicious of any peril.

This rock, indeed, exhibited nothing to the view that could have
affrighted any spectator less anxiously watchful, or less personally
interested in regarding it. But youth itself, in the fervour of a strong
attachment, is as open-eyed, as observant, and as prophetic as age, with
all its concomitants of practice, time, and suspicion. This rock,
indeed, far from giving notice of danger by any sharp points or rough
prominences, displayed only the smoothest and most inviting surface: for
it was Mrs. Berlinton, the beautiful, the accomplished, the attractive
Mrs. Berlinton, whom he beheld as the object of the greatest risk she
had to encounter.

As he still preserved the character with which she had consented to
invest him of her monitor, he seized every opportunity of communicating
to her his doubts and apprehensions. But in proportion as her connexion
with that lady increased, use to her manners and sentiments abated the
wonderment they inspired, and they soon began to communicate an unmixt
charm, that made all other society, that of Edgar alone excepted,
heartless and uninteresting. Yet, in the conversations she held with him
from time to time, she frankly related the extraordinary attachment of
her new friend to some unknown correspondent, and confessed her own
surprise when it first came to her knowledge.

Edgar listened to the account with the most unaffected dismay, and
represented the probable danger, and actual impropriety of such an
intercourse, in the strongest and most eloquent terms; but he could
neither appal her confidence, nor subdue her esteem. The openness with
which all had originally and voluntarily been avowed, convinced her of
the innocence with which it was felt, and all that his exhortations
could obtain, was a remonstrance on her own part to Mrs. Berlinton.

She found that lady, however, persuaded she indulged but an innocent
friendship, which she assured her was bestowed upon a person of as much
honour as merit, and which only with life she should relinquish, since
it was the sole consolation of her fettered existence.

Edgar, to whom this was communicated, saw with terror the ascendance
thus acquired over her judgment as well as her affections, and became
more watchful and more uneasy in observing the progress of this
friendship, than all the flattering devoirs of the gay Baronet, or the
more serious assiduities of the Major.

Mrs. Berlinton, indeed, was no common object, either for fear or for
hope, for admiration or for censure. She possessed all that was most
softly attractive, most bewitchingly beautiful, and most irresistibly
captivating, in mind, person, and manners. But to all that was thus most
fascinating to others, she joined unhappily all that was most dangerous
for herself; an heart the most susceptible, sentiments the most
romantic, and an imagination the most exalted. She had been an orphan
from earliest years, and left, with an only brother, to the care of a
fanatical maiden aunt, who had taught her nothing but her faith and her
prayers, without one single lesson upon good works, or the smallest
instruction upon the practical use of her theoretical piety. All that
ever varied these studies were some common and ill selected novels and
romances, which a young lady in the neighbourhood privately lent her to
read; till her brother, upon his first vacation from the University,
brought her the works of the Poets. These, also, it was only in secret
she could enjoy; but, to her juvenile fancy, and irregularly principled
mind, that did not render them more tasteless. Whatever was most
beautifully picturesque in poetry, she saw verified in the charming
landscapes presented to her view in the part of Wales she inhabited;
whatever was most noble or tender in romance, she felt promptly in her
heart, and conceived to be general; and whatever was enthusiastic in
theology, formed the whole of her idea and her belief with respect to
religion.

Brought up thus, to think all things the most unusual and extraordinary,
were merely common and of course; she was romantic without
consciousness, and excentric without intention. Nothing steady or
rational had been instilled into her mind by others; and she was too
young, and too fanciful to have formed her own principles with any depth
of reflection, or study of propriety. She had entered the world, by a
sudden and most unequal marriage, in which her choice had no part, with
only two self-formed maxims for the law of her conduct. The first of
these was, that, from her early notions of religion, no vestal should be
more personally chaste; the second, that, from her more recently imbibed
ones of tenderness, her heart, since she was married without its
concurrence, was still wholly at liberty to be disposed of by its own
propensities, without reproach and without scruple.

With such a character, where virtue had so little guide even while
innocence presided; where the person was so alluring, and the situation
so open to temptation, Edgar saw with almost every species of concern
the daily increasing friendship of Camilla. Yet while he feared for her
firmness, he knew not how to blame her fondness; nor where so much was
amiable in its object, could he cease to wish that more were right.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus again lived and died another week; and the fourth succeeded with no
actual occurrence, but a new change of opinion in Mrs. Arlbery, that
forcibly and cruelly affected the feelings of Camilla.

Uninformed of the motive that occasioned the indifference with which
Edgar beheld the newly awakened gallantry of Sir Sedley, and the
pleasure with which Camilla received it, Mrs. Arlbery observed his total
unconcern, first with surprise, next with perplexity, and finally with a
belief he was seriously resolved against forming any connection with her
himself. This she took an early opportunity to intimate to Camilla,
warmly exhorting her to drive him fast from her mind.

Camilla assured her that no task could be more easy; but the
disappointment of the project with respect to Sir Sedley, which she
blushed to have adopted, hurt her in every possible direction. Coquetry
was as foreign to the ingenuousness of her nature, as to the dignity of
all her early maternal precepts. She had hastily encouraged the devoirs
of the Baronet, upon the recommendation of a woman she loved and
admired; but now, that the failure of her aim brought her to reflexion,
she felt penitent and ashamed to have heeded any advice so contrary to
the singleness of the doctrines of her father, and so inferior to the
elevation of every sentiment she had ever heard from her mother. If
Edgar had seen her design, he had surely seen it with contempt: and
though his manner was still the most gentle, and his advice ever ready
and friendly, the opinion of Mrs. Arlbery was corroborated by all her
own observations, that he was decidedly estranged from her.

What repentance ensued! what severity of regret! how did she canvass her
conduct, how lament she had ever formed that fatal acquaintance with
Mrs. Arlbery, which he had so early opposed, and which seemed eternally
destined to lead her into measures and conduct most foreign to his
approbation!

The melancholy that now again took possession of her spirits made her
decline going abroad, from a renewed determination to avoid all meetings
with Edgar. Mrs. Arlbery felt provoked to find his power thus unabated,
and Sir Sedley was astonished. He still saw her perpetually, from his
visits at Mount Pleasant; but his vanity, that weakest yet most
predominant feature of his character, received a shock for which no
modesty of apprehension or fore-thought had prepared him, in finding
that, when he saw her no more in the presence of Mandlebert, he saw her
no more the same. She was ready still to converse with him; but no
peculiar attention was flattering, no desire to oblige was pointed. He
found he had been merely a passive instrument, in her estimation, to
excite jealousy; and even as such had been powerless to produce that
effect. The raillery which Mrs. Arlbery spared not upon the occasion
added greatly to his pique, and his mortification was so visible, that
Camilla perceived it, and perceived it with pain, with shame, and with
surprise. She thought now, for the first time, that the public homage he
had paid her had private and serious motives, and that what she imagined
mere sportive gallantry, arose from a growing attachment.

This idea had no gratifying power; believing Edgar without care for her,
she could not hope it would stimulate his regard; and conceiving she had
herself excited the partiality by wilful civilities, she could feel only
reproach from a conquest, unduly, unfairly, uningenuously obtained.

In proportion as these self-upbraidings made her less deserving in her
own eyes, the merits of the young Baronet seemed to augment; and in
considering herself as culpable for having raised his regard, she
appeared before him with a humility that gave a softness to her look and
manners, which soon proved as interesting to Sir Sedley as her marked
gaiety had been flattering.

When she perceived this, she felt distressed anew. To shun him was
impossible, as Mrs. Arlbery not only gave him completely the freedom of
her house, but assiduously promoted their belonging always to the same
group, and being seated next to each other. There was nothing she would
not have done to extenuate her error, and to obviate its ill effect upon
Sir Sedley; but as she always thought herself in the wrong, and regarded
him as injured, every effort was accompanied with a timidity that gave
to every change a new charm, rather than any repulsive quality.

In this state of total self-disapprobation, to return to Etherington was
her only wish, and to pass the intermediate time with Mrs. Berlinton
became her sole pleasure. But she was forced again into public to avoid
an almost single intercourse with Sir Sedley.

In meeting again with Edgar she saw him openly delighted at her sight,
but without the least apparent solicitude, or notice, that the young
Baronet had passed almost the whole of the interval upon Mount Pleasant.

This was instantly noticed, and instantly commented upon by Mrs.
Arlbery, who again, and strongly pointed out to Camilla, that to save
her youth from being wasted by fruitless expectation, she must forget
young Mandlebert, and study only her own amusement.

Camilla dissented not from the opinion; but the doctrine to which it was
easy to agree, it was difficult to put in practice; and her ardent mind
believed itself fettered for ever, and for ever unhappy.




CHAPTER XIII

_Traits of Instruction_


The sixth and last week destined for the Tunbridge sojourn was begun,
when Mrs. Arlbery once more took her fair young guest apart, and
intreated her attention for one final half hour. The time, she said, was
fast advancing in which they must return to their respective homes; but
she wished to make a full and clear representation of the advantages
that might be reaped from this excursion, before the period for
gathering them should be past.

She would forbear, she said, entering again upon the irksome subject of
the insensibility of Mandlebert, which was, at least, sufficiently
glaring to prevent any delusion. But she begged leave to speak of what
she believed had less obviously struck her, the apparent promise of a
serious attachment from Sir Sedley Clarendel.

Camilla would here instantly have broken up the conversation, but Mrs.
Arlbery insisted upon being heard.

Why, she asked, should she wilfully destine her youth to a hopeless
waste of affection, and dearth of all permanent comfort? To sacrifice
every consideration to the honours of constancy, might be soothing, and
even glorious in this first season of romance; but a very short time
would render it vapid; and the epoch of repentance was always at hand to
succeed. With the least address, or the least genuine encouragement, it
was now palpable she might see Sir Sedley, and his title and fortune at
her feet.

Camilla resentfully interrupted her, disclaiming with Sir Sedley, as
with everyone else, all possibility of alliance from motives so
degrading; and persisted, in declaring, that the most moderate
subsistence with freedom, would be preferable to the most affluent
obtained by any mercenary engagement.

Mrs. Arlbery desired her to recollect that Sir Sedley, though rich even
to splendour, was so young, so gay, so handsome, and so pleasant, that
she might safely honour him with her hand, yet run no risk of being
supposed to have made a merely interested alliance. 'I throw out this,'
she cried, 'in conclusion, for your deepest consideration, but I must
press it no further. Sir Sedley is evidently charmed with you at
present; and his vanity is so potent, and, like all vanity, so easily
assailable, that the smallest food to it, adroitly administered, would
secure him your slave for life, and rescue you from the antediluvian
courtship of a man, who, if he marries at all, is so deliberate in his
progress, that he must reach his grand climacteric before he can reach
the altar.'

       *       *       *       *       *

Far from meditating upon this discourse with any view to following its
precepts, Camilla found it necessary to call all her original fondness
for Mrs. Arlbery to her aid, to forgive the plainness of her attack, or
the worldliness of her notions: and all that rested upon her mind for
consideration was, her belief in the serious regard of Sir Sedley,
which, as she apprehended it to be the work of her own designed
exertions, she could only think of with contrition.

These ruminations were interrupted by a call down stairs to see a
learned bullfinch. The Dennels and Sir Sedley were present; she met the
eyes of the latter with a sensation of shame that quickly deepened her
whole face with crimson. He did not behold it without emotion, and
experienced a strong curiosity to define its exact cause.

He addressed himself to her with the most marked distinction; she could
scarcely answer him; but her manner was even touchingly gentle. Sir
Sedley could not restrain himself from following her in every motion by
his eyes; he felt an interest concerning her that surprised him; he
began to doubt if it had been indifference which caused her late change;
her softness helped his vanity to recover its tone, and her confusion
almost confirmed him that Mrs. Arlbery had been mistaken in rallying his
failure of rivalry with Mandlebert.

The bird sung various little airs, upon certain words of command, and
mounted his highest, and descended to his lowest perch; and made
whatever evolutions were within the circumference of his limited
habitation, with wonderful precision.

Camilla, however, was not more pleased by his adroitness, than pained to
observe the severe aspect with which his keeper issued his orders. She
inquired by what means he had obtained such authority.

The man, with a significant wag of the head, brutally answered, 'By the
true old way, Miss; I licks him.'

'Lick him!' repeated she, with disgust; 'how is it possible you can beat
such a poor delicate little creature?'

'O, easy enough, Miss,' replied the man, grinning; 'everything's the
better for a little beating, as I tells my wife. There's nothing so fine
set, Miss, but what will bear it, more or less.'

Sir Sedley asked with what he could strike it, that would not endanger
its life.

'That's telling, sir!' cried the man, with a sneer; 'howbeit, we've
plenty of ill luck in the trade. No want of that. For one that I rears,
I loses six or seven. And sometimes they be so plaguy sulky, they tempt
me to give 'em a knock a little matter too hard, and then they'll fall
you into a fit, like, and go off in a twinkle.'

'And how can you have the cruelty,' cried Camilla, indignantly, 'to
treat in such a manner a poor little inoffensive animal who does not
understand what you require?'

'O, yes, a does, miss, they knows what I wants as well as I do myself;
only they're so dead tiresome at being shy. Why now this one here, as
does all his larning to satisfaction just now, mayhap won't do nothing
at all by an hour or two. Why sometimes you may pinch 'em to a mummy
before you can make 'em budge.'

'Pinch them!' exclaimed she; 'do you ever pinch them?'

'Do I? Ay, miss. Why how do you think one larns them dumb creturs? It
don't come to 'em natural. They are main dull of themselves. This one as
you see here would do nothing at all, if he was not afraid of a tweak.'

'Poor unhappy little thing!' cried she! 'I hope, at least, now it has
learnt so much, its sufferings are over!'

'Yes, yes, he's pretty well off. I always gives him his fill when he's
done his day's work. But a little squeak now and then in the intrum does
'em no harm. They're mortal cunning. One's forced to be pretty tough
with 'em.'

'How should I rejoice,' cried Camilla, 'to rescue this one poor
unoffending and oppressed little animal from such tyranny!' Then, taking
out her purse, she desired to know what he would have for it.

The man, as a very great favour, said he would take ten guineas; though
it would be his ruin to part with it, as it was all his livelihood; but
he was willing to oblige the young lady.

Camilla, with a constrained laugh, but a very natural blush, put up her
purse, and said: 'Thou must linger on, then, in captivity, thou poor
little undeserving sufferer, for I cannot help thee!'

Every body protested that ten guineas was an imposition; and the man
offered to part with it for five.

Camilla, who had imagined it would have cost half a guinea, was now more
ashamed, because equally incapable to answer such a demand; she
declined, therefore, the composition, and the man was dismissed.

       *       *       *       *       *

At night, when she returned to her own room from the play, she saw the
little bullfinch, reposing in a superb cage, upon her table.

Delighted first, and next perplexed, she flew to Mrs. Arlbery, and
inquired whence it came.

Mrs. Arlbery was as much amazed as herself.

Questions were then asked of the servants; but none knew, or none would
own, how the bird became thus situated.

Camilla could not now doubt but Sir Sedley had given this commission to
his servant, who could easily place the cage in her room, from his
constant access to the house. She was enchanted to see the little animal
relieved from so painful a life, but hesitated not a moment in resolving
to refuse its acceptance.

When Sir Sedley came the next day, she carried it down, and, with a
smile of open pleasure, thanked him for giving her so much share in his
generous liberality; and asked if he could take it home with him in his
carriage, or, if she should send it to his hotel.

Sir Sedley was disappointed, yet felt the propriety of her delicacy and
her spirit. He did not deny the step he had taken, but told her that
having hastily, from the truth of reflection her compassion had
awakened, ordered his servant to follow the man, and buy the bird, he
had forgotten, till it arrived, his incapability of taking care of it.
His valet was as little at home as himself, and there was small chance,
at an inn, that any maid would so carefully watch, as to prevent its
falling a prey to the many cats with which it was swarming. He hoped,
therefore, till their return to Hampshire, she would take charge of a
little animal that owed its deliverance from slavery to her pitying
comments.

Camilla, instinctively, would with unfeigned joy, have accepted such a
trust: but she thought she saw something archly significant in the eye
of Mrs. Arlbery, and therefore stammered out, she was afraid she should
herself be too little at home to secure its safety.

Sir Sedley, looking extremely blank, said, it would be better to
re-deliver it to the man, brute as he was, than to let it be
unprotected; but, where generosity touched Camilla, reflection ever flew
her; and off all guard at such an idea, she exclaimed she would rather
relinquish going out again while at Tunbridge, than render his humanity
abortive; and ran off precipitately with the bird to her chamber.

Mrs. Arlbery, soon following, praised her behaviour; and said, she had
sent the Baronet away perfectly happy.

Camilla, much provoked, would now have had the bird conveyed after him;
but Mrs. Arlbery assured her, inconsistency in a woman was as
flattering, as in a man it was tedious and alarming; and persuaded her
to let the matter rest.

Her mind, however, did not rest at the same time: in the evening, when
the Baronet met them at the Rooms, he was not only unusually gay, but
looked at her with an air and manner that seemed palpably to mark her as
the cause of his satisfaction.

In the deepest disturbance, she considered herself now to be in a
difficulty the most delicate; she could not come forward to clear it up,
without announcing expectations from his partiality which he had never
authorised by any declaration; nor yet suffer such symptoms of his
believing it welcome to pass unnoticed, without risking the reproach of
using him ill, when she made known, at a later period, her indifference.

Mrs. Arlbery would not aid her, for she thought the embarrassment might
lead to a termination the most fortunate. To consult with Edgar was her
first wish; but how open such a subject? The very thought, however, gave
her an air of solicitude when he spoke to her, that struck him, and he
watched for an opportunity to say, 'You have not, I hope, forgotten my
province?... May I, in my permitted office, ask a few questions?'

'O, yes!' cried she, with alacrity; 'And, when they are asked, and when
I have answered them, if you should not be too much tired, may I ask
some in my turn?'

'Of me!' cried he, with the most gratified surprise.

'Not concerning yourself!' answered she, blushing; 'but upon something
which a little distresses me.'

'When, and where may it be?' cried he, while a thousand conjectures
rapidly succeeded to each other; 'may I call upon Mrs. Arlbery to-morrow
morning?'

'O, no! we shall be, I suppose, here again at night,' she answered;
dreading arranging a visit Mrs. Arlbery would treat, she knew, with
raillery the most unmerciful.

There was time for no more, as that lady, suddenly tired, led the way to
the carriage. Edgar followed her to the door, hoping and fearing, at
once, every thing that was most interesting from a confidence so
voluntary and so unexpected.

Camilla was still more agitated; for though uncertain if she were right
or wrong in the appeal she meant to make, to converse with him openly,
to be guided by his counsel, and to convince him of her superiority to
all mercenary allurements were pleasures to make her look forward to the
approaching conference with almost trembling delight.




CHAPTER XIV

_A Demander_


The next night, as the carriage was at the door, and the party preparing
for the Rooms, the name of Mr. Tyrold was announced, and Lionel entered
the parlour.

His manner was hurried, though he appeared gay and frisky as usual;
Camilla felt a little alarmed; but Mrs. Arlbery asked if he would
accompany them.

With all his heart, he answered, only he must first have a moment's chat
with his sister. Then, saying they should have a letter to write
together, he called for a pen and ink, and was taking her into another
apartment, when Mr. Dennel objected to letting his horses wait.

'Send them back for us, then,' cried Lionel, with his customary ease,
'and we will follow you.'

Mr. Dennel again objected to making his horses so often mount the hill;
but Lionel assuring him nothing was so good for them, ran on with so
many farrier words and phrases of the benefit they would reap from such
light evening exercise, that, persuaded he was master of the subject,
Mr. Dennel submitted, and the brother and sister were left
_tête-à-tête_.

At any other time, Camilla would have proposed giving up the Rooms
entirely: but her desire to see Edgar, and the species of engagement she
had made with him, counterbalanced every inconvenience.

'My dear girl,' said Lionel, 'I am come to beg a favour. You see this
pen and ink. Give me a sheet of paper.'

She fetched him one.

'That's a good child,' cried he, patting her cheek; 'so now sit down,
and write a short letter for me. Come begin. Dear Sir.'

She wrote--Dear Sir.

'An unforeseen accident,--write on,--an unforeseen accident has reduced
me to immediate distress for two hundred pounds....'

Camilla let her pen drop, and rising said, 'Lionel! is this possible?'

'Very possible, my dear. You know I told you I wanted another hundred
before you left Cleves. So you must account it only as one hundred, in
fact, at present.'

'O Lionel, Lionel!' cried Camilla, clasping her hands, with a look of
more remonstrance than any words she durst utter.

'Won't you write the letter?' said he, pretending not to observe her
emotion.

'To whom is it to be addressed?'

'My uncle, to be sure, my dear! What can you be thinking of? Are you in
love, Camilla?'

'My uncle again? no Lionel, no!--I have solemnly engaged myself to apply
to him no more.'

'That was, for me, my dear; but where can your thoughts be wandering?
Why you must ask for this, as if it were for yourself.'

'For myself!'

'Yes, certainly. You know he won't give it else.'

'Impossible! what should I want two hundred pounds for?'

'O, a thousand things; say you must have some new gowns and caps, and
hats and petticoats, and all those kind of gear. There is not the least
difficulty; you can easily persuade him they are all worn out at such a
place as this. Besides, I'll tell you what is still better; say you've
been robbed; he'll soon believe it, for he thinks all public places
filled with sharpers.'

'Now you relieve me,' said she, with a sort of fearful smile, 'for I am
sure you cannot be serious. You must be very certain I would not deceive
or delude my uncle for a million of worlds.'

'You know nothing of life, child, nothing at all. However, if you won't
say that, tell him it's for a secret purpose. At least you can do that.
And then, you can make him understand he must ask no questions about the
matter. The money is all we want from him.'

'This is so idle, Lionel, that I hope you speak it for mere nonsense.
Who could demand such a sum, and refuse to account for its purpose?'

'Account, my dear? Does being an uncle give a man a right to be
impertinent? If it does, marry out of hand yourself, there's a good
girl, and have a family at once, that I may share the same privilege. I
shall like it of all things; who will you have?'

'Pho, pho!'

'Major Cerwood?'

'No, never!'

'I once thought Edgar Mandlebert had a sneaking kindness for you. But I
believe it is gone off. Or else I was out.'

This was not an observation to exhilarate her spirits. She sighed: but
Lionel, concluding himself the cause, begged her not to be low-spirited,
but to write the letter at once.

She assured him she could never again consent to interfere in his
unreasonable requests.

He was undone, then, he said; for he could not live without the money.

'Rather say, not with it,' cried she; 'for you keep nothing!'

'Nobody does, my dear; we all go on the same way now-a-days.'

'And what do you mean to be the end of it all, Lionel? How do you
purpose living when all these resources are completely exhausted?'

'When I am ruined, you mean? why how do other people live when they're
ruined? I can but do the same; though I have not much considered the
matter.'

'Do consider it, then, dear Lionel! for all our sakes, do consider it!'

'Well,--let us see.'

'O, I don't mean so; I don't mean just now; in this mere idle manner.--'

'O, yes, I'll do it at once, and then it will be over. Faith I don't
well know. I have no great _gusta_ for blowing out my brains. I like the
little dears mighty well where they are. And I can't say I shall much
relish to consume my life and prime and vigour in the king's bench
prison. 'Tis horribly tiresome to reside always on the same spot. Nor I
have no great disposition to whisk off to another country. Old England's
a pretty place enough. I like it very well; ... with a little rhino
understood! But it's the very deuce, with an empty purse. So write the
letter, my dear girl.'

'And is this your consideration, Lionel? And is this its conclusion?'

'Why what signifies dwelling upon such dismalties? If I think upon my
ruin beforehand, I am no nearer to enjoyment now than then. Live while
we live, my dear girl! I hate prophesying horrors. Write, I say, write!'

Again she absolutely refused, pleading her promise to her uncle, and
declaring she would keep her word.

'Keep a fiddlestick!' cried he, impatiently; 'you don't know what
mischief you may have to answer for! you may bring misery upon all our
heads! you may make my father banish me his sight, you may make my
mother execrate me!--'

'Good Heaven!' cried Camilla interrupting him, 'what is it you talk of?
what is it you mean?'

'Just what I say; and to make you understand me better, I'll give you a
hint of the truth; but you must lose your life twenty times before you
reveal it--There's--there's--do you hear me?--there's a pretty girl in
the case!'

'A pretty girl!--And what has that to do with this rapacity for money?'

'What an innocent question! why what a baby thou art, my dear Camilla!'

'I hope you are not forming any connexion unknown to my father?'

'Ha, ha, ha!' cried Lionel laughing loud: 'Why thou hast lived in that
old parsonage-house till thou art almost too young to be rocked in a
cradle.'

'If you are entering into any engagement,' said she, still more gravely,
'that my father must not know, and that my mother would so bitterly
condemn,--why am I to be trusted with it?'

'You understand nothing of these things, child. 'Tis the very nature of
a father to be an hunks, and of a mother to be a bore.'

'O Lionel! such a father!--such a mother!--'

'As to their being perfectly good, and all that, I know it very well.
And I am very sorry for it. A good father is a very serious misfortune
to a poor lad like me, as the world runs; it causes one such confounded
gripes of the conscience for every little awkward thing one does! A bad
father would be the joy of my life; 'twould be all fair play there; the
more he was choused the better.'

'But this pretty girl, Lionel!--Are you serious? Are you really engaging
yourself? And is she so poor? Is she so much distressed, that you
require these immense and frequent sums for her?'

Lionel laughed again, and rubbed his hands; but after a short silence
assumed a more steady countenance, and said, 'Don't ask me any thing
about her. It is not fit you should be so curious. And don't give a hint
of the matter to a soul. Mind that! But as to the money, I must have it.
And directly: I shall be blown to the deuce else.'

'Lionel!' cried Camilla, shrinking, 'you make me tremble! you cannot
surely be so wicked ... so unprincipled.... No! your connexions are
never worse than imprudent!--you would not else be so unkind, so
injurious as to place in me such a confidence!'

The whole face of Lionel now flashed with shame, and he walked about the
room, muttering: ''Tis true, I ought not to have done it.' And soon
after, with still greater concern, he exclaimed: 'If this appears to you
in such a heinous light, what will my father think of it? And how can I
bear to let it be known to my mother?'

'O never, never!' cried she emphatically; 'never let it reach the
knowledge of either! If indeed you have been so inconsiderate, and so
wrong--break up, at least, any such intercourse before it offends their
ears.'

'But how, my dear, can I do that, if it gets blazed abroad?'

'Blazed abroad!'

'Yes; and for want, only, of a few pitiful guineas.'

'What can you mean? How can it depend upon a few guineas?'

'Get me the guineas;--and leave the how to me.'

'My dear Lionel,' cried she, affectionately, 'I would do any thing that
is not absolutely improper to serve you; but my uncle has now nothing
more to spare; he has told me so himself; and with what courage, then,
in this dark, mysterious, and, I fear, worse than mysterious business,
can I apply to him?'

'My dear child, he only wants to hoard up his money to shew off poor
Eugenia at her marriage; and you know as well as I do what a ninny he is
for his pains; for what a poor little dowdy thing will she look, dizened
out in jewels and laces?'

'Can you speak so of Eugenia? the most amiable, the most deserving, the
most excellent creature breathing!'

'I speak it in pure friendship. I would not have her exposed. I love
dear little Greek and Latin as well as you do. Only the difference is I
don't talk so like an old woman; and really when you do it yourself, you
can't think the ridiculous effect it has, when one looks at your young
face. However, only write the request as if from yourself, and tell him
you'll acquaint him with the reason next letter; but that the post is
just going out now, and you have time for no more. And then, just coax
him over a little, with, how you long to be back, and how you hate
Tunbridge, and how you adore Cleves, and how tired you are for want of
his bright conversation,--and you may command half his fortune.--My dear
Camilla, you don't know from what destruction you will rescue me! Think
too of my father, and what a shock you will save him: And think of my
mother, whom I can never see again if you won't help me!'

Camilla sighed, but let him put the pen into her hand, whence, however,
the very next moment's reflection was urging her to cast it down, when
he caught her in his arms in a transport of joy, called her his
protectress from dishonour and despair, and said he would run to the
Rooms while she wrote, just to take the opportunity of seeing them, and
to un-order the carriage, that she might have no interruption to her
composition, which he would come back to claim before the party
returned, as he must set off for Cleves, and gallop all night, to
procure the money, which the loss of a single day would render useless.

All this he uttered with a rapidity that mocked every attempt at
expostulation or answer; and then ran out of the room and out of the
house.

       *       *       *       *       *

Horrour at such perpetual and increasing ill conduct, grief at the
compulsive failure of meeting Edgar, and perplexity how to extricate
herself from her half given, but wholly seized upon engagement to write,
took for a while nearly equally shares in tormenting Camilla. But all
presently concentred in one domineering sentiment of sharp repentance
for what she had apparently undertaken.

To claim two hundred pounds of her uncle, in her own name, was out of
all question. She could not, even a moment, dwell upon such a project;
but how represent what she herself so little understood as the necessity
of Lionel? or how ask for so large a sum, and postpone, as he desired,
all explanation? She was incapable of any species of fraud, she detested
even the most distant disguise. Simple supplication seemed, therefore,
her only method; but so difficult was even this, in an affair so dark
and unconscionable, that she began twenty letters without proceeding in
any one of them beyond two lines.

Thus far, however, her task was light to what it appeared to her upon a
little further deliberation. That her brother had formed some unworthy
engagement or attachment, he had not, indeed, avowed clearly, but he had
by no means denied, and she had even omitted, in her surprise and
consternation, exacting his promise that it should immediately be
concluded. What, then, might she be doing by endeavouring to procure
this money? Aiding perhaps vice and immorality, and assisting her
misguided, if not guilty brother, to persevere in the most dangerous
errors, if not crimes?

She shuddered, she pushed away her paper, she rose from the table, she
determined not to write another word.

Yet, to permit parents she justly revered to suffer any evil she had the
smallest chance to spare them, was dreadful to her; and what evil could
be inflicted upon them, so deeply, so lastingly severe, as the
conviction of any serious vices in any of their children?

This, for one minute, brought her again to the table; but the next, her
better judgment pointed out the shallowness and fallacy of such
reasoning. To save them present pain at the risk of future anguish, to
consult the feelings of her brother, in preference to his morality,
would be forgetting every lesson of her life, which, from its earliest
dawn, had imbibed a love of virtue, that made her consider whatever was
offensive to it as equally disgusting and unhappy.

To disappoint Lionel was, however, terrible. She knew well he would be
deaf to remonstrance, ridicule all argument, and laugh off whatever she
could urge by persuasion. She feared he would be quite outrageous to
find his expectations thus thwarted; and the lateness of the hour when
he would hear it, and the weight he annexed, to obtaining the money
expeditiously, redoubled at once her regret for her momentary
compliance, and her pity for what he would undergo through its failure.

After considering in a thousand ways how to soften to him her
recantation, she found herself so entirely without courage to encounter
his opposition, that she resolved to write him a short letter, and then
retire to her room, to avoid an interview.

In this, she besought him to forgive her error in not sooner being
sensible of her duty, which had taught her, upon her first reflexion,
the impossibility of demanding two hundred pounds for herself, who
wanted nothing, and the impracticability of demanding it for him, in so
unintelligible a manner.

Thus far only she had proceeded, from the length of time consumed in
regret and rumination, when a violent ringing at the door, without the
sound of any carriage, made her start up, and fly to her chamber;
leaving her unfinished letter, with the beginnings of her several essays
to address Sir Hugh, upon the table, to shew her various efforts, and to
explain that they were relinquished.




CHAPTER XV

_An Accorder_


Thus, self-confined and almost in an agony, Camilla remained for a
quarter of an hour, without any species of interruption, and in the
greatest amazement that Lionel forbore pursuing her, either with letter
or message.

Another violent ringing at the bell, but still without any carriage,
then excited her attention, and presently the voice and steps of Lionel
resounded upon the stairs, whence her name was with violence
vociferated.

She did not move; and in another minute, he was rapping at her chamber
door, demanding admittance, or that she would instantly descend.

Alarmed for her open letter and papers, she inquired who was in the
parlour.

'Not a soul,' he answered; 'I have left them all at the Rooms.'

'Have you returned, then, twice?'

'No. I should have been here sooner, but I met two or three old cronies,
that would not part with me. Come, where's your letter?'

'Have you not seen what I have written?'

Down upon this intimation he flew, without any reply; but was presently
back, saying he found nothing in the parlour, except a letter to
herself.

Affrighted, she followed him; but not one of her papers remained. The
table was cleared, and nothing was to be seen but a large packet,
addressed to her in a hand she did not know.

She rang to inquire who had been in the house before her brother.

The servant answered, only Sir Sedley Clarendel, who he thought had been
there still, as he had said he should wait till Mrs. Arlbery came home.

'Is it possible,' cried she, 'that a gentleman such as Sir Sedley
Clarendel, can have permitted himself to touch my papers?'

Lionel agreed that it was shocking; but said the loss of time to himself
was still worse; without suffering her, therefore, to open her packet,
he insisted that she should write another letter directly; adding, he
had met the Baronet in his way from the Rooms, but had little suspected
whence he came, or how he had been amusing himself.

Camilla now hung about her brother in the greatest tribulation, but
refused to take the pen he would have put into her hands, and, at last,
not without tears, said: 'Forgive me, Lionel! but the papers you ought
to have found would have explained--that I cannot write for you to my
uncle.'

Lionel heard this with the indignation of an injured man. He was
utterly, he said, lost; and his family would be utterly disgraced, for
ruin must be the lot of his father, or exile or imprisonment must be his
own, if she persisted in such unkind and unnatural conduct.

Terrour now bereft her of all speech or motion, till the letter, which
Lionel had been beating about in his agitation, without knowing or
caring what he was doing, burst open, and some written papers fell to
the floor, which she recognised for her own.

Much amazed, she seized the cover, which had only been fastened by a
wafer that was still wet, and saw a letter within it to herself, which
she hastily read, while a paper that was enclosed dropt down, and was
caught by Lionel.

     _To Miss_ Camilla Tyrold.

     Forgive, fairest Camilla, the work of the Destinies. I came hither
     to see if illness detained you; the papers which I enclose from
     other curious eyes caught mine by accident. The pathetic sisterly
     address has touched me. I have not the honour to know Mr. Lionel
     Tyrold; let our acquaintance begin with an act of confidence on his
     part, that must bind to him for ever his lovely sister's.

     Most obedient and devoted
     SEDLEY CLARENDEL.

The loose paper, picked up by Lionel, was a draft, upon a banker, for
two hundred pounds.

While this, with speechless emotion, was perused by Camilla, Lionel,
with unbounded joy, began jumping, skipping, leaping over every chair,
and capering round and round the room in an ecstasy.

'My dearest Lionel,' cried she, when a little recovered, 'why such joy?
you cannot suppose it possible this can be accepted.'

'Not accepted, child? do you think me out of my senses? Don't you see me
freed from all my misfortunes at once? and neither my father grieved,
nor my mother offended, nor poor numps fleeced?'

'And when can you pay it? And what do you mean to do? And to whom will
be the obligation? Weigh, weigh a little all this.'

Lionel heard her not; his rapture was too buoyant for attention, and he
whisked every thing out of its place, from frantic merriment, till he
put the apartment into so much disorder, that it was scarce practicable
to stir a step in it; now and then interrupting himself to make her low
bows, scraping his feet all over the room, and obsequiously saying: 'My
sister Clarendel! How does your La'ship do? my dear Lady Clarendel, pray
afford me your La'ship's countenance.'

Nothing could be less pleasant to Camilla than raillery which pointed
out, that, even by the unreflecting Lionel, this action could be
ascribed to but one motive. The draft, however, had fallen into his
hands, and neither remonstrance nor petition, neither representation of
impropriety nor persuasion, could induce him to relinquish it; he would
only dance, sing, and pay her grotesque homage, till the coach stopt at
the door; and then, ludicrously hoping her Ladyship would excuse his
leaving her, for once, to play the part of the house-maid, in setting
the room to rights, he sprang past them all, and bounded down the hill.

Mrs. Arlbery was much diverted by the confusion in the parlour, and Miss
Dennel asked a thousand questions why the chairs and tables were all
thrown down, the china jars removed from the chimney-piece into the
middle of the room, and the sideboard apparatus put on the chimney-piece
in their stead.

Camilla was too much confounded either to laugh or explain, and hastily
wishing them good-night, retired to her chamber.

Here, in the extremest perturbation, she saw the full extent of her
difficulties, without perceiving any means of extrication. She had no
hope of recovering the draft from Lionel, whom she had every reason to
conclude already journeying from Tunbridge. What could she say the next
day to Sir Sedley? How account for so sudden, so gross an acceptance of
pecuniary obligation? What inference might he not draw? And how could
she undeceive him, while retaining so improper a mark of his dependence
upon her favour? The displeasure she felt that he should venture to
suppose she would owe to him such a debt, rendered but still more
palpable the species of expectation it might authorise.

To destroy this illusion occupied all her attention, except what was
imperiously seized upon by regret of missing Edgar, with whom to consult
was more than ever her wish.

In this disturbed state, when she saw Mrs. Arlbery the next morning, her
whole care was to avoid being questioned: and that lady, who quickly
perceived her fears by her avoidance, took the first opportunity to say
to her, with a laugh, 'I see I must make no inquiries into the gambols
of your brother last night: but I may put together, perhaps, certain
circumstances that may give me a little light to the business: and if,
as I conjecture, Clarendel spoke out to him, his wildest rioting is more
rational than his sister's gravity.'

Camilla protested they had not conversed together at all.

'Nay, then, I own myself still in the dark. But I observed that
Clarendel left the Rooms at a very early hour, and that your brother
almost immediately followed.'

Camilla ventured not any reply; and soon after retreated.

Mrs. Arlbery, in a few minutes, pursuing her, laughingly, and with
sportive reproach, accused her of intending to steal a march to the
altar of Hymen; as she had just been informed, by her maid, that Sir
Sedley had actually been at the house last night, during her absence.

Camilla seriously assured her, that she was in her chamber when he
arrived, and had not seen him.

'For what in the world, then, could he come? He was sure I was not at
home, for he had left me at the Rooms?'

Camilla again was silent; but her tingling cheeks proclaimed it was not
for want of something to say. Mrs. Arlbery forbore to press the matter
further; but forbore with a nod that implied _I see how it is_! and a
smile that published the pleasure and approbation which accompanied her
self-conviction.

The vexation of Camilla would have prompted an immediate confession of
the whole mortifying transaction, had she not been endued with a sense
of honour, where the interests of others were concerned, that repressed
her natural precipitance, and was more powerful even than her
imprudence.

She waited the greatest part of the morning in some little faint hope of
seeing Lionel: but he came not, and she spent the rest of it with Mrs.
Berlinton. She anxiously wished to meet Edgar in the way, to apologise
for her non-appearance the preceding evening; but this did not happen;
and her concern was not lessened by reflecting upon the superior
interest in her health and welfare, marked by Sir Sedley, who had taken
the trouble to walk from the Rooms to Mount Pleasant to see what was
become of her.

She returned home but barely in time to dress for dinner, and was not
yet ready, when she saw the carriage of the Baronet drive up to the
door.

In the most terrible confusion how to meet him, what to say about the
draft, how to mention her brother, whether to seem resentful of the
liberty he had so unceremoniously taken, or thankful for its kindness,
she had scarce the force to attire herself, nor, when summoned down
stairs, to descend.

This distress was but increased upon her entrance, by the sight and the
behaviour of the Baronet; whose address to her was so marked, that it
covered her with blushes, and whose air had an assurance that spoke a
species of secret triumph. Offended as well as frightened, she looked
every way to avoid him, or assumed a look of haughtiness, when forced by
any direct speech to answer him. She soon, however, saw, by his
continued self-complacency, and even an increase of gaiety, that he only
regarded this as coquetry, or bashful embarrassment, since every time
she attempted thus to rebuff him, an arch smile stole over his features,
that displayed his different conception of her meaning.

She now wished nothing so much as a prompt and positive declaration,
that she might convince him of his mistake and her rejection. For this
purpose, she subdued her desire of retreat, and spent the whole
afternoon with Mrs. Arlbery and the Dennels in his company.

Nevertheless, when Mrs. Arlbery, who had the same object in view, though
with a different conclusion, contrived to draw her other guests out of
the apartment and to leave her alone with Sir Sedley, modesty and shame
both interfered with her desire of an explanation, and she was hastily
retiring; but the Baronet, in a gentle voice, called after her, 'Are you
going?'

'Yes, I have forgotten something....'

He rose to follow her, with a motion that seemed purporting to take her
hand; but, gliding quickly on, she prevented him, and was almost at the
same moment in her own chamber.

With augmented severity, she now felt the impropriety of an apparent
acceptance of so singular and unpleasant an obligation, which obviously
misled Sir Sedley to believe her at his command.

Shocked in her delicacy, and stung in her best notions of laudable
pride, she could not rest without destroying this humiliating idea; and
resolved to apply to Edgar for the money, and to pay the Baronet the
next day. Her objections to betraying the extravagance of Lionel, though
great and sincere, yielded to the still more dangerous evil of letting
Sir Sedley continue in an errour, that might terminate in branding her
in his opinion, with a character of inconsistency or duplicity.

Edgar, too, so nearly a brother to them both, would guard the secret of
Lionel better, in all probability, than he would guard it himself; and
could draw no personal inferences from the trust and obligation when he
found its sole incitement was sooner to owe an obligation to a ward of
her father, than to a new acquaintance of her own.

Pleased at the seeming necessity of an application that would lead so
naturally to a demand of the counsel she languished to claim, she
determined not to suffer Sir Sedley to wait even another minute under
his mistake; but, since she now could speak of returning the money, to
take courage for meeting what might either precede or ensue in a
conference.

Down, therefore, she went; but as she opened the parlour door, she heard
Sir Sedley say to Mrs. Arlbery, who had just entered before her: 'O,
fie! fie! you know she will be cruel to excruciation! you know me
destined to despair to the last degree.'

Camilla, whose so speedy re-appearance was the last sight he expected,
was too far advanced to retreat; and the resentment that tinged her
whole complexion shewed she had heard what he said, and had heard it
with an application the most offensive.

An immediate sensibility to his own impertinence now succeeded in its
vain display; he looked not merely concerned, but contrite; and, in a
voice softened nearly to timidity, attempted a general conversation, but
kept his eyes, with an anxious expression, almost continually fixed upon
her's.

Anger with Camilla was a quick, but short-lived sensation; and this
sudden change in the Baronet from conceit to respect, produced a change
equally sudden in herself from disdain to inquietude. Though mortified
in the first moment by his vanity, it was less seriously painful to her
than any belief that under it was couched a disposition towards a really
steady regard. With Mrs. Arlbery she was but slightly offended, though
certain she had been assuring him of all the success he could demand:
her way of thinking upon the subject had been openly avowed, and she did
justice to the kindness of her motives.

No opportunity, however, arose to mention the return of the draft; Mrs.
Arlbery saw displeasure in her air, and not doubting she had heard what
had dropt from Sir Sedley, thought the moment unfavorable for a
_tête-à-tête_, and resolutely kept her place, till Camilla herself,
weary of useless waiting, left the room.

Following her then to her chamber, 'My dear Miss Tyrold,' she cried, 'do
not let your extreme youth stand in the way of all your future life. A
Baronet, rich, young, and amiable, is upon the very point of becoming
your slave for ever; yet, because you discover him to be a little
restive in the last agonies of his liberty, you are eager, in the
high-flown disdain of juvenile susceptibility, to cast him and his
fortune away; as if both were such every-day baubles, that you might
command or reject them without thought of future consequence.'

'Indeed no, dear madam; I am not actuated by pride or anger; I owe too
much to Sir Sedley to feel either above a moment, even where I think
them ... pardon me!... justly excited. But I should ill pay my debt, by
accepting a lasting attachment, where certain I can return nothing but
lasting, eternal, unchangeable indifference.'

'You sacrifice, then, both him and yourself, to the fanciful delicacy of
a first love?'

'No, indeed!' cried she blushing. 'I have no thought at all but of the
single life. And I sincerely hope Sir Sedley has no serious intentions
towards me; for my obligations to him are so infinite, I should be
cruelly hurt to appear to him ungrateful.'

'You would appear to him, I confess, a little surprising,' said Mrs.
Arlbery, laughing; 'for diffidence certainly is not his weak part.
However, with all his foibles, he is a charming creature, and
prepossession only can blind you to his merit.'

Camilla again denied the charge, and strove to prevail with her to
undeceive the Baronet from any false expectations. But she protested she
would not be accessary to so much after-repentance; and left her.

The business now wore a very serious aspect to Camilla. Mrs. Arlbery
avowed she thought Sir Sedley in earnest, and he knew she had herself
heard him speak with security of his success. The bullfinch had gone
far, but the draft seemed to have riveted the persuasion. The bird it
was now impossible to return till her departure from Tunbridge; but she
resolved not to defer another moment putting upon her brother alone the
obligation of the draft, to stop the further progress of such dangerous
inference.

Hastily, therefore, she wrote to him the following note:

     _To Sir_ Sedley Clarendel, _Bart._

     SIR,

     Some particular business compelled my brother so abruptly to quit
     Tunbridge, that he could not have the honour to first wait upon you
     with his thanks for the loan you so unexpectedly put into his
     hands; by mine, however, all will be restored to-morrow morning,
     except his gratitude for your kindness.

     I am, sir, in both our names,
     your obliged humble servant,
     CAMILLA TYROLD.

     MOUNT PLEASANT,
     Thursday Evening.

She now waited till she was summoned down stairs to the carriage, and
then gave her little letter to a servant, whom she desired to deliver it
to Sir Sedley's man.

Sir Sedley did not accompany them to the Rooms, but promised to follow.

Camilla, on her arrival, with palpitating pleasure, looked round for
Edgar. She did not, however, see him. She was accosted directly by the
Major; who, as usual, never left her, and whose assiduity to seek her
favour seemed increased.

She next joined Mrs. Berlinton; but still she saw nothing of Edgar. Her
eyes incessantly looked towards the door, but the object they sought
never met them.

When Sir Sedley entered, he joined the group of Mrs. Berlinton.

Camilla tried to look at him and to speak to him with her customary
civility and chearfulness, and nearly succeeded; while in him she
observed only an expressive attention, without any marks of presumption.

Thus began and thus ended the evening. Edgar never appeared.

Camilla was in the utmost amaze and deepest vexation. Why did he stay
away? was his wrath so great at her own failure the preceding night,
that he purposely avoided her? what, also, could she do with Sir Sedley?
how meet him the next morning without the draft she had now promised?'

In this state of extreme chagrin, when she retired to her chamber, she
found the following letter upon her table:

     _To Miss_ Camilla Tyrold.

     Can you think of such a trifle? or deem wealth so truly
     contemptible, as to deny it all honourable employment? Ah, rather,
     enchanting Camilla! deign further to aid me in dispensing it
     worthily!

     SEDLEY CLARENDEL.

Camilla now was touched, penetrated, and distressed beyond what she had
been in any former time. She looked upon this letter as a positive
intimation of the most serious designs; and all his good qualities, as
painted by Mrs. Arlbery, with the very singular obligation she owed to
him, rose up formidably to support the arguments and remonstrances of
that lady; though every feeling of her heart, every sentiment of her
mind, and every wish of her soul, opposed their smallest weight.




CHAPTER XVI

_An Helper_


The next morning, as Camilla had accompanied Mrs. Arlbery, in earnest
discourse, from her chamber to the hall, she heard the postman say Miss
Tyrold as he gave in a letter. She seized it, saw the hand-writing of
Lionel, and ran eagerly into the parlour, which was empty, to read it,
in some hopes it would at least contain an acknowledgment of the draft,
that might be shewn to Sir Sedley, and relieve her from the pain of
continuing the principal in such an affair.

The letter, however, was merely a sportive rhapsody, beginning; _My dear
Lady Clarendel_; desiring her favour and protection, and telling her he
had done what he could for her honour, by adding two trophies to the
victorious car of Hymen, driven by the happy Baronet.

Wholly at a loss how to act, she sat ruminating over this letter, till
Mrs. Arlbery opened the door. Having no time to fold it, and dreading
her seeing the first words, she threw her handkerchief, which was then
in her hand, over it, upon the table, hoping presently to draw it away
unperceived.

'My dear friend,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'I am glad to see you a moment
alone. Do you know any thing of Mandlebert?'

'No!' answered she affrighted, lest any evil had happened.

'Did he not take leave of you at the Rooms the other night?'

'Leave of me? is he gone any where?'

'He has left Tunbridge.'

Camilla remained stupified.

'Left it,' she continued, 'without the poor civility of a call, to ask
if you had any letters or messages for Hampshire.'

Camilla coloured high; she felt to her heart this evident coldness, and
she knew it to be still more marked than Mrs. Arlbery could divine; for
he was aware she wished particularly to speak with him; and though she
had failed in her appointment, he had not inquired why.

'And this is the man for whom you would relinquish all mankind? this is
the grateful character who is to render you insensible to every body?'

The disturbed mind of Camilla needed not this speech; her debt to Sir
Sedley, cast wholly upon herself by the thoughtless Lionel; her
inability to pay it, the impressive lines the Baronet had addressed to
her, and the cruel and pointed indifference of Edgar, all forcibly
united to make her wish, at this moment, her heart at her own disposal.

In a few minutes, the voice of Sir Sedley, gaily singing, caught her
ear. He was entering the hall, the street door being open. She started
up; Mrs. Arlbery would have detained her, but she could not endure to
encounter him, and without returning his salutation, or listening to his
address, crossed him in the hall, and flew up stairs.

There, however, she had scarcely taken breath, when she recollected the
letter which she had left upon the table, and which the afflicting
intelligence that Edgar had quitted Tunbridge, had made her forget she
had received. In a terror immeasurable, lest her handkerchief should be
drawn aside, and betray the first line, she re-descended the stairs, and
hastily entered the room. Her shock was then inexpressible. The
handkerchief, which her own quick motion in retiring had displaced, was
upon the floor, the letter was in full view; the eyes of Sir Sedley were
fixed upon his own name, with a look indefinable between pleasure and
impertinence, and Mrs. Arlbery was laughing with all her might.

She seized the letter, and was running away with it, when Mrs. Arlbery
slipt out of the room, and Sir Sedley, shutting the door, half archly,
half tenderly repeated, from the letter, 'My dear Lady Clarendel!'

In a perfect agony, she hid her face, exclaiming: 'O Lionel! my
foolish ... cruel brother!...'

'Not foolish, not cruel, I think him,' cried Sir Sedley, taking her
hand, 'but amiable ... he has done honour to my name, and he will use
it, I hope, henceforth, as his own.'

'Forget, forget his flippancy,' cried she, withdrawing impatiently her
hand; 'and pardon his sister's breach of engagement for this morning. I
hope soon, very soon, to repair it, and I hope....'

She did not know what to add; she stopt, stammered, and then endeavoured
to make her retreat.

'Do not go,' cried he, gently detaining her; 'incomparable Camilla! I
have a thousand things to say to you. Will you not hear them?'

'No!' cried she, disengaging herself; 'no, no, no! I can hear
nothing!...'

'Do you fascinate then,' said he, half reproachfully, 'like the
rattlesnake, only to destroy?'

Camilla conceived this as alluding to her recent encouragement, and
stood trembling with expectation it would be followed by a claim upon
her justice.

But Sir Sedley, who was far from any meaning so pointed, lightly added;
'What thus agitates the fairest of creatures? can she fear a poor
captive entangled in the witchery of her loveliness, and only the more
enslaved the more he struggles to get free?'

'Let me go,' cried she, eager to stop him; 'I beseech you, Sir Sedley!'

'All beauteous Camilla!' said he, retreating yet still so as to
intercept her passage; 'I am bound to submit; but when may I see you
again?'

'At any time,' replied she hastily; 'only let me pass now!'

'At any time! adorable Camilla! be it then to-night! be it this
evening!... be it at noon!... be it....'

'No, no, no, no!' cried she, panting with shame and alarm; 'I do not
mean at any time! I spoke without thought ... I mean....'

'Speak so ever and anon,' cried he, 'if thought is my enemy! This
evening then....'

He stopt, as if irresolute how to finish his phrase, but soon added:
'Adieu, till this evening, adieu!' and opened the door for her to pass.

Triumph sat in his eye; exultation spoke in every feature; yet his voice
betrayed constraint, and seemed checked, as if from fear of entrusting
it with his sentiments. The fear, however, was palpably not of
diffidence with respect to Camilla, but of indecision with regard to
himself.

Camilla, almost sinking with shame now hung back, from a dread of
leaving him in this dangerous delusion. She sat down, and in a faltering
voice, said: 'Sir Sedley! hear me, I beg!...'

'Hear you?' cried he, gallantly casting himself at her feet; 'yes! from
the fervid rays of the sun, to the mild lustre of the moon!...
from....'

A loud knock at the street door, and a ringing at the same time at the
bell, made him rise, meaning to shut again the door of the parlour, but
he was prevented by the entrance of a man into the hall, calling out, in
a voice that reached to every part of the house, 'An express for Miss
Camilla Tyrold.'

Camilla started up, concluding it some strange intelligence concerning
Edgar. But a letter was put into her hand, and she saw it was the
writing of Lavinia.

It was short, but most affectionate. It told her that news was just
arrived from the Continent, which gave reason for hourly expectation of
their cousin Lynmere at Cleves, in consequence of which Sir Hugh was
assembling all the family to receive him. She was then, with her father,
going thither from Etherington, where the restored health of her uncle
had, for a week past, enabled them to reside, and she was ordered to
send off an express to Tunbridge, to beg Camilla would prepare
immediately for the post-chaise of Sir Hugh, which would be sent for
her, with the Cleves housekeeper, and reach Mount Pleasant within a few
hours after this notice.

A hundred questions assailed Camilla when she had run over this letter,
the noise of the express having brought Mrs. Arlbery and the Dennels
into the parlour.

She produced the letter, and putting it in the hands of Mrs. Arlbery,
relieved her painful confusion, by quitting the room without again
meeting the eyes of Sir Sedley.

She could make no preparation, however, for her journey, from mingled
desire and fear of an explanation with the Baronet before her departure.

Again, therefore, in a few minutes she went down; gathering courage from
the horror of a mistake that might lead to so much mischief.

She found only Mrs. Arlbery in the parlour.

Involuntarily staring, 'Where,' she cried, 'is Sir Sedley?'

'He is gone,' answered Mrs. Arlbery, laughing at her earnestness; 'but
no doubt you will soon see him at Cleves.'

'Then I am undone!' cried she, bursting into tears, and running back to
her chamber.

Mrs. Arlbery instantly followed, and kindly inquired what disturbed her.

'O, Mrs. Arlbery!' she cried, 'lend me, I beseech you, some aid, and
spare me, in pity, your raillery! Sir Sedley, I fear, greatly mistakes
me; set him right, I conjure you....'

'Me, my dear? and do you think if some happy fatality is at work at this
moment to force you to your good, I will come forth, like your evil
genius, to counteract its operations?'

'I must write, then ... yet, in this haste, this confusion, I fear to
involve rather than extricate myself!'

'Ay, write by all means; there is nothing so prettily forwards these
affairs, as a correspondence between the parties undertaken to put an
end to them.'

She went, laughing, out of the chamber, and Camilla, who had seized a
pen, distressfully flung it from her.

What indeed could she say? he had made no direct declaration; she could
give, therefore, no direct repulse; and though, through her brother's
cruel want of all consideration, she was so deeply in his debt, she
durst no longer promise its discharge; for the strange departure of
Edgar robbed her of all courage to make to him her meditated
application.

Yet to leave Sir Sedley in this errour was every way terrible. If, which
still seemed very possible, from his manner and behaviour, he should
check his partiality, and make the whole of what had passed end in mere
public-place gallantry, she must always have the mortification to know
he had considered her as ready to accept him: If, on the contrary,
encouraging what he felt for her, from the belief she returned his best
opinion, he should seriously demand her hand ... how could she justify
the apparent attention she once paid him? and how assert, while so
hopelessly his debtor, the independence to reject one who so many ways
seemed to hold himself secure?

       *       *       *       *       *

She was broken in upon by Mrs. Mittin, who entered full of lamentation
at the intelligence she had just heard from Miss Dennel of her sudden
departure; which she ended with, 'But as you are going in such haste, my
dear, you must have fifty things to do, so pray now, let me help you.
Come, what shall I pack up for you? Where's all your things?'

Camilla, incapable of doing any business for herself, accepted the
offer.

'Well then, now where's your gowns? Bless me! what a one is here? why
it's been in the dew, and then in the dust, and then in the dew again,
till all the bottom must be cut off; why you can never shew it amongst
your friends; it will quite bring a disgrace upon poor Tunbridge; come,
I think you must give it to me; I've got a piece of muslin just like
it, and I can piece it so that it won't appear; but it will never do for
you again.'

Camilla was surprised; but her mind was filled with other matters, and
the gown was put apart.

'What! are those all your neck handkerchiefs? why, my dear Miss Tyrold,
that's a thing you want very bad indeed; why here's one you can never
wear again; it wants more darning than it's worth.'

Camilla said she should have very good time to mend it at home.

'But then, my dear, you don't consider what a bad look that will have
amongst your friends; what will they think of poor Tunbridge, that you
should have let it go so far? why, may be they'll never let you come
again; the best way will be not to let them see it; suppose I take it
off your hands? I dare say they don't know your count.'

At any other time, Camilla would either have resisted these seizures, or
have been diverted by the pretence that they were made only for her own
benefit; but she was now glad at any rate to get rid of the care of the
package.

When this was over, and Mrs. Mittin had pretty well paid herself for her
trouble: 'Well, my dear,' she cried, 'and what can I do for you next?
Have you paid Mrs. Tillden, and Mr. Doust, and Mr. Tent?'

These were questions that indeed roused Camilla from her reverie; she
had not once thought of what she owed to the milliner, to her shoemaker,
nor to her haberdasher; from all of whom she had now, through the hands
of Mrs. Mittin, had various articles. She thanked her for reminding her
of so necessary an attention, and said she would immediately send for
the bills.

'I'll run and pay 'em for you myself,' said Mrs. Mittin; 'for they
always take that kind; and as I recommended them all to you, I have a
right they should know how I stand their friend; for there's many an odd
service they may do me in return; so I'll go for you with all my heart;
only give me the money.'

Camilla took out her purse, in which, from her debt to Sir Sedley, and
perpetually current expences, there now remained but fifteen shillings
of her borrowed five guineas; though latterly, she had wholly denied
herself whatever did not seem an expence unavoidable. What to do she now
knew not; for though all she had ordered had been trifling, she was
sure it must amount to four or five guineas. She had repeatedly refused
to borrow anything more of Mrs. Arlbery, always hoping every call for
money would be the last; but she was too inexperienced to know, that in
gay circles, and public places, the demands for wealth are endless and
countless; and that oeconomy itself, which is always local, is there
lavish and extravagant, compared with its character, in private scenes
and retired life.

Yet was this the last moment to apply to Mrs. Arlbery upon such a
subject, since it would be endowing her with fresh arms to fight the
cause of Sir Sedley. She sat still, and ruminating, till Mrs. Mittin,
who without scruple had taken a full inventory of the contents of the
purse, exclaimed: 'La! my dear, why sure I hope that i'n't all you've
got left?'

Camilla was fain to confess she had nothing more at Tunbridge.

'Well, don't be uneasy, my dear,' cried she, 'and I'll go to 'em all,
and be caution for you, till you get the money.'

Camilla thanked her very sincerely, and again resumed her first opinion
of her real good nature, and kindness of heart. She took her direction
in London, whither she was soon to return, and promised, in a short
time, to transmit the money for her to distribute, as every one of the
shopkeepers went to the metropolis in the winter.

Delighted both with the praise and the commission, Mrs. Mittin took
leave; and Camilla determined to employ her next quarter's allowance in
paying these debts, and frankly to beg from her uncle the five guineas
that were due to Mrs. Arlbery.

She then wrote an affectionate adieu to Mrs. Berlinton, intreating to
hear from her at Etherington; and, while she was sealing it, Mrs.
Arlbery came to embrace her, as the carriage was at the door.

Camilla, in making her acknowledgments for the kindness she had
received, intermingled a petition, that at least, she would not augment,
if she refused to clear the mistake of Sir Sedley.

'I believe he may safely,' she answered, 'be left to himself; though it
is plain that, at this moment, he is in a difficulty as great as your
own; for marriage he still resists, though he finds you resistless. I
wish you mutually to be parted till ... pardon me, my fair friend ...
your understandings are mutually cleared, and he is divested of what is
too factitious, and you of what is too artless. Your situation is,
indeed, rather whimsical; for the two mortals with whom you have to
deal require treatment diametrically opposite; yet, humour them a little
adroitly, and you presently gain them both. He that is proud, must be
distanced; he that is vain, must be flattered. This is paying them with
their own coin; but they hold no other to be current. Pride, if not
humbled, degenerates into contempt; vanity, if not indulged, dissolves
into indifference.'

Camilla disclaimed taking any measures with respect to either; but Mrs.
Arlbery insisted the field would be won by Sir Sedley, 'who is already,'
she cried, 'persuaded you have for some time encouraged him, and that
now you are fully propitious....'

Camilla hastily interrupted her: 'O, Mrs. Arlbery!' she cried, 'I cannot
endure this! add not to my disturbance by making it my own work!'

She then embraced her; took leave of the Dennels, and with the
housekeeper of Sir Hugh set out from Tunbridge for Cleves.


END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.




VOLUME IV




BOOK VII




CHAPTER I

_The right Style of Arguing_


Camilla was received with the most tender joy by all her family, again
re-assembled at Cleves to welcome the return of young Lynmere, who was
expected every hour. Sir Hugh, perfectly recovered from his late
illness, and busy, notwithstanding all remonstrance, in preparation for
the approaching nuptials, was in spirits that exhilarated whoever saw
him. Eugenia awaited that event with gentleness, though with varying
sensations; from fears, lest her personal misfortunes should prove
repulsive to Clermont, and from wishes to find him resembling Melmond in
talents, and Bellamy in passion and constancy.

Dr. Orkborne gave now his lessons with redoubled assiduity, from an
ambition to produce to the scholastic traveller, a phenomenon of his own
workmanship in a learned young female: nor were his toils less ready,
nor less pleasant, for a secret surmise they would shortly end; though
not till honour should be united with independence, for his recompence.
But Miss Margland fretted, that this wedding would advance no London
journey; and Indiana could not for a moment recover from her
indignation, that the deformed and ugly Eugenia, though two years
younger than herself, should be married before her. Lavinia had no
thought but for the happiness of her sister; and Mr. Tyrold lamented the
absence of his wife, who, alike from understanding and affection, was
the only person to properly superintend this affair, but from whom Dr.
Marchmont, just arrived, brought very faint hopes of a speedy return.

Eugenia, however, was not the sole care of her father, at this period.
The countenance of Camilla soon betrayed, to his inquiring eyes, the
inefficacy of the Tunbridge journey. But he forbore all question; and
left to time or her choice to unravel, if new incidents kept alive her
inquietude, or, if no incident at all had been equally prejudicial to
her repose.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two days after, while Camilla, still astonished by no news, nor sight of
Edgar, was sitting with her sisters, and recounting to them her late
adventures, and present difficulties, with Sir Sedley Clarendel, Jacob
brought her, in its own superb bird-cage, the learned little bullfinch;
telling her, it had been delivered to him without any message, by a man
who said she had left it, by mistake, at Tunbridge; whence he had had
orders to follow her with it to Cleves park.

She was much provoked thus to receive it. Mrs. Arlbery had pressed her
to take it in her uncle's chaise, which she had firmly refused; and she
now concluded this method was adopted, that Sir Sedley might imagine she
detained it as his gift.

In drawing out, soon after, the receptacle for the bird's nourishment,
she perceived, written with a pencil upon the wood, these words: 'Thou
art gone then, fair fugitive! Ah! at least, fly only where thou mayst be
pursued!'

This writing had not been visible till the machine was taken out to be
replenished. She recollected the hand of Sir Sedley, and was now sure it
was sent by himself, and could no longer, therefore, doubt his
intentions being serious.

With infinite perplexity she consulted with her sisters; but, when
candidly she had related, that once, to her never-ending regret, she had
apparently welcomed his civilities, Eugenia pronounced her rectitude to
be engaged by that error, as strongly as her gratitude by the
preservation of her life, and the extraordinary service done to Lionel,
not to reject the young baronet, should he make his proposals.

She heard this opinion with horror. Timid shame, and the counsel of her
father, united to impede her naming the internal obstacle which she felt
to be insurmountable; and, while casting up, in silence, her appealing
eyes to Heaven for relief, from the intricacy in which she found herself
involved, she saw Lionel galloping into the park.

She flew to meet him, and he dismounted, and led his horse, to walk with
her.

She flattered herself, she might now represent the mischief he was
doing, and obtain from him some redress. But he was more wild and
impracticable than ever. 'Well, my dear girl,' he cried, 'when are all
these betterings and worsings to take place? Numps has sent for me to
see poor little Greek and Latin hobble to the altar; but, 'tis a million
to one, if our noble baronet does not whisk you there before her. He's a
charming fellow, faith. I had a good long confab with him this morning.'

'This morning? I hope, then, you were so good, so just, as to tell him
when you mean to pay the money you have borrowed?'

'My dear child, I often think you were born but yesterday, only, by some
accident, you came into the world, like Minerva, grown up and ready
dressed. What makes you think I mean to pay him? Have I given him any
bond?'

'A bond? Is that necessary to justice and honour?'

'If I had asked the money, you are right, my dear; I ought, then,
certainly, to refund. But, as it now stands, 'tis his own affair. I have
nothing to do with it: except, indeed, receiving the dear little golden
boys, and making merry with them.'

'O fie, Lionel, fie!'

'Why, what had I to do with it? Do you think he would care one fig if he
saw me sunk to the bottom of the Red Sea? No, my dear, no; you are the
little debtor; so balance your accounts for yourself, and don't cast
them upon your poor neighbours, who have full enough to settle of their
own.'

Camilla was thunderstruck; 'And have you been so cruel,' she cried,
'seeing the matter in such a light, to place me in such a predicament?'

'Cruel, my dear girl? why, what will it cost you, except a dimple or two
the more? And don't you know you always look best when you smile? I
assure you, it's a mercy he don't see you when you are giving me one of
my lectures. It disfigures you so horribly, that he'd take fright and
never speak to you again.'

'What can I ever say, to make you hear me, or feel for me? Tell me, at
least, what has passed this morning; and assure me that nothing new,
nothing yet worse, has occurred.'

'O no, nothing at all. All is in the fairest train possible. I dare say,
he'll come hither, upon the grand question, before sun-set.'

Camilla gasped for breath, and was some time before she could ask whence
he drew such a conclusion.

'O, because I see he's in for it. I have a pretty good eye, my dear! He
said, too, he had such a prodigious ... friendship, I think he called
it, for you, that he was immeasurably happy, and all that, to be of the
least service to your brother. A fine fellow, upon my word! a fine
generous spark as ever I saw. He charged me to call upon him freely when
I had any little embarrassment, or difficulty, or was hard run, or
things of that sort. He's a fine buck, I tell you, and knows the world
perfectly, that I promise you. He's none of your drivellers, none of
your ignoramuses. He has the true notion of things. He's just a right
friend for me. You could not have made a better match.'

Camilla, in the most solemn manner, protested herself disengaged in
thought, word, and deed; and declared her fixed intention so to
continue. But he only laughed at her declarations, calling them maidenly
fibs; and, assuring her, the young baronet was so much in earnest, she
might as well be sincere as not. 'Besides,' he added, ''tis not fair to
trifle where a man behaves so handsomely and honourably. Consider the
£.200!'

'I shall quite lose my senses, Lionel!' cried she, in an agony; 'I shall
quite lose my senses if you speak in this manner!'

Lionel shouted aloud; 'Why, my dear girl, what is £.200 to Sir Sedley
Clarendel? You talk as if he had twenty pound a-year for pin-money, like
you and Lavinia, that might go with half a gown a-year, if good old
Numps did not help you. Why, he's as rich as Croesus, child. Besides,
he would have been quite affronted if I had talked of paying him such a
trifle, for he offered me any thing I pleased. O, he knows the world, I
promise you! He's none of your starched prigs. He knows life, my dear!
He said, he could perfectly conceive how hard it must be to a lad of
spirit, like me, to be always exact. I don't know that I ever made a
more agreeable acquaintance in my life.'

Camilla was in an agitation that made him regard her, for a moment, with
a serious surprise; but his natural levity soon resumed its post, and,
laughing at himself for being nearly, he said, taken in, by her childish
freaks, he protested he would bite no more: 'For, after all, you must
not think to make a fool of me, my dear. It won't do. I'm too knowing.
Do you suppose, if he had not already made up his mind to the noose, and
was not sure you had made up yours to letting it be tied, he would have
cared for poor me, and my scrapes? No, no; whatever he does for me,
before you are married, you may set down in your own memorandum book:
whatever he may please to do afterwards, I am content should be charged
to poor Pillgarlick.'

He then bid her good-morrow, by the name of Lady Clarendel; and said, he
would go and see if little Greek and Latin were as preposterous a prude
about young Lynmere.

Camilla remained almost petrified with amazement at her own situation;
and only was deterred from immediately opening her whole heart and
affairs to her father, with the confidence to which his indulgence
entitled him, by the impossibility of explaining her full distress
without betraying her brother.




CHAPTER II

_A Council_


The next morning, Camilla, eager to try once more her influence with her
brother, accompanied him into the park, and renewed her remonstrances,
but with no better success; and while they were passing by a private
gate, that opened to the high road, they saw Sir Sedley Clarendel
driving by in his phaeton.

Lionel, bursting from his sister, opened the gate, called to Sir Sedley
to give his reins to one of his servants, and brought him, not
unwilling, though much surprised, into the park.

Camilla, in dismay unspeakable at this conduct, and the idea of such a
meeting, had run forward instantly to hide herself in the summer-house,
to avoid re-passing the gate in her way to the mansion; but her scheme
was more precipitate than wise; Lionel caught a glimpse of her gown as
she went into the little building, and shouted aloud: 'Look! look! Sir
Sedley! there's Camilla making believe to run away from you!'

'Ah, fair fugitive!' cried the baronet, springing forward, and entering
the summer-house almost as soon as herself, 'fly only thus, where you
may be pursued!'

Camilla, utterly confounded, knew not where to cast her eyes, where to
hide her face; and her quick-changing colour, and short-heaved breath,
manifested an excess of confusion, that touched, flattered, and
penetrated the baronet so deeply and so suddenly, as to put him off
from all guard of consequences, and all recollection of matrimonial
distaste: 'Beautiful, resistless Camilla!' he cried; 'how vain is it to
struggle against your witchery! Assure me but of your clemency, and I
will adore the chains that shackle me!'

Camilla, wholly overcome, by sorrow, gratitude, repentance, and shame,
sunk upon a chair, and shed a torrent of tears that she even sought not
to restrain. The shock of refusing one, to whose error in believing
himself acceptable she had largely contributed, or the horror of
yielding to him her hand, while her heart was in the possession of
another, made her almost wish, at this moment, he should divine her
distress, that his own pride might conclude it.

But far different from what would produce such an effect, were the
feelings of pride now working in his bosom. He imagined her emotion had
its source in causes the softest and most flattering. Every personal
obstacle sunk before this idea, and with a seriousness in his manner he
had not yet used: 'This evening, lovely Camilla,' he cried, 'let me beg,
for this evening, the audience accorded me upon that which I lost at
Tunbridge.'

He was then going; but Camilla, hastily rising, cried, 'Sir Sedley, I
beseech ...' when Lionel capering into the little apartment, danced
round it in mad ecstasy, chanting 'Lady Clarendel, Lady Clarendel, my
dear Lady Clarendel!'

Camilla now was not confused alone. Sir Sedley himself could gladly have
pushed him out of the building; but neither the looks of surprise and
provocation of the baronet, nor the prayers nor reprimands of Camilla,
could tame his wild transport. He shook hands, whether he would or not,
with the one; he bowed most obsequiously, whether she would regard him
or not, to the other; and still chanting the same burden, made a clamour
that shook the little edifice to its foundation.

The strong taste for ridicule, that was a prominent part of the
character of Sir Sedley, was soon conquered by this ludicrous behaviour,
and both his amazement and displeasure ended in a hearty fit of
laughter. But Camilla suffered too severely to join in the mirth; she
blushed for her brother, she blushed for herself, she hung her head in
speechless shame, and covered her eyes with her hand.

The noisy merriment of Lionel preventing any explanation, though
rendering it every moment more necessary, Sir Sedley, repeating his
request for the evening, took leave.

Camilla looked upon his departing in this manner as her sentence to
misery, and was pursuing him, to decline the visit; but Lionel, seizing
her two hands, swung her round the room, in defiance of her even angry
expostulations and sufferings, which he neither credited nor conceived,
and then skipt after the baronet himself, who was already out of the
park.

She became now nearly frantic. She thought herself irretrievably in the
power of Sir Sedley, and by means so forced and indelicate, that she was
scarcely more afflicted at the event, than shocked by its circumstances;
and though incapable to really harbour rancour against a brother she
sincerely loved, she yet believed at this moment she never should
forgive, nor willingly see him more.

In this state she was found by Lavinia. The history was inarticulately
told, but Lavinia could give only her pity; she saw not any avenue to an
honourable retreat, and thought, like Eugenia, she could now only free
herself by the breach of what should be dearer to her even than
happiness, her probity and honour.

Utterly inconsolable she remained, till again she heard the voice of
Lionel, loudly singing in the park.

'Go to him! go to him! my dearest Lavinia,' she cried, 'and, if my peace
is dear to you, prevail with him to clear up the mistakes of Sir Sedley,
and to prevent his dreaded, killing visit this evening!'

Lavinia only answered by compliance; but, after an half hour's useless
contest with her riotous brother, returned to her weeping sister, not
merely successless with regard to her petition, but loaded with fresh
ill tidings that she knew not how to impart. Lionel had only laughed at
the repugnance of Camilla, which he regarded as something between
childishness and affectation, and begged Lavinia to be wiser than to
heed to it: 'Brother Sedley has desired me, however,' he added, 'not to
speak of the matter to Numps nor my father, till he has had a little
more conversation with his charmer; and he intends to call to-night as
if only upon a visit to me.'

When Camilla learnt, at length, this painful end of her embassy, she
gave herself up so completely to despair, that Lavinia, affrighted, ran
to the house for Eugenia, whose extreme youth was no impediment, in the
minds of her liberal sisters, to their belief nor reverence of her
superior wisdom. Her species of education had early prepossessed them
with respect for her knowledge, and her unaffected fondness for study,
had fixed their opinion of her extraordinary understanding. The goodness
of her heart, the evenness of her temper, and her natural turn to
contemplation, had established her character alike for sanctity and for
philosophy throughout the family.

She listened with the sincerest commiseration to the present state of
the case: 'Certainly,' she cried, 'you cannot, in honour, now refuse
him; but deal with him sincerely, and he may generously himself
relinquish his claims. Write to him, my dear Camilla; tell him you
grieve to afflict, yet disdain to deceive him; assure him of your
perfect esteem and eternal gratitude; but confess, at once, your heart
refuses to return his tenderness. Entreat him to forgive whatever he may
have mistaken, and nobly to restore to you the liberty of which your
obligations, without his consent, must rob you.'

To Lavinia this advice appeared infallible; but Camilla, though she felt
an entanglement which fettered herself, thought it by no means
sufficiently direct or clear to authorise a rejection of Sir Sedley;
since, strangely as she seemed in his power, circumstances had placed
her there, and not his own solicitation.

Yet to prevent a visit of which her knowledge seemed consent, and which
her consent must be most seriously to authorise, she deemed as
indispensable to her character, as to her fears. She hesitated,
therefore, not a moment in preferring writing to a meeting; and after
various conversations, and various essays, the following billet was
dispatched to Clarendel Place, through the means of Molly Mill, and by
her friend Tommy Hodd.

     _To Sir_ Sedley Clarendel.

     I should ill return what I owe to Sir Sedley Clarendel by causing
     him any useless trouble I can spare him. He spoke of a visit hither
     this evening, when I was too much hurried to represent that it
     could not be received, as my brother's residence is at Etherington,
     and my father and my uncle have not the honour to be known to Sir
     Sedley. For me, my gratitude must ever be unalterable; and where
     accident occasions a meeting, I shall be most happy to express it;
     but I have nothing to say, nothing to offer, that could recompense
     one moment of Sir Sedley's time given voluntarily to such a visit.

     CAMILLA TYROLD.

Ill as this letter satisfied her, she could devise nothing better; but
though her sisters had both thought it too rigorous, she would not risk
anything gentler.

During the dinner, they all appeared absent and dejected; but Sir Hugh
attributed it to the non-arrival of Clermont, in watching for whom his
own time was completely occupied, by examining two weather-cocks, and
walking from one to the other, to see if they agreed, or how they
changed; Indiana was wholly engrossed in consultations with Miss
Margland, upon the most becoming dress for a bride's maid; and Mr.
Tyrold, having observed that his three girls had spent the morning
together, concluded Camilla had divulged to them her unhappy perplexity,
and felt soothed himself in considering she had soothers so affectionate
and faithful.

Early in the evening Tommy Hodd arrived, and Molly Mill brought Camilla
the following answer of Sir Sedley.

     _Miss_ Camilla Tyrold.

     Ah! what in this lower sphere can be unchequered, when even a
     correspondence with the most lovely of her sex, brings alarm with
     its felicity? Must I come, then, to Cleves, fair Insensible, but as
     a visitor to Mr. Lionel? Have you taken a captive only to see him
     in fetters? Allured a victim merely to behold him bleed? Ah!
     tomorrow, at least, permit the audience that to-day is denied, and
     at your feet, let your slave receive his doom.

     SEDLEY CLARENDEL.

Camilla turned cold. She shrunk from a remonstrance she conceived she
had merited, and regarded herself to be henceforth either culpable or
unhappy. Unacquainted with the feminine indulgence which the world, by
long prescription, grants to coquetry, its name was scarcely known to
her; and she saw in its own native egotism the ungenerous desire to
please, where she herself was indifferent, and anticipated from Sir
Sedley reproach, if not contempt. No sophistications of custom had
warped the first innocence of her innate sense of right, and to trifle
with the feelings of another for any gratification of her own, made
success bring a blush to her integrity, not exultation to her vanity.

The words _victim_ and _bleeding_, much affected the tender Lavinia,
while those of _fetters_, _captive_, and _insensible_, satisfied the
heroic Eugenia that Sir Sedley deserved the hand of her sister; but
neither of them spoke.

'You say nothing?' cried Camilla, turning paler and paler, and sitting
down lest she should fall.

They both wept and embraced her, and Eugenia said, if, indeed, she could
not conquer her aversion, she saw no way to elude the baronet, but by
openly confessing her repugnance, in the conversation he demanded.

Camilla saw not less strongly the necessity of being both prompt and
explicit; but how receive Sir Sedley at Cleves? and upon what pretence
converse with him privately? Even Lionel the next day was to return to
the university, though his presence, if he staid, would, in all
probability, but add to every difficulty.

At length, they decided, that the conference should take place at the
Grove; and to prevent the threatened visit of the next day, Camilla
wrote the following answer:

     _To Sir_ Sedley Clarendel.

     I should be grieved, indeed, to return my obligations to Sir Sedley
     Clarendel by meriting his serious reproach; yet I cannot have the
     honour of seeing him at Cleves, since my brother is immediately
     quitting it for Oxford. As soon as I hear Mrs. Arlbery is again at
     the Grove, I shall wait upon her, and always be most happy to
     assure Sir Sedley of my gratitude, which will be as lasting as it
     is sincere.

     CAMILLA TYROLD.

Though wretched in this strange state of things, she knew not how to
word her letter more positively, since his own, notwithstanding its
inferences, had so much more the style of florid gallantry than plain
truth. Molly Mill undertook that Tommy Hodd should carry it early the
next morning.

       *       *       *       *       *

Lionel was so enraged at the non-appearance of the young baronet at
night, that Camilla was compelled to confess she had promised to see
him, and to give him his answer at Mrs. Arlbery's. He was out of humour,
nevertheless, lest Sir Sedley should be affronted by the delay, and
feared that the best match in the whole county would prove abortive,
from his sister's foolish trimmings, and silly ignorance of life.




CHAPTER III

_A Proposal of Marriage_


The increasing depression of Camilla, and the melancholy of her
sympathising sisters, though still attributed to the adverse wind by the
compass-watching baronet, escaped not the notice of Mr. Tyrold; who,
alarmed for the peace of his daughter, determined to watch for the first
quiet opportunity of investigating her actual situation.

Lionel, after breakfast, the next morning, was obliged to relinquish
waiting for Clermont, and to set off for Oxford. He contrived to whisper
to Camilla, that he hoped she would be a good girl at last, and not play
the fool; but, finding she only sighed, he laughed at her calamitious
state, in becoming mistress of fifteen thousand per annum, only by the
small trouble of running over a short ceremony; and, assuring her he
would assist her off with part of the charge, if it were too heavy for
her, bid her inform him in time of the propitious day.

Camilla, shortly after, saw from her window, galloping full speed across
the park to the house, Major Cerwood. She suspected her tormenting
brother to have been again at work; nor was she mistaken. He had met
with the Major at the hotel at Tunbridge, while his spirits, always
violent, were in a state of almost intoxication of delight, at the
first idea of such an accession to his powers of amusement, as a new
brother rolling in immense wealth, which he already considered as nearly
at his own disposal. High wrought, therefore, for what he deemed good
sport, he confirmed what he had asserted at the ball at Northwick, of
the expectations of Camilla from Sir Hugh, by relating the public fact,
of her having been announced, to the family and neighbourhood, for his
uncle's heiress, at ten years of age; and only sinking, in his account,
the revocation made so soon after in favour of Eugenia. To this, he
added his advice, that no time was to be lost, as numberless new suitors
were likely to pursue her from Tunbridge.

The Major, upon alighting, inquired for Sir Hugh, deeming Mr. Tyrold of
little consequence, since it was not from him Camilla was to inherit her
fortune.

The baronet, as usual, was watching the winds and the clouds; but,
concluding whoever came would bring some news from Clermont, received
the Major with the utmost cordiality, saying: 'I see, sir, you are a
stranger; by which I suppose you to be just come from abroad; where, I
hope, you left all well?'

'I am just come, sir,' answered the Major, 'from Tunbridge, where I had
the honour, through my acquaintance with Mrs. Arlbery, of meeting daily
with your charming niece; an honour, sir, which must cause all the
future happiness or misery of my life.'

He then made a declaration, in form, of the most ardent passion for
Camilla; mentioned his family, which was an honourable one; talked of
his expectations with confidence, though vaguely; and desired to leave
the disposition of the settlement wholly to the baronet; who, he hoped,
would not refuse to see his elder brother, a gentleman of fortune in
Lincolnshire, who would have the honour to wait upon him, at any time he
would be so good as to appoint, upon this momentous affair.

Sir Hugh heard this harangue with consternation. The Major was in the
prime of life, his person was good, his speech was florid, his air was
assured, and his regimentals were gay. Not a doubt of his success
occurred to the baronet; who saw, in one blow, the darling scheme of his
old age demolished, in the deprivation of Camilla.

The Major impatiently waited for an answer; but Sir Hugh was too much
disordered to frame one; he walked up and down the room, muttering in a
desponding manner, to himself, 'Lord, help us! what a set of poor weak
mortals we are, we poor men! The best schemes and plans in the world
always coming to nothing before we can bring them about! I'll never form
another while I live, for the sake of this one warning. Nobody knows,
next, but what Clermont will be carrying off Eugenia to see foreign
parts! and then comes some other of these red-coats to take away
Indiana; and, after doing all for the best so long, I may be left all
alone, except just for Mrs. Margland and the Doctor! that I don't take
much pleasure in, Lord help me! except as a Christian, which I hope is
no sin.'

At length, endeavouring to compose himself, he sat down, and said, 'So
you are come, sir, to take away from me my own particular little niece?
which is a hard thing upon an uncle, intending her to live with him.
However, I don't mean to find fault; but I can tell you this one thing,
sir, which I beg you to remember; which is, if you don't make her happy,
you'll break my heart! For she's what I love the best in the world,
little as I've made it appear, by not leaving her a shilling. For which
sake, however, I can't but respect you the more for coming after her,
instead of Eugenia.'

'Sir?' cried the Major, amazed.

'The other two chaps,' continued he, 'that came about us not long ago,
wanted to make their court to Eugenia and Indiana; as well as another
that came to the house when I was ill, in the same coat as yourself, by
what I can gather from the description; but never a one has come to
Camilla yet, except yourself, because my brother can spare her but a
trifle, having another young girl to provide for, besides Lionel; which
is the most expensive of them all, poor boy! never having enough, by the
reason Oxford is so dear, as I suppose.'

The Major now wore an air of surprise and uneasiness that Sir Hugh began
to observe, but attributed to his unpleasant reception of his proposals.
He begged his pardon, therefore, and again assured him of his respect
for a choice so little mercenary, which he looked upon as a mark of a
good heart.

The Major, completely staggered, and suspecting the information of
Lionel to be ill grounded, if not purposely deluding, entreated his
permission to wait upon him again; and offered for the present to take
leave.

Sir Hugh, in a melancholy voice, said, he would first summon his niece,
as he could not answer it to his conscience preventing the meeting,
unless she gave him leave.

He then rang the bell, and told Jacob to call Camilla.

Major Cerwood was excessively distressed. To retreat seemed impossible;
yet to connect himself without fortune, when he thought he was
addressing a rich heiress, was a turn of fate he scarcely knew how
either to support or to parry. All that, in this haste, he could
resolve, was, to let the matter pass for the moment, and then insist
upon satisfaction from Lionel, either in clearing up the mistake, or
taking upon himself its blame.

When Camilla appeared, the disturbance of Sir Hugh still augmented; and
he could hardly articulate, 'My dear, in the case you are willing to
leave your family, here's a gentleman come to make his addresses to you;
which I think it right you should know, though how I shall struggle
through it, if I lose you, is more than my poor weak head can tell; for
what shall I do without my dear little girl, that I thought to make the
best comfort of my old age? which, however, I beg you not to think of,
in case this young Captain's more agreeable.'

'Ah! my dear uncle!' cried she, 'your Camilla can never return half the
comfort she receives from you! keep me with you still, and ever! I am
much obliged to Major Cerwood. I beg him to accept my sincerest thanks;
but to pardon me, when I assure him, they are all I have to offer him.'

Repulse was not new to the Major; who, in various country towns, had
sought to retrieve his affairs by some prudent connection; his pride,
however, had never so little suffered as on the present occasion, for
his apprehension of error or imposition had removed from him all thought
of even the possibility of a refusal; which, now, therefore,
unexpectedly and joyfully obviated his embarrassment, and enabled him to
quit the field by an honourable retreat. He bowed profoundly, called
himself, without knowing what he said, the most unhappy of men; and,
without risking one solicitation, or a moment for repentance, hastily
took leave, with intention, immediately, to demand an explanation of
Lionel.

But he had not escaped a mile from the house, ere he gave up that
design, from anticipating the ridicule that might follow it. To require
satisfaction for a young lady's want of fortune, however reasonable,
would always be derided as ludicrous. He resolved, therefore, quietly
to put up with the rejection; and to gather his next documents
concerning the portion of a fair damsel, from authority better to be
relied upon than that of a brother.

Sir Hugh, for some time, discovered not that he had retired. Enchanted
by so unexpected a dismission, his favourite scheme of life seemed
accorded to him, and he pressed Camilla to his bosom, in a transport of
joy. 'We shall live together, now, I hope,' he cried, 'without any of
these young chaps coming in again to part us. Not that I would object to
your marrying, my dear girl, if it was with a relation, like Eugenia,
or, with a neighbour, like Indiana, if it had not been for its going
off; but to see you taken away from me by a mere stranger, coming from
distant parts, and knowing nothing of any of us, is a thing that makes
my heart ache but to think of; so I hope it will happen no more; for
these trials do no good to my recovery.'

Turning round, then, with a view to say something consolatory to the
Major, he was seriously concerned to find him departed. 'I can't say,'
he cried, 'I had any intention to send him off so short, his meaning not
being bad, considering him in the light of a person in love; which is a
time when a man has not much thought, except for himself, by what I can
gather.'

He then proposed a walk, to watch if Clermont were coming. The wind, he
acknowledged, was indeed contrary; but, he did not doubt, upon such a
particular occasion, his good lad would not mind such difficulties.




CHAPTER IV

_A Bull-Dog_


Sir Hugh called upon his other nieces to join him; purposing to stroll
to the end of a lane which led to the London road.

Camilla accompanied the party in the most mournful silence. The assuming
letter she had received; the interview she should have to sustain; and
her apparent dependance upon Sir Sedley, sinking her into complete
despondence.

When they came to the high road, Sir Hugh made a stop, and bid every
body look sharp.

A horseman was seen advancing full gallop. By his figure he appeared to
be young; by his pace, in uncommon speed.

'That's him,' cried Sir Hugh, striking his stick upon the ground, and
smiling most complacently; 'I said he would not mind the wind, my dear
Eugenia! what's the wind, or the waves either, to a lover? which is a
thing, however, that I won't talk about; so don't be ashamed, my dear
girl, nobody knowing what we mean.'

Eugenia looked down, deeply colouring, and much regretting the lameness
that prevented her running back, to avoid so public and discountenancing
a meeting.

The horseman now came up to them, and was preparing to turn down the
lane; when, all at once, they perceived him to be Edgar Mandlebert.

He had left Tunbridge in a manner not more abrupt than comfortless. His
disappointment in the failure of Camilla at the Rooms had been as
bitter, as his expectations from the promised conference had been
animated. When Lionel appeared, he inquired if his sister were absent
from illness.... No; she was only writing a letter. To take this moment
for such a purpose, be the letter what it might, seemed sporting with
his curiosity and warm interest in her affairs: and he went back,
mortified and dejected, to his lodgings; where, just arrived by the
stage, he found a letter from Dr. Marchmont, acquainting him with his
return to his rectory. In this suspensive state of mind, to cast himself
upon his sagacious friend seemed a relief the most desirable: but, while
considering whether first to claim from Camilla her promised
communication, the voice of Lionel issuing from the room of Major
Cerwood, struck his ears. He darted forth, and accompanied the youth to
his horse, who was setting out upon some expedition, in the dark; and
then received information, under the pretence of great secrecy, that
Major Cerwood was going immediately to ask leave of absence, and proceed
straight to Hampshire, with his final proposals of marriage with
Camilla. He now concluded this was the subject upon which she had meant
to consult with him; but delicacy, pride, and hope all combated his
interference. He determined even to avoid her, till the answer should be
given. 'I must owe her hand,' cried he, 'to her heart, not to a contest
such as this: and, if impartially and unbiassed, the Major is refused,
no farther cruel doubt, no torturing hesitation, shall keep me another
minute from her feet!' With the dawn, therefore, he set out for
Hampshire; but, fixed to avoid Cleves, till he could learn that the
Major's visit were over, he devoted his mornings to rides, and his
evenings to Dr. Marchmont, till now, a mile or two from the Park, he had
met the Major himself, and concluded the acceptance or the rejection
decided. They merely touched their hats as they passed each other; and
he instantly took the route which the Major was quitting.

In the excess of his tribulation, he was galloping past the whole group,
without discerning one of its figures; when Sir Hugh called out, 'Why
it's young Mr. Edgar! So now we've walked all this way for nothing! and
Clermont may be still at Jericho, or at Rome, for anything we know to
the contrary!'

Edgar stopt short. He felt himself shiver at sight of Camilla, but
dismounted, gave his horse to his groom, and joined the party.

Eugenia recovering, now fearlessly looked up; but Camilla, struck and
affected, shook in every limb, and was forced to hold by Lavinia.

Edgar called upon his utmost presence of mind to carry him through what
he conceived to be a final trial. He spoke to Sir Hugh, and compelled
himself to speak separately to every one else; but, when he addressed
Camilla, to whom he said something not very distinctly, about Tunbridge,
she curtsied to him slightly, and turned away, without making any
answer. Her mind, taking suddenly a quick retrospection of all that had
passed between them, presented him to her view as uncertain and
delusive; and, casting upon him, internally, the whole odium of her
present distress, and her feelings were so indignant, that, in her
present desperate state, she deemed it beneath her to disguise them,
either from himself or the world.

Edgar, to whose troubled imagination everything painted his rival,
concluded the Major had been heard with favour; and his own adverse
counsel was now recollected with resentment.

Sir Hugh, far more fatigued by his disappointment than by his walk, said
he should go no further, as he found it in vain to expect Clermont; and
accepted the arm of Edgar to aid his stick in helping him home.

Camilla, still leaning upon Lavinia, mounted a little bank, which she
knew Sir Hugh could not ascend, that she might walk on where Edgar could
not join her; involuntarily ejaculating, 'Lavinia! if you would avoid
deceit and treachery, look at a man as at a picture, which tells you
only the present moment! Rely upon nothing of time to come! They are not
like us, Lavinia. They think themselves free, if they have made no
verbal profession; though they may have pledged themselves by looks, by
actions, by attentions, and by manners, a thousand, and a thousand
times!'

Edgar observed her avoidance with the keenest apprehension; and,
connecting it with her failure at the Rooms, imagined the Major had now
influenced her to an utter aversion of him.

Sir Hugh meanwhile, though wholly unheard, related, in a low voice, to
Edgar, the history of his preparations for Clermont; begging him,
however, to take no notice of them to Eugenia: and, then, adding, 'Very
likely, Mr. Edgar, you are just come from Tunbridge? and, if so, you may
have met with that young Captain that has been with us this morning;
who, I understand to be a Major?'

Edgar was thrown into the utmost trepidation; the artless openness of
Sir Hugh gave him every reason to suppose he should immediately gather
full intelligence, and all his peace and all his hopes might hang upon
another word. He could only bow to the question; but before Sir Hugh
could go on, a butcher's boy, who was riding by, from a wanton love of
mischief, gave a signal to his attending bull-dog, to attack the old
spaniel that accompanied Sir Hugh.

Sustained by his master many a year, the proud old favourite, though
unequal to the combat, disdained to fly; and the fierce bull-dog would
presently have demolished him, had not Edgar, recovering all his vigour
from his earnest desire to rescue an animal so dear to Sir Hugh, armed
himself with the baronet's stick, and thrust it dexterously across the
jaws of this intended antagonist.

Nothing, however, could withstand the fangs of the bull-dog; they soon
severed it, and, again, he made at the spaniel; but Edgar rushed between
them, with no other weapons than the broken fragments of the stick: and,
while the baronet and Eugenia screamed out to old Rover to return to
them, and Lavinia, with more readiness of common sense, exerted the
fullest powers of which her gentle voice was capable, to conjure the
wicked boy to call off his dog, Camilla, who was the last to look round
at this scene, only turned about as the incensed and disappointed
bull-dog, missing his object, aimed at Edgar himself. Roused at once
from her sullen calm to the most agonising sensibility, every thing and
every body, herself most of all, were forgotten in the sight of his
danger; and, with a piercing shriek, she darted down the bank, and
arrived at the tremendous spot, at the same instant that the more useful
exhortations of Lavinia, had induced the boy to withdraw the fierce
animal; who, with all his might, and all his fury, obeyed the weak
whistle of a little urchin he had been bred to love and respect, for
bringing him his daily food.

Camilla perceived not if the danger were impending, or over; gasping,
pale, and agitated, she caught Mandlebert by the arm, and, in broken
accents, half pronounced, 'O Edgar!... are you hurt?'

The revulsion that had operated in her mind took now its ample turn in
that of Mandlebert; he could hardly trust his senses, hardly believe he
existed; yet he felt the pressure of her hand upon his arm, and saw in
her countenance terror the most undisguised, and tenderness that went
straight to his soul. 'Is it Camilla,' he cried, 'who thus speaks to
me?... Is not my safety or my destruction alike indifferent to Camilla?'

'O no! O no!' cried she, scarce conscious she answered at all, till
called to recollection by his own changed looks; changed from
incredulity and amazement to animation that lightened up every feature,
to eyes that shot fire. Abashed, astonished, ashamed, she precipitately
drew away her hand, and sought quietly to retire.

But Edgar was no longer master of himself; he conceived he was on a
pinnacle, whence he could only, and without any gradation, turn to
happiness or despair. He followed her, trembling and uncertain, his joy
fading into alarm at her retreat, his hope transforming into
apprehension at her resumed coldness of demeanor. 'Do you repent,' he
cried, 'that you have shewn me a little humanity?... will the Major ...
the happy Major!... be offended you do less than detest me?'

'The Major!' repeated she, looking back, surprised, 'can you think the
Major has any influence with me?'

'Ah, Heaven!' he cried, 'what do you say!...'

Enchanted, affrighted, bewildered, yet silent, she hurried on; Edgar
could not forget himself more than a moment; he forbore, therefore, to
follow, and, though with a self-denial next to torture, returned to Sir
Hugh, to whom his arm was doubly necessary, from the scene he had just
witnessed, and the loss of his stick.

The butcher's boy and his bull-dog were decamped; and the baronet and
Eugenia were rivalling each other in fondling the rescued spaniel, and
in pouring thanks and praise unlimited upon Edgar.

They then walked back as before; and, as soon as they re-entered the
mansion, the female party went upstairs, and Sir Hugh, warmly shaking
Edgar by the hand, said: 'My dear Mr. Edgar, this is one of the happiest
days of my life, except just that of my nephew's coming over, which it
is but right to put before it. But here, first, my dear Camilla's
refused that young Captain, who would have carried her the Lord knows
where, immediately, as I make no doubt; and next, I've saved the life of
my poor old Rover, by the means of your good-nature.'

'Refused?' cried Edgar; 'my dear Sir Hugh!--did you say refused?'

Sir Hugh innocently gratified him with the repetition of the word, but
begged him not to mention it, 'For fear,' he said, 'it should hurt the
young man when he falls in love somewhere else; which I heartily hope he
will do soon, poor gentleman! for the sake of its not fretting him.'

'Miss Camilla, then, has refused him?' again repeated Edgar, with a
countenance that, to any man but the baronet, must have betrayed his
whole soul.

'Yes, poor gentleman! this very morning; for which I am thankful enough:
for what do we know of those young officers, who may all be sent to the
East Indies, or Jamaica, every day of their lives? Not but what I have
the proper pity for him, which, I hope, is all that can be expected.'

Edgar walked about the room, in a perturbation of hope, fear, and joy,
that disabled him from all further appearance of attention. He wished to
relate this transaction to Dr. Marchmont, yet dreaded any retarding
advice; he languished to make Camilla herself the sole mistress of his
destiny: the interest she had shewn for his safety seemed to admit but
one interpretation; and, finally, he resolved to stay at Cleves till he
could meet with her alone.

Camilla had not uttered a word after the adventure of the bull-dog. The
smallest idea that she could excite the least emotion in Edgar, brought
a secret rapture to her heart, that, at any former period, would alone
have sufficed to render her happy: but, at this instant of entanglement
with another, she revolted from the indulgence of such pleasure; and
instead of dwelling, as she would have done before, on the look, the
accent, the manner, that were susceptible, by any construction, of
partiality, she checked every idea that did not represent Edgar as
unstable and consistent; and sought, with all her power, to regard him
as Mrs. Arlbery had painted him, and to believe him, except in a few
casual moments of caprice, insensible and hard of heart.

Yet this entanglement, in which, scarce knowing how, she now seemed to
be entwined with Sir Sedley, grew more and more terrific; and when she
considered that her sisters themselves thought her independence gone,
and her honour engaged, she was seized with so much wonderment, how it
had all been brought about, that her understanding seemed to play her
false, and she believed the whole a dream.




CHAPTER V

_An Oak Tree_


When the sisters were summoned down stairs to dinner, planted at the
door, ready to receive them at their entrance, stood Edgar. Lavinia and
Eugenia addressed him as usual; but Camilla could not speak, could not
return his salutation, could not look at him. She sat hastily down in
her accustomed place by her uncle, and even the presence of her father
scarcely restrained her tears, as she contrasted the hopeless
uncertainties of Edgar, with the perilous pursuit of Sir Sedley.

Edgar, for the first time, saw her avoidance without suspecting that it
flowed from repugnance. The interest she had shewn for his safety was
still bounding in his breast, and as, from time to time, he stole a
glance at her, and observed her emotion, his heart whispered him the
softest hopes, that soon the most perfect confidence would make every
feeling reciprocal.

But these hopes were not long without alloy; he soon discerned something
that far exceeded what could give him pleasure in her perturbation; he
read in it not merely hurry and alarm, but suffering and distress.

He now ventured to look at her no more; his confidence gave place to
pity; he saw she was unhappy, and breathed no present wish but to
relieve and console her.

When the dessert was served, she was preparing to retire; but she caught
the eye of her father, and saw she should not long be alone; she
re-seated herself, therefore, in haste, to postpone, at least, his
scrutiny.

Every body, at length, arose, and Sir Hugh proposed that they should all
walk in the park, during his nap, but keep close to the pales, that they
might listen for all passengers, in case of Clermont's coming.

To this, also, Camilla could make no objection, and they set out. She
took an arm of each sister, and indulged the heaviness of her heart in
not uttering a word.

They had not gone far, when a servant ran after Mr. Tyrold with a
pacquet, just arrived, by a private hand, from Lisbon. He returned to
read it in his own room; Lavinia and Eugenia accompanied him to hear its
contents, and Camilla, for the first time, seemed the least affectionate
of his daughters; she durst not encounter him but in the mixt company of
all the house; she told Lavinia to make haste back with the news, and
took the arm of Indiana.

The compulsion of uninteresting discourse soon became intolerable; and
no longer chained to the party by the awe of her father, she presently
left Indiana to Miss Margland, and perceiving that Edgar was conversing
with Dr. Orkborne, said she would wait for her sisters; and, turning a
little aside, sat down upon a bench under a large oak.

Here her painful struggle and unwilling forbearance ended; she gave free
vent to her tears, and thought herself the most wretched of human
beings; she found her heart, her aching heart, more than ever devoted to
Mandlebert, filled with his image, revering his virtues, honouring even
his coldness, from a persuasion she deserved not his affection, and
sighing solely for the privilege to consign herself to his remembrance
for life, though unknown to himself, and unsuspected by the world. The
very idea of Sir Sedley was horror to her; she felt guilty to have
involved herself in an intercourse so fertile of danger; she thought
over, with severest repentance, her short, but unjustifiable deviation
from that transparent openness, and undesigning plainness of conduct,
which her disposition as much as her education ought to have rendered
unchangeable. To that, alone, was owing all her actual difficulty, for
to that alone was owing her own opinion of any claim upon her justice.
How dearly, she cried, do I now pay for the unthinking plan with which I
risked the peace of another, for the re-establishment of my own! She
languished to throw herself into the arms of her father, to unbosom to
him all her errors and distresses, and owe their extrication to his
wisdom and kindness. She was sure he would be unmoved by the glare of a
brilliant establishment, and that far from desiring her to sacrifice her
feelings to wealth and shew, he would himself plead against the alliance
when he knew the state of her mind, and recommend to her, so
circumstanced, the single life, in the true spirit of Christian
philosophy and moderation: but all was so closely interwoven in the
affairs and ill conduct of her brother, that she believed herself
engaged in honour to guard the fatal secret, though hazarding by its
concealment impropriety and misery.

These afflicting ruminations were at length interrupted by the sound of
feet; she took her handkerchief from her eyes, expecting to see her
sisters; she was mistaken, and beheld Mandlebert.

She started and rose; she strove to chace the tears from her eyes
without wiping them, and asked what he had done with Dr. Orkborne?

'You are in grief!' cried he in a tone of sympathy; 'some evil has
befallen you!... let me ask....'

'No; I am only waiting for my sisters. They have just received letters
from Lisbon.'

'You have been weeping! you are weeping now! why do you turn away from
me? I will not obtrusively demand your confidence ... yet, could I give
you the most distant idea what a weight it might remove from my
mind, ... you would find it difficult to deny yourself the pleasure of
doing so much good!'

The tears of Camilla now streamed afresh. Words so kind from Edgar, the
cold, the hard-hearted Edgar, surprised and overset her; yet she
endeavoured to hide her face, and made an effort to pass him.

'Is not this a little unkind?' cried he, gravely; 'however, I have no
claim to oppose you.'

'Unkind!' she repeated, and involuntarily turning to him, shewed a
countenance so disconsolate, that he lost his self-control, and taking
her reluctant hand, said: 'O Camilla! torture me no longer!'

Almost transfixed with astonishment, she looked at him for a moment in a
speechless wonder; but the interval of doubt was short; the character of
Edgar, for unalienable steadiness, unalterable honour, was fixed in her
mind, like 'truths from holy writ,' and she knew, with certainty
incontrovertible, that his fate was at her disposal, from the instant he
acknowledged openly her power over his feelings.

Every opposite sensation, that with violence the most ungovernable could
encounter but to combat, now met in her bosom, elevating her to rapture,
harrowing her with terror, menacing even her understanding. The most
exquisite wish of her heart seemed accorded at a period so nearly too
late for its acceptance, that her faculties, bewildered, confused,
deranged, lost the capacity of clearly conceiving if still she were a
free agent or not.

He saw her excess of disorder with alarm; he sought to draw her again to
her seat; but she put her hand upon her forehead, and leant it against
the bark of the tree.

'You will not speak to me!' cried he; 'you will not trust me! shall I
call you cruel? No! for you are not aware of the pain you inflict, the
anguish you make me suffer! the generosity of your nature would else,
unbidden, impulsively interfere.'

'_You_ suffer! _you!_' cried she, again distressfully, almost
incredulously, looking at him, while her hands were uplifted with
amazement: 'I thought you above any suffering! superior to all
calamity!... almost to all feeling!...'

'Ah, Camilla! what thus estranges you from candor? from justice? what is
it can prompt you to goad thus a heart which almost from its first
beating....'

He stopt, desirous to check himself; while penetrated by his softness,
and ashamed of what, in the bitterness of her spirit, she had
pronounced, she again melted into tears, and sunk down upon the bench;
yet holding out to him one hand, while with the other she covered her
face: 'Forgive me,' she cried, 'I entreat ... for I scarce know what I
say.'

Such a speech, and so accompanied, might have demolished the stoicism of
an older philosopher than Edgar; he fervently kissed her proferred hand,
exclaiming: 'Forgive you! can Camilla use such a word? has she the
slightest care for my opinion? the most remote concern for me, or for my
happiness?'

'Farewell! farewell!' cried she, hastily drawing away her hand, 'go now,
I beseech you!'

'What a moment to expect me to depart! O Camilla! my soul sickens of
this suspence! End it, generous Camilla! beloved as lovely! my heart is
all your own! use it gently, and accept it nobly!'

Every other emotion, now, in the vanquished Camilla, every retrospective
fear, every actual regret, yielded to the conquering charm of grateful
tenderness; and restoring the hand she had withdrawn: 'O Edgar,' she
cried, 'how little can I merit such a gift! yet I prize it ... far, far
beyond all words!'

The agitation of Edgar was, at first, too mighty and too delicious for
speech; but his eyes, now cast up to heaven, now fixed upon her own,
spoke the most ardent, yet purest felicity; while her hand, now held to
his heart, now pressed to his lips, strove vainly to recover its
liberty. 'Blest moment!' he at length uttered, 'that finishes for every
such misery of uncertainty! that gives my life to happiness ... my
existence to Camilla!'

Again speech seemed too poor for him. Perfect satisfaction is seldom
loquacious; its character is rather tender than gay; and where happiness
succeeds abruptly to long solicitude and sorrow, its enjoyment is
fearful; it softens rather than exhilarates. Sudden joy is sportive, but
sudden happiness is awful.

The pause, however, that on his side was ecstatic thankfulness, soon
became mixt, on that of Camilla, with confusion and remorse: Sir Sedley
returned to her memory, and with him every reflection, and every
apprehension, that most cruelly could sully each trembling, though
nearly gratified hope.

The cloud that so soon dimmed the transient radiance of her countenance,
was instantly perceived by Edgar; but as he was beginning the most
anxious inquiries, the two sisters approached, and Camilla, whose hand
he then relinquished, rushed forward, and throwing her arms around their
necks, wept upon their bosoms.

'Sweet sisters!' cried Edgar, embracing them all three in one; 'long may
ye thus endearingly entwine each other, in the sacred links of
affectionate affinity! Where shall I find our common father?... where
is Mr. Tyrold?'

The amazed sisters could with difficulty answer that he was with their
uncle, to whom he was communicating news from their mother.

Edgar looked tenderly at Camilla, but, perceiving her emotion, forbore
to speak to her, though he could not deny himself the pleasure of
snatching one kiss of the hand which hung down upon the shoulder of
Eugenia; he then whispered to both the sisters: 'You will not, I trust,
be my enemies?' and hurried to the house.

'What can this mean?' cried Eugenia and Lavinia in a breath.

'It means,' said Camilla, 'that I am the most distressed ... yet the
happiest of human beings!'

This little speech, began with the deepest sigh, but finished with the
most refulgent smile, only added to their wonder.

'I hope you have been consulting with Edgar,' said the innocent Eugenia;
'nobody can more ably advise you, since, in generosity to Lionel, you
are prohibited from counselling with my father.'

Again the most expressive smiles played in every feature through the
tears of Camilla, as she turned, with involuntary archness, to Eugenia,
and answered: 'And shall I follow his counsel, my dear sister, if he
gives me any?'

'Why not? he is wise, prudent, and much attached to us all. How he can
have supposed it possible we could be his enemies, is past all
divination!'

Gaiety was so truly the native growth of the mind of Camilla, that
neither care nor affliction could chace it long from its home. The
speeches of the unsuspicious Eugenia, that a moment before would have
past unheeded, now regaled her renovated fancy with a thousand amusing
images, which so vigorously struggled against her sadness and her
terrors, that they were soon nearly driven from the field by their
sportive assailants; and, by the time she reached her chamber, whither,
lost in amaze, her sisters followed her, the surprise she had in store
for them, the pleasure with which she knew they would sympathise in her
happiness, and the security of Edgar's decided regard, had liberated her
mind from the shackles of reminiscence, and restored her vivacity to its
original spirit.

Fastening, then, her door, she turned to them with a countenance of the
brightest animation; alternately and almost wildly embraced them, and
related the explicit declaration of Edgar; now hiding in their bosoms
the blushes of her modest joy, now offering up to Heaven the
thanksgiving of her artless rapture, now dissolving in the soft tears of
the tenderest sensibility, according to the quick changing impulses of
her natural and lively, yet feeling and susceptible character. Nor once
did she look at the reverse of this darling portrait of chosen felicity,
till Eugenia, with a gentle sigh, uttered: 'Unhappy Sir Sedley
Clarendel! how may this stroke be softened to him?'

'Ah Eugenia!' she cried; 'that alone is my impediment to the most
perfect, the most unmixt content! why have you made me think of him?'

'My dear Camilla,' said Eugenia, with a look of curious earnestness, and
taking both her hands, while she seemed examining her face, 'you are
then, it seems, in love? and with Edgar Mandlebert?'

Camilla, blushing, yet laughing, broke away from her, denying the
charge.

A consultation succeeded upon the method of proceeding with the young
baronet. Tommy Hodd was not yet returned with the answer; it was five
miles to Clarendel Place, which made going and returning his day's work.
She resolved to wait but this one reply, and then to acknowledge to
Edgar the whole of her situation. The delicacy of Lavinia, and the high
honour of Eugenia, concurred in the propriety of this confession; and
they all saw the urgent necessity of an immediate explanation with Sir
Sedley, whose disappointment might every hour receive added weight from
delay. Painful, therefore, confusing and distasteful, as was the task,
Camilla determined upon the avowal, and as completely to be guided by
Edgar in this difficult conjuncture, as if his advice were already
sanctioned by conjugal authority.




CHAPTER VI

_A Call of the House_


Edgar returned to the parlour with a countenance so much brightened, a
joy so open, a confidence so manly, and an air so strongly announcing
some interesting intelligence, that his history required no prelude.
'Edgar,' said Mr. Tyrold, 'you have a look to disarm care of its
corrosion. You could not take a better time to wear so cheering an
aspect; I have just learnt that my wife can fix no sort of date for her
return; I must borrow, therefore, some reflected happiness; and none,
after my children, can bring its sunshine so home to my bosom as
yourself.'

'What a fortunate moment have you chosen,' cried Edgar, affectionately
taking him by the hand, 'to express this generous pleasure in seeing me
happy! will you repent, will you retract, when you hear in what it may
involve you?... Dearest sir! my honoured, my parental friend! to what a
test shall I put your kindness!... Will you give me in charge one of the
dearest ties of your existence? will you repose in my care so large a
portion of your peace? will you trust to me your Camilla?...'

With all the ardour of her character, all the keen and quick feelings of
her sensitive mind, scarce had Camilla herself been more struck, more
penetrated with sudden joy, sudden wonder, sudden gratification of every
kind, than Mr. Tyrold felt at this moment. He more than returned the
pressure with which Edgar held his hand, and instantly answered, 'Yes,
my excellent young friend, without hesitation, without a shadow of
apprehension for her happiness! though she is all the fondest father can
wish; ... and though she only who gave her to me is dearer!'

Felicity and tenderness were now the sole guests in the breast of Edgar.
He kissed with reverence the hand of Mr. Tyrold, called him by the
honoured and endearing title of father; acknowledged that, from the
earliest period of observation, Camilla had seemed to him the most
amiable of human creatures; spoke with the warm devotion he sincerely
felt for her of Mrs. Tyrold; and was breathing forth his very soul in
tender rapture upon his happy prospects, when something between a sigh
and a groan from the baronet, made him hastily turn round, apologise for
not sooner addressing him, and respectfully solicit his consent.

Sir Hugh was in an agitation of delight and surprise almost too potent
for his strength. 'The Lord be good unto me,' he cried; 'have I lived to
see such a day as this!' Then, throwing his arms about Edgar's neck,
while his eyes were fast filling with tears, which soon ran plentifully
down his cheeks, 'Good young Mr. Edgar!' he cried; 'good young man! and
do you really love my poor Camilla, for all her not being worth a penny?
And will my dear little darling come to so good an end at last, after
being disinherited for doing nothing? And will you never vex her, nor
speak an unkind word to her? Indeed, young Mr. Edgar, you are a noble
boy! you are indeed; and I love you to the bottom of my old heart for
this true good naturedness!'

Then, again and again embracing him, 'This is all of a piece,' he
continued, 'with your saving my poor old Rover, which is a thing I shall
never forget to my longest day, being a remarkable sign of a good heart;
the poor dog having done nothing to offend, as we can all testify. So
that it's a surprising thing what that mastiff owed him such a grudge
for.'

Then quitting him abruptly to embrace Mr. Tyrold, 'My dear brother,' he
cried, 'I hope your judgment approves this thing, as well as my
sister's, when she comes to hear it, which I shall send off express,
before I sleep another wink, for fear of accidents.'

'Approve,' answered Mr. Tyrold, with a look of the most expressive
kindness at Edgar, 'is too cold a word; I rejoice, even thankfully
rejoice, to place my dear child in such worthy and beloved hands.'

'Well, then,' cried the enchanted baronet, 'if that's the case, that we
are all of one mind, we had better settle the business at once, all of
us being subject to die by delay.'

He then rang the bell, and ordered Jacob to summon Camilla to the
parlour, adding, 'And all the rest too, Jacob, for I have something to
tell them every one, which, I make no doubt, they will be very glad to
hear, yourself included, as well as your fellow-servants, who have no
right to be left out; only let my niece come first, being her own
affair.'

Camilla obeyed not the call without many secret sensations of distress
and difficulty, but which, mingled with the more obvious ones of modesty
and embarrassment, all passed for a flutter of spirits that appeared
natural to the occasion.

Mr. Tyrold could only silently embrace her: knowing what she had
suffered, and judging thence the excess of her present satisfaction, he
would not add to her confusion by any information of his consciousness;
but the softness with which he held her to his bosom spoke, beyond all
words, his heartfelt sympathy in her happiness.

Camilla had no power to draw herself from his arms; but Edgar hovered
round her, and Sir Hugh repeatedly and impatiently demanded to have his
turn. Mr. Tyrold, gently disengaging himself from her embraces, gave
one of her hands to Edgar, who, with grateful joy, pressed it to his
lips. 'My children!' he then said, laying a hand upon the shoulder of
each, 'what a sight is this to me! how precious a union! what will it be
to your excellent mother! So long and so decidedly it has been our
favourite earthly wish, that, were she but restored to me ... to her
country and to her family ... I might, perhaps, require some new evil to
prevent my forgetting where ... and what I am!'

'My dear brother, I say! my dear niece! My dear Mr. young Edgar!' cried
Sir Hugh, in the highest good humour, though with nearly exhausted
patience, 'won't you let me put in a word? nor so much as give you my
blessing? though I can hardly hold life and soul together for the sake
of my joy!'

Camilla cast herself into his arms, he kissed her most fondly, saying:
'Don't forget your poor old uncle, my dear little girl, for the account
of this young Mr. Edgar, because, good as he is, he has taken to you but
a short time in comparison with me.'

'No,' said Edgar, still tenaciously retaining the hand parentally
bestowed upon him; 'no, dear Sir Hugh, I wish not to rob you of your
darling. I wish but to be admitted myself into this dear and respected
family, and to have Etherington, Cleves, and Beech Park, considered as
our alternate and common habitations.'

'You are the very best young man in the whole wide world!' cried Sir
Hugh, almost sobbing with ecstasy; 'for you have hit upon just the very
thing I was thinking of in my own private mind! What a mercy it is our
not accepting that young Captain, who would have run away with her to I
don't know where, instead of being married to the very nearest estate in
the county, that will always be living with us!'

The rest of the family now, obedient to the direction of Jacob, who had
intimated that something extraordinary was going forward, entered the
room.

'Come in, come in,' cried Sir Hugh, 'and hear the good news; for we have
just been upon the very point of losing the best opportunity that ever
we had in our lives of all living together; which, I hope, we shall now
do, without any more strangers coming upon us with their company, being
a thing we don't desire.'

'But what's the good news, uncle?' said Indiana; 'is it only about our
living together?'

'Why, yes, my dear, that's the first principle, and the other is, that
young Mr. Edgar's going to marry Camilla; which I hope you won't take
ill, liking being all fancy.'

'Me?' cried she, with a disdainful toss of the head, though severely
mortified; 'it's nothing to me, I'm sure!'

Camilla ashamed, and Edgar embarrassed, strove now mutually to shew Sir
Hugh they wished no more might be said: but he only embraced them again,
and declared he had never been so full of joy before in his whole life,
and would not be cut short.

Miss Margland, extremely piqued, vented her spleen in oblique sarcasms,
and sought to heal her offended pride by appeals for justice to her
sagacity and foresight in the whole business.

Jacob, now opening the door, said all the servants were come.

Camilla tried to escape; but Sir Hugh would not permit her, and the
house-keeper and butler led the way, followed by every other domestic of
the house.

'Well, my friends,' he cried, 'wish her joy, which I am sure you will do
of your own accord, for she's going to be mistress of Beech Park; which
I thought would have been the case with my other niece, till I found out
my mistakes; which is of no consequence now, all having ended for the
best; though unknown to us poor mortals.'

The servants obeyed with alacrity, and offered their hearty
congratulations to the blushing Camilla and happy Edgar, Molly Mill
excepted; who, having concluded Sir Sedley Clarendel the man, doubted
her own senses, and, instead of open felicitations, whispered Camilla,
'Dear Miss, I've got another letter for you! It's here in my bosom.'

Camilla, frightened, said: 'Hush! hush!' while Edgar, imagining the
girl, whose simplicity and talkativeness were familiar to him, had said
something ridiculous, entreated to be indulged with hearing her remark:
but seeing Camilla look grave, forbore to press his request.

The baronet now began an harangue upon the happiness that would accrue
from these double unions, for which he assured them they should have
double remembrances, though the same preparations would do for both, as
he meant they should take place at the same time, provided Mr. Edgar
would have the obligingness to wait for a fair wind, which he was
expecting every hour.

Camilla could now stay no longer; nor could Edgar, though adoring the
hearty joy of Sir Hugh, refuse to aid her in absconding.

He begged her permission to follow, as soon as it might be possible,
which she tacitly accorded. She was impatient herself for the important
conference she was planning, and felt, with increasing solicitude, that
all her life's happiness hung upon her power to extricate herself
honourably from the terrible embarrassment in which she was involved.

She sauntered about the hall till the servants came out, anxious to
receive the letter which Molly Mill had announced. They all sought to
surround her with fresh good wishes; but she singled out Molly, and
begged the rest to leave her for the present. The letter, however, was
not unpinned from the inside of Molly's neck handkerchief, before Edgar,
eager and gay, joined her.

Trembling then, she entreated her to make haste.

'La, Miss,' answered the girl, 'if you hurry me so, I shall tear it as
sure as can be; and what will you say then, Miss?'

'Well ... then ... another time will do ... take it to my room.'

'No, no, Miss; the gentleman told Tommy Hodd he wanted an answer as
quick as can be; he said, if Tommy'd come a-horseback, he'd pay for the
horse, to make him quicker; and Tommy says he always behaves very
handsome.'

She then gave her the squeezed billet. Camilla, in great confusion, put
it into her pocket. Edgar, who even unavoidably heard what passed, held
back till Molly retired; and then, with an air of undisguised surprise
and curiosity, though in a laughing tone, said, 'Must not the letter be
read till I make my bow?'

'O yes,' ... cried she, stammering, 'it may be read ... at any time.'
And she put her hand in her pocket to reproduce it. But the idea of
making known the strange and unexpected history she had to relate, by
shewing so strange a correspondence, without one leading and softening
previous circumstance, required a force and confidence of which she was
not mistress. She twisted it, therefore, hastily round, to hide the
hand-writing of the direction, and, then, with the same care, rolled it
up, and encircled it with her fingers.

'Shall I be jealous?' said he, gently, though disappointed.

'You have much reason!' she answered, with a smile so soft, it dispersed
every fear, yet with an attention so careful to conceal the address,
that it kept alive every wonder. He took her other hand, and kissing it,
cried: 'No, sweetest Camilla, such unworthy distrust shall make no part
of our compact. Yet I own myself a little interested to know what
gentleman has obtained a privilege I should myself prize above almost
any other. I will leave you, however, to read the letter, and, perhaps,
before you answer it ... but no ... I will ask nothing; I shall lose all
pleasure in your confidence, if it is not spontaneous. I will go and
find your sisters.'

The first impulse of Camilla was, to commit to him immediately the
unopened letter: but the fear of its contents, its style, its
requisitions, made her terror overpower her generosity; and, though she
looked after him with regret, she stood still to break the seal of her
letter.

     _Miss_ Camilla Tyrold.

     Is it thus, O far too fair tormenter! thou delightest to torture?
     Dost thou give wings but to clip them? raise expectation but to bid
     it linger? fan bright the flame of hope, but to see it consume in
     its own ashes? Another delay?... Ah! tell me how I may exist till
     it terminates! Name to me, O fair tyrant! some period, ... or build
     not upon longer forbearance, but expect me at your feet. You talk
     of the Grove: its fair owner is just returned, and calls herself
     impatient to see you. To-morrow, then, ... you will not, I trust,
     kill me again tomorrow? With the sun, the renovating sun, I will
     visit those precincts, nor quit them till warned away by the pale
     light of Diana: tell me, then, to what century of that period your
     ingenious cruelty condemns me to this expiring state, ere a
     vivifying smile recalls me back to life?

     SEDLEY CLARENDEL.

The immediate presence of Edgar himself could not have made this letter
dye the cheeks of Camilla of a deeper red. She saw that Sir Sedley
thought her only coquetishly trifling, and she looked forward with
nearly equal horror to clearing up a mistake that might embitter his
future life, and to acknowledging to Edgar ... the scrupulous, the
scrutinising, the delicate Edgar ... that such a mistake could have been
formed.

She was ruminating upon this formidable, this terrible task, when Edgar
again appeared, accompanied by her sisters. She hurried the letter into
her pocket. Edgar saw the action with a concern that dampt his spirits;
he wished to obtain from her immediately the unlimited trust, which
immediately, and for ever, he meant to repose in her. They all strolled
together for a short time in the park; but she was anxious to retreat to
her room, and her sisters were dying with impatience to read Sir
Sedley's letter. Edgar, disturbed to see how little any of their
countenances accorded with the happy feelings he had so recently
experienced, proposed not to lengthen the walk, but flattered himself,
upon re-entering the house, Camilla would afford him a few minutes of
explanation. But she only, with a faint smile, said she should soon
return to the parlour; and he saw Molly Mill eagerly waiting for her
upon the stairs, and heard her, in reply to some question concerning
Tommy Hodd, desire the girl to be quiet till she got to her room.

Edgar could form no idea of what all this meant, yet, that some secret
disturbance preyed upon Camilla, that some gentleman wrote to her, and
expected impatiently an answer; and that the correspondence passed
neither through her friends, nor by the post, but by the medium of Molly
Mill, were circumstances not less unaccountable than unpleasant.

Camilla, meanwhile, produced the letter to her sisters, beseeching their
ablest counsel. 'See but,' she cried, 'how dreadfully unprepared is Sir
Sedley for the event of the day! And oh!... how yet more unprepared
must be Edgar for seeing that such a letter could ever be addressed to
me! How shall I shew it him, my dear sisters? how help his believing I
must have given every possible encouragement, ere Sir Sedley could have
written to me in so assured a style?'

Much deliberation ensued; but they were all so perplexed, that they were
summoned to tea before they had come to any resolution.

The counsel of Eugenia, then, prevailed; and it was settled, that
Camilla should avoid, for the present, any communication to Edgar, lest
it should lead to mischief between him and the young baronet, who could
not but be mutually displeased with each other; and that the next
morning, before she saw Edgar again, she should set out for the Grove,
and there cast herself wholly upon the generosity of Sir Sedley; and,
when freed from all engagement, return, and relate, without reserve,
the whole history to Edgar; who would so soon be brother of her brother,
that he would pardon the faults of Lionel, and who would then be in no
danger himself from personal contest or discussion with Sir Sedley. She
wrote, therefore, one line, to say she would see Mrs. Arlbery early the
next day, and delivered it to Molly Mill; who promised to borrow a horse
of the under-groom, that Tommy Hodd might be back before bed-time,
without any obligation to Sir Sedley.

She, then, went down stairs; when Edgar, disappointed by her long
absence, sought vainly to recompense it by conversing with her. She was
gentle, but seated herself aloof, and avoided his eyes.

His desire to unravel so much mystery he thought now so legitimated by
his peculiar situation, that he was frequently upon the point of
soliciting for information: but, to know himself privileged, upon
further reflexion, was sufficient to insure his forbearance. Even when
that knot was tied which would give to him all power, he sincerely meant
to owe all her trust to willing communication. Should he now, then, make
her deem him exacting, and tenacious of prerogative? no; it might
shackle the freedom of her mind in their future intercourse. He would
quietly, therefore, wait her own time, and submit to her own
inclination. She could not doubt his impatience; he would not compel her
generosity.




CHAPTER VII

_The Triumph of Pride_


The three sisters were retired, at night, to another council in the room
of Camilla, when Molly Mill, with a look of dismay, burst in upon them,
bringing, with the answer of Sir Sedley, news that Tommy Hodd, by an
accident he could not help, had rode the horse she had borrowed for him
of the under-groom to death.

The dismay, now, spread equally to them all. What a tale would this
misfortune unfold to Sir Hugh, to Edgar, to the whole house! The debt of
Lionel, the correspondence with Sir Sedley, the expectations of the
young baronet.... Camilla could not support it; she sent for Jacob to
own to him the affair, and beg his assistance.

Jacob, though getting into bed, obeyed the call. He was, however, so
much irritated at the loss of the horse, and the boldness of the
under-groom, in lending him without leave, that, at first, he would
listen to no entreaties, and protested that both the boy and Molly Mill
should be complained of to his master. The eloquence, however, of his
three young mistresses, for so all the nieces of Sir Hugh were called by
the servants at Cleves, soon softened his ire; he almost adored his
master, and was affectionately attached to the young family. They begged
him, therefore, to buy another horse, as like it as possible, and to
contrive not to employ it when Sir Hugh was in sight, till they were
able to clear up the history to their uncle themselves: this would not
be difficult, as the baronet rarely visited his stables since his fall,
from the melancholy with which he was filled by the sight of his horses.

There was to be a fair for cattle in the neighbourhood the next day, and
Jacob promised to ride over to see what bargain he could make for them.

They then inquired about what money would be necessary for the purchase.

The cost, he said, of poor Tom Jones was 40£.

Camilla held up her hands, almost screaming. Eugenia, with more presence
of mind, said they would see him again in the morning before he went,
and then told Molly Mill to wait for her in her own room.

'What can I now do?' cried Camilla; 'I would not add the history of this
dreadful expence to the sad tale I have already to relate to Edgar for
the universe! To begin my career by such a string of humiliations would
be insupportable. Already I owe five guineas to Mrs. Arlbery, which the
tumult of my mind since my return has prevented me from naming to my
uncle; and I have left debts at Tunbridge that will probably take up all
my next quarter's allowance!'

'As far as these three guineas will go,' said Lavinia, taking out her
purse, 'here, my dearest Camilla, they are; ... but how little that is!
I never before thought my pittance too small! yet how well we all know
my dear father cannot augment it.'

Eugenia, who, in haste, had stept to her own room, now came back, and
putting twenty guineas into the hand of Camilla, said: 'This, my beloved
sister, is all I now have by me; but Jacob is rich and good, and will
rejoice to pay the rest for us at present; and I shall very soon
reimburse him, for my uncle has insisted upon making me a very
considerable present, which I shall, now, no longer refuse.'

Camilla burst into tears, and, hanging about their necks: 'O my
sisters,' she cried, 'what goodness is yours! but how can I avail myself
of it with any justice? Your three guineas, my Lavinia, your little
all ... how can I bear to take?'

'Do not teach me to repine, my dear Camilla, that I have no more! I am
sure of being remembered by my uncle on the approaching occasions, and I
can never, therefore, better spare my little store.'

'You are all kindness! and you my dear Eugenia, though you have more,
have claims upon that more, and are both expected and used to answer
them....'

'Yes, I have indeed more!' interrupted Eugenia, 'which only sisters good
as mine could pardon; but because my uncle has made me his heiress, has
he made me a brute? No! whatever I have, must be amongst us all in
common, not only now, but ...' She stopt, affrighted at the idea she was
presenting to herself, and fervently clasping her hands, exclaimed: 'O
long ... long may it be ere I can shew my sisters all I feel for them!
they will believe it, I am sure ... and that is far happier!'

The idea this raised struck them all, at the same moment, to the heart.
Not one of them had dry eyes, and with a sadness over-powering every
other consideration, they sighed as heavily, and with looks as
disconsolate, as if the uncle so dear to them were already no more.

The influence of parts, the predominance of knowledge, the honour of
learning, the captivation of talents, and even the charm of fame itself,
all shrink in their effects before the superior force of goodness, even
where most simple and uncultivated, for power over the social
affections.

       *       *       *       *       *

At an early hour, the next morning the commission, with the twenty
guineas in hand, and the promise of the rest in a short time, were given
to Jacob; and Camilla, then, begged permission of her father, and the
carriage of her uncle, to visit Mrs. Arlbery, who, she had heard, was
just returned to the Grove.

Concluding she wished to be the messenger of her own affairs to that
lady, they made no opposition, and she set off before eight o'clock,
without entering the parlour, where Edgar, she was informed, was already
arrived for breakfast.

The little journey was terrible to her; scenes of disappointment and
despair on the part of Sir Sedley, were anticipated by her alarmed
imagination, and she reproached herself for every word she had ever
spoken, every look she had ever given, that could have raised any
presumption of her regard.

The last note was written in the style of all the others, and not one
ever expressed the smallest doubt of success; how dreadful then to break
to him such news, at the very moment he might imagine she came to meet
him with partial pleasure!

Mrs. Arlbery was not yet risen. Camilla inquired, stammering, if any
company were at the house. None, was the answer. She then begged leave
to walk in the garden till Mrs. Arlbery came down stairs.

She was not sorry to miss her; she dreaded her yet more than Sir Sedley
himself, and hoped to see him alone.

Nevertheless, she remained a full hour in waiting, ruminating upon the
wonder her disappearance would give to Edgar, and nearly persuaded some
chance had anticipated her account to Sir Sedley, whose rage and grief
were too violent to suffer him to keep his appointment.

This idea served but to add to her perturbation, when, at last, she saw
him enter the garden.

All presence of mind then forsook her; she looked around to see if she
could escape, but his approach was too quick for avoidance. Her eyes,
unable to encounter his, were bent upon the ground, and she stood still,
and even trembling, till he reached her.

To the prepossessed notions and vain character of Sir Sedley, these were
symptoms by no means discouraging; with a confidence almost amounting to
arrogance he advanced, pitying her distress, yet pitying himself still
more for the snare in which it was involving him. He permitted his eyes
for a moment to fasten upon her, to admire her, and to enjoy
triumphantly her confusion in silence: 'Ah, beauteous tyrant!' he then
cried; 'if this instant were less inappreciable, in what language could
I upbraid thy unexampled abuse of power? thy lacerating barbarity?'

He then, almost by force, took her hand; she struggled eagerly to
recover it, but 'No,' he cried, 'fair torturer! it is now my prisoner,
and must be punished for its inhuman sins, in the congealing and
unmerciful lines it has portrayed for me.'

And then, regardless of her resistance, which he attributed to mere
bashfulness, he obstinately and incessantly devoured it with kisses, in
defiance of opposition, supplication, or anger, till, suddenly and
piercingly, she startled him with a scream, and snatched it away with a
force irresistible.

Amazed, he stared at her. Her face was almost convulsed with emotion;
but her eyes, which appeared to be fixed, directed him to the cause. At
the bottom of the walk, which was only a few yards distant, stood
Mandlebert.

Pale and motionless, he looked as if bereft of strength and faculties.
Camilla had seen him the moment she raised her eyes, and her horror was
uncontrollable. Sir Sedley, astonished at what he beheld, astonished
what to think, drew back, with a supercilious kind of bow. Edgar,
recalled by what he thought insolence to his recollection, advanced a
few steps, and addressing himself to Camilla, said: 'I had the commands
of Sir Hugh to pursue you, Miss Tyrold, to give you immediate notice
that Mr. Lynmere is arrived.' He added no more, deigned not a look at
Sir Sedley, but rapidly retreated, remounted his horse, and galloped
off.

Camilla looked after him till he was out of sight, with uplifted hands
and eyes, deploring his departure, his mistake, and his resentment,
without courage to attempt stopping him.

Sir Sedley stood suspended, how to act, what to judge. If Edgar's was
the displeasure of a discarded lover, why should it so affect Camilla?
if of a successful one, why came she to meet him? why had she received
and answered his notes?

Finding she attempted neither to speak nor move, he again approached
her, and saying, 'Fair Incomprehensible!...' would again have taken her
hand; but rousing to a sense of her situation, she drew back, and with
some dignity, but more agitation, cried: 'Sir Sedley, I blush if I am
culpable of any part of your mistake; but suffer me now to be explicit,
and let me be fully, finally, and not too late understood. You must
write to me no more; I cannot answer nor read your letters. You must
speak to me no more, except in public society; you must go further, Sir
Sedley ... you must think of me no more.'

'Horrible!' cried he, starting back; 'you distress me past measure!'

'No, no, you will soon ... easily ... readily forget me.'

'Inhuman! you make me unhappy past thought!'

'Indeed I am inexpressibly concerned; but the whole affair....'

'You shock, you annihilate me, you injure me in the tenderest point!'

Camilla now, amazed, cried 'what is it you mean, sir?'

'By investing me, fair barbarian, with the temerity of forming any claim
that can call for repulse!'

Utterly confounded by so unexpected a disclaiming of all design, she
again, though from far different sensations, cast up her eyes and hands.
And is it, she thought, for a trifler such as this, so unmeaning, so
unfeeling, I have risked my whole of hope and happiness?

She said, however, no more; for what more could be said? She coloured,
past him, and hastily quitting the garden, told the footman to apologise
to Mrs. Arlbery for her sudden departure, by informing her that a near
relation was just arrived from abroad; and then got into the carriage
and drove back to Cleves. Sir Sedley followed carelessly, yet without
aiming at overtaking her, and intreated, negligently, to be heard, yet
said nothing which required the smallest answer.

Piqued completely, and mortified to the quick, by the conviction which
now broke in upon him of the superior ascendance of Mandlebert, he could
not brook to have been thought in earnest when he saw he should not have
been accepted, nor pardon his own vanity the affront it had brought upon
his pride. He sung aloud an opera air till the carriage of Sir Hugh was
out of sight, and then drove his phaeton to Clarendel-Place, where he
instantly ordered his post-chaise, and in less than an hour, set off on
a tour to the Hebrides.




CHAPTER VIII

_A Summons to Happiness_


Camilla had but just set out from Cleves, when Sir Hugh, consulting his
weather-cocks, which a new chain of ideas had made him forget to
examine, saw that the wind was fair for the voyage of his nephew; and
heard, upon inquiry, that the favourable change had taken place the
preceding day, though the general confusion of the house had prevented
it from being heeded by any of the family.

With eagerness the most excessive, he went to the room of Eugenia, and
bid her put on a smart hat to walk out with him, as there was no knowing
how soon a certain person might arrive.

Eugenia, colouring, said she would rather stay within.

'Well,' cried he, 'you'll be neater, to be sure, for not blowing about
in the wind; so I'll go take t'other girls.'

Eugenia, left alone, became exceedingly fluttered. She could not bear to
remain in the house under the notion of so degrading a consideration as
owing any advantage to outward appearance; and fearing her uncle, in his
extreme openness, should give that reason for her not walking, she
determined to take a stroll by herself in the park.

She bent her steps towards a small wood at some distance from the house,
where she meant to rest herself and read; for she had learnt of Dr.
Orkborne never to be unprovided with a book. But she had not yet reached
her place of intended repose, when the sound of feet made her turn
round, and, to her utter consternation, she saw a young man, whose
boots, whip, and foreign air, announced instantly to be Clermont
Lynmere.

She doubted not but he was sent in pursuit of her; and though youthful
timidity prompted her to shun him, she retained sufficient command over
herself to check it, and to stop till he came up to her; while he,
neither quickening nor slackening his pace as he approached, passed her
with so little attention, that she was presently convinced he had scarce
even perceived her.

Disconcerted by a meeting so strange and so ill timed, she involuntarily
stood still, without any other power than that of looking after him.

In a few minutes Molly Mill, running up to her, cried: 'Dear Miss, have
not you seen young Mr. Lynmere? He come by t'other way just as master,
and Miss Margland, and Miss Lynmere, and Miss Tyrold, was gone to meet
him by the great gate; and so he said he'd come and look who he could
find himself.'

Eugenia had merely voice to order her back. The notion of having a
figure so insignificant as to be passed, without even exciting a doubt
[who] she might be, was cruelly mortifying. She knew not how to return
to the house, and relate such an incident. She sat down under a tree to
recollect herself.

Presently, however, she saw the stranger turn quick about, and before
she could rise, slightly touching his hat, without looking at her:
'Pray, ma'am,' he said, 'do you belong to that house?' pointing to the
mansion of Sir Hugh.

Faintly she answered, 'Yes, sir;' and he then added: 'I am just arrived,
and in search of Sir Hugh and the young ladies; one of them, they told
me, was this way; but I can trace nobody. Have you seen any of them?'

More and more confounded, she could make no reply. Inattentive to her
embarrassment, and still looking every way around, he repeated his
question. She then pointed towards the great gate, stammering she
believed they went that way. 'Thank you;' he answered, with a nod, and
then hurried off.

She now thought no more of moving nor of rising; she felt a kind of
stupor, in which, fixed, and without reflection, she remained, till,
startled by the sound of her uncle's voice, she got up, made what haste
she was able to the house by a private path, and ascended to her own
room by a back stair case.

That an interview to which she had so long looked forward, for which,
with unwearied assiduity, she had so many years laboured to prepare
herself, and which was the declared precursor of the most important æra
of her life, should pass over so abruptly, and be circumstanced so
aukwardly, equally dispirited and confused her.

In a few minutes, Molly Mill, entering, said: 'They're all come back,
and Sir Hugh's fit to eat the young squire up; and no wonder, for he's a
sweet proper gentleman, as ever I see. Come, miss, I hope you'll put on
something else, for that hat makes you look worse than any thing. I
would not have the young squire see you such a figure for never so
much.'

The artlessness of unadorned truth, however sure in theory of extorting
administration, rarely, in practice, fails inflicting pain or
mortification. The simple honesty of Molly redoubled the chagrin of her
young mistress, who, sending her away, went anxiously to the
looking-glass, whence, in a few moments, she perceived her uncle, from
the window, laughing, and making significant signs to some one out of
her sight. Extremely ashamed to be so surprised, she retreated to the
other end of the room, though not till she had heard Sir Hugh say: 'Ay,
ay, she's getting ready for you; I told you why she would not walk out
with us, so don't let's hurry her, though I can't but commend your being
a little impatient, which I dare say so is she, only young girls can't
so well talk about it.'

Eugenia now found that Clermont had no suspicion he had seen her. Sir
Hugh concluded she had not left her room, and asked no questions that
could lead to the discovery.

Presently the baronet came up stairs himself, and tapping at her door,
said: 'Come, my dear, don't be too curious, the breakfast having been
spoilt this hour already; besides your cousin's having nothing on
himself but his riding dress.'

Happy she could at least clear herself from so derogatory a design, she
opened her door. Sir Hugh, surveying her with a look of surprise and
vexation, exclaimed: 'What my dear! an't you dizen'd yet? why I thought
to have seen you in all your best things!'

'No, sir,' answered she calmly; 'I shall not dress till dinner-time.'

'My dear girl,' cried he, kindly, though a little distressed how to
explain himself; 'there's no need you should look worse than you can
help; though you can do better things, I know, than looking well at any
time; only what I mean is, you should let him see you to the best
advantage at the first, for fear of his taking any dislike before he
knows about Dr. Orkborne, and that.'

'Dislike, sir!' repeated she, extremely hurt; 'if you think he will take
any dislike ... I had better not see him at all!'

'My dear girl, you quite mistake me, owing to my poor head's always
using the wrong word; which is a remarkable thing that I can't help. But
I don't mean in the least to doubt his being pleased with you, except
only at the beginning, from not being used to you; for as to all your
studies, there's no more Greek and Latin in one body's face than in
another's; but, however, if you won't dress, there's no need to keep the
poor boy in hot water for nothing.'

He then took her hand, and rather dragged than drew her down stairs,
saying as they went: 'I must wish you joy, though, for I assure you he's
a very fine lad, and hardly a bit of a coxcomb.'

The family was all assembled in the parlour, except Camilla, for whom
the baronet had instantly dispatched Edgar, and Mr. Tyrold, who was not
yet returned from a morning ride, but for whom Sir Hugh had ordered the
great dinner bell to be rung, as a signal of something extraordinary.

Young Lynmere was waiting the arrival of Eugenia with avowed and
unbridled impatience. Far from surmising it was her he had met in the
park, he had concluded it was one of the maids, and thought of her no
more. He asked a thousand questions in a breath when his uncle was gone.
Was she tall? was she short? was she plump? was she lean? was she fair?
was she brown? was she florid? was she pale? But as he asked them of
every body, nobody answered; yet all were in some dismay at a curiosity
implying such entire ignorance, except Indiana, who could not, without
simpering, foresee the amazement of her brother at her cousin's person
and appearance.

'Here's a noble girl for you!' cried Sir Hugh, opening the door with a
flourish; 'for all she's got so many best things, she's come down in her
worst, for the sake of looking ill at the beginning, to the end that
there may be no fault to be found afterwards; which is the wiseness that
does honour to her education.'

This was, perhaps, the first time an harangue from the baronet had been
thought too short; but the surprise of young Lynmere, at the view of his
destined bride, made him wish he would speak on, merely to annul any
necessity for speaking himself. Eugenia aimed in vain to recover the
calmness of her nature, or to borrow what might resemble it from her
notions of female dignity. The injudicious speech of Sir Hugh, but
publicly forcing upon the whole party the settled purpose of the
interview, covered her with blushes, and gave a tremor to her frame that
obliged her precipitately to seat herself, while her joined hands
supplicated his silence.

'Well, my dear, well!' said he, kissing her, 'don't let me vex you; what
I said having no meaning, except for the best; though your cousin might
as well have saluted you before you sat down, I think; which, however, I
suppose may be out of fashion now, every thing changing since my time;
which, Lord help me! it will take me long enough to learn.'

Lynmere noticed not this hint, and they all seated themselves round the
breakfast table; Sir Hugh scarce able to refrain from crying for joy,
and continually exclaiming: 'This is the happiest day of all my life,
for all I've lived so long! To see us all together, at last, and my dear
boy come home to his native old England!'

Miss Margland made the tea, and young Lynmere instantly and almost
voraciously began eating of every thing that was upon the table.
Indiana, when she saw her brother as handsome as her cousin was
deformed, thought the contrast so droll, she could look at neither
without tittering; Lavinia observed, with extreme concern, the visible
distress of her sister; Dr. Orkborne forbore to ruminate upon his work,
in expectation, every moment, of being called upon to converse with the
learned young traveller; but Sir Hugh alone spoke, though his delight
and his loquacity joined to his pleasure in remarking the good old
English appetite which his nephew had brought with him from foreign
parts, prevented his being struck with the general taciturnity.

The entrance of Mr. Tyrold proved a relief to all the party, though a
pain to himself. He suffered in seeing the distressed confusion of
Eugenia, and felt something little short of indignation at the
supercilious air with which Clermont seemed to examine her; holding his
head high and back, as if measuring his superior height, while every
line round his mouth marked that ridicule was but suppressed by
contempt.

When Sir Hugh, at length, observed that the young traveller uttered not
a syllable, he exclaimed: 'Lord help us! what fools it makes of us,
being overjoyed! here am I talking all the talk to myself, while my
young scholar says nothing! which I take to be owing to my speaking only
English; which, however, I should not do, if it was not for the
misfortune of knowing no other, which I can't properly call a fault,
being out of no idleness, as that gentleman can witness for me; for I'll
warrant nobody's taken more pains; but our heads won't always do what we
want.'

He then gave a long and melancholy detail of his studies and their
failure.

When the carriage arrived with Camilla, young Lynmere loitered to a
window, to look at it; Eugenia arose, meaning to seize the opportunity
to escape to her room; but seeing him turn round upon her moving, she
again sat down, experiencing, for the first time, a sensation of shame
for her lameness, which, hitherto, she had regularly borne with
fortitude, when she had not forgotten from indifference: neither did she
feel spirits to exhibit, again, before his tall and strikingly elegant
figure, her diminutive little person.

Camilla entered with traces of a disordered mind too strongly marked in
her countenance to have escaped observation, had she been looked at with
any attention. But Eugenia and Lynmere ingrossed all eyes and all
thoughts. Even herself, at first sight of the husband elect of her
sister, lost, for a moment, all personal consideration, and looked at
him only with the interesting idea of the future fate of Eugenia. But it
was only for a moment; when she turned round, and saw nothing of Edgar,
when her uncle's inquiry what had become of him convinced her he was
gone elsewhere, her heart sunk, she felt sick, and would have glided out
of the room, had not Sir Hugh, thinking her faint for want of her
breakfast, begged Miss Margland to make her some fresh tea; adding, 'As
this is a day in which I intend us all to be happy alike, I beg nobody
will go out of the room, for the sake of our enjoying it all together.'

This summons to happiness produced the usual effect of such calls; a
general silence, succeeded by a general yawning, and a universal secret
wish of separation, to the single exception of Sir Hugh, who, after a
pause, said, 'Why nobody speaks but me! which I really think odd enough.
However, my dear nephew, if you don't care for our plain English
conversation, which, indeed, after all your studies, one can't much
wonder at, nobody can be against you and the Doctor jabbering together a
little of your Greek and Latin.'

Lynmere, letting fall his bread upon the table, leaned back in his
chair, and, sticking his hands in his side, looked at his uncle with an
air of astonishment.

'Nay,' continued the baronet, 'I don't pretend I should be much the
wiser for it; however, it's what I've no objection to hear: so come,
Doctor! you're the oldest; break the ice!'

A verse of Horace with which Dr. Orkborne was opening his answer, was
stopt short, by the eager manner in which Lynmere re-seized his bread
with one hand, while, with the other, to the great discomposure of the
exact Miss Margland, he stretched forth for the tea-pot, to pour out a
bason of tea; not ceasing the libation till the saucer itself,
overcharged, sent his beverage in trickling rills from the tablecloth to
the floor.

The ladies all moved some paces from the table, to save their clothes;
and Miss Margland reproachfully inquired if she had not made his tea to
his liking.

'Don't mind it, I beg, my dear boy,' cried Sir Hugh; 'a little slop's
soon wiped up; and we're all friends: so don't let that stop your
Latin.'

Lynmere, noticing neither the Latin, the mischief, nor the consolation,
finished his tea in one draught, and then said: 'Pray, sir, where do you
keep all your newspapers?'

'Newspapers, my dear nephew? I've got no newspapers: what would you have
us do with a mere set of politics, that not one of us understand, in
point of what may be their true drift; now we're all met together
o'purpose to be comfortable?'

'No newspapers, sir?' cried Lynmere, rising, and vehemently ringing the
bell; and, with a scornful laugh, adding, half between his teeth, 'Ha!
ha! live in the country without newspapers! a good joke, faith!'

A servant appearing, he gave orders for all the morning papers that
could be procured.

Sir Hugh looked much amazed; but presently, starting up, said, 'My dear
nephew, I believe I've caught your meaning, at last; for if you mean, as
I take for granted, that we're all rather dull company, why I'll take
your hint, and leave you and a certain person together, to make a better
acquaintance; which you can't do so well while we're all by, on account
of modesty.'

Eugenia, frightened almost to sickness, [was] caught by her two sisters;
and Mr. Tyrold, tenderly compassionating her apprehensions, whispered to
Sir Hugh to dispense with a _tête-à-tête_ so early: and, taking her
hand, accompanied her himself to her room, composing, and re-assuring
her by the way.

Sir Hugh, though vexed, then followed, to issue some particular orders;
the rest of the party dispersed, and young Lynmere remained with his
sister.

Walking on tiptoe to the door, he shut it, and put his ear to the
key-hole, till he no longer heard any footstep. Turning then hastily
round, he flung himself, full length, upon a sofa, and burst into so
violent a fit of laughter, he was forced to hold his sides.

Indiana, tittering, said, 'Well, brother, how do you like her?'

'Like her!' he repeated, when able to speak; 'why the old gentleman
doats! He can never, else, seriously suppose I'll marry her.'

'He! he! he! yes, but he does, indeed, brother. He's got every thing
ready.'

'Has he, faith?' cried Lynmere, again rolling on the sofa, almost
suffocated with violent laughter: from which, suddenly recovering, he
started up to stroam to a large looking-glass, and, standing before it,
in an easy and most assured attitude, 'Much obliged to him, 'pon
honour!' he exclaimed: 'Don't you think,' turning carelessly, yet in an
elegant position, round to his sister, 'don't you think I am, Indiana?'

'Me, brother? la! I'm sure I think she's the ugliest little fright, poor
thing! I ever saw in the world, poor thing! such a little, short,
dumpty, hump backed, crooked, limping figure of a fright ... poor
thing!'

'Yes, yes,' cried he, changing his posture, but still undauntedly
examining himself before the glass, 'he has taken amazing care of me, I
confess; matched me most exactly!'

Then sitting down, as if to consider the matter more seriously, he took
Indiana by the arm, and, with some displeasure, said, 'Why, what does
the old quoz mean? Does he want me to toss him in a blanket?'

Indiana tittered more than ever at this idea, till her brother angrily
demanded of her, why she had not written herself some description of
this young Hecate, to prepare him for her sight? Sir Hugh having merely
given him to understand that she was not quite beautiful.

Indiana had no excuse to plead, but that she did not think of it. She
had, indeed, grown up with an aversion to writing, in common with
whatever else gave trouble, or required attention; and her
correspondence with her brother rarely produced more than two letters in
a year, which were briefly upon general topics, and read by the whole
family.

She now related to him the history of the will, and the vow, which only
in an imperfect, and but half-credited manner had reached him.

His laughter than gave place to a storm of rage. He called himself
ruined, blasted, undone; and abused Sir Hugh as a good-for-nothing
dotard, defrauding him of his just rights and expectations.

'Why, that's the reason,' said Indiana, 'he wants to marry you to cousin
Eugenia; because, he says, it's to make you amends.'

This led him to a rather more serious consideration of the affair; for,
he protested, the money was what he could not do without. Yet, again
parading to the glass, 'What a shame, Indiana,' he cried, 'what a shame
would it be to make such a sacrifice? If he'll only pay a trifle of
money for me, and give me a few odd hundreds to begin with, I'll hold
him quit of all else, so he'll but quit me of that wizen little stump.'

A newspaper, procured from the nearest public house, being now brought,
he pinched Indiana by the chin, said she was the finest girl he had seen
in England, and whistled off to his appointed chamber.

Clermont Lynmere so entirely resembled his sister in person, that now,
in his first youth, he might almost have been taken for her, even
without change of dress: but the effect produced upon the beholders bore
not the same parallel: what in her was beauty in its highest delicacy,
in him seemed effeminacy in its lowest degradation. The brilliant
fairness of his forehead, the transparent pink of his cheeks, the
pouting vermillion of his lips, the liquid lustre of his languishing
blue eyes, the minute form of his almost infantine mouth, and the snowy
whiteness of his small hands and taper fingers, far from bearing the
attraction which, in his sister, rendered them so lovely, made him
considered by his own sex as an unmanly fop, and by the women, as too
conceited to admire any thing but himself.

With respect to his understanding, his superiority over his sister was
rather in education than in parts, and in practical intercourse with the
world, than in any higher reasoning faculties. His character, like his
person, wanted maturing, the one being as distinct from intellectual
decision, as the other from masculine dignity. He had youth without
diffidence, sprightliness without wit, opinion without judgment, and
learning without knowledge. Yet, as he contemplated his fine person in
the glass, he thought himself without one external fault; and, early
cast upon his own responsibility, was not conscious of one mental
deficiency.




CHAPTER IX

_Offs and Ons_


Mr. Tyrold left Eugenia to her sisters, unwilling to speak of Lynmere
till he had seen something more of him. Sir Hugh, also, was going, for
he had no time, he said, to lose in his preparations: but Eugenia,
taking his arm, besought that nothing of that kind might, at present, be
mentioned.

'Don't trouble yourself about that, my dear,' he answered; 'for it's
what I take all into my own hands; your cousin being a person that don't
talk much; by which, how can any thing be brought forward, if nobody
interferes? A girl, you know, my dear, can't speak for herself, let her
wish it never so much.'

'Alas!' said Eugenia, when he was gone, 'how painfully am I situated!
Clermont will surely suppose this precipitance all mine; and already,
possibly, concludes it is upon my suggestion he has thus prematurely
been called from his travels, and impeded in his praise-worthy ambition
of studying the laws, manners, and customs of the different nations of
Europe!'

The wan countenance of Camilla soon, however, drew all observation upon
herself, and obliged her to narrate the cruel adventure of the morning.

The sisters were both petrified by the account of Sir Sedley; and their
compassion for his expected despair was changed into disgust at his
insulting impertinence. They were of opinion that his bird and his
letters should immediately be returned; and their horror of any debt
with a character mingling such presumption with such levity, made
Eugenia promise that, as soon as she was mistress of so much money, she
would send him, in the name of Lionel, his two hundred pounds.

The bird, therefore, by Tom Hodd, was instantly conveyed to
Clarendel-Place; but the letters Camilla retained, till she could first
shew them to Edgar, ... if this event had not lost him to her for ever,
and if he manifested any desire of an explanation.

       *       *       *       *       *

Edgar himself, meanwhile, in a paroxysm of sudden misery, and torturing
jealousy, had galloped furiously to the rector of Cleves.

'O, Doctor Marchmont!' he cried, 'what a tale have I now to unfold!
Within these last twenty-four hours I have been the most wretched ...
the happiest ... and again the most agonized of human beings! I have
thought Camilla bestowed upon another, ... I have believed her, ... oh,
Doctor!... my own!... I have conceived myself at the summit of all
earthly felicity!... I find myself, at this moment deluded and undone!'

He then detailed the account, calling upon the Doctor to unravel to him
the insupportable ænigma of his destiny; to tell him for what purpose
Camilla had shewn him a tenderness so bewitching, at the very time she
was carrying on a clandestine intercourse with another? with a man, who,
though destitute neither of wit nor good qualities, it was impossible
she should love, since she was as incapable of admiring as of
participating in his defects? To what incomprehensible motives attribute
such incongruities? Why accept and suffer her friends to accept him, if
engaged to Sir Sedley? why, if seriously meaning to be his, this secret
correspondence? Why so early, so private, so strange a meeting? 'Whence,
Doctor Marchmont, the daring boldness of his seizing her hand? whence
the never-to-be-forgotten licence with which he presumed to lift it to
his lips, ... and there hardily to detain it, so as never man durst do,
whose hopes were not all alive, from his own belief in their
encouragement! explain, expound to me this work of darkness and
amazement; tell me why, with every appearance of the most artless
openness, I find her thus eternally disingenuous and unintelligible?
why, though I have cast myself wholly into her power, she retains all
her mystery ... she heightens it into deceit next perjury?'

'Ask me, my dear young friend, why the sun does not give night, and the
moon day; then why women practise coquetry. Alas! my season for surprise
has long been passed! They will rather trifle, even with those they
despise, than be candid even with those they respect. The young baronet,
probably, has been making his court to her, or she has believed such was
his design; but as you first came to the point, she would not hazard
rejecting you, while uncertain if he were serious. She was, possibly,
putting him to the test, by the account of your declaration, at the
moment of your unseasonable intrusion.'

'If this, Doctor, is your statement, and if your statement is just, in
how despicable a lottery have I risked the peace of my life! You
suppose then ... that, if sure of Sir Sedley ... I am discarded?'

'You know what I think of your situation: can I, when to yet more riches
I add a title, suppose that of Sir Sedley less secure?'

The shuddering start, the distracted look of Edgar, with his hand
clapped to his burning forehead, now alarmed the Doctor; who endeavoured
to somewhat soften his sentence, dissuading him against any immediate
measures, and advising him to pass over these first moments of emotion,
and then coolly to suffer inquiry to take place of decision. But Edgar
could not hear him; he shook hands with him, faintly smiled, as an
apology for not speaking; and, hurrying off, without waiting for his
servant, galloped towards the New Forest: leaving his absence from
Cleves to declare his defection, and bent only to fly from Camilla, and
all that belonged to her.

All, however, that belonged to Camilla was precisely what followed him;
pursued him in every possible form, clung to his heart-strings, almost
maddened his senses. He could not bear to reflect; retrospection was
torture, anticipation was horror. To lose thus, without necessity,
without calamity, the object of his dearest wishes, ... to lose her from
mere declension of esteem....

'Any inevitable evil,' he cried, 'I could have sustained; any blow of
fortune, however severe; any stroke of adversity, however terrible; ...
but this ... this error of all my senses ... this deception of all my
hopes ... this extinction of every feeling I have cherished'--

He rode on yet harder, leaping over every thing, thoughtless rather than
fearless of every danger he could encounter, and galloping with the
speed and violence of some pursuit, though wholly without view, and
almost without consciousness; as if, hoping by flight, to escape from
the degenerate portrait of Camilla: but its painter was his own
imagination, and mocked the attempt.

From the other side of a five-barred gate, which, with almost frantic
speed, he was approaching with a view to clear, a voice halloo'd to stop
him; and, at the same time, a man who was leading one horse, and riding
another, dismounted, and called out, 'Why, as sure as I'm alive, it's
'Squire Mandlebert!'

Edgar now, perceiving Jacob, was going to turn back to avoid him; but,
restraining this first movement, faintly desired him to stand by, as he
had not a moment to lose.

'Good lack!' cried Jacob, with the freedom of an old servant, who had
known him from a boy; 'why, I would not but have happened to come this
way for never so much! why you might have broke your neck, else! Leap
such a gate as this here? why, I can't let you do no such a thing! Miss
Camilla's like a child of my own, as one may say; and she'll never hold
up her head again, I'll be bound for it, if you should come to any harm;
and, as to poor old master! 'twould go nigh to break his heart.'

Struck with words which, from so faithful an old servant, could not but
be touching, Edgar was brought suddenly to himself, and felt the claim
of the Tyrold family for a conduct more guarded. He endeavoured to put
his own feelings apart, and consider how best he might spare those of
the friends of Camilla; those of Camilla herself he concluded to be out
of his reach, except as they might simply relate to the female pride and
vanity of refusing rather than being given up.

He paused, now, to weigh how he might obviate any offence; and, after
first resolving to write a sort of general leave-taking, and, next,
seeing the almost insuperable objections to whatever he could state,
determined upon gaining time for deliberation, by merely commissioning
Jacob to carry a message to Cleves, that some sudden affairs called him,
for the present, to a distant part of the country. This, at such a
period, would create a surprise that might lead the way to what would
follow: and Camilla, who could not, he thought, be much astonished,
might then take her own measures for the defection she would see reason
to expect.

But Jacob resisted bearing the intelligence: 'Good lack, sir,' he cried,
'what have you got in your head? something that will do you no good,
I'll be bound, by the look of your eyes, which look as big as if they
was both going to drop out; you'd better come yourself and tell 'em
what's the matter, and speak a word to poor Miss Camilla, or she'll
never believe but what some ill has betided you. Why we all knew about
it, fast enough, before our master told us; servants have eyes as well
as their masters; only Mary will have it she found it out at the first,
which an't true, for I saw it by the time you'd been a week in the
house; and if you'll take my word, squire, I don't think there's such
another heart in the world as Miss Camilla's, except just my own old
master's.'

Edgar leant against his horse, neither speaking nor moving, yet
involuntarily listening, while deeply sighing.

'What a power of good she'll do,' continued Jacob, 'when she's mistress
of Beech Park! I warrant she'll go about, visiting the poor, and making
them clothes, and broths, and wine possets, and baby-linen, all day
long. She has done it at Etherington quite from a child; and when she
had nothing to give 'em, she used to take her thread papers and needle
books, and sit down and work for them, and carry them bits and scraps of
things to help 'em to patch their gowns. Why when she's got your fine
fortunes, she'll bring a blessing upon the whole county.'

Edgar felt touched; his wrath was softened into tenderness, and he
ejaculated to himself: 'Such, indeed, I thought Camilla! active in
charity, gentle in good works!... I thought that in putting my fortune
into her hands, I was serving the unhappy, ... feeding the indigent, ...
reviving the sick!'

'Master,' continued Jacob, 'took a fancy to her from the very first, as
well as I; and when master said she was coming to live with us, I asked
to make it a holiday for all our folks, and master was as pleased as I.
But nobody'd think what a tender heart she's got of her own, without
knowing her, because of her singing, and laughing, and dancing so,
except when old Miss Margland's in the way, who's what Mr. Lionel calls
a kill-joy at any time. Howbeit, I'll take special care she shan't be by
when I tell her of my stopping you from breaking your neck here; but I
wish you could be in a corner yourself, to peep at her, without her
knowing it; I'll warrant you she'll give me such a smile, you'd be fit
to eat her!'

Shaken once more in every resolution, because uncertain in every
opinion, Edgar found the indignant desperation which had seized him
begin to subside, and his mind again become assailable by something
resembling hope. Almost instinctively he remounted his horse, and almost
involuntarily ... drawn on by hearkening to the praise of Camilla, and
fascinated by the details made by Jacob of her regard, accompanied him
back to Cleves.

As they rode into the park, and while he was earnestly endeavouring to
form some palliation, by which he might exculpate what seemed to him so
guilty in the strange meeting and its strange circumstances, he
perceived Camilla herself, walking upon the lawn. He saw she had
observed him, and saw, from her air, she seemed irresolute if to
re-enter the house, or await him.

Jacob, significantly pointing her out, offered to shew the effect he
could produce by what he could relate; but Edgar, giving him the charge
of his horse, earnestly besought him to retire in quiet, and to keep his
opinions and experiments to himself.

Each now, separately, and with nearly equal difficulty, strove to attain
fortitude to seek an explanation. They approached each other; Camilla
with her eyes fixed upon the ground, her air embarrassed, and her cheeks
covered with blushes; Edgar with quick, but almost tottering steps, his
eyes wildly avoiding hers, and his complexion pale even to
indisposition.

When they were met within a few yards, they stopt; Camilla still without
courage to look up, and Edgar striving to speak, but finding no passage
for his voice. Camilla, then, ashamed of her situation, raised her eyes,
and forced herself to say, 'Have you been into the house? Have you seen
my cousin Lynmere?'

'No ... madam.'

Struck with a cold formality that never before, from Edgar, had reached
her ears, and shocked by the sight of his estranged and altered
countenance, with the cruel consciousness that appearances authorised
the most depreciating suspicions, she advanced, and holding out her
hand, 'Edgar,' she gently cried, 'are you ill? or only angry?'

'O Camilla!' he answered, 'can you deign to use to me such a word? can
you distort my dearest affections, convulse my fairest hopes, eradicate
every power of happiness ... yet speak with so much sweetness ... yet
look at me with such mildness? such softness ... I had almost said ...
such kindness?'

Deeply affected, she could hardly stand. He had taken her offered hand,
but in a manner so changed from the same action the preceding day, that
she scarce knew if he touched while he held it, scarce felt that he
relinquished, as almost immediately she withdrew it.

But her condescension at this moment was rather a new torment than any
solace to him. The hand which she proferred, and which the day before he
had received as the token of permanent felicity, he had now seen in the
possession of another, with every licence, every apparent mark of
permitted rapture in which he had been indulged himself. He knew not to
whom it of right belonged; and the doubt not merely banished happiness,
but mingled resentment with misery.

'I see,' cried she, after a mortified pause; 'you have lost your good
opinion of me ... I can only, therefore....' She stopt, but his
melancholy silence was a confirmation of her suggestion that offended
her into more exertion, and, with sensibility raised into dignity, she
added, 'only hope your intended tour to the Continent may take place
without delay!'

She would then have walked on to the house; but following her, 'Is all
over?' he cried, 'and is it thus, Camilla, we part?'

'Why not?' said she, suppressing a sigh, yet turning back.

'What a question! cruel Camilla! Is this all the explanation you allow
me?'

'What other do you wish?'

'All!... every other!... that meeting ... those letters....'

'If you have any curiosity yet remaining ... only name what you desire.'

'Are you indeed so good?' cried he, in a voice that shewed his soul
again melting; 'those letters, then....'

'You shall have them ... every one!' she cried, with alacrity; and
instantly taking out her pocket-book, presented him with the prepared
packet.

Penetrated by this unexpected openness and compliance, he snatched her
hand, with intent to press it to his lips; but again the recollection he
had seen that liberty accorded to Sir Sedley, joined to the sight of his
writing, checked him; he let it go; bowed his thanks with a look of
grateful respect, and attempting no more to stop her, walked towards the
summer-house, to peruse the letters.




CHAPTER X

_Resolutions_


The sound of the dinner-bell, which rang in the ears of Edgar before he
reached his intended retreat, would have been unnoticed, if not seconded
by a message from Sir Hugh, who had seen him from his window.

Compelled to obey, though in a state of suspense almost intolerable, he
put up the important little packet, and repaired to the dining parlour;
where, though none were equally disturbed with himself, no one was at
ease. Young Lynmere, under an appearance of mingled assurance and
apathy, the effect of acquired conceit, playing upon natural insipidity,
was secretly tormented with the rueful necessity of sacrificing either a
noble fortune, or his own fine person; Sir Hugh felt a strange
disappointment from the whole behaviour of his nephew, though it was
what he would not acknowledge, and could not define; Mr. Tyrold saw with
much uneasiness the glaringly apparent unsuitableness of the intended
alliance; Eugenia had never yet thought herself so plain and
insignificant, and felt as if, even since the morning, the small-pox had
renewed its ravages, and she had sunk into being shorter; Indiana and
Miss Margland were both acutely incensed with Mandlebert; Dr. Orkborne
saw but small reason to expect gratitude for his labours from the
supercilious negligence of the boasted young student; Lavinia was
disturbed for both her sisters; and Camilla felt that all she valued in
life depended upon the next critical hour or two.

In this state of general discomfort, Sir Hugh, who could never be
silent, alone talked. Having long prepared himself to look upon this
meeting as a day of happiness, he strove to believe, for a while, the
whole family were peculiarly enjoying themselves; but, upon a dead
silence, which ensued upon his taking a copious draught of Madeira and
water, 'Why, my dear nephew,' he cried, putting down his goblet, 'you
don't tell us any thing? which I've no doubt but you know why yourself.
However, as we're all met o' purpose to see you, I can't say I should be
sorry to hear the sound of your voice, provided it won't be
disagreeable.'

'We are not much--conversant, sir, in each other's connexions, I
believe,' answered Lynmere, without ceasing a moment to eat, and to help
himself, and ordering a fresh plate at every second mouthful; 'I have
seen nothing, yet, of your folks hereabouts; and, I fancy, sir, you
don't know a great deal of the people I have been used to.'

Sir Hugh, having good humouredly acknowledged this to be truth, was at a
loss what further to purpose; and, imagining the taciturnity of the rest
of the party to proceed from an awe of the knowledge and abilities of
his nephew, soon became himself so infected with fear and reverence,
that, though he could not be silent, he spoke only to those who were
next him, and in a whisper.

When the dessert was served, something like a general relief was
effected by the unexpected entrance of Dr. Marchmont. Alarmed by the
ungoverned, and, in him, unprecedented, emotions of Edgar, he had been
to Beech Park; and, finding he had not returned there, had ridden on, in
the most uneasy uncertainty, to inquire for him at Cleves.

Happy to see him safe, though almost smiling to see with whom, he was
beginning some excuse for his intrusion, when the baronet saved his
proceeding, by calling out, 'Well, this is as good a piece of good luck
as any we've met with yet! Here's Dr. Marchmont come to wish us joy; and
as he's as good a scholar as yourself, nephew, for any thing I know to
the contrary, why you need not be so afraid of speaking, for the sake of
our not understanding you; which here's five of us can do now, as well
as yourself.'

Lynmere, readily concluding Mr. Tyrold and Edgar, with the two Doctors,
made four, glanced round the table to see who might be the fifth; when,
supposing it Miss Margland, he withdrew his eyes with a look of
derision, and, turning to the butler, asked what wines he might call
for.

Sir Hugh then proposed that they should all pair off; the ignorant ones
going one way, and the learned ones staying another.

It would be difficult to say which looked most averse to this
proposition, Eugenia, or the young traveller; who hastily said, 'I
always ride after dinner, sir. Is your groom at hand? Can he shew me
your horses?'

'My nephew little suspects,' cried Sir Hugh, winking, 'Eugenia belongs
to the scholars! Ten to one but he thinks he's got Homer and Horace to
himself! But here, my dear boy, as you're so fond of the classics'--

Clermont, nimbly rising, and knocking down a decanter of water in his
haste, but not turning back to look at it, nor staying to offer any
apology, affected not to hear his uncle, and flung hastily out of the
room, calling upon Indiana to follow him.

'In the name of all the _Diavoli_,' cried he, pulling her into the park
with him, 'what does all this mean? Is the old gentleman _non compos_?
what's all this stuff he descants upon so freely, of scholars, and
classics, and Homer, and Horace?'

'O you must ask Eugenia, not me!' answered Indiana, scornfully.

'Why, what does Eugenia know of the matter?'

'Know? why every thing. She's a great scholar, and has been brought up
by Dr. Orkborne; and she talks Greek and Latin.'

'Does she so? then, by the Lord! she's no wife of mine! I'd as soon
marry the old Doctor himself! and I'm sure he'd make me as pretty a
wife. Greek and Latin! why I'd as soon tie myself to a rod. Pretty sort
of dinners she'll give!'

'O dear, yes, brother; she don't care what she eats; she cares for
nothing but books, and such kind of things.'

'Books! ha! ha! Books, and Latin and Greek! upon my faith, a pretty wife
the old gentleman has been so good as to find me! why he must be a
downright driveller!'

'Ah, brother, if we had all that fortune, what a different figure we
should cut with it!'

'Why, yes, I rather flatter myself we should. No great need of five
thousand a year to pore over books! Ha! ha! faith, this is a good hum
enough! So he thinks to take me in, does he?'

'Why, you know, she is so rich, brother....'

'Rich? well, and what am I? do you see such a figure as this,' (suddenly
skipping before her,) 'every day? Am I reduced to my last legs, think
you? Do you suppose I can't meet with some kind old dowager any time
these twenty years?'

'La, brother, won't you have her then?'

'No, faith, won't I! It's not come to that, neither. This learning is
worse than her ugliness; 'twould make me look like a dunce in my own
house.'

He then protested he had rather lose forty estates, than so be
sacrificed, and vowed, without venturing a direct refusal, he would soon
sicken the old gentleman of his scheme.

       *       *       *       *       *

Eugenia, in retreating to her room, was again accompanied by her father
and her uncle, whom she conjured now, to name her to Clermont no more.

'I can't say I admire these puttings off, my dear,' said the baronet,
'in this our mortal state, which is always liable to end in our dying.
Not that I pretend to tell you I think him over much alert; but there's
no knowing but what he may have some meaning in it that we can't
understand; a person having studied all his life, has a right to a
little particularity.'

Mr. Tyrold himself now seriously interfered, and desired that,
henceforth, Clermont might be treated as if his visit to Cleves was
merely to congratulate his uncle upon his recovery; and that all
schemes, preparations, and allusions, might be put aside, unless the
youth himself, and with a good grace, brought them forward; meanwhile,
he and Lavinia would return without delay to Etherington, to obviate all
appearance of waiting the decision of any plan.

Sir Hugh was much discomfited by the exaction of such forbearance, yet
could the less oppose it, from his own internal discontent with his
nephew, which he inadvertently betrayed, by murmuring, in his way to his
chamber, 'There's no denying but what they've got some odd-fangled new
ways of their own, in those foreign parts; meeting a set of old
relations for the first time, and saying nothing to them, but asking for
the newspapers! Lord help us! caring about the wide world, so, when we
know nothing of it, instead of one's own uncles and nephews, and
kinspeople!'

       *       *       *       *       *

During this time, Edgar, almost agonised by suspence and doubt, had
escaped to the summer-house, whither he was followed by Dr. Marchmont,
greatly to the wonder, almost with the contempt of Dr. Orkborne; whom he
quitted, in anxiety for his young friend, just as he had intimated a
design to consult him upon a difficult passage in an ancient author,
which had a place in his work, that was now nearly ready for the press.

'I know well, Doctor,' said Edgar, 'that to find me here, after all that
has passed, will make you conclude me the weakest of men ... but I
cannot now explain how it has been brought about ... these letters must
first tell me if Camilla and I meet more than once again.'

He then hastily ran over the letters; but by no means hastily could he
digest, nor even comprehend their contents. He thought them florid,
affected, and presuming; yet vague, studied, with little appearance of
sincerity, and less of explicit decision. What related to Lionel, and to
aiding him in the disposal of his wealth, seemed least intelligible, yet
most like serious meaning; but when he found that the interview at the
Grove was by positive appointment, and granted to a request made with a
forwardness and assurance so wide from all delicacy and propriety, the
blood mounted high into his cheeks, and, precipitately putting up the
packet, he exclaimed: 'Here, then, it ends! the last little ray of
hesitation is extinct ... extinct to be kindled never more!'

The sound of these last words caused him an emotion of sorrow he was
unable to resist, though unwilling to betray, and he hurried out of the
summer-house to the wood, where he strove to compose his mind to the
last leave-taking upon which he was now determined; but so dreadful was
the resolution which exacted from his own mouth the resignation of all
that, till now, had been dearest to his views and hopes, that the
afternoon was far advanced, before he could assume sufficient courage to
direct his steps to the spot where the sacrifice was to be made.

Accusing himself, then, of weakness unpardonable, he returned to the
summer-house, to apologise to Dr. Marchmont for his abrupt retreat; but
the Doctor had already re-entered the mansion. Thither, therefore, he
proceeded, purposing to seek Camilla, to return her the letters of Sir
Sedley, and to desire her commands in what manner to conduct himself
with her father and her uncle, in acknowledging his fears that the
projected union would fail of affording, to either party, the happiness
which, at first, it seemed to promise.

The carriage of Sir Hugh was in waiting at the door, and Mr. Tyrold and
Lavinia were in the hall. Edgar, in no condition for such an encounter,
would have avoided them; but Mr. Tyrold, little suspecting his desire,
rejoiced at the meeting, saying he had had the house searched for him in
vain, that he might shake hands with him before his return to
Etherington.

Then, taking him apart, 'My dear Edgar,' he cried, 'I have long loved
you as tenderly, and I may now confide in you as completely, as if you
were my son. I go hence in some inquietude; I fear my brother has been
too hasty in making known his views with regard to Clermont; who does
not seem equal to appreciating the worth of Eugenia, though it is
evident he has not been slack in noticing her misfortunes. I entreat
you, during my absence, to examine him as if you were already the
brother of that dear child, who merits, you well know, the best and
tenderest of husbands.'

He then followed Lavinia into the carriage, prevented by his own
occupied mind from observing the fallen countenance of Edgar, who, more
wretched than ever, bemoaned now the kindness of which he had hitherto
been proud, and lamented the paternal trust which he would have
purchased the day before almost with life.

       *       *       *       *       *

Camilla, during this period, had gone through conflicts no less severe.

Jacob, who had bought a horse, for which he had cheerfully advanced 20
l. had informed her of the gate adventure of Edgar, and told her that,
but for his stopping him, he was riding like mad from Cleves, and only
sending them all a message that he could not come back.

Grieved, surprised, and offended, she instantly determined she would not
risk such another mark of his cold superiority, but restore to him his
liberty, and leave him master of himself. 'If the severity of his
judgment,' cried she, 'is so much more potent than the warmth of his
affection, it shall not be his delicacy, nor his compassion, that shall
make me his. I will neither be the wife of his repentance nor of his
pity. I must be convinced of his unaltered love, his esteem, his
trust ... or I shall descend to humiliation, not rise to happiness, in
becoming his. Softness here would be meanness; submission degrading ...
if he hesitates ... let him go!'

She then, without weighing, or even seeing one objection, precipitately
resolved to beg permission of her friends, to accept an invitation she
had received, without as yet answering, to meet Mrs. Berlinton at
Southampton, where that lady was going to pass some weeks. She could
there, she thought, give the rejection which here its inviolable
circumstances made her, for Lionel's sake, afraid to risk; or she could
there, if a full explanation should appease him, find opportunity to
make it with equal safety; his dislike to that acquaintance rather urged
than impeded her plan, for her wounded spirit panted to prove its
independence and dignity.

Eugenia approved this elevation of sentiment, and doubted not it would
shew her again in her true light to Edgar, and bring him, with added
esteem, to her feet.

Camilla wept with joy at the idea: 'Ah!' she cried, 'if such should be
my happy fate; if, after hearing all my imprudence, my precipitance, and
want of judgment, he should voluntarily, when wholly set free, return to
me ... I will confess to him every feeling ... and every failing of my
heart! I will open to him my whole soul, and cast myself ever after upon
his generosity and his goodness.... O, my Eugenia! almost on my knees
could I receive ... a second time ... the vows of Edgar Mandlebert!'




CHAPTER XI

_Ease and Freedom_


Lynmere, at tea-time, returned from his ride, with a fixed plan of
frightening or disgusting the baronet from the alliance; with Eugenia,
herself, he imagined the attempt would be vain, for he did not conceive
it possible any woman who had eyes could be induced to reject him.

Determined, therefore, to indulge, in full, both the natural presumption
and acquired luxuriance of his character, he conducted himself in a
manner that, to any thing short of the partiality of Sir Hugh, would
have rendered him insupportably offensive: but Sir Hugh had so long
cherished a reverence for what he had himself ordered with regard to his
studies, and what he implicitly credited of his attainments, that it was
more easy to him to doubt his senses, than to suppose so accomplished a
scholar could do any thing but what was right.

'Your horses are worth nothing, sir,' cried he, in entering; 'I never
rode so unpleasant a beast. I don't know who has the care of your stud;
but whoever it is, he deserves to be hanged.'

Sir Hugh could not refuse, either to his justice or his kindness, to
vindicate his faithful Jacob; and for his horses he made as many
excuses, as if every one had been a human creature, whom he was
recommending to his mercy, with a fear they were unworthy of his favour.

Not a word was said more, except what Miss Margland, from time to time,
extorted, by begging questions, in praise of her tea, till Lynmere,
violently ringing the bell, called out to order a fire.

Every body was surprised at this liberty, without any previous demand of
permission from the baronet, or any inquiry into the feelings of the
rest of the company; and Sir Hugh, in a low voice, said to Eugenia, 'I
am a little afraid poor Mary will be rather out of humour to have the
grate to polish again tomorrow morning, in the case my nephew should not
like to have another fire then; which, I suppose, if the weather
continues so hot, may very likely not be agreeable to him.'

Another pause now ensued; Dr. Marchmont, who, of the whole party, was
alone, at this time, capable of leading to a general conversation, was
separately occupied by watching Camilla; while himself, as usual, was
curiously and unremittingly examined by Dr. Orkborne, in whom so much
attention to a young lady raised many private doubts of the justice of
his scholastic fame; which soon, by what he observed of his civility
even to Miss Margland, were confirmed nearly to scepticism.

Mary, now, entering with a coal scuttle and a candle, Lynmere, with much
displeasure, called out, 'Bring wood; I hate coals.'

Mary, as much displeased, and nearly as much humoured as himself,
answered that nothing but coals were ever burnt in that grate.

'Take it all away, then, and bid my man send me my pelisse. That I made
to cross the Alps in.'

'I am very sorry, indeed, nephew,' said Sir Hugh, 'that we were not
better prepared for your being so chilly, owing to the weather being set
in so sultry, that we none of us much thought of having a fire; and,
indeed, in my young time, we were never allowed thinking of such things
before Michaelmas-day; which I suppose is quite behind-hand now. Pray,
nephew, if it is not too much trouble to you, what's the day for
lighting fires in foreign parts?'

'There's no rule of that sort, now, sir, in modern philosophy; that kind
of thing's completely out; entirely exploded, I give you my word.'

'Well, every thing's new, Lord help me, since I was born! But pray,
nephew, if I may ask, without tiring you too much, on account of my
ignorance, have they fires in summer as well as winter there?'

'Do you imagine there are grates and fires on the Continent, sir, the
same as in England? ha! ha!'

Sir Hugh was discountenanced from any further inquiry.

Another silence ensued, broken again by a vehement ringing of the bell.

When the servant appeared, 'What have you got,' cried Lynmere, 'that you
can bring me to eat?'

'Eat, nephew! why you would not eat before supper, when here's nobody
done tea? not that I'd have you baulk your appetite, which, to be sure,
ought to be the best judge.'

The youth ordered some oysters.

There were none in the house.

He desired a barrel might immediately be procured; he could eat nothing
else.

Still Edgar, though frequent opportunities occurred, had no fortitude to
address Camilla, and no spirits to speak. To her, however, his dejection
was a revival; she read in it her power, and hoped her present plan
would finally confirm it.

A servant now came in, announcing a person who had brought two letters,
one for Sir Hugh, the other for Miss Camilla, but who said he would
deliver them himself. The baronet desired he might be admitted.

Several minutes passed, and he did not appear. The wonder of Sir Hugh
was awakened for his letter; but Camilla, dreading a billet from Sir
Sedley, was in no haste.

Lynmere, however, glad of an opportunity to issue orders, or make
disturbance, furiously rang the bell, saying: 'Where are these letters?'

'Jacob,' said the baronet, 'my nephew don't mean the slowness to be any
fault of yours, it being what you can't help; only tell the person that
brought us our letters, we should be glad to look at them, not knowing
who they may be from.'

'Why he seems but an odd sort of fish, sir; I can't much make him out;
he's been begging some flour to put in his hair; he'll make himself so
spruce, he says, we sha'n't know him again; I can't much think he's a
gentleman.'

He then, however, added he had made a mistake, as there was no letter
for his master, but one for Miss Camilla, and the other for Miss
Margland.

'For me?' exclaimed Miss Margland, breaking forth from a scornful
silence, during which her under lip had been busy to express her
contempt of the curiosity excited upon this subject. 'Why how dare they
not tell me it was for me? it may be from somebody of consequence,
about something of importance, and here's half a day lost before I can
see it!'

She then rose to go in search of it herself, but opened the door upon
Mr. Dubster.

A ghost, could she have persuaded herself she had seen one, could not
more have astonished, though it would more have dismayed her. She drew
haughtily back, saying: 'Is there nobody else come?'

The servant answered in the negative, and she retreated to her chair.

Camilla alone was not perplext by this sight; she had, already, from the
description, suggested whom she might expect, according to the
intimation given by the ever mischievous Lionel.

Miss Margland, concluding he would turn out to be some broken tradesman,
prepared herself to expect that the letter was a petition, and watched
for an opportunity to steal out of the room.

Mr. Dubster made two or three low bows, while he had his hand upon the
door, and two or three more when he had shut it. He then cast his eyes
round the room, and espying Camilla, with a leering sort of smile, said:
'O, you're there, ma'am! I should find you out in a hundred. I've got a
letter for you, ma'am, and another for the gentlewoman I took for your
mamma; and I was not much out in my guess, for there's no great
difference, as one may say, between a mamma and a governess; only the
mother's the more natural, like.'

He then presented her a letter, which she hastily put up, not daring to
venture at a public perusal, lest it might contain not merely something
ludicrous concerning Mr. Dubster, to which she was wholly indifferent,
but allusions to Sir Sedley Clarendel, which, in the actual situation of
things, might be fatally unseasonable.

'And now,' said Mr. Dubster, 'I must give up my t'other letter, asking
the gentlewoman's pardon for not giving it before; only I was willing to
give the young lady her's first, young ladies being apt to be more in a
hurry than people a little in years.'

This address did not much add to the benevolent eagerness of Miss
Margland to read the epistle, and endeavouring to decline accepting it:
'Really,' she said, 'unless I know what it's about, I'm not much used to
receiving letters in that manner.'

'As to what it's about,' cried he, with a half suppressed simper, and
nodding his head on one side; 'that's a bit of a secret, as you'll see
when you've read it.'

'Indeed, good man, I wish you very well; but as to reading all the
letters that every body brings one, it requires more time than I can
pretend to have to spare, upon every trifling occasion.'

She would then have retired; but Mr. Dubster, stopping her, said: 'Why,
if you don't read it, ma'am, nobody'll be never the wiser for what I
come about, for it's ungain-like to speak for one's self; and the young
gentleman said he'd write to you, because, he said, you'd like it the
best.'

'The young gentleman? what young gentleman?'

'Young squire Tyrold; he said you'd be as pleased as any thing to tell
it to the old gentleman yourself; for you was vast fond, he said, of
matrimony.'

'Matrimony? what have I to do with matrimony?' cried Miss Margland,
reddening and bridling; 'if it's any vulgar trick of that kind, that Mr.
Lionel is amusing himself with, I'm not quite the right sort of person
to be so played upon; and I desire, mister, you'll take care how you
come to me any more upon such errands, lest you meet with your proper
deserts.'

'Dear heart! I'm not going to offer anything uncivil. As to matrimony,
it's no great joke to a man, when once he's made his way in the world;
it's more an affair of you ladies by half.'

'Of us? upon my word! this is a compliment rather higher than I
expected. Mr. Lionel may find, however, I have friends who will resent
such impertinence, if he imagines he may send who he will to me with
proposals of this sort.'

'Lauk, ma'am, you need not be in such a fright for nothing! however,
there's your letter, ma'am,' putting it upon the table; 'and when you
are in better cue, I suppose you'll read it.'

Then, advancing to Camilla: 'Now, ma'am, let's you and I have a little
talk together; but first, by good rights, I ought to speak to your
uncle; only I don't know which he is; 'twill be mortal kind if you'll
help a body out.'

Sir Hugh was going to answer for himself, when Lynmere, fatigued with so
long a scene in which he had no share, had recourse to his friend the
bell, calling out, at the same time, in a voice of impatience, 'No
oysters yet!'

Sir Hugh now began to grow unhappy for his servants; for himself he not
only could bear any thing, but still concluded he had nothing to bear;
but his domestics began all to wear long faces, and, accustomed to see
them happy, he was hurt to observe the change. No partiality to his
nephew could disguise to him, that, long used to every possible
indulgence, it was vain to hope they would submit, without murmuring, to
so new a bondage of continual and peremptory commands. Instead of
attending, therefore, to Mr. Dubster, he considered what apology to
offer to Jacob; who suspecting by whom he was summoned, did not make his
appearance till Lynmere rung again.

'Where are these oysters?' he then demanded; 'have you been eating
them?'

'No, sir,' answered he surlily; 'we're not so sharp set; we live in Old
England; we don't come from outlandish countries.'

This true John Bullism, Lynmere had neither sense to despise, nor humour
to laugh at; and, seriously in a rage, called out, 'Sirrah, I'll break
your bones!' and lifted up his riding switch, with which, as well as his
boots, he had re-entered the parlour.

'The Lord be good unto me!' cried Sir Hugh, 'what new ways are got into
the world! but don't take it to heart, Jacob, for as to breaking your
bones, after all your long services, it's a thing I sha'n't consent to;
which I hope my nephew won't take ill.'

Affronted with the master, and enraged with the man, Lynmere stroamed
petulantly up and down the room, with loud and marked steps, that
called, or at least disturbed the attention of every one, exclaiming, at
every turning, 'A confounded country this! a villainous country! nothing
to be had in it! I don't know what in the world to think of that there's
any chance I can get!'

Sir Hugh, recovering, said he was sorry he was so badly off; and desired
Jacob not to fail procuring oysters if they were to be had within a
mile.

'A mile?... ten miles! say ten miles round,' cried Lynmere, 'or you do
nothing; what's ten miles for a thing of that sort?'

'Ten miles, nephew? what? at this time of night! why you don't think,
with all your travelling, that when they've got ten miles there, they'll
have ten miles to come back, and that makes count twenty.'

'Well, sir, and suppose it was forty; what have such fellows to do
better?'

Sir Hugh blessed himself, and Mr. Dubster said to Camilla: 'So, ma'am,
why you don't read your letter, neither, no more than the gentlewoman;
however, I think you may as well see a little what's in it; though I
suppose no great matters, being from a lady.'

'A lady! what lady?' cried she, and eagerly taking it from her pocket,
saw the hand-writing of Mrs. Berlinton, and inquired how it came into
his possession.

He answered, that happening to meet the lady's footman, whom he had
known something of while in business, as he was going to put it to the
post, he told him he was coming to the very house, and so took it to
bring himself, the man being rather in a hurry to go another way; 'so I
thought 'twas as well, ma'am,' he added, 'to save you the postage; for
as to a day or so sooner or later, I suppose it can break no great
squares, in you ladies letter-writing.'

Camilla, hastily running it over, found it contained a most pressing
repetition of invitation from Mrs. Berlinton for the Southampton plan,
and information that she should make a little circuit, to call and take
her up at Cleves, if not immediately forbidden; the time she named for
her arrival, though four days distant from the date of her letter, would
be now the following morning.

This seemed, to the agitated spirits of Camilla, an inviting opening to
her scheme. She gave the letter to her uncle, saying, in a fluttered
manner, she should be happy to accompany Mrs. Berlinton, for a few days,
if her father should not disapprove the excursion, and if he could
himself have the goodness to spare one of the carriages to fetch her
home, as Southampton was but sixteen miles off.

While Sir Hugh, amazed at this request, yet always unable to pronounce a
negative to what she desired, stammered, Edgar abruptly took leave.

Thunderstruck by his departure, she looked affrighted, after him, with a
sigh impossible to repress; she now first weighed the hazard of what she
was doing, the deep game she was inconsiderately playing. Would it
sunder ... would it unite them?... Tears started into her eyes at the
doubt; she did not hear her uncle's answer; she rose to hurry out of the
room; but before she could escape, the big drops rolled fast down her
cheeks; and, when arrived at her chamber, 'I have lost him!' she cried,
'by my own unreflecting precipitance; I have lost him, perhaps, for
ever!'

Dr. Marchmont now also took leave; Mr. Dubster desired he might speak
with the baronet the next morning; and the family remained alone.




CHAPTER XII

_Dilemmas_


While the baronet was pondering, in the most melancholy manner, upon
this sudden and unexpected demand of absence in Camilla, the grim
goddess of Envy took possession of the fine features of Indiana; who
declared she was immured alive, while her cousin went everywhere. The
curiosity of Lynmere being excited, to inquire what was to be had or
done at Southampton, he heard it abounded in good company, and good
fish, and protested he must undoubtedly set out for it the next morning.

Indiana then wept with vexation and anger, and Miss Margland affirmed,
she was the only young lady in Hampshire, who had never been at
Southampton. Sir Hugh, concluding Edgar would attend Camilla, feared it
might hurt the other match to part Eugenia from Clermont; and, after a
little pause, though deeply sighing at such a dispersion from Cleves,
consented that they should all go together. Camilla, therefore, was
commissioned to ask leave of Mr. Tyrold for Eugenia, as well as for
herself, and to add a petition from Sir Hugh, that he and Lavinia would
spend the time of their absence at Cleves. The baronet then, of his own
accord, asked Dr. Orkborne to be of the party, that Eugenia, he said,
might run over her lessons with him in a morning, for fear of forgetting
them.

A breach, however, such as this, of plans so long formed, and a
desertion so voluntary of his house, at the very epoch he had settled
for rendering its residence the most desirable, sent him in complete
discomfiture to his bed. But there, in a few hours, his sanguine temper,
and the kindness of his heart new modelled and new coloured the
circumstances of his chagrin. He considered he should have full time to
prepare for the double marriages; and that, with the aid of Lavinia, he
might delight and amaze them all, with new dresses and new trinkets,
which he could now choose without the torment of continual opposition
from the documentising Miss Margland. Thus he restored his plastic mind
to its usual satisfaction, and arose the next morning without a cloud
upon his brow. The pure design of benevolence is to bestow happiness
upon others, but its intrinsic reward is bringing happiness home!

But this sweetness of nature, so aptly supplying the first calls, and
the first virtues of philosophy, was yet more severely again tried the
next morning: for when, forgetting the caution he had solemnly promised,
but vainly endeavoured to observe, he intimated to Lynmere these
purposes, the youth, blushing at the idea of being taken for the
destined husband of Eugenia in public, preferred all risks to being
followed by such a rumour to Southampton; and, when he found she was to
be of the party, positively declared the match to be out of all
question.

Sir Hugh now stood aghast. Many had been his disappointments; his rage
for forming schemes, and his credulity in persuading himself they would
be successful, were sources not more fertile of amusement in their
projection, than of mortification in their event: but here, the length
of time since his plan had been arranged, joined to the very superficial
view he had taken of any chance of its failure, had made him, by
degrees, regard it as so fixed and settled, that it rather demanded
congratulation than concurrence, rather waited to be enjoyed than
executed.

Lynmere took not the smallest interest in the dismay of his uncle, but,
turning upon his heel, said he would go to the stables, to see if he
could find something that would carry him any better than the miserable
jade he had mounted the preceding evening.

Sir Hugh remained in a kind of stupefaction. He seemed to himself to be
bereft of every purpose of life; and robbed at once, of all view for his
actions, all subject for his thoughts. The wide world, he believed, had
never, hitherto, given birth to a plan so sagaciously conceived, so
rationally combined, so infallibly secure: yet it was fallen, crushed,
rejected!

A gleam of sunshine, however, ere long, [burst] upon his despondence; it
occurred to him, that the learned education of Eugenia was still a
secret to her cousin; his whole scheme, therefore, might perhaps yet be
retrieved, when Lynmere should be informed of the peculiar preparations
made for his conjugal happiness.

Fetching now a long breath, to aid the revival of his faculties and his
spirits, he considered how to open his discourse so as to render it most
impressive, and then sent for Clermont to attend him in his chamber.

'Nephew,' cried he, upon his entrance, 'I am now going to talk to you a
little in your own way, having something to tell you of, that, I
believe, you won't know how to hold cheap, being a thing that belongs to
your studies; that is to say, to your cousin's; which, I hope, is pretty
much the same thing, at least as to the end. Now the case of what I have
to say is this; you must know, nephew, I had always set my heart upon
having a rich heir; but it's what did not turn out, which I am sorry
enough for; but where's the man that's so wise as to know his own doom?
that is, the doom of his fortune. However, that's what I should not talk
of to you, having so little; which, I hope, you won't take to heart.
And, indeed, it in't much worth a wise man's thinking of, when he han't
got it, for what's a fortune, at bottom, but mere metal? And so having,
as I said before, no heir, I'm forced, in default of it, to take up with
an heiress. But, to the end of making all parties happy, I've had her
brought up in the style of a boy, for the sake of your marrying her. For
which reason, I believe, in point of the classics....'

'Me, sir!' cried Lynmere, recovering from a long yawning fit, 'and what
have I to do with marrying a girl like a boy? That's not my taste, my
dear sir, I assure you. Besides, what has a wife to do with the
classics? will they shew her how to order her table? I suppose when I
want to eat, I may go to a cook's shop!'

Here subsided, at once, every particle of that reverence Sir Hugh had so
long nourished for Clermont Lynmere. To hear the classics spoken of with
disrespect, after all the pains he had taken, all the orders he had
given for their exclusive study and veneration, and to find the common
calls of life, which he had believed every scholar regarded but as means
of existence, not auxiliaries of happiness, named with preference,
distanced, at a stroke, all high opinion of his nephew, and made way, in
its stead, for a displeasure not wholly free from disdain.

'Well, Clermont,' said he, after a pause, 'I won't keep you any longer,
now I know your mind, which I wish I had known before, for the account
of your cousin, who has had plague enough about it in her bringing up;
which, however, I shall put an end to now, not seeing that any good has
come from it.'

Lynmere joyfully accepted the permission to retire, enchanted that the
rejection was thus completely off his mind, and had incurred only so
slight a reproof, unaccompanied with one menace, or even remonstrance.

The first consternation of Sir Hugh, at the fall of this favourite
project, was, indeed, somewhat lessened, at this moment, by the fall of
his respectful opinion of its principal object. He sent therefore,
hastily, for Eugenia, to whom he abruptly exclaimed, 'My dear girl,
who'd have thought it? here's your cousin Clermont, with all his Greek
and Latin, which I begin to bless God I don't know a word of, turning
out a mere common nothing, thinking about his dinners and suppers! for
which reason I beg you'll think of him no more, it not being worth your
while; in particular, as he don't desire it.'

Eugenia, at this intimation, felt nearly as much relieved as disturbed.
To be refused was, indeed, shocking; not to her pride, she was a
stranger to that passion; but to her delicacy, which pointed out to her,
in strong colours, the impropriety of having been exposed to such a
decision: nevertheless, to find herself unshackled from an alliance to
which she looked forward with dread, without offending her uncle, to
whom so many reasons made it dear, or militating against her own heroic
sentiments of generosity, which revolted against wilfully depriving her
cousin of an inheritance already offered to him, removed a weight from
her mind, which his every word, look, and gesture, had contributed to
increase since their first meeting.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Marchmont had ridden to Beech Park, where he had spent the night,
though uninvited by its agitated owner, whom the very name of Mrs.
Berlinton, annexed to an accepted party of pleasure, had driven, in
speechless agony, from Cleves.

'I wonder not,' cried he, 'at your disturbance; I feel for it, on the
contrary, more than ever, from my observations of this evening; for I
now see the charm, the potent charm, as well as the difficulties of your
situation. This strange affair with Sir Sedley Clarendel cannot, in
common foresight of what may ensue from it, be passed over without the
most rigid scrutiny, and severest deliberation; yet, I sincerely hope,
inquiry may produce some palliation: this young lady, I see, will not
easily, for sweetness, for countenance, for every apparent attraction,
be replaced: and, the first of all requisites is certainly in your
favour; it is evident she loves you.'

'Loves me?' cried Edgar, his arms involuntarily encircling him as he
repeated the magnetising words: 'Ah! Dr. Marchmont, could she then thus
grieve and defy me?--And yet, so too said Jacob,--that good, faithful,
excellent old servant....'

'Yes; I watched her unremittingly; and saw her so much hurt by your
abrupt retreat, that her eyes filled with tears the moment you left the
room.'

'O, Dr. Marchmont!--and for me were they shed?--my dear--dear friend!
withhold from me such a picture--or reconcile me completely to viewing
no other!'

'Once more, let me warn you to circumspection. The stake for which you
are playing is life in its best part, 'tis peace of mind. That her
manners are engaging, that her looks are captivating, and even that her
heart is yours, admit no doubt: but the solidity or the lightness of
that heart are yet to be proved.'

'Still, Doctor, though nearly in defiance of all my senses, still I can
doubt anything rather than the heart of Camilla! Precipitate, I know,
she has always been reckoned; but her precipitance is of kin to her
noblest virtues; it springs but from the unsuspicious frankness of an
unguarded, because innocent nature. And this, in a short time, her
understanding will correct.'

'Are you sure it is adequate to the task? There is often, in early
youth, a quickness of parts which raises expectations that are never
realised. Their origin is but in the animal spirits, which, instead of
ripening into judgment and sense by added years, dwindle into
nothingness, or harden into flippancy. The character, at this period, is
often so unstable, as to be completely new moulded by every new
accident, or new associate. How innumerable are the lurking ill
qualities that may lie dormant beneath the smiles of youth and beauty,
in the season of their untried serenity! The contemporaries of half our
fiercest viragos of fifty, may assure you that, at fifteen, they were
all softness and sweetness. The present æra, however, my dear young
friend, is highly favourable to all you can judiciously wish; namely,
the entire re-establishment, or total destruction of all confidence....
To a man of your nice feelings, there is no medium. Your love demands
respect, or your tranquillity exacts flight from its object. Set apart
your offence at the cultivation of an acquaintance you disapprove; be
yourself of the party to Southampton, and there, a very little
observation will enable you to dive into the most secret recesses of her
character.'

'Steadiness, Doctor, I do not want, nor yet, however I suffer from its
exertion, fortitude: but a plan such as this, requires something more;
it calls for an equivocal conduct, which, to me, would be impracticable,
and to her, might prove delusive. No!... the openness I so much pine to
meet with, I must, at least, not forfeit myself.'

'The fervour of your integrity, my dear Mandlebert, mistakes caution for
deceit. If, indeed, this plan had any other view than your union, it
would not merely be cruel, but infamous: the truth, however, is you must
either pursue her upon proof, or abandon her at once, with every chance
of repenting such a measure.'

'Alas! how torturing is hesitation! to believe myself the object of her
regard ... to think that first of all human felicities mine, yet to find
it so pliant ... so precarious ... to see her, with such thoughtless
readiness, upon the point of falling into the hands of another!...
receiving ... answering ... his letters!... letters too so confident,
so daring! made up of insolent demands and imperious reproaches ... to
meet him by his own appointment.... O, Dr. Marchmont! all delicious as
is the idea of her preference ... all entwined as she is around my soul,
how, now, how ever again, can I be happy, either to quit ... or to claim
her?...'

'This division of sentiment is what gives rise to my plan. At
Southampton, you will see if Sir Sedley pursues her; and, as she will be
uncertain of your intentions, you will be enabled to judge the
singleness of her mind, and the stability of her affection, by the
reception she gives him.'

'But if ... as I think I can gather from her delivering me his letters,
the affair, whatever it has been, with Sir Sedley, is over.... What
then?'

'You will have leisure to discuss it; and opportunity, also, to see her
with other Sir Sedleys. Public places abound with those flutterers after
youth and beauty; unmeaning admirers, who sigh at every new face; or
black traitors to society, who seek but to try, and try but to publish
their own power of conquest.'

'Will you, then, my dear Doctor, be also of the party? for my sake, will
you, once more, quit your studies and repose, to give me, upon the spot,
your counsel, according to the varying exigence of varying
circumstances? to aid me to prepare and compose my mind for whatever may
be the event, and to guide even, if possible, my wavering and distracted
thoughts?'

To the importance of the period, and to a plea so serious, every
obstacle yielded, and Dr. Marchmont agreed to accompany him to
Southampton.




CHAPTER XIII

_Live and Learn_


Before the Cleves party assembled to breakfast, after the various
arrangements made for Southampton, Mr. Dubster arrived, and demanded an
interview with Sir Hugh, who, attending him to the drawing-room, asked
his pleasure.

'Why, have not you read the young gentleman's letter, sir?' cried he,
surprised, 'because, he said, he'd put it all down, clear as a pike
staff, to save time.'

Sir Hugh had not heard of it.

'Why, then, if you please, sir, we'll go and ask that elderly
gentlewoman, what she's done with it. She might as well have shewed it,
after the young gentleman's taking the trouble to write it to her. But
she is none of the good naturedest, I take it.'

Repairing, then, to Miss Margland, after his usual bows to all the
company, 'I ask pardon, ma'am,' he cried; 'but pray, what's the reason
of your keeping the young gentleman's letter to yourself, which was writ
o'purpose to let the old gentleman know what I come for?'

'Because I never trouble myself with any thing that's impertinent,' she
haughtily answered: though, in fact, when the family had retired, she
had stolen downstairs, and read the letter; which contained a warm
recommendation of Mr. Dubster to her favour, with abundant flippant
offers to promote her own interest for so desirable a match, should
Camilla prove blind to its advantages. This she had then burnt, with a
determination never to acknowledge her condescension in opening it.

The repeated calls of Mr. Dubster procuring no further satisfaction;
'Why, then, I don't see,' he said, 'but what I'm as bad off, as if the
young gentleman had not writ the letter, for I've got to speak for
myself at last.'

Taking Sir Hugh, then, by a button of his coat, he desired he would go
back with him to the other parlour: and there, with much circumlocution,
and unqualified declarations of his having given over all thoughts of
further marrying, till the young gentleman over persuaded him of his
being particular agreeable to the young lady, he solemnly proposed
himself for Miss Camilla Tyrold.

Sir Hugh, who perceived in this address nothing that was ridiculous, was
somewhat drawn from reflecting on his own disappointment, by the pity he
conceived for this hopeless suitor, to whom, with equal circumlocution
of concern, he communicated, that his niece was on the point of marriage
with a neighbour.

'I know that,' replied Mr. Dubster, nodding sagaciously, 'the young
gentleman having told me of the young baronight; but he said, it was all
against her will, being only your over teasing, and the like.'

'The Lord be good unto me!' exclaimed the baronet, holding up his hands;
'if I don't think all the young boys have a mind to drive me out of my
wits, one after t'other!'

Hurrying, then, back to the breakfast parlour, and to Camilla, 'Come
hither, my dear,' he cried, 'for here's a gentleman come to make his
addresses to you, that won't take an answer.'

Every serious thought, and every melancholy apprehension in Camilla gave
place, at this speech, to the ludicrous image of such an admirer as Mr.
Dubster, foisted upon her by the ridiculous machinations of Lionel. She
took Sir Hugh by the hand, and, drawing him away to the most distant
window, said, in a low voice, 'My dear uncle, this is a mere trick of
Lionel; the person you see here is, I believe, a tinker.'

'A tinker!' repeated Sir Hugh, quite loud, in defiance of the signs and
hists! hists! of Camilla, 'good lack! that's a person I should never
have thought of!' Then, walking up to Mr. Dubster, who was taking into
his hands all the ornaments from the chimney-piece, one by one, to
examine, 'Sir,' he said, 'you may be a very good sort of man, and I
don't doubt but you are, for I've a proper respect for every trade in
its way; but in point of marrying my niece, it's a thing I must beg you
to put out of your head; it not being a proper subject to talk of to a
young lady, from a person in that line.'

'Very well, sir,' answered Mr. Dubster, stiffly, and pouting, 'it's not
of much consequence; don't make yourself uneasy. There's nothing in what
I was going to propose but what was quite genteel. I'd scorn to address
a lady else. She'd have a good five hundred a-year, in case of outliving
me.'

'Good lack! five hundred a-year! who'd have thought of such a thing by
the tinkering business?'

'The what business, did you say, sir?' cried Mr. Dubster, strutting up
to the baronet, with a solemn frown.

'The tinkering business, my good friend. An't you a tinker?'

'Sir!' cried Mr. Dubster, swelling, 'I did not think, when I was coming
to make such a handsome offer, of being affronted at such a rate as
this. Not that I mind it. It's not worth fretting about. However, as to
a tinker, I'm no more a tinker than yourself, whatever put it in your
head.'

'Good lack, my dear,' cried the baronet, to Camilla, 'the gentleman
quite denies it.'

Camilla, though unable to refrain from laughing, confessed she had
received the information from Mrs. Arlbery at the Northwick breakfast,
who, she now supposed, had said it in random sport.

Sir Hugh cordially begged his pardon, and asked him to take a seat at
the breakfast table, to soften the undesigned offence.

A note now arrived from Mr. Tyrold to the baronet. It contained his
consent to return, with Lavinia, to Cleves, and his ready acquiescence
in the little excursion to Southampton, since Miss Margland would be
superintendant of the party; 'and since,' he added, 'they will have
another guardian, to whom already I consign my Camilla, and, upon her
account, my dear Eugenia also, with the same fearless confidence I
should feel in seeing them again under the maternal wing.'

Sir Hugh, who always read his letters aloud, said, when he had done:
'See what it is to be a good boy! my brother looks upon young Mr. Edgar
as these young girls' husband already; that is, of one of them; by which
means the other becomes his sister; which, I'm sure, is a trouble he
won't mind, except as a pleasure.'

Camilla's distress at this speech past unnoticed, from the abrupt
entrance of Lynmere, giving orders aloud to his servant to get ready for
Southampton.

Inflamed with triumph in his recent success in baffling his uncle, that
youth was in the most turbulent spirits, and fixed a resolution either
to lord it over the whole house, or regain at once his liberty for
returning to the Continent.

Forcing a chair between Sir Hugh and Camilla, he seized rapidly whatever
looked most inviting from every plate on the table, to place upon his
own, murmuring the whole time against the horses, declaring the stud the
most wretched he had ever seen, and protesting the old groom must be
turned away without loss of time.

'What, Jacob?' cried the baronet; 'why, nephew, he has lived with me
from a boy; and now he's grown old, I'd sooner rub down every horse with
my own hand, than part with him.'

'He must certainly go, sir. There's no keeping him. I may be tempted
else to knock his brains out some day. Besides, I have a very good
fellow I can recommend to you of my own.'

'Clermont, I've no doubt of his being a good fellow, which I'm very glad
of; but as to your always knocking out the brains of my servants, it's a
thing I must beg you not to talk of any more, being against the law.
Besides which, it don't sound very kind of you, considering their having
done you no harm; never having seen your face, as one may say, except
just to wait upon you; which can hardly be reckoned a bad office;
besides a servant's being a man, as well as you; whether Homer and
Horace tell you so or no.'

To see Sir Hugh displeased, was a sight new to the whole house. Camilla
and Eugenia, mutually pained for him, endeavoured, by various little
kind offices, to divert his attention; but Indiana thought his
displeasure proved her brother to be a wit; and Clermont rose in spirits
and in insolence upon the same idea: too shallow to know, that of all
the qualities with which the perversity of human nature is gifted, and
power which is the most common to attain, and the most easy to practise,
is the art of provoking.

Jacob now appearing, Lynmere ordered some shrimps.

There were none.

'No shrimps? There's nothing to be had! 'Tis a wretched county this!'

'You'll get nice shrimps at Southampton, sir, by what I can hear,' said
Mr. Dubster. 'Tom Hicks says he has been sick with 'em many a day, he's
eat such a heap. They gets 'em by hundreds, and hundreds, and hundreds
at a time.'

'Pray, nephew, how long shall you stay? because of my nieces coming back
at the same time.'

'A fortnight's enough to tire me anywhere, sir. Pray what do you all do
with yourselves here after breakfast? What's your mode?'

'Mode, nephew? we've got no particular mode that ever I heard of.
However, among so many of us, I think it's a little hard, if you can
find nothing to say to us; all, in a manner, your relations too.'

'We take no notice of relations now, sir; that's out.'

'I'm sorry for it, nephew, for a relation's a relation, whether you take
notice of him or not. And there's ne'er an ode in Virgil will tell you
to the contrary, as I believe.'

A short silence now ensued, which was broken by a sigh from Sir Hugh,
who ejaculated to himself, though aloud, 'I can't but think what my poor
friend Westwyn will do, if his son's come home in this manner! caring
for nobody, but an oyster, or a shrimp; ... unless it's a newspaper!'

'And what should a man care for else, my good old friend, in a desart
place such as this?'

'Good old friend!' repeated the baronet; 'to be sure, I'm not very
young.... However, as to that ... but you mean no harm, I know, for
which reason I can't be so ill-natured as to take it ill. However, if
poor Westwyn is served in this ... way.... He's my dearest friend that
I've got, out of us all here, of my own kin, and he's got only one son,
and he sent him to foreign parts only for cheapness; and if he should
happen to like nothing he can get at home, it won't answer much in
saving, to send out for things all day long.'

'O don't be troubled, sir; Westwyn's but a poor creature. He'll take up
with anything. He lived within his allowance the whole time. A mighty
poor creature.'

'I'm glad of it! glad of it, indeed!' cried Sir Hugh, with involuntary
eagerness; 'I should have been sorry if my poor good old friend had had
such disappointment.'

'Upon my honour,' cried Lynmere, piqued, 'the quoz of the present season
are beyond what a man could have hoped to see!'

'Quoz! what's quoz, nephew?'

'Why, it's a thing there's no explaining to you sort of gentlemen; and
sometimes we say quiz, my good old sir.'

Sir Hugh, now, for almost the first time in his life, felt seriously
affronted. His utmost lenity could not palliate the wilful disrespect of
his language; and, with a look of grave displeasure, he answered,
'Really, nephew, I can't but say, I think you've got rather a particular
odd way of speaking to persons. As to talking so much about people's
being old, you'd do well to consider that's no fault in anybody; except
one's years, which is what we can't be said to help.'

'You descant too much upon words, sir; we have left off, now, using them
with such prodigious precision. It's quite over, sir.'

'O, my dear Clermont!' cried Sir Hugh, losing his short movement of
anger in a more tender sensation of concern, 'how it goes to my heart to
see you turn out such a jackanapes!'

Lynmere, resentfully hanging back, said no more: and Mr. Dubster, having
drunk seven dishes of tea, with a long apology between each for the
trouble, gladly seized the moment of pause, to ask Camilla when she had
heard from _their friend Mrs. Mittin_, adding, 'I should have brought
you a letter from her, ma'am, myself, but that I was rather out of sorts
with her; for happening to meet her, the day as you went, walking on
them Pantiles, with some of her quality binding, when I was not dressed
out quite in my best becomes, she made as if she did not know me. Not as
it signifies. It's pretty much of a muchness to me. I remember her
another sort of person to what she looks now, before I was a gentleman
myself.'

'Why, pray, what was you then, sir?' cried Sir Hugh, with great
simplicity.

'As to that, sir, there's no need to say whether I was one thing or
another, as I know of; I'm not in the least ashamed of what I was.'

Sir Hugh seeing him offended, was beginning an apology; but,
interrupting him, 'No, sir,' he said, 'there's no need to say nothing
about it. It's not a thing to take much to heart. I've been defamed
often enough, I hope, to be above minding it. Only just this one thing,
sir; I beg I may have the favour to be introduced to that lady as had
the obligingness to call me a tinker, when I never was no such thing.'

Breakfast now being done, the ladies retired to prepare for their
journey.

'Well,' cried Mr. Dubster, looking after Eugenia, 'that little lady will
make no great figure at such a place as Southton. I would not have her
look out for a husband there.'

'She'd have been just the thing for me!' cried Lynmere, haughtily
rising, and conceitedly parading his fine form up and down the room; his
eyes catching it from looking-glass to looking-glass, by every possible
contrivance; 'just the thing! matched to perfection!'

'Lord help me! if I don't find myself in the dark about every thing!'
cried Sir Hugh; 'who'd have thought of you scholars thinking so much of
beauty; I should be glad to know what your classics say to that point?'

'Faith, my good sir, I never trouble myself to ask. From the time we
begin our tours, we wipe away all that stuff as fast as possible from
our thoughts.'

'Why, pray, nephew, what harm could it do to your tours?'

'We want room, sir, room in the pericranium! As soon as we begin to
travel, we give up everything to taste. And then we want clear heads.
Clear heads, sir, for pictures, statues, busts, alto relievos, basso
relievos, tablets, monuments, mausoleums....'

'If you go on at that rate, nephew,' interrupted Sir Hugh, holding his
ears, 'you'll put my poor head quite into a whirligig. And it's none of
the deepest already, Lord help me!'

Lynmere now, without ceremony, made off; and Mr. Dubster, left alone
with the baronet, said they might as well proceed to business. 'So pray,
sir, if I may make bold, in the case we come to a right understanding
about the young lady, what do you propose to give her down?'

Sir Hugh, staring, inquired what he meant.

'Why, I mean, sir, what shall you give her at the first? I know she's to
have it all at your demise; but that i'n't the bird in the hand. Now,
when once I know that, I can make my offers, which shall be handsome or
not, according. And that's but fair. So how much can you part with,
sir?'

'Not a guinea!' cried Sir Hugh, with some emotion; 'I can't give her
anything! Mr. Edgar knows that.'

'That's hard, indeed, sir. What nothing for a setting out? And, pray,
sir, what may the sum total be upon your demise?'

'Not a penny!' cried Sir Hugh, with still more agitation: 'Don't you
know I've disinherited her?'

'Disinherited her? why this is bad news enough! And pray, sir, what
for?'

'Nothing! She never offended me in thought, word, nor deed!'

'Well, that's odd enough. And when did you do it, sir?'

'The very week she was nine years old, poor thing! which I shall never
forget as long as I live, being my worst action.'

'Well, this is particular enough! And young squire Tyrold's never heard
a word of it: which is somewhat of a wonder too.'

'Not heard of it? why the whole family know it! I've settled everything
I was worth in the world upon her younger sister, that you saw sitting
by her.'

'Well, if Tom Hicks did not as good as tell me so ever so long ago,
though the young squire said it was all to the contrary: what for, I
don't know; unless to take me in. But he won't find that quite so easy,
asking his pardon. Matrimony's a good thing enough, when it's to help a
man forward: but a person must be a fool indeed, to put himself out of
his way for nothing.'

He then formally wished the baronet a good day, and hastened from the
house, puffed up with vain glory, at his own sagacious precautions,
which had thus happily saved him from being tricked into unprofitable
wedlock.

Mrs. Berlinton now arrived, and, as Camilla was ready, though trembling,
doubtful, apprehensive of the step she was taking, declined alighting. A
general meeting was to take place at the inn: and the baronet, putting a
twenty pound note into her hand, with the most tender blessings parted
with his darling niece. And then, surprised at not seeing Edgar to
breakfast, sent his butler to tell him the history of the excursion.

Lynmere was already set off on horseback: and the party, consisting of
Dr. Orkborne, Miss Margland, Indiana, and Eugenia, followed two hours
after, in the coach of the baronet, which drove from the park as the
chaise entered it with Mr. Tyrold and Lavinia, to supply their places.




BOOK VIII




CHAPTER I

_A Way to make Friends_


When Camilla appeared at the hall-door, a gentleman descended from the
carriage of Mrs. Berlinton, with an air the most melancholy, and eyes
bent to the earth, in the mournful bow with which he offered her his
hand: though, when he had assisted her into the coach, he raised them,
and, turning round, cast upon the mansion a look of desponding fondness,
that immediately brought to her recollection young Melmond, the Oxford
student, and the brother of her new friend.

Mrs. Berlinton received her with tenderness, folding her to her breast,
and declaring life to be now insupportable without her.

The affection of Camilla was nearly reciprocal, but her pleasure had no
chance of equal participation; nor was the suspensive state of her mind
the only impediment; opposite to her in the carriage, and immediately
claiming her attention, was Mrs. Mittin.

The agitating events which had filled up the short interval of her
residence at Cleves, had so completely occupied every faculty, that,
till the affair of the horse involved her in new difficulties, her debts
had entirely flown her remembrance; and the distressing scenes which
immediately succeeded to that forced recollection, made its duration as
short as it was irksome; but the sight of Mrs. Mittin brought it back
with violence to her memory, and flashed it, with shame, upon her
conscience.

The twenty pounds, however, just given her by Sir Hugh, occurred at the
same moment to her thoughts; and she determined to repair her
negligence, by appropriating it into parcels for the payment of all she
owed, before she suffered sleep again to [close] her eyes.

Mrs. Berlinton informed her, that both herself and her brother had been
summoned to Southampton to meet Mrs. Ecton, the aunt by whom she had
been educated, who had just arrived there from Wales, upon some secret
business, necessary for her to hear, but which could not be revealed by
letters.

The journey, though in itself short and pleasant, proved to Camilla long
and wearisome; the beauties of the prospect were acknowledged by her
eye, but her mind, dead to pleasure, refused to give them their merited
effect. To the charms of nature she could not be blind; her fervent
imagination, and the lessons of her youth, combined to do them justice;
but she thought not of them at this moment; hill, vale, or plain, were
uninteresting, however beautiful; it was Edgar she looked for; Edgar,
who thus coldly had suffered her to depart, but who still, it was
possible, might pursue; and hope, ever active, painted him, as she
proceeded, in every distant object that caught her eye, whether living
or inanimate, brightening, from time to time, the roses of her cheeks
with the felicity of a speedy reconciliation; but upon every near
approach, the flattering error was detected, and neither hill, vale, nor
plain, could dispel the disappointment. A fine country, and diversified
views, may soften even the keenest affliction of decided misfortune, and
tranquillise the most gloomy sadness into resignation and composure; but
suspense rejects the gentle palliative; 'tis an absorbent of the
faculties that suffers them to see, hear, and feel only its own
perplexity; and the finer the fibres of the sensibility on which it
seizes, the more exclusive is its despotism; doubt, in a fervent mind,
from the rapidity of its evolutions between fear in its utmost
despondence, and hope in its fullest rapture, is little short of
torture.

They drove immediately to an elegant house, situated upon a small
eminence, half a mile without the town of Southampton, which had already
been secured; and Mrs. Berlinton, as soon as she had chosen the
pleasantest apartment it afforded for Camilla, and suffered Mrs. Mittin
to choose the next pleasant for herself, went, accompanied by her
brother, to the lodging of Mrs. Ecton.

Left alone, Camilla stationed herself at a window, believing she meant
to look at the prospect; but her eye, faithful to her heart, roved up
and down the high road, and took in only chaises or horsemen, till Mrs.
Mittin, with her customary familiarity, came into the room. 'Well, my
dear miss,' she cried, 'you're welcome to Southampton, and welcome to
Mrs. Berlinton; she's a nice lady as ever I knew; I suppose you're
surprised to see us so great together? but I'll tell you how it came
about. You must know, just as you was gone, I happened to be in the
book shop when she came in, and asked for a book; the Peruvan Letters
she called it; and it was not at home, and she looked quite vexed, for
she said she had looked the catalogue up and down, and saw nothing else
she'd a mind to; so I thought it would be a good opportunity to oblige
her, and be a way to make a prodigious genteel acquaintance besides; so
I took down the name, and I found out the lady that had got the book,
and I made her a visit, and I told her it was particular wanted by a
lady that had a reason; so she let me have it, and I took it to my
pretty lady, who was so pleased, she did not know how to thank me: So
this got me footing in the house; and there I heard, amongst her people
she was coming to Southampton, and was to call for you, my dear miss; so
when I found she had not her coach full, I ask'd her to give me a cast;
for I told her you'd be particular glad to see me, as we'd some business
to settle together, that was a secret between only us two; so she said
she would do anything to give you pleasure; so then I made free to ask
her to give me a night's lodging, till I could find out some friend to
be at; for I'd a vast mind to come to Southampton, as I could do it so
reasonable, for I like to go every where. And I dare say, my dear miss,
if you'll tell her 'twill oblige you, she'll make me the compliment to
let me stay all the time, for I know nobody here; though I don't fear
making friends, go where I will. And you know, my dear miss, you can do
no less by me, considering what I've done for you; for I've kept all the
good people quiet about your debts; and they say you may pay them when
you will, as I told them you was such a rich heiress; which Mr. Dubster
let me into the secret of, for he had had it from your brother.'

Camilla now experienced the extremest repentance and shame, to find
herself involved in any obligation with a character so forward, vulgar,
and encroaching, and to impose such a person, through the abuse of her
name and influence, upon the time and patience of Mrs. Berlinton.

The report spread by Lionel she immediately disavowed, and, producing
her twenty pound bank note, begged Mrs. Mittin would have the goodness
to get it changed for her, and to discharge her accounts without delay.

Surprised by this readiness, and struck by the view of the note, Mrs.
Mittin imputed to mere reserve the denial of her expected wealth, but
readily promised to get in the bills, and see her clear.

Camilla would now have been left alone; but Mrs. Mittin thought of
nothing less than quitting her, and she knew not how to bid her depart.
It was uncertain when Mrs. Berlinton could return; to obviate,
therefore, in some measure, the fatigue of such conversation, Camilla
proposed walking.

It was still but two o'clock, and the weather was delicious; every place
that opened to any view, presented some prospect that was alluring;
Camilla, notwithstanding her anxiety, was caught, and at intervals, at
least, forgot all within, from admiration of all without.

Mrs. Mittin led immediately to the town, and Camilla was struck with its
neatness, and surprised by its populousness. Mrs. Mittin assured her it
was nothing to London, and only wished she could walk her from
Charing-cross to Temple-bar, just to shew her what it was to see a
little of the world.

'But now, my dear,' she cried, 'the thing is to find out what we've got
to look at; so don't let's go on without knowing what we're about;
however, these shops are all so monstrous smart, 'twill be a pleasure to
go into them, and ask the good people what there's to see in the town.'

This pretext proved so fertile to her of entertainment, in the
opportunity it afforded of taking a near view of the various commodities
exposed to sale, that while she entered almost every shop, with
inquiries of what was worth seeing, she attended to no answer nor
information, but having examined and admired all the goods within sight
or reach, walked off, to obtain, by similar means, a similar privilege
further on; boasting to Camilla, that, by this clever device they might
see all that was smartest, without the expence of buying any thing.

It is possible that this might safely have been repeated, from one end
of the town to the other, had Mrs. Mittin been alone; and she seemed
well disposed to make the experiment; but Camilla, who, absent and
absorbed, accompanied without heeding her, was of a figure and
appearance not quite so well adapted for indulging with impunity such
unbridled curiosity. The shopkeepers, who, according to their several
tastes or opinions, gave their directions to the churches, the quays,
the market-place, the antique gates, the town-hall, &c. involuntarily
looked at her as they answered the questioner, and not satisfied with
the short view, followed to the door, to look again; this presently
produced an effect that, for the whole length of the High-street, was
amply ridiculous; every one perceiving that, whatsoever had been his
recommendation, whether to the right, to the left, or straight forward,
the two inquirers went no further than into the next shop, whence they
regularly drew forth either the master or the man to make another starer
at their singular proceeding.

Some supposed they were only seeking to attract notice; others thought
they were deranged in mind; and others, again, imagined they were
shoplifters, and hastened back to their counters, to examine what was
missing of their goods.

Two men of the two last persuasions communicated to one another their
opinions, each sustaining his own with a positiveness that would have
ended in a quarrel, had it not been accommodated by a wager. To settle
this became now so important, that business gave way to speculation, and
the contending parties, accompanied by a young perfumer as arbitrator,
leaving their affairs in the hands of their wives, or their domestics,
issued forth from their repositories, to pursue and watch the curious
travellers; laying bets by the way at almost every shop as they
proceeded, till they reached the quay, where the ladies made a full
stand, and their followers opened a consultation how best to decide the
contest.

Mr. Firl, a sagacious old linen-draper, who concluded them to be
shoplifters, declared he would keep aloof, for he should detect them
best when they least suspected they were observed.

Mr. Drim, a gentle and simple haberdasher, who believed their senses
disordered, made a circuit to face and examine them, frequently,
however, looking back, to see that no absconding trick was played him by
his friends. When he came up to them, the pensive and absorbed look of
Camilla struck him as too particular to be natural; and in Mrs. Mittin
he immediately fancied he perceived something wild, if not insane. In
truth, an opinion preconceived of her derangement might easily authorise
strong suspicions of confirmation, from the contented volubility with
which she incessantly ran on, without waiting for answerers, or even
listeners; and his observation had not taught him, that the loquacious
desire only to speak. They exact time, not attention.

Mrs. Mittin, soon observing the curiosity with which he examined them,
looked at him so hard in return, talking the whole time, in a quick low
voice, to Camilla, upon his oddity, that, struck with a direful panic,
in the persuasion she was marking him for some mischief, he turned short
about to get back to his companions; leaving Mrs. Mittin with precisely
the same opinion of himself which he had imbibed of her.

'Well, my dear,' cried she, 'this is one of the most miraclous
adventures I've met with yet; as sure as you're alive that man that
stares so is not right in the head! for else what should he run away
for, all in such a hurry, after looking at us so particular for nothing?
I'll assure you, I think the best thing we can do, is to get off as fast
as we can, for fear of the worst.'

They then sped their way from the quay; but, in turning down the first
passage to get out of sight, they were led into one of the little rooms
prepared for the accommodation of bathers.

This seemed so secure, as well as pleasant, that Camilla, soothed by the
tranquillity with which she could contemplate the noble Southampton
water and its fine banks, sat down at the window, and desired not to
walk any further.

The fright with which Mr. Drim had retreated, gained no proselyte to his
opinion; Mr. Girt, the perfumer, asserted, significantly, they were only
idle travellers, of light character; and Mr. Firl, when in dodging them,
he saw they went into a bathing room, offered to double his wager that
it was to make some assortment of their spoil.

This was accepted, and it was agreed that one should saunter in the
adjoining passages to see which way they turned upon coming out, while
the two others should patrol the beach, to watch their disappearance
from the windows.

Mrs. Mittin, meanwhile, was as much amused, though with different
objects, as Camilla. A large mixt party of ladies and gentlemen, who had
ordered a vessel for sailing down the water, which was not yet ready,
now made their appearance; and their dress, their air of enjoyment,
their outcries of impatience, the frisky gaiety of some, the noisy
merriment of others, seemed to Mrs. Mittin marks of so much grandeur and
happiness, that all her thoughts were at work to devise some contrivance
for becoming of their acquaintance.

Camilla also surveyed, but almost without seeing them; for the only
image of her mind now unexpectedly met her view; Dr. Marchmont and
Edgar, just arrived, had patrolled to the beach, where Edgar, whose
eye, from his eagerness, appeared to be every where in a moment,
immediately perceived her; they both bowed, and Dr. Marchmont, amazed by
the air and figure of her companion, inquired if Mrs. Berlinton had any
particularly vulgar relation to whom she was likely to commit her fair
guest.

Edgar, who had seen only herself, could not now forbear another glance;
but the aspect of Mrs. Mittin, without Mrs. Berlinton, or any other more
dignified or fitting protectress, was both unaccountable and unpleasant
to him; he recollected having seen her at Tunbridge, where the careless
temper, and negligent manners of Mrs. Arlbery, made all approaches easy,
that answered any purpose of amusement or ridicule; but he could not
conceive how Mrs. Berlinton, or Camilla herself, could be joined by such
a companion.

Mr. Firl, having remarked these two gentlemen's bows, began to fear for
his wager; yet, thinking it authorised him to seek some information,
approached them, and taking off his hat, said: 'You seem to be noticing
those two ladies up there; pray, gentlemen, if you've no objection, who
may they be?'

'Why do you ask, sir?' cried Edgar, sternly.

'Why, we've a wager depending upon them, sir, and I believe there's no
gentleman will refuse to help another about a wager.'

'A wager?' repeated Edgar, wishing, but vainly, to manifest no
curiosity; 'what inducement could you have to lay a wager about them?'

'Why, I believe, sir, there's nobody's a better judge than me what I've
laid about; though I may be out, to be sure, if you know the ladies; but
I've seen so much of their tricks, in my time, that they must be pretty
sharp before they'll over-reach me.'

'What tricks? who must be sharp? who are you talking of?'

'Shoplifters, sir.'

'Shoplifters! what do you mean?'

'No harm, sir; I may be out, to be sure, as I say; and if so, I ask
pardon; only, as we've laid the wager, I think I may speak before I
pay.'

The curiosity of Edgar would have been converted into ridicule, had he
been less uneasy at seeing with whom Camilla was thus associated; Mrs.
Mittin might certainly be a worthy woman, and, if so, must merit every
kindness that could be shewn her; but her air and manner so strongly
displayed the low bred society to which she had been accustomed, that
he foresaw nothing but improper acquaintance, or demeaning adventures,
that could ensue from such a connection at a public place.

Dr. Marchmont demanded what had given rise to this suspicion.

Mr. Firl answered, that they had been into every shop in the town,
routing over every body's best goods, yet not laying out a penny.

Nothing of this could Edgar comprehend, except that Camilla had suffered
herself to be led about by Mrs. Mittin, entirely at her pleasure; but
all further inquiry was stopt, by the voluntary and pert junction of
Girt, the young perfumer, who, during this period, had by no means been
idle; for perceiving, in the group waiting for a vessel, a certain
customer by whom he knew such a subject would be well received, he
contrived to excite his curiosity to ask some questions, which could
only be satisfied by the history of the wager, and his own opinion that
both parties were out.

This drew all eyes to the bathing room; and new bets soon were
circulated, consisting of every description of conjecture, or even
possibility, except that the two objects in question were innocent: and
for that, in a set of fourteen, only one was found who defended Camilla,
though her face seemed the very index of purity, which still more
strongly was painted upon it than beauty, or even than youth. Such is
the prevalent disposition to believe in general depravity, that while
those who are debased themselves find a consolation in thinking others
equally worthless, those even, who are of a better sort, nourish a
secret vanity in supposing few as good as themselves; and fully, without
reflection, the fair candour of their minds, by aiding that insidious
degeneracy, which robs the community of all confidence in virtue.

The approach of the perfumer to Edgar had all the hardiness of vulgar
elation, bestowed, at this moment, by the recent encouragement of having
been permitted to propagate his facetious opinions in a society of
gentlefolks; for though to one only amongst them, a young man of large
fortune, by whom he was particularly patronised, he had presumed
verbally to address himself, he had yet the pleasure to hear his account
repeated from one to another, till not a person of the company escaped
hearing it.

'My friend Firl's been telling you, I suppose, sir,' said he, to Edgar,
'of his foolish wager? but, take my word for it....'

Here Edgar, who again had irresistibly looked up at the room, saw that
the three gentlemen had entered it; alarmed lest these surmises should
be productive of impertinence to Camilla, he darted quickly from the
beach to her immediate protection.

But the rapidity of his wishes were ill seconded by the uncertainty of
his footsteps; and while, with eyes eagerly wandering all around, he
hastily pushed forward, he was stopt by Mr. Drim, who told him to take
care how he went on, for, in one of those bathing houses, to the best of
his belief, there were two crazy women, one melancholy, and one stark
wild, that had just, as he supposed, escaped from their keepers.

'How shall I find my way, then, to another of the bathing houses?' cried
Edgar.

Mr. Drim undertook to shew him where he might turn, but said he must not
lose sight of the door, because he had a bottle of port depending upon
it; his neighbour, Mr. Firl, insisting they were only shoplifters.

Edgar here stopt short and stared.

Drim then assured him it was what he could not believe, as nothing was
missing; though Mr. Firl would have it that it was days and days,
sometimes, before people found out what was gone; but he was sure,
himself, they were touched in the head, by their going about so wild,
asking everybody the same questions, and minding nobody's answers.

Edgar, convinced now Camilla was here again implicated, broke with
disgust from the man, and rushed to the door he charged him to avoid.




CHAPTER II

_A Rage of Obliging_


Camilla, from the instant she had perceived Edgar, had been in the
utmost emotion, from doubt if his journey were to seek a reconciliation,
or only to return her letters, and take a lasting farewell. Her first
feeling at his sight urged her to retire: but something of a softer
nature speedily interfered, representing, if now he should join her,
what suffering might mutually be saved by an immediate conference. She
kept, therefore, her seat, looking steadily straight down the water, and
denying herself one moment's glance at anything, or person, upon the
beach: little imagining she ingrossed, herself, the attention of all who
paraded it. But, when the insinuations of the flippant perfumer had once
made her looked at, her beauty, her apparently unprotected situation,
and the account of the wager, seemed to render her an object to be
stared at without scruple.

Mrs. Mittin saw how much they were observed, but Camilla, unheeding her
remarks, listened only to hear if any footsteps approached; but when, at
last, some struck her ears, they were accompanied by an unknown voice,
so loud and clamorously jovial, that, disturbed, she looked round ...
and saw the door violently flung open, and three persons, dressed like
gentlemen, force their way into the small dwelling place.

Mr. Halder, the leader of this triumvirate, was the particular patron of
Girt, the young perfumer; and, though his superior in birth and riches,
was scarcely upon a par with him, from wilful neglect, in education; and
undoubtedly beneath him in decency and conduct, notwithstanding young
Girt piqued himself far less upon such sentimental qualifications, than
upon his skill in cosmetics, and had less respect for unadulterated
morals, than unadulterated powder.

The second who entered, was, in every particular, still less defensible:
he was a peer of the realm; he had a daughter married, and his age
entitled him to be the grandfather of young Halder. In point of fortune,
speculatists deemed them equal; for though the estate of Halder was as
yet unincumbered with the mortgages that hung upon that of Lord
Valhurst, they computed, with great exactness, the term of its
superiority, since already he had inlisted in the jockey meetings, and
belonged to the gaming clubs.

The third, a young man of a serious, but pleasing demeanour, was rather
an attendant than a partner in this intrusion. He was the only one of
the whole party to whom the countenance of Camilla had announced
innocence; and when Halder, instigated by the assertions of the
facetious Girt, proposed the present measure, and Lord Valhurst, caught
by the youthful beauty of the fair subject of discussion, acceded, this
single champion stood forth, and modestly, yet firmly, declaring his
opinion they were mistaken, accompanied them with a view to protect
her, if he himself were right.

Boisterously entering, Halder addressed at once to Camilla, such
unceremonious praise of her beauty, that, affrighted and offended, she
hastily seized the arm of Mrs. Mittin, and, in a voice of alarm, though
with an air of command that admitted no doubt of her seriousness, and no
appeal from her resolution, said, 'Let us go home, Mrs. Mittin,
immediately.'

Simple as were these words, their manner had an effect upon Halder to
awe and distance him. Beauty, in the garb of virtue, is rather
formidable than attractive to those who are natively unenlightened, as
well as habitually degenerate: though, over such as have ever known
better sentiments, it frequently retains its primeval power, even in
their darkest declension of depravity.

But while Halder, repulsed, stood back, and the young champion, with an
air the most respectful, made way for her to pass; Lord Valhurst,
shutting the door, planted himself against it.

Seeing terror now take possession of every feature of her face, her
determined protector called out: 'Make way, my Lord, I beg!' and offered
her his hand. But Camilla, equally frightened at them all, shrunk
appalled from his assistance, and turned towards the window, with an
intention of demanding help from Edgar, whom she supposed still on the
beach; but the peer, slowly moving from the door, said he was the last
to mean to disconcert the young lady, and only wished to stop her till
he could call for his carriage, that he might see her safe wherever she
wished to go.

Camilla had no doubt of the sincerity of this proposal, but would accept
no aid from a stranger, even though an old man, while she hoped to
obtain that of Edgar. Edgar, however, she saw not, and fear is generally
precipitate: she concluded him gone; concluded herself deserted, and,
from knowing neither, equally fearing both the young men, inclined
towards Lord Valhurst; who, with delighted surprise, was going to take
her under his care, when Edgar rushed forward.

The pleasure that darted into her eyes announced his welcome. Halder,
from his reception, thought the enigma of his own ill success solved;
the other youth, supposing him her brother, no longer sought to
interfere; but Lord Valhurst exhibited signs of such irrepressible
mortification, that inexperience itself could not mistake the
dishonourable views of his offered services, since, to see her in
safety, was so evidently not their purpose. Camilla, looking at him with
the horror he so justly excited, gave her hand to Edgar, who had
instantly claimed it, and, without one word being uttered by either,
hastily walked away with him, nimbly accompanied by Mrs. Mittin.

The young man, whose own mind was sufficiently pure to make him give
easy credit to the purity of another, was shocked at his undeserved
implication in so gross an attack, and at his failure of manifesting the
laudable motive which had made him one of the triumvirate; and, looking
after her with mingled admiration and concern, 'Indeed, gentlemen,' he
cried, 'you have been much to blame. You have affronted a young lady who
carries in the whole of her appearance the marks of meriting respect.'

The sensibility of Lord Valhurst was not of sufficient magnitude to
separate into two courses: the little he possessed was already occupied
by his disappointment, in losing the beautiful prey he believed just
falling into his hands, and he had no emotion, therefore, to bestow upon
his young reprover. But Halder, who, to want of feeling, added want of
sense, roared out, with rude raillery, a gross, which he thought witty
attack, both of the defender and the defended.

The young man, with the proud probity of unhackneyed sentiment, made a
vindication of his uncorrupt intentions; which produced but louder
mirth, and coarser incredulity. The contest, however, was wholly
unequal; one had nerves of the most irritable delicacy; the other had
never yet, by any sensation, nor any accident, been admonished that
nerves made any part of the human composition: in proportion, therefore,
as one became more offended, the other grew more callous, till the
chivalry of indignant honour, casting prudence, safety, and forbearance
away, dictated a hasty challenge, which was accepted with a hoarse laugh
of brutal senselessness of danger. Courage is of another description. It
risks life with heroism; but it is only to preserve or pursue something,
without which the charm of life were dissolved: it meets death with
steadiness; but it prepares for immortality with reverence and emotion.

       *       *       *       *       *

Edgar and Camilla continued their walk in a silence painful to both, but
which neither knew how first to break; each wished with earnestness an
opening to communication and confidence; but, mutually shocked by the
recent adventure, Edgar waited the absence of Mrs. Mittin, to point out
the impropriety and insufficiency of such a guard; and Camilla, still
aghast with terror, had no power of any sort to begin a discourse.

Their taciturnity, if not well supplied, was, at least, well contrasted
by the volubility of Mrs. Mittin, which, as in the bathing house it had
been incessant, in declaring, to the three intruders, that both she and
the other young lady were persons of honour, was now no less unremitting
in boasting how well she had checked and kept them in order.

The horror of the attack she had just escaped became soon but a
secondary suffering to Camilla, though, at the moment, it had impressed
her more terribly than any actual event of her life, or any scene her
creative imagination had ever painted; yet, however dreadful, it was now
past; but who could tell the end of what remained? the mute distance of
Edgar, her uncertainty of his intentions, her suspicions of his wished
secession, the severe task she thought necessary to perform of giving
him his liberty, with the anguish of a total inability to judge whether
such a step would recall his tenderness, or precipitate his retreat,
were suggestions which quickly succeeded, and, in a very short time,
wholly domineered over every other.

When they arrived at the house, Edgar demanded if he might hope for the
honour of being presented, as a friend of the family, to Mrs. Berlinton.

Reviving, though embarrassed, she looked assent, and went forward to
inquire if Mrs. Berlinton were come home.

The servant answered no; but delivered her a letter from that lady; she
took it with a look of distress whether or not to invite Edgar to enter,
which the, at this period, welcome officiousness of Mrs. Mittin
relieved, by saying, 'Come, let us all come in, and make the parlour a
little comfortable against Mrs. Berlinton comes home; for, I dare say,
there's nothing as it should be. These lodging-houses always want a heap
of things one never thinks of before hand.'

They then all three entered, and Mrs. Mittin, who saw, she said, a
thousand ways by which she might serve and oblige Mrs. Berlinton, by
various suggestions, and even directions, which she hazarded against her
return, busied herself to arrange the two parlours to her satisfaction;
and, then, went up stairs, to settle, also, all there; making abundant
apologies for leaving them, and assuring them she would be back again as
soon as she possibly could get all in order.

Her departure was a moment of extreme confusion to Camilla, who
considered it as an invitation to her great scheme of rejection, but who
stammered something upon every other subject, to keep that off. She
looked at her letter, wondered what it could contain, could not imagine
why Mrs. Berlinton should write when they must so soon meet; and spent
in conjectures upon its contents the time which Edgar besought her to
bestow upon their perusal.

Nothing gives so much strength to an adversary as the view of timidity
in his opponent. Edgar grew presently composed, and felt equal to his
purposed expostulation.

'You decline reading your letter till I am gone?' cried he; 'I must,
therefore, hasten away. Yet, before I go, I earnestly wish once more to
take upon me the office formerly allowed me, and to represent, with
simple sincerity, my apprehensions upon what I have observed this
morning.'

The beginning of this speech had made Camilla break the seal of her
letter; but its conclusion agitated her too much for reading it.

'Is this silence,' said he, trying to smile, 'to repress me as
arrogant, ... or to disregard me as impertinent?'

'Neither!' she answered, forcing herself to look towards him with
cheerfulness; 'it is merely ... attention.'

'You are very good, and I will try to be brief, that I may put your
patience to no longer proof than I can avoid. You know, already, all I
can urge concerning Mrs. Berlinton; how little I wonder at the
promptness of your admiration; yet how greatly I fear for the permanence
of your esteem. In putting yourself under her immediate and sole
protection, you have shewn me the complete dissonance of our judgments
upon this subject; but I do not forget that, though you had the goodness
to hear me, you had the right to decide for yourself. Trust indeed, even
against warning, is so far more amiable than suspicion, that it must
always, even though it prove unfortunate, call for praise rather than
censure.'

The confusion of Camilla was now converted into self-reproach. What she
thought coldness, she had resented; what appeared to her to be
haughtiness, she had resisted; but truth, in the form of gentleness,
brought her instantly to reason, and reason could only resume its
empire, to represent as rash and imprudent an expedition so repugnant,
in its circumstances, to the wishes and opinions of the person whose
approbation was most essential to her happiness. Edgar had paused; and
her every impulse led to a candid recognition of what she felt to be
wrong; but her precarious situation with him, the report of his intended
flight by Jacob, the letters still detained of Sir Sedley Clarendel, and
no explanation demanded, by which she could gather if his plighted
honour were not now his only tie with her, curbed her design, depressed
her courage, and, silently, she let him proceed.

'Upon this subject, therefore, I must say no more, except to hint a
wish, that the apprehensions which first induced me to name it may,
unbidden, occur as timely heralds to exertion, should any untoward
circumstances point to danger, alarm, or impropriety.'

The new, but strong friendship of Camilla was alarmed for its delicacy
by these words. The diffidence she felt, from conscious error, for
herself, extended not to Mrs. Berlinton, whom, since she found
guiltless, she believed to be blameless. She broke forth, therefore,
into a warm eulogy, which her agitation rendered eloquent, while her own
mind and spirits were relieved and revived, by this flight from her
mortified self, to the friend she thought deserving her most fervent
justification.

Edgar listened attentively, and his eyes, though they expressed much of
serious concern, shewed also an irrepressible admiration of an
enthusiasm so ardent for a female friend of so much beauty.

'May she always merit this generous warmth!' cried he; 'which must have
excited my best wishes for her welfare, even if I had been insensible to
her own claims upon every man of feeling. But I had meant, at this time,
to confine my ungrateful annotations to another ... to the person who
had just quitted the room.'

'You do not mean to name her with Mrs. Berlinton? to imagine it possible
I can have for her any similar regard? or any, indeed, at all, but such
common good-will as all sorts and classes of people are entitled to, who
are well meaning?'

'Here, at least, then,' said Edgar, with a sigh half suppressed, 'our
opinions may be consonant. No; I designed no such disgraceful parallel
for your elegant favourite. My whole intention is to remonstrate ... can
you pardon so plain a word?... against your appearing in public with a
person so ill adapted to insure you the respect that is so every way
your due.'

'I had not the smallest idea, believe me, of appearing in public. I
merely walked out to see the town, and to beguile, in a stroll, time,
which, in this person's society, hung heavy upon me at home, in the
absence of Mrs. Berlinton.'

The concise simplicity of this innocent account, banished, in a moment,
all severity of judgment; and Edgar, expressively thanking her, rose,
and was approaching her, though scarcely knowing with what purpose, when
Mrs. Mittin burst into the room, exclaiming: 'Well, my dear, you'll
never guess how many things I have done since I left you. In the first
place, there was never a wash-ball; in the next place, not a napkin nor
a towel was in its proper place; then the tea-things were forgot; and as
to spoons, not one could I find. And now, I've a mind to go myself to a
shop I took good notice of, and get her a little almond powder for her
nice white hands; which, I dare say, will please her. I've thought of a
hundred things at least. I dare say I shall quite win her heart. And I'm
sure of my money again, if I lay out never so much. And I don't know
what I would not do for such a good lady.'

During this harangue, Camilla, ashamed of her want of resolution,
secretly vowed, that, if again left alone with him, she would not lose a
moment in restoring him his liberty, that with dignity she might once
more receive, or with fortitude for ever resign it. She thought herself,
at this moment, capable of either; but she had only thought it, since
his softened look and air had made her believe she had nothing to fear
from the alternative.

Mrs. Mittin soon went, though her continued and unmeaning chattery made
the short term of her stay appear long.

Each eager upon their own plan, both then involuntarily arose.

Camilla spoke first. 'I have something,' she cried, 'to say, ...' but her
voice became so husky, the inarticulate sounds died away unheard, and
blushing at so feeble an opening, she strove, under the auspices of a
cough, to disguise that she had spoken at all, for the purpose of
beginning, in a more striking manner, again.

This succeeded with Edgar at this moment, for he had heard her voice,
not her words: he began, therefore, himself. 'This good lady,' he said,
'seems bit with the rage of obliging, though not, I think, so
heroically, as much to injure her interest. But surely she flatters
herself with somewhat too high a recompence? The heart of Mrs. Berlinton
is not, I fancy, framed for such a conquerer. But how, at the same time,
is it possible conversation such as this should be heard under her roof?
And how can it have come to pass that such a person....'

'Talk of her,' interrupted Camilla, recovering her breath, 'some other
time. Let me now inquire ... have you burnt ... I hope so!... those
foolish ... letters ... I put into your hands?...'

The countenance of Edgar was instantly overclouded. The mention of those
letters brought fresh to his heart the bitterest, the most excruciating
and intolerable pang it had ever experienced; it brought Camilla to his
view no longer artless, pure, and single-minded, but engaged to, or
trifling with, one man, while seriously accepting another. 'No, madam,'
he solemnly said, 'I have not presumed so far. Their answers are not
likely to meet with so violent a death, and it seemed to me that one
part of the correspondence should be preserved for the elucidation of
the other.'

Camilla felt stung by this reply, and tremulously answered, 'Give me
them back, then, if you please, and I will take care to see them all
demolished together, in the same flames. Meanwhile....'

'Are you sure,' interrupted Edgar, 'such a conflagration will be
permitted? Does the man live who would have the philosophy ... the
insensibility I must rather style it--ever to resign, after once
possessing, marks so distinguishing of esteem? O, Camilla! I, at least,
could not be that man!'

Cut to the soul by this question, which, though softened by the last
phrase, she deemed severely cruel, she hastily exclaimed: 'Philosophy I
have no right to speak of ... but as to insensibility ... who is the man
that ever more can surprise me by its display? Let me take, however,
this opportunity....'

A footman, opening the door, said, his lady had sent to beg an answer to
her letter.

Camilla, in whom anger was momentary, but the love of justice permanent,
rejoiced at an interruption which prevented her from speaking, with
pique and displeasure, a sentence that must lose all its purpose if not
uttered with mildness. She would write, she said, immediately; and,
bidding the man get her pen and ink, went to the window to read her
letter; with a formal bow of apology to Edgar as she passed him.

'I have made you angry?' cried he, when the man was gone; 'and I hate
myself to have caused you a moment's pain. But you must feel for me,
Camilla, in the wound you have inflicted! you know not the disorder of
mind produced by a sudden, unlooked-for transition from felicity to
perplexity, ... from serenity to misery!...'

Camilla felt touched, yet continued reading, or rather rapidly repeating
to herself the words of her letter, without comprehending, or even
seeking to comprehend, the meaning of one sentence.

He found himself quite unequal to enduring her displeasure; his own, all
his cautions, all Dr. Marchmont's advice, were forgotten; and tenderly
following her, 'Have I offended,' he cried, 'past forgiveness? Is
Camilla immoveable? and is the journey from which I fondly hoped to date
the renewal of every hope, the termination of every doubt, the period of
all suffering and sorrow....'

He stopt abruptly, from the entrance of the servant with pen and ink,
and the interruption was critical: it called him to his self-command: he
stammered out that he would not impede her writing; and, though in
palpable confusion, took his leave: yet, at the street-door, he gave a
ticket with his name, to the servant who attended him, for Mrs.
Berlinton; and, with his best respects, desired she might be told he
should do himself the honour to endeavour to see her in the evening.

The recollection of Edgar came too late to his aid to answer its
intended purpose. The tender avowal which had escaped him to Camilla, of
the view of his journey, had first with astonishment struck her ear, and
next with quick enchantment vibrated to her heart, which again it
speedily taught to beat with its pristine vivacity; and joy, spirit, and
confidence expelled in a breath all guests but themselves.




CHAPTER III

_A Pleasant Adventure_


Camilla was again called upon for her note, before she had read the
letter it was to answer; but relieved now from the pressure of her own
terrifying apprehensions, she gave it complete and willing attention.

It contained four sides of paper, closely yet elegantly written in the
language of romantic sentiment. Mrs. Berlinton said she had spent, as
yet, only a few minutes with her aunt; but they had been awfully
important; and since she had exacted from her a promise to stay the
whole day, she could not deny her disappointed friendship the transient
solace of a paper conversation, to sooth the lingering interval of this
unexpected absence. 'My soul pines to unburden the weight of its sorrows
into thy sympathising bosom, my gentlest friend; but oh! there let them
not sojourn! receive but to lighten, listen but to commiserate, and
then, far, far thence dismiss them, retaining but the remembrance thou
hast dismissed them with consolation.' She then bewailed the time lost
to soft communication and confidence, in their journey, from the
presence of others; for though one was a brother she so truly loved, she
found, notwithstanding the tenderness of his nature, he had the
prejudices of a man upon man's prerogatives, and her woes called for
soothing not arguments; and the other, she briefly added, was but an
accidental passenger. ''Tis in thee only, O my beauteous friend! I would
trust the sad murmurs of my irreversible and miserable destiny, of which
I have learnt but this moment the cruel and desperate secret cause.' She
reserved, however, the discovery for their meeting, and called upon her
pity for her unfortunate brother, as deeply involved in his future
views, as she in her past, by this mystery: 'And have I written this
much,' she burst forth, 'without speaking of the cherished correspondent
whom so often I have described to thee? Ah! believe me not faithless to
that partner of my chosen esteem, that noble, that resistless possessor
of my purest friendship! No, charming Camilla, think not so degradingly
of her whom fate, in its sole pitying interval, has cast into thy arms.'
Two pages then ensued with this exclusive encomium, painting him chief
in every virtue, and master of every grace. She next expressed her
earnestness to see Indiana, [who] Camilla had told her would be at
Southampton. 'Present me, I conjure thee, to the fair and amiable
enslaver of my unhappy brother! I die to see, to converse with her, to
catch from her lovely lips the modest wisdom with which he tells me they
teem; to read in her speaking eyes the intelligence which he assures me
illumines them.' She concluded with desiring her to give what orders she
pleased for the coach, and the servants, and to pass the day with her
friends.

Camilla, whose own sensations were now revived to happiness, read the
letter with all the sympathy it claimed, and felt her eyes fill with
generous tears at the contrast of their situations; yet she highly
blamed the tenderness expressed for the unknown correspondent, though
its innocence she was sure must vanquish even Edgar, since its so
constant avowal proved it might be published to all mankind. She
answered her in language nearly as affectionate, though less inflated
than her own, and resolved to support her with Edgar, till her sweetness
and purity should need no champions but themselves. She was ashamed of
the species of expectation raised for Indiana, yet knew not how to
interfere in Melmond's idea of her capacity, lest it might seem unkind
to represent its fallaciousness; but she was glad to find her soft
friend seemed to have a strict guardian in her brother; and wished
eagerly to communicate to Edgar a circumstance which she was sure would
be so welcome to him.

Impatient to see Eugenia, she accepted the offer of the carriage, and
desirous to escape Mrs. Mittin, begged to have it immediately; but that
notable person came to the door at the same time as the coach, and,
without the smallest ceremony, said she would accompany her to the
hotel, in order to take the opportunity of making acquaintance with her
friends.

Courage frequently, at least in females, becomes potent as an agent,
where it has been feeble as a principal. Camilla, though she had wished,
upon her own account, to repress Mrs. Mittin in the morning, had been
too timid for such an undertaking; but now, in her anxiety to oblige
Edgar, she gathered resolution for declining her company. She then
found, as is generally the case with the fearful, the task less
difficult than she had expected; for Mrs. Mittin, content with a promise
self-made, that the introduction should take place the next day, said
she would go and help Mrs. Berlinton's woman to unpack her lady's
things, which would make a useful friend for her in the house, for a
thousand odd matters.

       *       *       *       *       *

The carriage of Sir Hugh was just driving off as Camilla arrived at the
hotel.

She hurried from Mrs. Berlinton's coach, demanding which way the company
was gone; and being answered, by a passing waiter, up stairs, ran on at
once, without patience or thought for asking if she should turn to the
right or left; till seeing a gentleman standing still upon the landing
place, and leaning upon the bannisters, she was retreating, to desire a
conductor, when she perceived it was Dr. Orkborne; who, while the ladies
were looking at accommodations, and inquiring about lodgings, in
profound cogitation, and with his tablets in his hands, undisturbed by
the various noises around him, and unmoved by the various spectators
continually passing and repassing, was finishing a period which he had
begun in the coach for his great work.

Camilla, cheerfully greeting him, begged to know which way she should
find Eugenia; but, making her a sign not to speak to him, he wrote on.
Accustomed to his manner, and brought up to respect whatever belonged to
study, from the studious life and turn of her father, she obeyed the
mute injunction, and waited quietly by his side; till, tired of the
delay, though unwilling to interrupt him, she glided softly about the
passage, watching and examining if she could see any of the party, yet
fearing to offend or mortify him if she called for a waiter.

While straying about thus, as far off as she could go without losing
sight of Dr. Orkborne, a door she had just passed was flung open, and
she saw young Halder, whose licentious insolence had so much alarmed her
in the bathing-house, stroam out, yawning, stretching, and swearing
unmeaningly, but most disgustingly, at every step.

Terrified at his sight, she went on, as she could not get to the Doctor
without passing him; but the youth, recollecting her immediately, called
out: 'Ah, ha! are you there again, you little vixen?' and pursued her.

'Dr. Orkborne! Dr. Orkborne!' she rather screamed than said, 'pray come
this way! I conjure--I beseech--I entreat--Dr. Orkborne!--'

The Doctor, catching nothing of this but his name, querulously
exclaimed: 'You molest me much!' but without raising his eyes from his
tablets; while Halder, at the appeal, cried: 'Ay, ay, Doctor! keep your
distance, Doctor! you are best where you are, Doctor, I can tell you,
Doctor!'

Camilla, then, too much scared to be aware she ran a far greater risk
than she escaped, desperately sought refuge by opening the nearest door;
though by the sudden noises upon the stairs, and in all the adjoining
passages, it seemed as if Dr. Orkborne were the only one not alarmed by
her cries.

No one, however, could approach so soon as the person of whose chamber
she had burst the door; who was an old gentleman, of a good and lively
countenance, who promptly presenting himself, looked at her with some
surprise, but good humouredly asked her what she was pleased to want in
his room.

'That gentleman,' she cried, panting and meaning to point to Dr.
Orkborne; 'that gentleman I want, sir!' but such a medley of waiters,
company, and servants, had in a moment assembled in the space between
them, that the Doctor was no longer to be discerned.

'Do you only open my door, then,' said he, drily, 'to tell me you want
somebody else?'

Yet when Halder, vowing he owed her an ill turn for which she should
pay, would have seized her by the hand, he protected with his own arm,
saying: 'Fie, boy, fie! let the girl alone! I don't like violence.'

A gentleman now, forcing himself through the crowd, exclaimed: 'Miss
Camilla Tyrold! Is it possible! what can you do here, madam?'

It was Dr. Marchmont, whom the affrighted Camilla, springing forward,
could only answer in catching by the arm.

'Tyrold!' repeated the old gentleman; 'Is her name Tyrold?'

Sorry now to have pronounced it in this mixt company, Dr. Marchmont
evaded any answer; and, begging her to be composed, asked whither, or to
whom, he might have the honour of conducting her.

'Almost all my family are here,' cried she, 'but I could not make Dr.
Orkborne shew me the way to them.'

The old gentleman then, repeating 'Tyrold! why if her name is Tyrold,
I'll take care of her myself;' invited her into his apartment.

Dr. Marchmont, thanking him, said: 'This young lady has friends, who in
all probability are now uneasily seeking her; we must lose no time in
joining them.'

'Well, but, well,' cried the old stranger, 'let her come into my room
till the coast is clear, and then take her away in peace. Come, there's
a good girl, come in, do! you're heartily welcome; for there's a person
of your name that's the best friend I ever had in the world. He's gone
from our parts, now; but he's left nothing so good behind. Pray, my
dear, did you ever hear of a gentleman, an old Yorkshire Baronet, of
your name?'

'What! my uncle?'

'Your uncle! why are you niece to Sir Hugh Tyrold?'

Upon her answering yes, he clapped his hands with delight, and saying:
'Why then I'll take care of you myself, if it's at the risk of my life!'
carried, rather than drew her into his room, the Doctor following. Then,
loudly shutting his door in the face of Halder, he called out: 'Enter my
castle who dare! I shall turn a young man myself, at the age of seventy,
to drub the first varlet that would attack the niece of my dear old
friend!'

They soon heard the passage clear, and, without deigning to listen to
the petulant revilings with which young Halder solaced his foolish rage,
'Why, my dear,' he continued, 'why did not you tell me your name was
Tyrold at once? I promise you, you need carry nothing else with you into
our parts, to see all the doors fly open to you. You make much of him, I
hope, where he is? for he left not a dry eye for twenty miles round when
he quitted us. I don't know how many such men you may have in Hampshire;
but Yorkshire's a large county, yet the best man in it would find it
hard to get a seat in Parliament, where Sir Hugh Tyrold would offer
himself to be a candidate. We all say, in Yorkshire, he's so stuffed
full of goodness and kindness, that there's no room left in him for
anything else; that's our way of talking of him in Yorkshire; if you
have a better way in Hampshire, I shall be glad to learn it; never too
late for that; I hate pride.'

No possible disturbance could make Camilla insensible to pleasure in the
praise of her uncle, or depress her spirits from joining in his eulogy;
and her attention, and brightening looks, drew a narrative from the old
gentleman of the baronet's good actions and former kindnesses, so
pleasant both to the speaker and the hearer, that the one forgot he had
never seen her before, and the other, the frightful adventure which
occasioned their meeting now.

Dr. Marchmont at length, looking at his watch, inquired what she meant
to do; to seek her sister and party, she answered; and, returning her
host the warmest acknowledgments for his assistance and goodness, she
was going; but, stopping her: 'How now?' he cried, 'don't you want to
know who I am? Now I have told you I am a friend of your uncle, don't
you suppose he'll ask you my name?'

Camilla, smiling, assured him she wished much to be informed, but knew
not how to trouble him with the question.

'Why my name, my dear, is Westwyn, and when you say that to your uncle,
he won't give you a sour look for your pains; take my word for that
beforehand. I carried over his nephew and heir, a cousin, I suppose, of
yours, to Leipsic with me, about eight years ago, along with a boy of my
own, Hal Westwyn; a very good lad, I assure you, though I never tell him
so to his face, for fear of puffing him up; I hate a boy puffed up; he
commonly comes to no good; that's the only fault of my honoured friend;
he spoils all young people--witness that same cousin of yours, that I
can't say I much like; no more does he me; but tell your good uncle you
have met me; and tell him I love and honour him as I ought to do; I
don't know how to do more, or else I would; tell him this, my dear. And
I have not forgot what he did for me once, when I was hard run; and I
don't intend it; I'm no friend to short memories.'

Camilla said, his name, and her uncle's regard for him, had long been
familiar to her; and told him Clermont Lynmere was of the party to
Southampton, though she knew not how to enter abruptly into an
explanation of his mistake concerning the inheritance. Mr. Westwyn
answered he was in no hurry to see Clermont, who was not at all to his
taste; but would not quit Hampshire without visiting Cleves: and when he
gathered that two more nieces of Sir Hugh were in the house, he desired
to be presented to them.

Upon re-entering the passage, to the great amusement of Dr. Marchmont,
and serious provocation of Camilla, they perceived Dr. Orkborne,
standing precisely where he had first stationed himself; attending no
more to the general hubbub than to her particular entreaty, and as
regardless of the various jolts he had received during the tumult, as of
the obstruction he caused, by his inconvenient position, to the haste of
the passers by. Still steadily reposing against the bannisters, he
worked hard at refining his paragraph, persuaded, since not summoned by
Miss Margland, he had bestowed upon it but a few minutes, though he had
been fixed to that spot near an hour.

Miss Margland received Camilla with a civility which, since her positive
and public affiance to Edgar, she thought necessary to the mistress of
Beech Park; but she looked upon Dr. Marchmont, whom she concluded to
have been her advocate, with a cold ill-will, which, for Mr. Westwyn,
she seasoned still more strongly by a portion of contemptuous
haughtiness; from a ready disposition to believe every stranger, not
formally announced, beneath her notice.

The Doctor soon retired, and found Edgar in his apartment, just returned
from a long stroll. He recounted to him the late transaction, with
reiterated exhortations to circumspection, from added doubts of the
solidity, though with new praise of the attractions of Camilla. 'She
seems a character,' he said, 'difficult to resist, and yet more
difficult to attach. Nothing serious appears to impress her for two
minutes together. Let us see if the thoughtlessness and inadvertence
thus perpetually fertile of danger, result from youthful inexperience,
or have their source in innate levity. Time and reason will rectify the
first; but time, and even reason, will but harden and embolden the
latter. Prudence, therefore, must now interfere; or passion may fly,
when the union it has formed most requires its continuance.'




CHAPTER IV

_An Author's Time-keeper_


Mr. Westwyn, charmed to meet so many near relations of a long-valued
friend, struck by the extraordinary beauty of Indiana, and by the
sensible answers of the child, as he called Eugenia; as well as caught
by the united loveliness of person and of mind which he observed in
Camilla, could not bring himself to retire till the dinner was upon the
table: pleading, in excuse for his stay, his former intimacy with Sir
Hugh. Miss Margland, seeing in him nothing that marked fashion, strove
to distance him by a high demeanour: but though not wanting in
shrewdness, Mr. Westwyn was a perfectly natural man, and only thinking
her manners disagreeable, without suspecting her intention, took but
little notice of her, from the time he saw she could give him no
pleasure: while with the young party, he was so much delighted, that he
seriously regretted he had only one son to offer amongst them.

When the dinner was served, Eugenia grew uneasy that Dr. Orkborne should
be summoned, whose non-appearance she had not ventured to mention, from
the professed hatred of his very sight avowed by Miss Margland. But
Camilla, brought up to exert constantly her courage for the absent, told
the waiter to call the gentleman from the head of the stairs.

'My master himself, ma'am,' he answered, 'as well as me, both told the
gentleman the company he came with were served; but he as good as bid us
both hold our tongues. He seems to have taken a great liking to that
place upon the stairs; though there's nothing I know of particular in
it.'

'But, if you tell him we wait dinner--' cried Eugenia; when Miss
Margland, interrupting her said, 'I'm sure, then, you won't tell him
true: for I beg we may all begin. I think it would be rather more
decorous he should wait for us!'

The waiter, nevertheless, went; but presently returned, somewhat
ruffled; saying, 'The gentleman does not choose to hear me, ma'am. He
says, if he mayn't be let alone one single minute, it will be throwing
away all his morning. I can't say I know what he means; but he speaks
rather froppish. I'd as lieve not go to him again, if you please.'

Miss Margland declared, she wished him no better dinner than his
pot-hooks; but did not doubt he would come just before they had done, as
usual; and he was no more mentioned: though she never in her life eat so
fast; and the table was ordered to be cleared of its covers, with a
speed exactly the reverse of the patience with which the Doctor was
indulged on similar occasions by the baronet.

Miss Margland, when the cloth was removed, proposed a sally in search of
lodgings. Camilla and Eugenia, desirous of a private conference, begged
to remain within; though the latter sought to take care of her absent
preceptor, before she could enjoy the conversation of her sister; and
when Miss Margland and Indiana, in secret exultation at his dinnerless
state, had glided, with silent simpering, past him, flew to beseech his
consent to take some nourishment.

Such, however, was his present absorption in what he was writing, that
the voluntary kindness of his pupil was as unwelcome as the forced
intrusion of the waiter; and he conjured her to grant him a little
respite from such eternal tormenting, with the plaintive impatience of
deprecating some injury.

The sisters, now, equally eager to relate and to listen to their mutual
affairs, shut themselves up in the apartment of Eugenia; who, with the
greatest simplicity, began the discourse, by saying, 'Have you heard, my
dear sister, that Clermont has refused me?'

Camilla was severely shocked. Accustomed herself to the face and form of
Eugenia, which, to her innocent affection, presented always the image of
her virtuous mind and cultivated understanding, she had not presaged
even the possibility of such an event; and, though she had seen with
concern the inequality of their outward appearance, Clermont had seemed
to her, in all else, so inferior to her sister, that she had repined at
his unworthiness, but never doubted the alliance.

She was distressed how to offer any consolation; but soon found none was
required. Eugenia was composed and contented, though pensive, and not
without some feeling of mortification. Yet anger and resentment had
found no place in the transaction. Her equity acknowledged that Clermont
had every right of choice: but while her candour induced her to even
applaud his disinterestedness in relinquishing the Cleves estate, her
capacity pointed out how terrible must be the personal defects, that so
speedily, without one word of conversation, one trial of any sort how
their tastes, tempers, or characters might accord, stimulated him to so
decisive a rejection. This view of her unfortunate appearance cast her,
at first, into a train of melancholy ideas, that would fast have led her
to unhappiness, though wholly unmixed with any regret of Clermont, had
not the natural philosophy of her mind come to her aid; or had her
education been of a more worldly sort.

When Camilla related her own history, her plan of making Edgar again
completely master of his own proceedings met the entire approbation of
Eugenia, who, with a serious smile, said, 'Take warning by me, my dear
sister! and, little as you have reason to be brought into any comparison
with such a one as me, anticipate the disgrace of defection!'

Camilla, much touched, embraced her, sincerely wishing she were half as
faultless as her excellent self.

The return of Miss Margland and Indiana obliged them to quit their
retreat; and they now found Dr. Orkborne in the dining-room. Having
finished his paragraph, he had sought his party of his own accord; but,
meeting with no one, had taken a book from his pocket, with which he
meant to beguile the appetite he felt rising, till the hour of dinner,
which he had not the smallest suspicion was over; for of the progress of
time he had no knowledge but by its palpable passage from the sun to the
moon; his watch was never wound up, and the morning and the evening were
but announced to him by a summons to breakfast and to supper.

The ladies seated themselves at the window. Indiana was enchanted by the
concourse of gay and well-dressed people passing by, and far from
insensible to the visible surprise and pleasure she excited in those who
cast up their eyes at the hotel. Eugenia, to whom a great and populous
town was entirely new, found also, in the diversity as well as novelty
of its objects, much matter for remark and contemplation; Miss Margland
experienced the utmost satisfaction in seeing, at last, some faces and
some things less rustic than had been presented to her in Yorkshire or
at Cleves; and Camilla had every hope that this place, in Edgar's own
expression, would terminate every perplexity, and give local date to her
life's permanent felicity.

In a few minutes, a youth appeared on the opposite pavement, whose air
was new to none of the party, yet not immediately recollected by any. It
was striking, however, in elegance and in melancholy. Eugenia
recollected him first, and starting back, gasped for breath; Indiana the
next moment called out, 'Ah!... it's Mr. Melmond!' and blushing high,
her whole face was bright and dimpled with unexpected delight.

He walked on, without looking up, and Indiana, simply piqued as well as
chagrined, said she was glad he was gone.

But Eugenia looked after him with a gentle sigh, which now first she
thought blameless, and a pleasure, which, though half mournful, she now
suffered herself to encourage. Free from all ties that made her shun
this partiality as culpable, she secretly told herself she might now,
without injury to any one, indulge it for an object [whom,] little as he
was known to her, she internally painted with all the faultless
qualities of ideal excellence.

From these meditations she was roused by Dr. Orkborne's looking rather
wishfully round him, and exclaiming, 'Pray ... don't we dine rather
late?'

The mistake being cleared up, by Miss Margland's assuring him it was
impossible to keep dinner waiting all day, for people who chose to stand
whole hours upon a staircase, he felt rather discomforted: but when
Eugenia privately ordered him a repast in his own chamber, he was amply
consoled, by the unconstrained freedom with which he was empowered to
have more books upon the table than plates; and to make more ink spots
than he eat mouthfuls.

       *       *       *       *       *

Camilla had the mortification to find, upon her return home, that Edgar
had made his promised visit, not only in her absence, but while Mrs.
Berlinton was still with her aunt.

The lady then communicated to Camilla the secret to which, while yet in
ignorance of its existence, she now found she had been sacrificed. Mrs.
Ecton, two years ago, had given her hand, in the most solemn privacy, to
her butler, who now attended her to Southampton. To avoid disobliging a
sick old relation, from whom she expected a considerable legacy, she had
prevailed with her husband to consent that the marriage should not be
divulged: but certain that whatever now might be her fortune, she had no
power to bequeath it from her new connexion, the terror of leaving
utterly destitute a beautiful young creature, who believed herself well
provided for, had induced her to nearly force her acceptance of an
almost superannuated old man of family; who, merely coveting her beauty,
inquired not into her inclination. The same latent cause had made her
inexorable to the pleadings of young Melmond; who, conceiving his
fortune dependent upon the pleasure of his aunt, his certain income
being trifling, thought it his duty to fly the fair object of his
adoration, when he discovered the deceit of Lionel with regard to the
inheritance of Sir Hugh. This sick old relation was now just dead, and
had left to her sole disposal a considerable estate. The husband
naturally refused to be kept any longer from his just rights; but the
shame she felt of making the discovery of a marriage contracted
clandestinely, after she was sixty years of age, with a man under
thirty, threw her into a nervous fever. And, in this state, unable to
reveal to her nephew an event which now affected him alone, she
prevailed with Mr. Ulst, who was willing to revisit his original home,
Southampton, to accompany her thither in his usual capacity, till she
had summoned her nephew and niece, and acquainted them with the affair.

To herself, Mrs. Berlinton said, the evil of this transaction had been
over, while yet it was unknown; she had heard it, therefore, in silence,
and forborne unavailing reproach. But her brother, to whom the blow was
new, and the consequences were still impending, was struck with extreme
anguish, that while thus every possible hope was extinguished with
regard to his love, he must suddenly apply himself to some business, or
be reduced to the most obscure poverty.

Camilla heard the account with sincere concern for them both, much
heightened for young Melmond, upon finding that, by his express desire,
his sister now relinquished her design of cultivating an acquaintance
with Indiana, whom he had the virtue to determine to avoid, since his
fortune, and even his hopes, were thus irretrievably ruined.

They conversed together to a late hour; and Camilla, before they parted,
made the most earnest apologies for the liberty taken with her house by
Mrs. Mittin: but Mrs. Berlinton, with the utmost sweetness, begged she
might stay till all her business with her was settled; smilingly adding,
business alone, she was sure could bring them together.

Much relieved, she then determined to press Mrs. Mittin to collect and
pay her accounts immediately; and to avoid with her, in the meanwhile,
any further transactions.




CHAPTER V

_An agreeable Hearing_


Early the next morning, Camilla went to the hotel, in the carriage of
Mrs. Berlinton; eluding, though not without difficulty, the company of
Mrs. Mittin. She found the party all in good spirits; Indiana, in
particular, was completely elated; joined to the admiration she
believed awaiting her in this large and fashionable town, she now knew
she might meet there the only person who had ever excited in her
youthful, and nearly vacant breast, any appropriate pleasure,
super-added to the general zest of being adored. She did not, indeed,
think of marrying any one who could not offer her a coach and four; but
so little was she disturbed by thinking at all, that the delight of
being adulated by the man she preferred, carried with it no idea of
danger. Eugenia too, soothed with the delusions of her romantic but
innocent fancy, flattered herself she might now see continually the
object she conceived formed for meriting her ever reverential regard;
and Miss Margland was importantly occupied upon affairs best suited to
her taste and ancient habits, in deliberating how first to bring forth
her fair charge with the most brilliant effect.

Camilla was much embarrassed how to parry an introduction to Mrs.
Berlinton, upon which all the females built as the foundation of their
Southampton prosperity; the young ones, already informed she was the
sister of Melmond, languishing to know her for his sake; and Miss
Margland, formerly acquainted with the noble family of her husband,
being impatient to resume her claims in similar circles; but an awkward
beginning apology was set aside by the entrance of Edgar and Dr.
Marchmont.

Indiana now poured forth innumerable questions upon what she might look
forward to with respect to balls and public places; Eugenia asked nearly
as many concerning the buildings, antiquities, and prospects; and Miss
Margland more than either, relative to the company, their genealogies
and connexions. The two Doctors soon sat aloof, conferring upon less
familiar matters; but Edgar only spoke in reply, and Camilla uttered not
a word.

Soon after, a voice on the stairs called out, 'O never mind shewing me
the way; if I come to a wrong room, I'll go on till I come to a right;'
and the next minute young Lynmere sallied into the apartment.

'I could not get to you last night,' cried he; 'and I can only stay a
moment now. I have a pretty serious business upon my hands; so if you
can give me any breakfast, don't lose time.'

Miss Margland, willing to please the brother of Indiana, readily ordered
for him whatever the inn would afford, of which he failed not heartily
to partake, saying, 'I have met with a good comic sort of adventure here
already. Guess what it is?'

Indiana complied; but his own wish to communicate was so much stronger
than that of anyone to hear, that, before she could pronounce three
words, he cried: 'Well, if you're so excessive curious, I'll tell it
you. I'm engaged in a duel.'

Indiana screamed; Miss Margland echoed her cry; Eugenia, who had looked
down from his entrance, raised her eyes with an air of interest; Camilla
was surprised out of her own concerns; and Edgar surveyed him with an
astonishment not wholly unmixt with contempt; but the two Doctors went
on with their own discourse.

'Nay, nay, Dye, don't be frightened; 'tis not a duel in which I am to
fight myself; I am only to be second. But suppose I were first? what
signifies? these are things we have in hand so often, we don't think of
them.'

'La! brother! you don't say so?' cried Indiana: 'La! how droll!' He then
pretended that he would tell nothing more.

Camilla inquired if he had seen Mr. Westwyn, whom she had met with the
preceding day.

'Not I, faith! but that's apropos enough; for it's his son that has
asked me to be his second.'

'O, poor good old Mr. Westwyn!' cried Camilla, now much interested in
this history; 'and can you not save him such a shock? can you not be
mediator instead of second? he seems so fond of his son....'

'O, as to him, it's no matter; he's such a harsh old hunks, I shall be
glad to have him worked a little; I've often wanted to pull him by the
nose, myself, he takes such liberties with me. But did you ever hear of
such a fool as his son? he deserves to be badgered as bad as his father;
he's going to fight with as fine an honest fellow as ever I met with,
for nothing at all! absolutely nothing!'

'Dear! how droll!' said Indiana.

'But why can you not interfere?' cried Camilla: 'poor Mr. Westwyn will
be made so unhappy if any evil befalls his son!'

'O, faith, as to him, he may take it as he will; I shan't trouble my
head about him; he has made free enough with me, I can assure you; it's
only to have him out of the way, that the business is put off till noon;
it was to have been in the morning, but the old tyrant took it into his
pate to make poor Henry, who is one of your good ones, and does nothing
to vex him on purpose, ride out with him; he has promised, however, to
get off by twelve o'clock, when four of us are to be at a certain spot
that I shan't name.'

Camilla again began to plead the merits of the father; but Indiana more
urgently demanded the reason of the combat. 'I dare say, brother, they
fight about being in love with somebody? don't they, brother? now do
tell me?'

'Not a whit! it's for a girl he don't care a straw for, and never saw
but once in his life, and don't care a farthing if he never sees again.'

'Dear, how droll, brother! I thought people always fought about being in
love with somebody they wanted to marry; and never but when she was
excessive pretty.'

'O, faith, marriage seldom deserves a fighting match; but as to being
pretty, that's all Harry has in his excuse, so he pretends she's as
divine as an angel.'

'Dear! well, and don't you know anything more than that about it?'

'No, nor he neither; he only saw her at a bathing house, where a fine
jolly young buck was paying her a few compliments, that she affected not
to like; and presently, in a silly dispute whether she was a girl of
character, they had a violent quarrel, and Harry was such a fool as to
end it with a challenge.'

At the words _a bathing house_, the blood forsook the cheeks of Camilla
with sudden personal alarm; but it mounted high into them again, upon
hearing the nature of the dispute; though yet again it sunk, and left
them wholly pallid, at the brief and final conviction she was the sole
cause of this duel, and upon so disgraceful a dispute.

The emotions of Edgar, though less fearful, were not less violent nor
painful. That Camilla should be the subject of any challenge was
shocking, but of such a one he thought a dishonour; yet to prevent, and
with the least publicity, its effect, was the immediate occupation of
his mind.

A short pause ensued, broken presently by Clermont, who, looking at his
watch, suddenly jumped up, and calling out, 'Faith, I shall be too
late!' was capering out of the room; but the shame of Camilla in the
disgrace, was overpowered by her terror of its consequences, and
starting up, and clasping her hands, 'O cousin! O Clermont!' she cried,
'for Heaven's sake stop this affair!'

Clermont, satisfied that a sufficient alarm was raised to impede the
transaction, without any concession on his part, declared himself bound
in honour to attend the appointment, and, in extreme seeming haste and
earnestness, walked off; stopping, however, when he came to the door,
not to listen to the supplications of his cousin, but to toss off a
fresh cup of chocolate, which a waiter was just carrying to the next
room.

Camilla now, her face varying in colour twenty times in a minute, and
her whole frame shaking, while her eyes were cast, conscious and timid,
on the floor, approached Edgar, and saying, 'This young man's father is
my dear uncle's friend!...' burst into tears.

Edgar, wholly dissolved, took her hand, pressed it to his lips, besought
her, in a low voice, to dismiss her apprehensions, in the confidence of
his most ardent exertions, and again kissing her hand, with the words,
'Too ... O, far too dear Camilla!' hastened after Lynmere.

Affected in a thousand ways, she dropt, weeping, upon a chair. Should
the duel take place, and any fatal consequences follow, she felt she
should never be happy again; and even, should it be prevented, its very
suggestion, from so horrible a doubt of her character, seemed a stain
from which it could never recover. The inconsiderate facility with which
she had wandered about with a person so little known to her, so
underbred, and so forward, appeared now to herself inexcusable; and she
determined, if but spared this dreadful punishment, to pass the whole of
her future life in unremitting caution.

Eugenia, with the kindest sympathy, and Indiana and Miss Margland, with
extreme curiosity, sought to discover the reason of her emotion; but
while begging them to dispense with an explanation, old Mr. Westwyn was
announced and appeared.

The horrors of a culprit, the most cruel as well as criminal, seemed
instantly the portion of the self-condemned Camilla; and, as he advanced
with cheerful kindness, to inquire after her health, his ignorance that
all his happiness, through her means, was that moment at stake, pierced
her with a suffering so exquisite, that she uttered a deep groan, and
sunk back upon her chair.

An instant's recollection brought her more of fortitude, though not of
comfort; and springing up and addressing, though not looking at Mr.
Westwyn, who was staring at her with astonishment and concern: 'Where,
sir,' she cried, 'is your son? If you have the least knowledge which way
he is gone ... which way he may be traced ... pursue and force him back
this moment!... Immediately!...'

'My son!' repeated the good old gentleman, wanting no other word to
participate in any alarm; 'what, Hal Westwyn?--'

'Follow him ... seek him ... send for him ... and do not, a single
instant, lose sight of him all day!'

'My dear young lady, what do you mean? I'll send for him, to be sure, if
you desire it; but what makes you so good as to think about my son? did
you ever see my son? do you know my son? do you know Hal Westwyn?'

'Don't ask now, dear sir! secure him first, and make what inquiries you
please afterwards.'

Mr. Westwyn, in evident consternation, walked out, Camilla herself
opening the door; but turning back in the passage, strongly said: 'If
the boy has been guilty of any misbehaviour, I won't support him; I
don't like misbehaviour; it's a bad thing; I can't take to it.'

'O no! no! quite the contrary!' exclaimed the agitated Camilla, 'he is
good, kind, generous! I owe him the greatest obligation! and I desire
nothing upon earth so much, at this moment, as to see him, and to thank
him!'

The old gentleman's eyes now filled with tears, and coming back, and
most affectionately shaking hands with her, 'I was afraid he had
misbehaved,' he cried; 'but he was always a good lad; and if he has done
any thing for the niece of my dear Sir Hugh Tyrold, I shall hug him to
my heart!' and then, in great, but pleased perturbation, he hurried
away, saying to himself, as he went: 'I'll take him to her, to be sure;
I desire nothing better! God bless her! If she can speak so well of my
poor Hal, she must be the best girl living! and she shall have him ...
yes, she shall have him, if she's a mind to him; and I don't care if she
i'n't worth a groat; she's niece to my old friend; that's better.'

Camilla speeding, but not hearing him, returned to her seat; yet could
not answer one question, from the horrors of her fears, and her shame of
the detail of the business.

When the breakfast was over Miss Margland desired everyone would get
ready to go to the lodgings; and, with Indiana, repaired herself to
visit them, and give general orders. Dr. Marchmont had glided out of
the room, in anxiety for Edgar; to the great dissatisfaction, and almost
contempt of Dr. Orkborne, with whom he was just discussing some
controverted points upon the shield of Achilles; which, that he could
quit for the light concerns of a young man, added again to his surmises
that, though he had run creditably the usual scholastic race, his
reputation was more the effect of general ability and address, than of
such sound and consummate learning as he himself possessed. Ruminating
upon the ignorant injustice of mankind, in suffering such quacks in
literature and philology to carry the palm of fame, he went to his
chamber, to collect, from his bolster and bedside, the hoard of books
and papers, from which, the preceding night, he had disencumbered his
coat, waistcoat, and great coat pockets, inside and out, to review
before he could sleep; and which now were again to encircle him, to
facilitate their change of abode.

But Eugenia would not quit her afflicted sister, who soon, in her gentle
breast, deposited the whole of her grief, her apprehensions, and her
plans; charging her instantly to retire, if Edgar should return, that
whatever might be the event he should unfold, she might release him
immediately from an engagement that his last words seemed to avow did
not make him happy, and that probably he now repented. The design was so
consonant to the native heroism of Eugenia, that she consented, with
applause, to aid its execution.

About half an hour, which seemed to be prolonged to twenty times the
duration of the whole day, passed in terrible expectation; Edgar then
appeared, and Eugenia, suspending her earnest curiosity, to comply with
the acute feelings of her sister, retreated.

Camilla could scarce breathe; she stood up, her eyes and mouth open, her
face pale, her hands uplifted, waiting, but not daring to demand
intelligence.

Edgar, entering into her distress with a tenderness that drove from him
his own, eagerly satisfied her: 'All,' he cried, 'is safe; the affair
has been compromised; no duel has taken place; and the parties have
mutually pledged themselves to forget the dispute.'

Tears again, but no longer bitter, flowed copiously down her cheeks,
while her raised eyes and clasped hands expressed the fervency of her
thankfulness.

Edgar, extremely touched, took her hand; he wished to seize a moment so
nearly awful, to enforce upon her mind every serious subject with which
he most desired it to be impressed; but sorrow was ever sacred to him;
and desiring only, at this period, to console her: 'This adventure,' he
cried, 'has now terminated so well, you must not suffer it to wound you.
Dismiss it, sweet Camilla, from your memory!... at least till you are
more composed.'

'No, sir!' cried Camilla, to whom his softness, by restoring her hope of
an ultimately happy conclusion, restored strength; 'it ought never to be
dismissed from my memory; and what I am now going to say will fix it
there indelibly.'

Edgar was surprised, but pleased; his most anxious wishes seemed on the
point of being fulfilled; he expected a voluntary explanation of every
perplexity, a clearance of all mystery.

'I am sensible that I have appeared to you,' she resumed, 'in many
points reprehensible; in some, perhaps, inexcusable....'

'Inexcusable? O no! never! never!'

'The letters of Sir Sedley Clarendel I know you think I ought not to
have received....'

Edgar, biting his nails, looked down.

'And, indeed, I acknowledge myself, in that affair, a most egregious
dupe!...'

She blushed; but her blush was colourless to that of Edgar. Resentment
against Sir Sedley beat high in every vein; while disappointment to his
delicacy, in the idea of Camilla duped by any man, seemed, in one blow,
to detach him from her person, by a sudden dissolution of all charm to
his mind in the connection.

Camilla saw, too late, she had been too hasty in a confession which some
apologising account should have preceded; but what her courage had
begun, pride now aided her to support, and she continued.

'For what belongs to that correspondence, and even for its being unknown
to my friends, I may offer, perhaps, hereafter, something in
exculpation; ... hereafter, I say, building upon your long family
regard; for though we part ... it will be, I trust, in amity.'

'Part!' repeated Edgar, recovering from his displeasure by amazement.

'Yes, part,' said she, with assumed firmness; 'it would be vain to
palliate what I cannot disguise from myself ... I am lessened in your
esteem.' She could not go on; imperious shame took possession of her
voice, crimsoned her very forehead, blushed even in her eyes, demolished
her strained energy, and enfeebled her genuine spirit.

But the conscious taciturnity of Edgar recalled her exertions; struck
and afflicted by the truth she had pronounced, he could not controvert
it; he was mute; but his look spoke keen disturbance and bitter regret.

'Not so low, however, am I yet, I trust, fallen in your opinion, that
you can wonder at the step I now take. I am aware of many errours; I
know, too, that appearances have often cruelly misrepresented me; my
errours you might have the candour to forget, and false appearances I
could easily clear in my own favour--but where, and what is the talisman
which can erase from my own remembrance that you have thought me
unworthy?'

Edgar started; but she would not give him time to speak; what she had
last uttered was too painful to her to dwell upon, or hear answered, and
rapidly, and in an elevated manner, she went on.

'I here, therefore, solemnly release you from all tie, all engagement
whatever with Camilla Tyrold! I shall immediately acquaint my friends
that henceforth ... we Both are Free!'

She was then retiring. Edgar, confounded by a stroke so utterly and
every way unexpected, neither answering nor interposing, till he saw her
hand upon the lock of the door. In a voice then, that spoke him cut to
the soul, though without attempting to stop her, 'This then,' he cried,
'Camilla, is your final adieu.'

She turned round, and with a face glowing, and eyes glistening, held out
to him her hand: 'I knew not if you would accept,' she said, 'a kinder
word, or I should have assured you of my unaltered regard ... and have
claimed the continuance of your friendship, and even ... if your
patience is not utterly exhausted, of your watchful counsel....
Farewell! remember me without severity! my own esteem must be permanent
as my existence!'

The door, here, was opened by Miss Margland and Indiana, and Camilla
hastily snatched away the hand which Edgar, grasping with the fondness
of renovated passion, secretly meant to part with no more, till a final
reconciliation once again made it his own; but compelled to yield to
circumstance, he suffered it to be withdrawn; and while she darted into
the chamber of Eugenia, to hide her deep emotion from Indiana, who was
tittering, and Miss Margland, who was sneering, at the situation in
which she was surprised, he abruptly took leave himself, too much
impressed by this critical scene, to labour for uninteresting discourse.




CHAPTER VI

_Ideas upon Marriage_


While, in the bosom of her faithful sister, Camilla reposed her feelings
and her fears, alternately rejoicing and trembling in the temerity of
the resolution she had exerted; Edgar sought his not less faithful, nor
honourable, but far more worldly friend, Dr. Marchmont.

He narrated, with extreme emotion, the scene he had just had with
Camilla; asserting her possession of every species of excellence from
the nobleness of her rejection, and abhorring himself for having given
her a moment's doubt of his fullest esteem. Not a solicitude, he
declared, now remained with him, but how to appease her displeasure,
satisfy her dignity, and recover her favour.

'Softly, softly!' said the Doctor; 'measure your steps more temperately,
ere you run with such velocity. If this refusal is the result of an
offended sensibility, you cannot exert yourself too warmly in its
consolation; even if it is from pride, it has a just claim to your
concessions, since she thinks you have injured it; yet pause before you
act, may it not be merely from a confidence of power that loves to
tyrannize over its slaves, by playing with their chains? or a lurking
spirit of coquetry, that desires to regain the liberty of trifling with
some new Sir Sedley Clarendel? or, perhaps, with Sir Sedley himself?'

'Dr. Marchmont! how wretchedly ill you think of women!'

'I think of them as they are! I think of them as I have found them. They
are artful, though feeble; they are shallow, yet subtle.'

'You have been unfortunate in your connexions?'

'Yet who had better prospects? with energies as warm, with hopes as
alive as your own, twice have I conducted to the altar two beings I
thought framed for my peculiar felicity; but my peace, my happiness, and
my honour, have been torn up by the root, exactly where I thought I had
planted them for my whole temporal existence. This heart, which to you
appears hard and suspicious, has been the dupe of its susceptibilities;
first, in a creature of its own choice, next, where it believed itself
chosen. That first, Mandlebert, had you seen her, you would have
thought, as I thought her myself ... an angel! She was another Camilla.'

'Another Camilla!'

'Grace, sweetness, and beauty vied in her for pre-eminence. Yes, another
Camilla! though I see your incredulity; I see you think my comparison
almost profane; and that grace, sweetness, and beauty, waited the birth
of Camilla to be made known to the world. Such, however, she was, and I
saw and loved at once. I knew her character fair, I precipitately made
my addresses, and concluded myself beloved in return ... because I was
accepted!'

Edgar shrunk back, and cast down his eyes.

'Nor was it till the moment ... heart-breaking yet to my
recollection!... of her sudden death, that I knew the lifeless,
soulless, inanimate frame was all she had bestowed upon me. In the
private drawer of her bureau, I then found a pocketbook. In the first
leaf, I saw a gentleman's name; ... I turned over, and saw it again; I
looked further, and still it met my view; I opened by chance, ... but
nothing else appeared: ... there it was still, traced in every hand,
charactered in every form, shape, and manner, the wayward, wistful eye
could delight to fashion, for varying, yet beholding it without end:
while, over the intermediate spaces, verses, quotations, short but
affecting sentences, were every where scattered, bewailing the misery of
disappointed hope, and unrequited love; of a heartless hand devoted at
the altar; of vows enchaining liberty, not sanctifying affection! I
then ... alas, too late! dived deeper, with, then, useless
investigation, ... and discovered an early passion, never erased from
her mind; ... discovered ... that I had never made her happy! that she
was merely enduring, suffering me ... while my whole confiding soul was
undividedly hers!...'

Edgar shuddered at this picture; 'But why, then,' he cried, 'since she
seemed amiable as well as fair, why did she accept you?'

'Ask half the married women in the nation how they became wives: they
will tell you their friends urged them; ... that they had no other
establishment in view; ... that nothing is so uncertain as the
repetition of matrimonial powers in women; ... and that those who
cannot solicit what they wish, must accommodate themselves to what
offers. This first adventure, however, is now no longer useful to you,
though upon its hard remembrance was founded my former caution: but I am
even myself satisfied, at present, that the earliest partiality of
Camilla has been yours; what now you have to weigh, is the strength or
inadequacy of her character, for guiding that partiality to your mutual
happiness. My second melancholy history will best illustrate this
difficulty. You may easily believe, the last of my intentions was any
further essay in a lottery I had found so inauspicious; but, while cold
even to apathy, it was my inevitable chance to fall in the way of a
pleasing and innocent young creature, who gave me, unsought and
unwished-for, her heart. The boon, nevertheless, soon caught my own: for
what is so alluring as the voluntary affection of a virtuous woman?'

'Well,' cried Edgar, 'and what now could disturb your tranquillity?'

'The insufficiency of that heart to its own decision. I soon found her
apparent predilection was simply the result of the casualty which
brought me almost exclusively into her society, but unmarked by any
consonance of taste, feeling, or understanding. Her inexperience had
made her believe, since she preferred me to the few who surrounded her,
I was the man of her choice: with equal facility I concurred in the same
mistake; ... for what is so credulous as self-love? But such a regard,
the child of accident, not selection, was unequal, upon the discovery of
the dissimilarity of our dispositions, to the smallest sacrifice. My
melancholy returned with the view of our mutual delusion; lassitude of
pleasing was the precursor of discontent. Dissipation then, in the form
of amusement, presented itself to her aid: retirement and books came to
mine. My resource was safe, though solitary; hers was gay, but perilous.
Dissipation, with its usual Proteus powers, from amusement changed its
form to temptation, allured her into dangers, impeached her honour, and
blighted her with disgrace. I just discerned the precipice whence she
was falling, in time to avert the dreadful necessity of casting her off
for ever: ... but what was our life thence forward? Cares
unparticipated, griefs uncommunicated, stifled resentments, and
unremitting weariness! She is now no more; and I am a lonely individual
for the rest of my pilgrimage.

'Take warning, my dear young friend, by my experience. The entire
possession of the heart of the woman you marry is not more essential to
your first happiness, than the complete knowledge of her disposition is
to your ultimate peace.'

Edgar thanked him, in deep concern to have awakened emotions which the
absorption of study, and influence of literature, held generally
dormant. The lesson, however, which they inculcated, he engaged to keep
always present to his consideration; though, but for the strange affair
of Sir Sedley Clarendel, he should feel confident that, in Camilla,
there was not more of exterior attraction, than of solid excellence:
and, with regard to their concordance of taste and humour, he had never
seen her so gay, nor so lovely, as in scenes of active benevolence, or
domestic life. She had promised to clear, hereafter, the transaction
with Sir Sedley; but he could not hold back for that explanation: hurt,
already, by his apparent scruples, she had openly named them as the
motives of her rejection: could he, then, shew her he yet demurred,
without forfeiting all hope of a future accommodation?

'Delicacy,' said Dr. Marchmont, 'though the quality the most amiable we
can practise in the service of others, must not take place of common
sense, and sound judgment, for ourselves. Her dismission does not
discard you from her society; on the contrary, it invites your
friendship....'

'Ah, Doctor! what innocence, what sweetness does that very circumstance
display!'

'Learn, however, their concomitants, ere you yield to their charms:
learn if their source is from a present, yet accidental preference, or
from the nobler spring of elevated sentiment. The meeting you surprised
with Sir Sedley, the presumption you acknowledge of his letters, and the
confession made by herself that she had submitted to be duped by him.'

'O, Dr. Marchmont! what harrowing drawbacks to felicity! And how much
must we rather pity than wonder at the errors of common young women,
when a creature such as this is so easy to be misled!'

'You must not imagine I mean a censure upon the excellent Mr. Tyrold,
when I say she is left too much to herself: the purity of his
principles, and the virtue of his character, must exempt him from blame;
but his life has been both too private and too tranquil, to be aware of
the dangers run by Female Youth, when straying from the mother's
careful wing. All that belongs to religion, and to principle, he feels,
and he has taught; but the impediments they have to encounter in a
commerce with mankind, he could not point out, for he does not know. Yet
there is nothing more certain, than that seventeen weeks is not less
able to go alone in a nursery, than seventeen years in the world.'

This suggestion but added to the bias of Edgar to take her, if possible,
under his own immediate guidance.

'Know, first,' cried the Doctor, 'if to your guidance she will give way;
know if the affair with Sir Sedley has exculpations which render it
single and adventitious, or if there hang upon it a lightness of
character that may invest caprice, chance, or fickleness, with powers of
involving such another entanglement.'




CHAPTER VII

_How to treat a Defamer_


As the lodgings taken by Miss Margland could not be ready till the
afternoon, Camilla remained with her sister; a sojourn which, while it
consoled her with the society, and gratified her by the approbation of
Eugenia, had yet another allurement; it detained her under the same roof
with Edgar; and his manner of listening to her rejection, and his
undisguised suffering before they were parted, led her to expect he
might yet demand a conference before she quitted the hotel.

In about an hour, as unpleasantly as unceremoniously, they were broken
in upon by Mrs. Mittin.

'How monstrous lucky, my dear,' cried she, to Camilla, 'that I should
find you, and your little sister, for I suppose this is she, together! I
went into your dining-room to ask for you, and there I met those other
two ladies; and I've made acquaintance with 'em, I assure you, already;
for I told them I was on a visit at the Honourable Mrs. Berlinton's. So
I've had the opportunity to recommend some shops to 'em, and I've been
to tell some of the good folks to send them some of their nicest goods
for 'em to look at; for, really, since I've been bustling a little about
here, I've found some of the good people so vastly obliging, I can't but
take a pleasure in serving 'em, and getting 'em a few customers,
especially as I know a little civility of that sort makes one friends
surprisingly. Often and often have I got things under prime cost myself,
only by helping a person on in his trade. So one can't say good nature's
always thrown away. However, I come now on purpose to put a note into
your own hands, from Mrs. Berlinton; for all the servants were out of
the way, except one, and he wanted to be about something else, so I
offered to bring it, and she was very much pleased; so I fancy it's
about some secret, for she never offered to shew it me; but as to the
poor man I saved from the walk, I've won his heart downright; I dare say
he'll go of any odd errand for me, now, without vails. That's the best
of good nature, it always comes home to one.'

The note from Mrs. Berlinton contained a tender supplication for the
return of Camilla, and a pressing and flattering invitation that her
sister should join their little party, as the motives of honour and
discretion which made her, at the request and for the sake of her
brother, sacrifice her eagerness to be presented to Miss Lynmere,
operated not to impede her acquaintance with Miss Eugenia.

This proposition had exquisite charms for Eugenia. To become acquainted
with the sister of him to whom, henceforward, she meant to devote her
secret thoughts, enchanted her imagination. Camilla, therefore,
negotiated the visit with Miss Margland, who, though little pleased by
this separate invitation, knew not how to refuse her concurrence; but
Indiana, indignant that the sister of Melmond should not, first, have
waited upon her, and solicited her friendship, privately resolved, in
pique of this disrespect, to punish the brother with every rigour she
could invent.

Camilla, upon her return, found Mrs. Mittin already deeply engaged in
proposing an alteration in the dress of Eugenia, which she was aiding
Molly Mill to accomplish; and so much she found to say and to do, to
propose and to object to, to contrive and to alter, that, from the
simplicity of the mistress, and the ignorance of the maid, the one was
soon led to conclude she should have appeared improperly before Mrs.
Berlinton, without such useful advice; and the other to believe she must
shortly have lost her place, now her young lady was come forth into the
world, if she had not thus miraculously met with so good a friend.

During these preparations, Camilla was summoned back to the dining-room
to receive Mr. Westwyn.

She did not hear this call with serenity. The danger which, however
unwittingly, she had caused his son, and the shocking circumstances
which were its foundation, tingled her cheeks, and confounded her wish
of making acknowledgments, with an horror that such an obligation could
be possible.

The door of the dining-room was open, and as soon as her steps were
heard, Mr. Westwyn came smiling forth to receive her. She hung back
involuntarily; but, pacing up to her, and taking her hand, 'Well, my
good young lady,' he cried, 'I have brought you my son; but he's no
boaster, that I can assure you, for though I told him how you wanted him
to come to you, and was so good as to say you were so much obliged to
him, I can't make him own he has ever seen you in his life; which I tell
him is carrying his modesty over far; I don't like affectation ... I
have no taste for it.'

Camilla, discovering by this speech, as well as by his pleased and
tranquil manner, that he had escaped hearing of the intended duel, and
that his son was still ignorant whose cause he had espoused, ardently
wished to avert farther shame by concealing herself; and, step by step,
kept retreating back towards the room of Eugenia; though she could not
disengage her hand from the old gentleman, who, trying to draw her on,
said: 'Come, my dear! don't go away. Though my son won't confess what he
has done for you, he can't make me forget that you were such a dear soul
as to tell me yourself, of his good behaviour, and of your having such a
kind opinion of him. And I have been telling him, and I can assure you
I'll keep my word, that if he has done a service to the niece of my dear
old friend, Sir Hugh Tyrold, it shall value him fifty pound a-year more
to his income, if I straighten myself never so much. For a lad, that
knows how to behave in that manner, will never spend his money so as to
make his old father ashamed of him. And that's a good thing for a man to
know.'

'Indeed, sir, this is some mistake,' said the young man himself, now
advancing into the passage, while Camilla was stammering out an excuse
from entering; 'it's some great mistake; I have not the honour to
know....'

He was going to add Miss Tyrold, but he saw her at the same moment, and
instantly recollecting her face, stopt, blushed, and looked amazed.

The retreating effort of Camilla, her shame and her pride, all subsided
by his view, and gave place to the more generous feelings of gratitude
for his intuitive good opinion, and emotion for the risk he had run in
her defence: and with an expression of captivating sweetness in her eyes
and manner, 'That you did not know me,' she cried, 'makes the
peculiarity of your goodness, which, indeed, I am more sensible to than
I can express.'

'Why, there! there, now! there!' cried Mr. Westwyn, while his son,
enchanted to find whose character he had sustained, bowed almost to the
ground with respectful gratitude for such thanks; 'only but listen! she
says the very same things to your face, that she said behind your back!
though I am afraid, it's only to please an old father; for if not, I
can't for my life find out any reason why you should deny it. Come, Hal,
speak out, Hal!'

Equally at a loss how either to avow or evade what had passed in the
presence of Camilla, young Westwyn began a stammering and awkward
apology; but Camilla, feeling doubly his forbearance, said: 'Silence may
in you be delicate ... but in me it would be graceless.' Then, turning
from him to old Mr. Westwyn, 'you may be proud, sir,' she cried, 'of
your son! It was the honour of an utter stranger he was protecting, as
helpless as she was unknown at the time she excited his interest; nor
had he even in view this poor mede he now receives of her thanks!'

'My dearest Hal!' cried Mr. Westwyn, wringing him by the hand; 'if you
have but one small grain of regard for me, don't persist in denying
this! I'd give the last hundred pounds I had in the world to be sure it
was true!'

'That to hear the name of this lady,' said the young man, 'should not be
necessary to inspire me with respect for her, who can wonder? that any
opportunity could arise in which she should want defence, is all that
can give any surprise.'

'You own it, then, my dear Hal? you own you've done her a kindness? why
then, my dear Hal, you've done one to me! and I can't help giving you a
hug for it, let who will think me an old fool.'

He then fervently embraced his son, who confused, though gratified,
strove vainly to make disclaiming speeches. 'No, no, my dear Hal,' he
cried, 'you sha'n't let yourself down with me again, I promise you,
though you've two or three times tried to make me think nothing of you;
but this young lady here, dear soul, speaks another language; she says
I may be proud of my son! and I dare say she knows why, for she's a
charming girl, as ever I saw; so I will be proud of my son! Poor dear
Hal! thou hast got a good friend, I can tell thee, in that young lady!
and she's niece to the best man I ever knew; and I value her good
opinion more than anybody's.'

'You are much too good,' cried Camilla, in an accent of tender pleasure,
the result of grateful joy, that she had not been the means of
destroying the paternal happiness of so fond a father, joined to the
dreadful certainty how narrowly she had escaped that misery; 'you are
much too good, and I blush even to thank you, when I think--'

What she meant to add was in a moment forgotten, and that she blushed
ceased to be metaphorical, when now, as they all three entered the
dining-room together, the first object that met her eyes was Edgar.

Their eyes met not again; delighted and conscious, she turned hers
hastily away. He comes, thought she, to [claim] me! he will not submit
to the separation; he comes to re-assure me of his esteem, and to
receive once more my faithful heart!

Edgar had seen, by chance, the Westwyns pass to the room of the Cleves
party, and felt the most ardent desire to know if they would meet with
Camilla, and what would be her reception of her young champion, whose
sword, with extreme trouble, he had himself that morning sheathed, and
whose gallantry he attributed to a vehement, however, sudden passion.
Dr. Marchmont acknowledged the epoch to be highly interesting for
observation, and, presuming upon their old right of intimacy with all
the party, they abruptly made a second visit.

Miss Margland and Indiana, who were examining some goods sent by Mrs.
Mittin, had received them all four without much mark of civility; and
Mr. Westwyn immediately desired Camilla to be sent for, and kept upon
the watch, till her step made him hasten out to meet her.

Edgar could not hear unmoved the dialogue which ensued; he imagined an
amiable rival was suddenly springing up in young Westwyn, at the very
moment of his own dismission, which he now even thought possible this
incipient conquest had urged; and when Camilla, walking between the
father and the son, with looks of softest sensibility, came into the
room, he thought he had never seen her so lovely, and that her most
bewitching smiles were purposely lavished for their captivation.

With this idea, he found it impossible to speak to her; their situation,
indeed, was too critical for any common address, and when he saw that
she turned from him, he attempted to converse with the other ladies upon
their purchases; and Camilla, left to her two new beaux, had the
unavoidable appearance of being engrossed by them, though the sight of
Edgar instantly robbed them of all her real attention.

Soon after, the door was again opened, and Mr. Girt, the young perfumer,
came, smirking and scraping, into the room, with a box of various toys,
essences, and cosmetics, recommended by Mrs. Mittin.

Ignorant of the mischief he had done her, and not even recollecting to
have seen him, Camilla made on to look at his goods; but Edgar, to whom
his audacious assertions were immediately brought back by his sight,
would have made him feel the effects of his resentment, had not his
passion for Camilla been of so solid, as well as warm a texture, as to
induce him to prefer guarding her delicacy, to any possible display he
could make of his feelings to others, or even to herself.

Mr. Girt, in the midst of his exhibition of memorandum books, smelling
bottles, tooth-pick cases, and pocket mirrours; with washes to
immortalize the skin, powders becoming to all countenances, and pomatums
to give natural tresses to old age, suddenly recollected Camilla. The
gross mistake he had made he had already discovered, by having dodged
her to the house of Mrs. Berlinton; but all alarm at it hid ceased, by
finding, through a visit made to his shop by Mrs. Mittin, that she was
uninformed he had propagated it. Not gifted with the discernment to see
in the air and manner of Camilla her entire, though unassuming
superiority to her accidental associate, he concluded them both to be
relations of some of the upper domestics; and with a look and tone
descending from the most profound adulation, with which he was
presenting his various articles to Miss Margland and Indiana, into a
familiarity the most facetious, 'O dear, ma'am,' he cried, 'I did not
see you at first; I hope t'other lady's well that's been so kind as to
recommend me? Indeed I saw her just now.'

Young Westwyn, to whom, as to Edgar, the bold defamation of Girt
occurred with his presence, but whom none of the nameless delicacies of
the peculiar situation, and peculiar character of Edgar, restrained into
silence, felt such a disgust at the presumption of effrontery that gave
him courage for this facetious address, to a young lady whose innocence
of his ill usage made him think its injury double, that, unable to
repress his indignation, he abruptly whispered in his ear, 'Walk out of
the room, sir!'

The amazed perfumer, at this haughty and unexpected order, stared, and
cried aloud, 'No offence, I hope, sir?'

Mr. Westwyn asked what was the matter? while Camilla, crimsoned by the
familiar assurance with which she had been addressed, retired to a
window.

'Nothing of any moment, sir,' answered Henry; and again, in a low but
still more positive voice, he repeated his command to Girt.

'Sir, I'm not used to be used in this manner!' answered he, hardily, and
hoping, by raising his tone, for the favourable intervention of the
company.

Indiana, now, was preparing to scream, and Miss Margland was looking
round to see whom she should reprehend; but young Westwyn, coolly
opening the door, with a strong arm, and an able jerk, twisted the
perfumer into the passage, saying, 'You may send somebody for your
goods.'

Girt, who equally strong, but not equally adroit as Henry, strove in
vain to resist, vowed vengeance for this assault. Henry, without seeming
to hear him, occupied himself with looking at what he had left. Camilla
felt her eyes suffuse with tears; and Edgar, for the first time in his
life, found himself visited by the baleful passion of envy.

Miss Margland could not comprehend what this meant; Indiana comprehended
but too much in finding there was some disturbance of which she was not
the object; but Mr. Westwyn, losing his look of delight, said, with
something of severity, 'Ha! what did you turn that man out of the room
for?'

'He is perfectly aware of my reason, sir,' said Henry; and then added it
was a long story, which he begged to relate another time.

The blank face of Mr. Westwyn shewed displeasure and mortification. He
lifted the head of his cane to his mouth, and after biting it for some
time, with a frowning countenance, muttered, 'I don't like to see a man
turned out of a room. If he's done any harm, tell him so; and if it's
worse than harm, souse him in a horsepond; I've no objection: But I
don't like to see a man turned out of a room; it's very unmannerly; and
I did not think Hal would do such a thing.' Then suddenly, and with a
succinct bow, bidding them all good bye, he took a hasty leave; still,
however, muttering, all the way along the passage, and down the stairs,
loud enough to be heard: 'Kicking and jerking a man about does not prove
him to be in the wrong. I thought Hal had been more of a gentleman. If I
don't find the man turns out to be a rascal, Hal shall beg his pardon;
for I don't like to see a man turned out of a room.'

Henry, whose spirit was as irritable as it was generous, felt acutely
this public censure, which, though satisfied he did not deserve, every
species of propriety prohibited his explaining away. With a forced
smile, therefore, and a silent bow, he followed his father.

Miss Margland and Indiana now burst forth with a torrent of wonders,
conjectures, and questions; but the full heart of Camilla denied her
speech, and the carriage of Mrs. Berlinton being already at the door,
she called upon Eugenia, and followed, perforce, by Mrs. Mittin, left
the hotel.

Edgar and Dr. Marchmont gave neither surprise nor concern by retiring
instantly to their own apartment.

'Dr. Marchmont,' said the former, in a tone of assumed moderation, 'I
have lost Camilla! I see it plainly. This young man steps forward so
gallantly, so ingenuously, nay so amiably, that the contrast ... chill,
severe, and repulsive ... must render me ... in this detestable
state ... insupportable to all her feelings. Dr. Marchmont! I have not
a doubt of the event!'

'The juncture is, indeed, perilous, and the trial of extremest hazard;
but it is such as draws all uncertainty to a crisis, and, therefore, is
not much to be lamented. You may safely, I think, rest upon it your
destiny. To a general female heart a duel is the most dangerous of all
assaults, and the most fascinating of all charms; and a duellist, though
precisely what a woman most should dread, as most exposing her to public
notice, is the person of all others she can, commonly, least resist. By
this test, then, prove your Camilla. Her champion seems evidently her
admirer, and his father her adorer. Her late engagement with you may
possibly not reach them; or reaching but with its dissolution, serve
only to render them more eager.'

'Do you suppose him,' cried Edgar, after a pause of strong disturbance;
'do you suppose him rich?'

'Certainly not. That the addition of fifty pounds a-year to his income
should be any object, proves his fortune to be very moderate.'

'Clear her, then, at least,' said he, with a solemnity almost
reproachful; 'clear her, at least, of every mercenary charge! If I lose
her ...' he gasped for breath ... 'she will not, you find, be bought
from me! and pique, anger, injustice, nay inconstancy, all are less
debasing than the sordid corruption of which you suspected her.'

'This does not, necessarily, prove her disinterested; she is too young,
yet, to know herself the value she may hereafter set upon wealth. And,
independent of that inexperience, there is commonly so little stability,
so little internal hold, in the female character, that any sudden glare
of adventitious lure, will draw them, for the moment, from any and every
regular plan of substantial benefit. It remains, therefore, now to be
tried, if Beech Park, and its master united, can vie with the bright and
intoxicating incense of a life voluntarily risked, in support ... not of
her fair fame, that was unknown to its defender ... but simply of the
fair countenance which seemed its pledge.'

Edgar, heartless and sad, attempted no further argument; he thought the
Doctor prejudiced against the merits of Camilla; yet it appeared, even
to himself, that her whole conduct, from the short period of his open
avowal, had seemed a wilful series of opposition to his requests and
opinions. And while terror for surrounding dangers gave weight to his
disapprobation of her visiting Southampton, with a lady she knew him to
think more attractive than safe or respectable, her sufferance of the
vulgar and forward Mrs. Mittin, with whom again he saw her quit the
hotel, was yet more offensive, since he could conceive for it no other
inducement than a careless, if not determined humour, to indulge every
impulse, in equal contempt of his counsel, and her own reflection.

All blame, however, of Camilla, was short of his self-dissatisfaction,
in the distance imposed upon him by uncertainty, and the coldness
dictated by discretion. At a period so sensitive, when her spirit was
alarmed, and her delicacy was wounded, that a stranger should start
forward, to vindicate her innocence, and chastise its detractors, was
singular, was unfortunate, was nearly intolerable; and he thought he
could with thankfulness, have renounced half his fortune, to have been
himself the sole protector of Camilla.




CHAPTER VIII

_The Power of Prepossession_


The two sisters were silent from the hotel to the house of Mrs.
Berlinton.... From the height of happiest expectation, raised by the
quick return of Edgar, Camilla was sunk into the lowest despondence, by
the abortive conclusion of the meeting: while Eugenia was absorbed in
mute joy, and wrapt expectation. But Mrs. Mittin, undisturbed by the
pangs of uncertainty, and unoccupied by any romantic persuasion of
bliss, spoke amply, with respect to quantity, for all three.

Mrs. Berlinton, though somewhat struck at first sight of Eugenia, with
her strange contrast to Camilla, received her with all the
distinguishing kindness due to the sister of her friend.

She had the poems of Collins in her hand; and, at their joint desire,
instead of putting the book aside, read aloud, and with tenderest
accent, one of his most plaintive odes.

Eugenia was enraptured. Ah! thought she, this is indeed the true sister
of the accomplished Melmond!... She shall share with him my adoration.
My heart shall be devoted ... after my own dear family ... to the homage
of their perfections!

The ode, to her great delight, lasted till the dinner was announced,
when Melmond appeared: but her prepossession could alone give any charm
to his sight: he could barely recollect that he had seen her, or even
Camilla before; he had conversed with neither; his eyes had been devoted
to Indiana, and the despondence which had become his portion since the
news of the marriage of his aunt, seemed but rendered the more
peculiarly bitter, by this intimate connection with the family of an
object so adored.

Yet, though nothing could be more spiritless than the hour of dinner,
Eugenia discovered in it no deficiency; she had previously settled, that
the presence of Melmond could only breathe sweets and perfection, and
the magic of prejudice works every event into its own circle of
expectation.

Melmond did not even accompany them back to the drawing-room. Eugenia
sighed; but nobody heard her. Mrs. Mittin said, she had something of
great consequence to do in her own room, and Mrs. Berlinton, to divert
the languor she found creeping upon them all, had recourse to Hammond's
elegies.

These were still reading, when a servant brought in the name of Lord
Valhurst. 'O, deny me to him! deny me to him!' cried Mrs. Berlinton;
''tis a relation of Mr. Berlinton's, and I hate him.'

The order was given, however, too late; he entered the room.

The name, as Camilla knew it not, she had heard unmoved; but the sight
of a person who had so largely contributed to shock and terrify her in
the bathing-house, struck her with horror. Brought up with the respect
of other times, she had risen at his entrance; but she turned suddenly
round upon recollecting him, and instead of the courtsie she intended
making, involuntarily moved away her chair from the part of the room to
which he was advancing.

This was unnoticed by Mrs. Berlinton, whose chagrin at his intrusion
made her wish to walk away also; while with Lord Valhurst it only
passed, joined to her rising, for a mark of her being but little
accustomed to company. That Eugenia rose too was not perceived, as she
rather lost than gained in height by standing.

Most obsequiously, but most unsuccessfully, the peer made his court to
Mrs. Berlinton; inquiring after her health, with fulsome tenderness, and
extolling her good looks with nearly gross admiration. Mrs. Berlinton
listened, for she was incapable of incivility; though, weary and
disgusted, she seldom made the smallest answer.

The two sisters might, with ease, equally have escaped notice, since,
though Mrs. Berlinton occasionally addressed them the peer never turned
from herself, had not Mrs. Mittin, abruptly entering in search of a pair
of scissors, perceived him, and hastily called out, 'O lauk, sir, if it
is not you! I know you again well enough! But I hope, now you see us in
such good company as this good lady's, you'll believe me another time,
when I tell you we're not the sort of persons you took us for! Miss
Tyrold, my dear, I hope you've spoke to the gentleman?'

Lord Valhurst with difficulty recollected Mrs. Mittin, from the very
cursory view his otherwise occupied eyes had taken of her; but when the
concluding words made him look at Camilla, whose youth and beauty were
not so liable to be forgotten, he knew at once her associate, and was
aware of the meaning of her harangue.

Sorry to appear before his fair kinswoman to any disadvantage, though by
no means displeased at an opportunity of again seeing a young creature
he had thought so charming, he began an apology to Mrs. Mittin, while
his eyes were fixed upon Camilla, vindicating himself from every
intention that was not respectful, and hoping she did not so much injure
as to mistake him.

Mrs. Mittin was just beginning to answer that she knew better, when the
words, 'Why, my Lord, how have you offended Mrs. Mittin?' dropping from
Mrs. Berlinton, instantly new strung all her notions. To find him a
nobleman was to find him innocent; for, though she did not quite suppose
that a peer was not a mortal, she had never spoken to one before; and
the power of title upon the ear, like that of beauty upon the eye, is,
in its first novelty, all-commanding; manifold as are the drawbacks to
the influence of either, when awe is lost by familiarity, and habitual
reflection takes place of casual and momentary admiration. Title then,
as well as beauty, demands mental auxiliaries; and those who possess
either, more watched than the common race, seem of higher
responsibility; but proportioned to the censure they draw where they
err, is the veneration they inspire where their eminence is complete.
Nor is this the tribute of prejudice, as those who look up to all
superiority with envy love to aver; the impartial and candid reflectors
upon human frailty, who, in viewing it, see with its elevation its
surrounding temptations, will call it but the tribute of justice.

To Mrs. Mittin, however, the mere sound of a title was enough; she felt
its ascendance without examining its claims, and, dropping the lowest
courtsie her knees could support, confusedly said, she hoped his
lordship would excuse her speaking so quick and improperly, which she
only did from not knowing who he was; for, if she had known him better,
she should have been sure he was too much the gentleman to do anything
with an ill design.

His lordship courteously accepted the apology; and advanced to Camilla,
to express his hopes she had not participated in such injurious
suspicions.

She made no answer, and Mrs. Berlinton inquired what all this meant.

'I protest, my dear madam,' said the peer, 'I do not well comprehend
myself. I only see there has been some misunderstanding; but I hope this
young lady will believe me, when I declare, upon my honour, that I had
no view but to offer my protection, at the time I saw her under alarm.'

This was a declaration Camilla could not dispute, and even felt inclined
to credit, from the solemnity with which it was uttered; but to discuss
it was every way impossible, and therefore, coldly bowing her head, she
seemed acquiescent.

Lord Valhurst now pretty equally divided his attention between these two
beautiful young women; looking at and complimenting them alternately,
till a servant came in and said, 'The two Mr. Westwyns desire to see
Miss Tyrold.'

Camilla did not wish to avoid persons to whom she was so much obliged,
but begged she might receive them in the next apartment, that Mrs.
Berlinton might not be disturbed.

The eager old gentleman stood with the door in one hand, and his son in
the other, awaiting her. 'My dear young lady,' he cried, 'I have been
hunting you out for hours. Your good governess had not a mind to give me
your direction, thinking me, I suppose, but a troublesome old fellow;
and I did not know which way to turn, till Hal found it out. Hal's
pretty quick. So now, my dear young lady, let me tell you my errand;
which I won't be tedious in, for fear, another time, you may rather not
see me. And the more I see you, the less I like to think such a thing.
However, with all my good will to make haste, I must premise one thing,
as it is but fair. Hal was quite against my coming upon this business.
But I don't think it the less right for that; and so I come. I never yet
saw any good of a man's being ruled by his children. It only serves to
make them think their old fathers superannuated. And if once I find Hal
taking such a thing as that into his head, I'll cut him off with a
shilling, well as I love him.'

'Your menace, sir,' said Henry, colouring, though smiling, 'gives me no
alarm, for I see no danger. But ... shall we not detain Miss Tyrold too
long from her friends?'

'Ay now, there comes in what I take notice to be the taste of the
present day! a lad can hardly enter his teens, before he thinks himself
wiser than his father, and gives him his counsel, and tells him what he
thinks best. And, if a man i'n't upon his guard, he may be run down for
an old dotard, before he knows where he is, and see his son setting up
for a member of parliament, making laws for him. Now this is what I
don't like; so I keep a tight hand upon Hal, that he mayn't do it. For
Hal's but a boy, ma'am, though he's so clever. Not that I pretend I'd
change him neither, for e'er an old fellow in the three kingdoms. Well,
but, now I'll tell you what I come for. You know how angry I was about
Hal's turning that man out of the room? well, I took all the pains I
could to come at the bottom of the fray, intending, all the time, to
make Hal ask the man's pardon; and now what do you think is the end?
Why, I've found out Hal to be in the right! The man proves to be a
worthless fellow, that has defamed the niece of my dear Sir Hugh Tyrold;
and if Hal had lashed him with a cat-o'nine-tails, I should have been
glad of it. I can't say I should have found fault. So you see, my dear
young lady, I was but a cross old fellow, to be so out of sorts with
poor Hal.'

Camilla, with mingled gratitude and shame, offered her acknowledgments;
though what she heard astonished, if possible, even more than it
mortified her. How in the world, thought she, can I have provoked this
slander?

She knew not how little provocation is necessary for calumny; nor how
regularly the common herd, where appearances admit two interpretations,
decide for the worst. Girt designed her neither evil nor good; but not
knowing who nor what she was, simply filled up the doubts in his own
mind, by the bias of his own character.

Confused as much as herself, Henry proposed immediately to retire; and,
as Camilla did not invite them to stay, Mr. Westwyn could not refuse his
consent: though, sending his son out first, he stopt to say, in a low
voice, 'What do you think of Hal, my dear young lady? I'n't he a brave
rogue? And did not you tell me I might be proud of my son? And so I am,
I promise you! How do you think my old friend will like Hal? I shall
take him to Cleves. He's another sort of lad to Master Clermont! I hope,
my dear young lady, you don't like your cousin? He's but a sad spark, I
give you my word. Not a bit like Hal.'

       *       *       *       *       *

When the carriage came for Eugenia, who was self-persuaded this day was
the most felicitous of her life, she went so reluctantly, that Mrs.
Berlinton, caught by her delight in the visit, though unsuspicious of
its motive, invited her to renew it the next morning.

At night, Mrs. Mittin, following Camilla to her chamber, said, 'See
here, my dear! what do you say to this? Did you ever see a prettier
cloak? look at the cut of it, look at the capes! look at the mode! And
as for the lace, I don't think all Southampton can produce its fellow;
what do you say to it, my dear?'

'What every body must say to it, Mrs. Mittin; that it's remarkably
pretty.'

'Well, now try it on. There's a set! there's a fall off the shoulders!
do but look at it in the glass. I'd really give something you could but
see how it becomes you. Now, do pray, only tell me what you think of
it?'

'Always the same, Mrs. Mittin; that it's extremely pretty.'

'Well, my dear, then, now comes out the secret! It's your own! you may
well stare; but it's true; it's your own, my dear!'

She demanded an explanation; and Mrs. Mittin said, that, having taken
notice that her cloak looked very mean by the side of Mrs. Berlinton's,
when she compared them together, she resolved upon surprising her with a
new one as quick as possible. She had, therefore, got the pattern of
Mrs. Berlinton's and cut it out, and then got the mode at an
haberdasher's, and then the lace at a milliner's, and then set to work
so hard, that she had got it done already.

Camilla, seeing the materials were all infinitely richer than any she
had been accustomed to wear, was extremely chagrined by such
officiousness, and gravely inquired how much this would add to her
debts.

'I don't know yet, my dear; but I had all the things as cheap as
possible; but as it was not all at one shop, I can't be clear as to the
exact sum.'

Camilla, who had determined to avoid even the shadow of a debt, and to
forbear every possible expence till she had not one remaining, was now
not merely vexed, but angry. Mrs. Mittin, however, upon whose feelings
that most troublesome of all qualities to its possessors, delicacy,
never obtruded, went on, extolling her own performance, and praising her
own good nature, without discovering that either were impertinent; and,
so far from conceiving it possible they could be unwelcome, that she
attributed the concern of Camilla to modesty, on account of her trouble;
and mistook her displeasure for distress, what she could do for her in
return. And, indeed, when she finished her double panegyric upon the
cloak and its maker, with confessing she had sat up the whole night, in
order to get it done, Camilla considered herself as too much obliged to
her intention to reproach any further its want of judgment; and
concluded by merely entreating she would change her note, pay for it
immediately, discharge her other accounts with all speed, and make no
future purchase for her whatsoever.




CHAPTER IX

_A Scuffle_


Eugenia failed not to observe her appointment the next morning, which
was devoted to elegiac poetry. A taste so similar operated imperceptibly
upon Mrs. Berlinton, who detained her till she was compelled to return
to prepare for a great ball at the public rooms; the profound
deliberations of Miss Margland, how to exhibit her fair pupil, having
finished, like most deliberations upon such subjects, by doing that
which is done by every body else upon the same occasion.

Sir Hugh had given directions to Miss Margland to clear his three nieces
equally of all expenses relative to public places. Camilla, therefore,
being entitled to a ticket, and having brought with her whatever was
unspoilt of her Tunbridge apparel, thought this the most seasonable
opportunity she could take for again seeing Edgar, who, in their present
delicate situation, would no longer, probably, think it right to inquire
for her at a stranger's.

Mrs. Berlinton had not purposed appearing in public, till she had formed
her own party; but an irrepressible curiosity to see Indiana induced her
to accompany Camilla, with no other attendant than Lord Valhurst.

Mrs. Mittin sought vainly to be of the party; Mrs. Berlinton, though
permitting her stay in her house, and treating her with constant
civility, had no idea of including her in her own society, which she
aimed to have always distinguished by either rank, talents, or admirers:
and Camilla, who now felt her integrity involved in her economy, was
firm against every hint for assisting her with a ticket.

Lord Valhurst, who alone, of the fashionable sojourners, had yet
discovered the arrival of Mrs. Berlinton, was highly gratified by this
opportunity of attending two such fair creatures in public.

Mrs. Berlinton, as usual, was the last to enter the room; for she never
began the duties of the toilette till after tea-time. Two such youthful
beauties were not likely to pass without observation.

Mrs. Berlinton, already no longer new to it, had alternately the air of
receiving it with the most winning modesty, or of not noticing she
received it at all: for though, but a few months since, she had scarcely
been even seen by twenty persons, and even of those had never met a
fixed eye without a blush, the feelings are so often the mere
concomitants of the habits, that she could now already know herself the
principal object of a whole assembly, without any sensation of timidity,
or appearance of confusion. To be bold was not in her nature, which was
soft and amiable; but admiration is a dangerous assaulter of diffidence,
and familiarity makes almost any distinction met unmoved.

Camilla was too completely engrossed by her heart, to think of her
appearance.

Lord Valhurst, from his time of life, seemed to be their father, though
his adulating air as little suited that character as his inclination. He
scarce knew upon which most to lavish his compliments, or to regale his
eyes, and turned, half expiring with ecstasy, from the soft charms of
his kinswoman, with something, he thought, resembling animation, to the
more quickening influence of her bright-eyed companion.

But the effect produced upon the company at large by the radiant beauty
of Indiana, who had entered some time, was still more striking than any
immediate powers from all the bewitching graces of Mrs. Berlinton, and
all the intelligent loveliness of Camilla. Her faultless face, her
perfect form, raised wonder in one sex, and overpowered envy in the
other. The men looked at her, as at something almost too celestial for
their devoirs; the women, even the most charming amongst them, saw
themselves distanced from all pretensions to rivalry. She was followed,
but not approached; gazed at, as if a statue, and inquired after,
rather as a prodigy than a mortal.

This awful homage spread not, however, to her party; the watchful but
disdainful eyes of Miss Margland obtained for herself, even with usury,
all the haughty contempt they bestowed upon others: Eugenia was
pronounced to be a foil, brought merely in ridicule: and Dr. Orkborne,
whom Miss Margland, though detesting, forced into the set, in preference
to being without a man, to hand them from the carriage, and to call it
for them at night, had a look so forlorn and distressed, while obliged
to parade with them up and down the room, that he seemed rather a
prisoner than an esquire, and more to require a guardian to prevent his
escaping himself, than to serve for one in securing his young charges
from any attack.

Miss Margland augured nothing short of half a score proposals of
marriage the next day, from the evident brilliancy of this first opening
into life of her beautiful pupil; whose own eyes, while they dazzled all
others, sought eagerly those of Melmond, which they meant to vanquish,
if not annihilate.

The first care of Miss Margland was to make herself and her young ladies
known to the master of the ceremonies. Indiana needed not that
precaution to be immediately the choice of the most elegant man in the
room; yet she was piqued, not delighted, and Miss Margland felt still
more irritated, that he proved to be only a baronet, though a nobleman,
at the same time, had presented himself to Eugenia. It is true the peer
was ruined; but his title was unimpaired; and though the fortune of the
baronet, like his person, was in its prime, Indiana thought herself
degraded by his hand, since the partner of her cousin was of superior
rank.

Eugenia, insensible to this honour, looked only for Melmond; not like
Indiana, splendidly to see and kill, but silently to view and venerate.
Melmond, however, was not there; he knew his little command over his
passion, in presence of its object; he knew, too, that the expence of
public places was not beyond the propriety of his income, and virtuously
devoted his evening to his sick aunt.

Edgar had waited impatiently the entrance of Camilla. His momentary
sight of Lord Valhurst, at the bathing-room, did not bring him to his
remembrance in his present more shewy apparel, and he was gratified to
see only an old beau in her immediate suite. He did not deem it proper,
as they were now circumstanced, to ask her to dance; but he quietly
approached and bowed to her, and addressed some civil inquiries to Mrs.
Berlinton. The Westwyns had waited for her at the door; and the father
had immediately made her give her hand to Henry to join the dancers.

'That's a charming girl,' cried old Mr. Westwyn, when she was gone; 'a
very charming girl, I promise you. I have taken a prodigious liking to
her; and so has Hal.'

Revived by this open speech, which made him hope there was no serious
design, Edgar smiled upon the old gentleman, who had addressed it to the
whole remaining party; and said, 'You have not known that young lady
long, I believe, sir?'

'No, sir; but a little while; but that I don't mind. A long while and a
short while is all one, when I like a person: for I don't think how many
years they've got over their heads since first I saw them, but how many
good things they've got on the inside their hearts to make me want to
see them again. Her uncle's the dearest friend I have in the world; and
when I go from this place, I shall make him a visit; for I'm sure of a
welcome. But he has never seen my Hal. However, that good girl will be
sure to speak a kind word for him, I know; for she thinks very well of
him; she told me herself, I might be proud of my son. I can't say but
I've loved the girl ever since for it.'

Edgar was so much pleased with the perfectly natural character of this
old gentleman, that, though alarmed at his intended call upon the favour
of Sir Hugh, through the influence of Camilla, for Henry, he would yet
have remained in his society, had he not been driven from it by the
junction of young Lynmere, whose shallow insolence he thought
insupportable.

Mrs. Berlinton, who declined dancing, had arrived so late, that when
Henry led back Camilla, the company was summoned to the tea-table. She
was languishing for an introduction to Indiana, the absence of Melmond
obviating all present objection to their meeting; she therefore gave
Camilla the welcome task to propose that the two parties should unite.

Many years had elapsed since Miss Margland had received so sensible a
gratification; and, in the coalition which took place, she displayed
more of civility in a few minutes, than she had exerted during the whole
period of her Yorkshire and Cleves residence.

Notwithstanding all she had heard of her charms, Mrs. Berlinton still
saw with surprise and admiration the exquisite face and form of the
chosen of her brother, whom she now so sincerely bewailed, that, had her
own wealth been personal or transferrable, she would not have hesitated
in sharing it with him, to aid his better success.

Lord Valhurst adhered tenaciously to his kinswoman; and the three
gentlemen who had danced the last dances with Indiana, Eugenia, and
Camilla, asserted the privilege of attending their partners at the
tea-table.

In a few minutes, Lynmere, coming up to them, with 'Well, have you got
any thing here one can touch?' leant his hand on the edge, and his whole
body over the table, to take a view at his ease of its contents.

'Suppose there were nothing, sir?' said old Westwyn; 'look round, and
see what you could want.'

'Really, sir,' said Miss Margland, between whom and Camilla Lynmere had
squeezed himself a place, 'you don't use much ceremony!'

Having taken some tea, he found it intolerable, and said he must have a
glass of Champagne.

'La, brother!' cried Indiana, 'if you bring any wine, I can't bear to
stay.'

Miss Margland said the same; but he whistled, and looked round him
without answering.

Mrs. Berlinton, who, though she had thought his uncommonly fine person
an excuse for his intrusion, thought nothing could excuse this
ill-breeding, proposed they should leave the tea-table, and walk.

'Sit still, ladies,' said Mr. Westwyn, 'and drink your tea in peace.'
Then, turning to Lynmere, 'I wonder,' he cried, 'you a'n't ashamed of
yourself! If you were a son of mine, I'll tell you what; I'd lock you
up! I'd serve you as I did when I carried you over to Leipsic, eight
years ago. I always hated pert boys. I can't fancy 'em.'

Lynmere, affecting not to hear him, though inwardly firing, called
violently after a waiter; and, in mere futile vengeance, not only gave
an order for Champagne, but demanded some Stilton cheese.

'Cheese!' exclaimed Miss Margland, 'if you order any cheese, I can't so
much as stay in the room. Think what a nauseous smell it will make!'

The man answered, they had no Stilton cheese in the house, but the very
best of every other sort.

Lynmere, who had only given this command to shew his defiance of
control, seized, with equal avidity, the opportunity to abuse the
waiter; affirming he belonged to the worst served hotel in Christendom.

The man walked off in dudgeon, and Mr. Westwyn, losing his anger in his
astonishment at this effrontery, said, 'And pray, Mr. Lynmere, what do
you pretend to know of Stilton cheese? do they make it at Leipsic? did
you ever so much as taste it in your life?'

'O, yes! excellent! excellentissimo! I can eat no other.'

'Eat no other! it's well my Hal don't say the same! I'd churn him to a
cheese himself if he did! And pray, Mr. Lynmere, be so good as to let me
know how you got it there?'

'Ways and means, sir; ways and means!'

'Why you did not send across the sea for it?'

'A travelled man, sir, thinks no more of what you call across the sea,
than you, that live always over your own fire-side, think of stepping
across a kennel.'

'Well, sir, well,' said the old gentleman, now very much piqued, 'I
can't but say I feel some concern for my old friend, to have his money
doused about at such a rantipole rate. A boy to be sending over out of
Germany into England for Stilton cheese! I wish it had been Hal with all
my heart! I promise you I'd have given him enough of it. If the least
little thought of the kind was but once to have got in his head, I'd
have taken my best oaken stick, and have done him the good office to
have helped it out for him: and have made him thank me after too! I hate
daintiness; especially in boys. I have no great patience with it.'

Only more incensed, Lynmere called aloud for his Champagne. The waiter
civilly told him, it was not usual to bring wine during tea: but he
persisted; and Mr. Westwyn, who saw the ladies all rising,
authoritatively, told the waiter to mind no such directions. Lynmere,
who had entered the ball-room in his riding-dress, raised a switch at
the man, which he durst not raise at Mr. Westwyn, and protested, in a
threatening attitude, he would lay it across his shoulders, if he obeyed
not. The man, justly provoked, thought himself authorised to snatch if
from him: Clermont resisted; a fierce scuffle ensued; and though Henry,
by immediate intervention, could have parted them, Mr. Westwyn insisted
there should be no interference, saying, 'If any body's helped, let it
be the waiter; for he's here to do his duty: he don't come only to
behave unmannerly, for his own pleasure. And if I see him hard run, it's
odds but I lend him my own fist to right him.--I like fair play.'

The female party, in very serious alarm at this unpleasant scene, rose
to hurry away. Lord Valhurst was ambitious to suffice as guardian to
both his fair charges; but Henry, when prohibited from stopping the
affray, offered his services to Camilla, who could not refuse them; and
Mrs. Berlinton, active and impatient, flew on foremost; with more speed
than his lordship could follow, or even keep in sight. Indiana was
handed out by her new adorer, the young baronet; and Eugenia was
assisted by her new assailer, the young nobleman.

Edgar, who had hurried to Camilla at the first tumult, was stung to the
heart to see who handed her away; and, forcing a passage, followed, till
Henry, the envied Henry, deposited her in the carriage of Mrs.
Berlinton.

The confusion in the room, meanwhile, was not likely soon to decrease,
for old Mr. Westwyn, delighted by this mortifying chastisement to
Clermont, would permit neither mediation nor assistance on his side;
saying, with great glee, 'It will do him a great deal of good! My poor
old friend will bless me for it. This is a better lesson than he got in
all Leipsic. Let him feel that a Man's a Man; and not take it into his
head a person's to stand still to be switched, when he's doing his duty,
according to his calling. Switching a man is a bad thing. I can't say I
like it. A gentleman should always use good words; and then a poor man's
proud to serve him; or, if he's insolent for nothing, he may trounce him
and welcome. I've no objection.'

Miss Margland, meanwhile, had not been remiss in what she esteemed a
most capital feminine accomplishment, screaming; though, in its
exercise, she had failed of any success; since, while her voice called
remark, her countenance repelled its effect. Yet as she saw that not one
lady of the group retreated unattended, she thought it a disgrace to
seem the only female, who, from internal courage, or external neglect,
should retire alone; she therefore called upon Dr. Orkborne, conjuring,
in a shrill and pathetic voice, meant more for all who surrounded than
for himself, that he would protect her.

The Doctor, who had kept his place in defiance of all sort of
inconvenience, either to himself or to others; and who, with some
curiosity, was viewing the combat, which he was mentally comparing with
certain pugilistic games of old, was now, for the first time in the
evening, receiving some little entertainment, and therefore composedly
answered, 'I have a very good place here, ma'am; and I would rather not
quit it till this scene is over.'

'So you won't come, then, Doctor?' cried she, modulating into a soft
whine the voice which rage, not terror, rendered tremulous.

Dr. Orkborne, who was any thing rather than loquacious, having given one
answer, said no more.

Miss Margland appealed to all present upon the indecorum of a lady's
being kept to witness such unbecoming violence, and upon the unheard-of
inattention of the Doctor: but a short, 'Certainly!--' 'To be sure,
ma'am!--' or, 'It's very shocking indeed!' with a hasty decampment from
her neighbourhood, was all of sympathy she procured.

The entrance, at length, of the master of the house, stopt the affray,
by calling off the waiter. Clermont, then, though wishing to extirpate
old Westwyn from the earth, and ready to eat his own flesh with fury at
the double disgrace he had endured, affected a loud halloo, as if he had
been contending for his amusement; and protesting Bob, the waiter, was a
fine fellow, went off with great apparent satisfaction.

'Now, then, at least, sir,' cried Miss Margland, imperiously to the
Doctor, who, still ruminating upon the late contest, kept his seat, 'I
suppose you'll condescend to take care of me to the coach?'

'These modern clothes are very much in the way,' said the Doctor,
gravely; 'and give a bad effect to attitudes.' He rose, however, but not
knowing what _to take care of a lady to a coach_ meant, stood resolutely
still, till she was forced, in desperation, to walk on alone. He then
slowly followed, keeping many paces behind, notwithstanding her
continually looking back; and when, with a heavy sigh at her hard fate,
she got, unassisted, into the carriage, where her young ladies were
waiting, he tranquilly mounted after her, tolerably reconciled to the
loss of his evening, by some new annotations it had suggested for his
work, relative to the games of antiquity.




CHAPTER X

_A Youthful Effusion_


Camilla now thought herself safe in harbour; the storms all over, the
dangers all past, and but a light gale or two wanting to make good her
landing on the bosom of permanent repose. This gale, this propitious
gale, she thought ready to blow at her call; for she deemed it no other
than the breath of jealousy. She had seen Edgar, though he knew her to
be protected, follow her to the coach, and she had seen, by the light
afforded from the lamps of the carriage, that her safety from the crowd
and tumult was not the sole object of his watchfulness, since though
that, at the instant she turned round, was obviously secure, his
countenance exhibited the strongest marks of disturbance. The secret
spring, therefore, she now thought, that was to re-unite them, was in
her own possession.

All the counsels of Mrs. Arlbery upon this subject occurred to her; and
imagining she had hitherto erred from a simple facility, she rejoiced in
the accident which had pointed her to a safer path, and shewn her that,
in the present disordered state of the opinions of Edgar, the only way
to a lasting accommodation was to alarm his security, by asserting her
own independence.

Her difficulty, however, was still considerable as to the means. The
severe punishment she had received, and the self blame and penitence she
had incurred, from her experiment with Sir Sedley Clarendel, all
rendered, too, abortive, by Edgar's contempt of the object, determined
her to suffer no hopes, no feelings of her own, to engross her ever more
from weighing those of another. The end, therefore, of her deliberation
was to shew general gaiety, without appropriate favour, and to renew
solicitude on his part by a displayed ease of mind on her own.

Elated with this idea, she determined upon every possible public
exhibition by which she could execute it to the best advantage. Mrs.
Berlinton had but to appear, to secure the most fashionable persons at
Southampton for her parties, and soon renewed the same course of life
she had lived at Tunbridge, of seeing company either at home or abroad
every day, except when some accidental plan offered a scheme of more
novelty.

Upon all these occasions, young Westwyn, though wholly unsought, and
even unthought of by Camilla, was instinctively and incautiously the
most alert to second her plan; he was her first partner when she danced,
her constant attendant when she walked, and always in wait to converse
with her when she was seated; while, not purposing to engage him, she
perceived not his fast growing regard, and intending to be open to all
alike, observed not the thwarting effect to her design of this peculiar
assiduity.

By old Mr. Westwyn this intercourse was yet more urgently forwarded.
Bewitched with Camilla, he carried his son to her wherever she appeared,
and said aloud to everybody but herself: 'If the boy and girl like one
another, they shall have one another; and I won't inquire what she's
worth; for she thinks so well of my son, that I'd rather he'd have her
than an empress. Money goes but a little way to make people happy; and
true love's not a thing to be got every day; so if she has a mind to my
Hal, and Hal has a mind to her, why, if they have not enough, he must
work hard and get more. I don't like to cross young people. Better let a
man labour with his hands, than fret away his spirit. Neither a boy nor
a girl are good for much when they've got their hearts broke.'

This new experiment of Camilla, like every other deduced from false
reasoning, and formed upon false principles, was flattering in its
promise, pernicious in its progress, and abortive in its performance.
Edgar saw with agony what he conceived the ascendance of a new
attachment built upon the declension of all regard for himself; and in
the first horror of his apprehensions, would have resisted the
supplanter by enforcing his own final claim; but Dr. Marchmont
represented that, since he had heard in silence his right to that claim
solemnly withdrawn, he had better first ascertain if this apparent
connection with young Westwyn were the motive, or only the consequence
of that resumption: 'If the first be the case,' he added, 'you must
trust her no more; a heart so inflammable as to be kindled into passion
by a mere accidental blaze of gallantry and valour, can have nothing in
consonance with the chaste purity and fidelity your character requires
and merits: If the last, investigate whether the net in which she is
entangling herself is that of levity, delighting in change, or of pique,
disguising its own agitation in efforts to agitate others.'

'Alas!' cried the melancholy Edgar, 'in either case, she is no more the
artless Camilla I first adored! that fatal connection at the Grove,
formed while her character, pure, white, and spotless, was in its
enchanting, but dangerous state of first ductility, has already broken
into that clear transparent singleness of mind, so beautiful in its
total ignorance of every species of scheme, every sort of double
measure, every idea of secret view and latent expedient!'

'Repine not, however, at the connection till you know whether she owe to
it her defects, or only their manifestation. A man should see the woman
he would marry in many situations, ere he can judge what chance he may
have of happiness with her in any. Though now and then 'tis a blessed,
'tis always a perilous state; but the man who has to weather its storms,
should not be remiss in studying the clouds which precede them.'

'Ah, Doctor! by this delay ... by these experiments ... should I lose
her!...'

'If by finding her unworthy, where is the loss?'

Edgar sighed, but acknowledged this question to be unanswerable.

'Think, my dear young friend, what would be your sufferings to discover
any radical, inherent failing, when irremediably hers! run not into the
very common error of depending upon the gratitude of your wife after
marriage, for the inequality of her fortune before your union. She who
has no fortune at all, owes you no more for your alliance, than she who
has thousands; for you do not marry her because she has no fortune! you
marry her because you think she has some endowment, mental or personal,
which you conclude will conduce to your happiness; and she, on her part,
accepts you, because she supposes you or your situation will contribute
to hers. The object may be different, but neither side is indebted to
the other, since each has self, only, in contemplation; and thus, in
fact, rich or poor, high or low, whatever be the previous distinction
between the parties, on the hour of marriage they begin as equals. The
obligation and the debt of gratitude can only commence when the knot is
tied: self, then, may give way to sympathy; and whichever, from that
moment, most considers the other, becomes immediately the creditor in
the great account of life and happiness.'

       *       *       *       *       *

While Camilla, in gay ignorance of danger, and awake only to hope,
pursued her new course, Eugenia had the infinite delight of improving
daily and even hourly in the good graces of Mrs. Berlinton; who soon
discovered how wide from justice to that excellent young creature was
all judgment that could be formed from her appearance. She found that
she was as elegant in her taste for letters as herself, and far more
deeply cultivated in their knowledge; that her manners were gentle, her
sentiments were elevated, yet that her mind was humble; the same authors
delighted and the same passages struck them; they met every morning;
they thought every morning too short, and their friendship, in a very
few days, knit by so many bands of sympathy, was as fully established as
that which already Mrs. Berlinton had formed with Camilla.

To Eugenia this treaty of amity was a delicious poison, which, while it
enchanted her faculties by day, preyed upon her vitals by night. She
frequently saw Melmond, and though a melancholy bow was almost all the
notice she ever obtained from him, the countenance with which he made
it, his air, his figure, his face, nay his very dress, for the half
instant he bestowed upon her, occupied all her thoughts till she saw him
again, and had another to con over and dwell upon.

Melmond, inexpressibly wretched at the deprivation of all hope of
Indiana, at the very period when fortune seemed to favour his again
pursuing her, dreamt not of this partiality. His time was devoted to
deliberating upon some lucrative scheme of future life, which his
literary turn of mind rendered difficult of selection, and which his
refined love of study and retirement made hateful to him to undertake.

He was kind, however, and even consoling to his aunt, who saw his nearly
desolate state with a compunction bitterly increased by finding she had
thrown their joint properties, with her own person, into the hands of a
rapacious tyrant. To soften her repentance, and allow her the soothing
of all she could spare of her own time, Mrs. Berlinton invited her to
her own house. Mr. Ulst, of course included in the invitation, made the
removal with alacrity, not for the pleasure it procured his wife, but
for the money it saved himself; and Mrs. Mittin voluntarily resigned to
them the apartment she had chosen for her own, by way of a little
peace-offering for her undesired length of stay; for still, though
incessantly Camilla inquired for her account, she had received no answer
from the creditors, and was obliged to wait for another and another
post.

Mrs. Ulst, though not well enough, at present, to see company, and at
all times, fanatically averse to every species of recreation, could not
entirely avoid Eugenia, whose visits were constant every morning, and
whose expected inheritance made a similar wish occur for her nephew,
with that which had disposed of her niece; for she flattered herself
that if once she could see them both in possession of great wealth, her
mind would be more at ease.

She communicated this idea to Mr. Ulst, who, most willing, also, to get
rid of the reproach of the poverty and ruin of Melmond, imparted it,
with strong exhortation for its promotion, to the young man; but he
heard with disdain the mercenary project, and protested he would daily
labour for his bread, in preference to prostituting his probity, by
soliciting a regard he could never return, for the acquirement of a
fortune which he never could merit.

Mr. Ulst, much too hard to feel this as any reflection upon himself,
applied for the interest of Mrs. Berlinton; but she so completely
thought with her brother, that she would not interfere, till Mr. Ulst
made some observations upon Eugenia herself, that inclined her to waver.

He soon remarked, in that young and artless character, the symptoms of
the partiality she had conceived in favour of Melmond, which, when once
pointed out, could not be mistaken by Mrs. Berlinton, who, though more
than equally susceptible with Eugenia, was self-occupied, and saw
neither her emotion at his name, nor her timid air at his approach, till
Mr. Ulst, whose discernment had been quickened by his wishes, told her
when, and for what, to look.

Touched now, herself, by the double happiness that might ensue, from a
gratified choice to Eugenia, and a noble fortune to her brother, she
took up the cause, with delicacy, yet with pity; representing all the
charming mental and intellectual accomplishments of Eugenia, and
beseeching him not to sacrifice both his interest and his peace, in
submitting to a hopeless passion for one object, while he inflicted all
its horrors upon another.

Melmond, amazed and softened, listened and sighed; but protested such a
change, from all of beauty to all of deformity, was impracticable; and
that though he revered the character she painted, and was sensible to
the honour of such a preference, he must be base, double, and perjured,
to take advantage of her great, yet unaccountable goodness, by heartless
professions of feigned participation.

Mrs. Berlinton, to whom sentiment was irresistible, urged the matter no
longer, but wept over her brother, with compassionate admiration.

Another day only passed, when Mrs. Mittin picked up a paper upon the
stairs, which she saw fall from the pocket of Eugenia, in drawing out
her handkerchief, but which, determining to read ere she returned, she
found contained these lines.

'O Reason! friend of the troubled breast, guide of the wayward fancy,
moderator of the flights of hope, and sinkings of despair, Eugenia calls
thee!'

    O! to a feeble, suppliant Maid,
    Light of Reason, lend thy aid!
    And with thy mild, thy lucid ray,
        Point her the way
    To genial calm and mental joy!
    From Passion far! whose flashes bright
        Startle--affright--
        Yet ah! invite!
    With varying powers attract, repel,
        Now fiercely beam,
        Now softly gleam,
        With magic spell
    Charm to consume, win to destroy!
    Ah! lead her from the chequer'd glare
        So false, so fair!--
    Ah, quick from Passion bid her fly,
    Its sway repulse, its wiles defy;
    And to a feeble, suppliant heart
    Thy aid, O Reason's light, impart!

    Next, Eugenia, point thy prayer
      That He whom all thy wishes bless,
      Whom all thy tenderest thoughts confess,
    Thy calm may prove, thy peace may share.
    O, if the griefs to him assign'd,
    To thee might pass--thy strengthened mind
    Would meet all woe, support all pain,
    Suffering despise, complaint disdain,
    Brac'd with new nerves each ill would brave,
    From Melmond but one pang to save!'

Overjoyed by the possession of the important secret this little juvenile
effusion of tenderness betrayed, Mrs. Mittin ran with it to Mrs.
Berlinton, and without mentioning she had seen whence the paper came,
said she had found it upon the stairs: for even those who have too
little delicacy to attribute to treachery a clandestine indulgence of
curiosity, have a certain instinctive sense of its unfairness, which
they evince without avowing, by the care with which they soften their
motives, or their manner, of according themselves this species of
gratification.

Mrs. Berlinton, who scrupulously would have withheld from looking into a
letter, could not see a copy of verses, and recognise the hand of
Eugenia, already known to her by frequent notes, and refrain reading.
That she should find any thing personal, did not occur to her; to
peruse, therefore, a manuscript ode or sonnet, which the humility of
Eugenia might never voluntarily reveal, caused her no hesitation; and
she ran through the lines with the warmest delight, till, coming
suddenly upon the end, she burst into tears, and flew to the apartment
of her brother.

She put the paper into his hand without a word. He read it hastily.
Surprised, confounded, disordered, he looked at his sister for some
explanation or comment; she was still silently in tears; he read it
again, and with yet greater emotion; when, holding it back to her, 'Why,
my sister,' he cried, 'why would she give you this? why would you
deliver it? Ah! leave me, in pity, firm in integrity, though fallen in
fortune!'

'My brother, my dear brother, this matchless creature merits not so
degrading an idea; she gave me not the precious paper ... she knows not
I possess it; it was found upon the stairs: Ah! far from thus openly
confessing her unhappy prepossession, she conceals it from every human
being; even her beloved sister, I am convinced, is untrusted; upon paper
only she has breathed it, and breathed it as you see ... with a
generosity of soul that is equal to the delicacy of her conduct.'

Melmond now felt subdued. To have excited such a regard in a mind that
seemed so highly cultivated, and so naturally elegant, could not fail to
touch him; and the concluding line deeply penetrated him with tender
though melancholy gratitude. He took the hand of his sister, returned
her the paper, and was going to say: 'Do whatever you think proper;' but
the idea of losing all right to adore Indiana checked and silenced him;
and mournfully telling her he required a little time for reflection, he
entreated to be left to himself.

He was not suffered to ruminate in quiet; Mrs. Mittin, proud of having
any thing to communicate to a relation of Mrs. Berlinton's, made an
opportunity to sit with Mrs. Ulst, purposely to communicate to her the
discovery that Miss Eugenia Tyrold was in love with, and wrote verses
upon, her nephew. Melmond was instantly sent for; the important secret
was enlarged upon with remonstrances so pathetic, not to throw away such
an invitation to the most brilliant good fortune, in order to cast
himself, with his vainly nourished passion, upon immediate hardships, or
lasting penury; that reason as well as interest, compelled him to
listen; and, after a severe conflict, he gave his reluctant promise to
see Eugenia upon her next visit, and endeavour to bias his mind to the
connexion that seemed likely to ensue.

Camilla, who was in total ignorance of the whole of this business,
received, during the dinner, an incoherent note from her sister,
conjuring that she would search immediately, but privately, in her own
chamber, in the dressing-room of Mrs. Berlinton, in the hall, and upon
the stairs, for a paper in her hand-writing, which she had somewhere
lost, but which she besought her, by all that she held dear, not to read
when she found; protesting she should shut herself up for ever from the
whole world, if a syllable of what she had written on that paper were
read by a human being.

Camilla could not endure to keep her sister a moment in this suspensive
state, and made an excuse for quitting the table that she might
instantly seek the manuscript. Melmond and Mrs. Berlinton both
conjectured the contents of the billet, and felt much for the modest and
timid Eugenia; but Mrs. Mittin could not confine herself to silent
suggestion; she rose also, and running after Camilla, said: 'My dear
Miss, has your sister sent to you to look for any thing?'

Camilla asked the meaning of her inquiry; and she then owned she had
picked up, from the stairs, a sort of love letter, in which Miss Eugenia
had wrote couplets upon Mr. Melmond.

Inexpressibly astonished, Camilla demanded their restoration; this soon
produced a complete explanation, and while, with equal surprise and
concern, she learnt the secret of Eugenia, and its discovery to its
object, she could not but respect and honour all she gathered from Mrs.
Berlinton of the behaviour of her brother upon the detection; and his
equal freedom from presumptuous vanity, or mercenary projects, induced
her to believe her sister's choice, though wholly new to her, was well
founded; and that if he could conquer his early propensity for Indiana,
he seemed, of all the characters she knew, Edgar alone and always
excepted, the most peculiarly formed for the happiness of Eugenia.

She begged to have the paper, and entreated her sister might never know
into whose hands it had fallen. This was cheerfully agreed to; but Mrs.
Mittin, during the conference, had already flown to Eugenia, and amidst
a torrent of offers of service, and professions of power to do any thing
she pleased for her, suffered her to see that her attachment was
betrayed to the whole house.

The agony of Eugenia was excessive; and she resolved to keep her chamber
till she returned to Cleves, that she might neither see nor be seen any
more by Melmond nor his family. Scarce could she bear to be broken in
upon even by Camilla, who tenderly hastened to console her. She hid her
blushing conscious face, and protested she would inhabit only her own
apartment for the rest of her life.

The active Mrs. Mittin failed not to carry back the history of this
resolution; and Melmond, to his unspeakable regret in being thus
precipitated, thought himself called upon in all decency and propriety
to an immediate declaration. He could not, however, assume fortitude to
make it in person; nor yet was his mind sufficiently composed for
writing; he commissioned, therefore, his sister to be the bearer of his
overtures.

He charged her to make no mention of the verses, which it was fitting
should, on his part, pass unnoticed, though she could not but be
sensible his present address was their consequence; he desired her
simply to state his high reverence for her virtues and talents, and his
consciousness of the inadequacy of his pretensions to any claim upon
them, except what arose from the grateful integrity of esteem with which
her happiness should become the first object of his future life, if she
forbade not his application for the consent of Sir Hugh and Mr. Tyrold
to solicit her favour.

With respect to Indiana, he begged her, unless questioned, to be wholly
silent. To say his flame for that adorable creature was extinguished
would be utterly false; but his peace, as much as his honour, would lead
him to combat, henceforth, by all the means in his power, his ill-fated
and woe-teeming passion.

This commission was in perfect consonance with the feelings of Mrs.
Berlinton, who, though with difficulty she gained admission, executed it
with the most tender delicacy to the terrified Eugenia, who, amazed and
trembling, pale and incredulous, so little understood what she heard, so
little was able to believe what she wished, that, when Mrs. Berlinton,
with an affectionate embrace, begged her answer, she asked if it was not
Indiana of whom she was speaking!

Mrs. Berlinton then thought it right to be explicit: she acknowledged
the early passion of her brother for that young lady, but stated that,
long before he had ventured to think of herself, he had determined its
conquest; and that what originally was the prudence of compulsion, was
now, from his altered prospects in life, become choice: 'And believe
me,' added she, 'from my long and complete knowledge of the honour and
the delicacy of his opinion, as well as of the tenderness and gratitude
of his nature, the woman who shall once receive his vows, will find his
life devoted to the study of her happiness.'

Eugenia flew into her arms, hung upon her bosom, wept, blushed, smiled,
and sighed, alternately; one moment wished Indiana in possession of her
fortune, the next thought she herself, in all but beauty, more formed
for his felicity, and ultimately gave her tacit but transported consent
to the application.

Melmond, upon receiving it, heaved what he fondly hoped would be his
last sigh for Indiana; and ordering his horse, set off immediately for
Cleves and Etherington; determined frankly to state his small income and
crushed expectations; and feeling almost equally indifferent to
acceptance or rejection.

Camilla devoted the afternoon to her agitated but enraptured sister, who
desired her secret might spread no further, till the will of her father
and uncle should decide its fate; but the loquacious Mrs. Mittin, having
some cheap ribands and fine edgings to recommend to Miss Margland and
Indiana, could by no means refrain from informing them, at the same
time, of the discovered manuscript.

'Poor thing!' cried Indiana, 'I really pity her. I don't think,'
imperceptibly gliding towards the glass; 'I don't think, by what I have
seen of Mr. Melmond, she has much chance; I've a notion he's rather more
difficult.'

'Really this is what I always expected!' said Miss Margland; 'It's just
exactly what one might look for from one of your learned educations,
which I always despised with all my heart. Writing love verses at
fifteen! Dr. Orkborne's made a fine hand of her! I always hated him,
from the very first. However, I've had nothing to do with the bringing
her up, that's my consolation! I thank Heaven I never made a verse in my
life! and I never intend it.'




CHAPTER XI

_The Computations of Self-Love_


Camilla left her sister to accompany Mrs. Berlinton to the Rooms; no
other mode remaining for seeing Edgar, who, since her rejection, had
held back from repeating his attempt of visiting Mrs. Berlinton.

In mutual solicitude, mutual watchfulness, and mutual trials of each
other's hearts and esteem, a week had already passed, without one hope
being extirpated, or one doubt allayed. This evening was somewhat more,
though less pleasantly decisive.

Accident, want of due consideration, and sudden recollection, in an
agitated moment, of the worldly doctrine of Mrs. Arlbery, had led
Camilla, once more, into the semblance of a character, which, without
thinking of, she was acting. Born simple and ingenuous, and bred to hold
in horror every species of art, all idea of coquetry was foreign to her
meaning, though an untoward contrariety of circumstances, playing upon
feelings too potent for deliberations, had eluded her into a conduct as
mischievous in its effects and as wide from artlessness in its
appearance, as if she had been brought up and nourished in fashionable
egotism.

Such, however, was not Camilla: her every propensity was pure, and, when
reflection came to her aid, her conduct was as exemplary as her wishes.
But the ardour of her imagination, acted upon by every passing idea,
shook her Judgment from its yet unsteady seat, and left her at the mercy
of wayward Sensibility--that delicate, but irregular power, which now
impels to all that is most disinterested for others, now forgets all
mankind, to watch the pulsations of its own fancies.

This evening brought her back to recollection.--Young Westwyn, urged by
what he deemed encouragement, and prompted by his impatient father,
spoke of his intended visit to Cleves, and introduction to Sir Hugh, in
terms of such animated pleasure, and with a manner of such open
admiration, that she could not mistake the serious purposes which he
meant to imply.

Alarmed, she looked at him; but the expression of his eyes was not such
as to still her suspicions. Frightened at what now she first observed,
she turned from him, gravely, meaning to avoid conversing with him the
rest of the evening; but her caution came too late; her first civilities
had flattered both him and his father into a belief of her favour, and
this sudden drawback he imputed only to virgin modesty, which but added
to the fervour of his devoirs.

Camilla now perceived her own error: the perseverance of young Westwyn
not merely startled, but appalled her. His character, unassuming, though
spirited, was marked by a general decency and propriety of demeanour,
that would not presumptuously brave distancing; and awakened her,
therefore, to a review of her own conduct, as it related or as it might
seem, to himself.

And here, not all the guiltlessness of her intentions could exonerate
her from blame with that finely scrutinizing monitor to which Heaven, in
pity to those evil propensities that law cannot touch, nor society
reclaim, has devolved its earthly jurisdiction in the human breast. With
her hopes she could play, with her wishes she could trifle, her
intentions she could defend, her designs she could relinquish--but with
her conscience she could not combat. It pointed beyond the present
moment; it took her back to her imprudence with Sir Sedley Clarendel,
which should have taught her more circumspection; and it carried her on
to the disappointment of Henry and his father, whom while heedlessly she
had won, though without the most remote view to beguile, she might seem
artfully to have caught, for the wanton vanity of rejecting.

While advice and retrospection were thus alike oppressive in accusation,
her pensive air and withdrawn smiles proved but more endearing to young
Westwyn, whose internal interpretation was so little adapted to render
them formidable, that his assiduities were but more tender, and allowed
her no repose.

Edgar, who with the most suffering suspense, observed her unusual
seriousness, and its effect upon Henry, drew from it, with the customary
ingenuity of sensitive minds to torment themselves, the same inference
for his causeless torture, as proved to his rival a delusive blessing.
But while thus he contemplated Henry as the most to be envied of
mortals, a new scene called forth new surprise, and gave birth to yet
new doubts in his mind. He saw Camilla not merely turn wholly away from
his rival, but enter into conversation, and give, apparently, her whole
attention to Lord Valhurst, who, it was palpable, only spoke to her of
her charms, which, alternately with those of Mrs. Berlinton, he devoted
his whole time to worshipping.

Camilla by this action, meant simply to take the quickest road she saw
in her power to shew young Westwyn his mistake. Lord Valhurst she held
nearly in aversion; for, though his vindication of his upright motives
at the bathing-house, joined to her indifference in considering him
either guilty or innocent, made her conclude he might be blameless in
that transaction, his perpetual compliments, enforced by staring eyes
and tender glances, wearied and disgusted her. But he was always by her
side, when not in the same position with Mrs. Berlinton; and while his
readiness to engage her made this her easiest expedient, his time of
life persuaded her it was the safest. Little aware of the effect this
produced upon Edgar, she imagined he would not more notice her in any
conversation with Lord Valhurst, than if she were discoursing with her
uncle.

But while she judged from the sincerity of reality, she thought not of
the mischief of appearance. What in her was designed with innocence, was
rendered suspicious to the observers by the looks and manner of her
companion. The pleasure with which he found, at last, that incense
received, which hitherto had been slighted, gave new zest to an
adulation which, while Camilla endured merely to shew her coldness to
young Westwyn, seemed to Edgar to be offered with a gross presumption of
welcome, that must result from an opinion it was addressed to a
confirmed coquette.

Offended in his inmost soul by this idea, he scarce desired to know if
she were now stimulated most by a wish to torment Henry, or himself, or
only by the general pleasure she found in this new mode of amusement.
'Be it,' cried he, to Dr. Marchmont, 'as it may, with me all is equally
over! I seek not to recall an attachment liable to such intermissions,
such commotions. What would be my peace, my tranquillity, with a
companion so unstable? A mind all at large in its pursuits?--a
dissipated wife!--No!--I will remain here but to let her know I
acquiesce in her dismission, and to learn in what form she has
communicated our breach to her friends.'

Dr. Marchmont was silent, and they walked out of the room together;
leaving the deceived Camilla persuaded he was so indifferent with regard
to the old peer, that all her influence was lost, and all her late
exertions were thrown away, by one evening's remissness in exciting his
fears of a young rival.

       *       *       *       *       *

Melmond returned to Southampton the next morning with an air of deep and
settled melancholy. He had found the two brothers together, and the
candour of his appearance, the plainness of his declaration, the
openness with which he stated his situation, and his near relationship
to Mrs. Berlinton, procured him a courteous hearing; and he soon saw
that both the father and the uncle, though they desired time for
consideration and inquiry, were disposed to favour him. Mr. Tyrold,
though, to his acknowledged recent disappointment of fortune, he
attributed his address, had so little hope that any man at once amiable
and rich would present himself to his unfortunate Eugenia, that, when he
saw a gentleman well educated, well allied, of pleasing manners, and
with every external promise of a good and feeling character, modestly,
and with no professions but of esteem and respect, seek her of her
friends, he thought himself not even entitled to refuse him. He told
him, however, that he could conclude upon nothing in a matter of such
equal interest to himself and his wife, without her knowledge and
concurrence; and that during the time he demanded before he gave a final
answer, he required a forbearance of all intercourse, beyond that of a
common acquaintance. His first design was immediately to send for
Eugenia home; but the young man appeared so reasonable, so mild, so
unlike a fortune-hunter, that, constitutionally indulgent where he
apprehended nothing criminal, he contented himself with writing to the
same effect to Eugenia, fully satisfied of her scrupulous punctuality,
when once his will was known.

Melmond, though thus well received, returned back to Southampton with
any air rather than that of a bridegroom. The order, not to wait upon
Eugenia in private, was the only part of his task he performed with
satisfaction; for though a mind really virtuous made him wish to conquer
his repugnance to his future partner, he felt it could not be by
comparing her with Indiana.

Eugenia received the letter of her father, written in his own and her
uncle's name, with transport; and, to testify her grateful obedience,
resolved to name the impending transaction to no one, and even to
relinquish her visits to Mrs. Berlinton, and only to see Melmond when
accident brought him before her in public.

But Mrs. Mittin, through words casually dropt, or conversations not very
delicately overheard, soon gathered the particulars of her situation,
which happily furnished her with a new subject for a gossiping visit to
Miss Margland and Indiana. The first of these ladies received the news
with unconcern, rather pleased than otherwise, that the temptation of an
heiress should be removed from any rivalry with the charms of her fair
pupil; who, by no means, however, listened to the account with equal
indifference. The sight of Melmond at Southampton, with the circumstance
of his being brother to the Honourable Mrs. Berlinton, had awakened all
the pleasure with which she had first met his impassioned admiration;
and while she haughtily expected from every public exhibition, 'to bring
home hearts by dozens,' the secret point she had in view, was shewing
Melmond that her power over others was as mighty as it had been over
himself. She had not taken the trouble to ask with what end: what was
passed never afforded her an observation; what was to come never called
forth an idea. Occupied only by the present moment, things gone remained
upon her memory but as matters of fact, and all her expectations she
looked forward to but as matters of course. To lose, therefore, a
conquest she had thought the victim of her beauty for life, was a
surprise nearly incredible; to lose him to Eugenia an affront scarcely
supportable; and she waited but an opportunity to kill him with her
disdain. But Melmond, who dreaded nothing so much as an interview,
availed himself of the commands of Mr. Tyrold, in not going to the
lodgings of Eugenia, and lived absorbed in a melancholy retirement,
which books alone could a little alleviate.

The conclusion of the letter of Mr. Tyrold gave to Camilla as much pain
as every other part of it gave to Eugenia pleasure: it was an earnest
and parentally tender prayer, that the alliance with Melmond, should his
worth appear such as to authorise its taking place, might prove the
counterpart to the happiness so sweetly promised from that of her sister
with Edgar.

While Camilla sighed to consider how wide from the certainty with which
he mentioned it was such an event, she blushed that he should thus be
uninformed of her insecurity: but while a reconciliation was not more
her hope than her expectation with every rising sun, she could not
endure to break his repose with the knowledge of a suspense she thought
as disgraceful as it was unhappy. Yet her present scheme to accelerate
its termination, became difficult even of trial.

The obviously serious regard of Henry was a continual reproach to her;
and the undisguised approbation of his father was equally painful. Yet
she could now only escape them by turning to some other, and that other
was necessarily Lord Valhurst, whose close siege to her notice forced
off every assailant but himself. This the deluded Camilla thought an
expedient the most innoxious; and gave to him so much of her time, that
his susceptibility to the charms of youth and beauty was put to a trial
beyond his fortitude; and, in a very few days, notwithstanding their
disproportion in age, his embarrassed though large estates, and the
little or no fortune which she had in view, he determined to marry her:
for when a man of rank and riches resolves to propose himself to a woman
who has neither, he conceives his acceptance not a matter of doubt.

In any other society, his admiration of Camilla might easily, like what
he had already experienced and forgotten for thousands of her sex, have
escaped so grave or decided a tendency; but in Mrs. Berlinton he saw so
much of youth and beauty bestowed upon a man whom he knew to be his own
senior in age, that the idea of a handsome young wife was perpetually
present to him. He weighed, like all people who seek to entice
themselves to their own wishes, but one side of the question; and
risked, like all who succeed in such self-seduction, the inconvenience
of finding out the other side too late. He saw the attractions of his
fair kinswoman; but neglected to consider of how little avail they were
to her husband; he thought, with exultation of that husband's age, and
almost childishness; but forgot to take into the scales, that they had
obtained from his youthful choice only disgust and avoidance.

While he waited for some trinkets, which he had ordered from town, to
have ready for presenting with his proposals, Edgar only sought an
opportunity and courage to take his last farewell. Whenever Camilla was
so much engaged with others that it was impossible to approach her, he
thought himself capable of uttering an eternal adieu; but when, by any
opening, he saw where and how he might address her, his feet refused to
move, his tongue became parched, and his pleading heart seemed
exclaiming: O, not to-night! yet, yet, another day, ere Camilla is
parted with for ever!

But suddenly, soon after, Camilla ceased to appear. At the rooms, at the
plays, at the balls, and at the private assemblies, Edgar looked for her
in vain. Her old adulator, also, vanished from public places, while her
young admirer and his father hovered about in them as usual, but
spiritless, comfortless, and as if in the same search as himself.




CHAPTER XII

_Juvenile Calculations_


Mrs. Norfield, a lady whom circumstances had brought into some intimacy
with Mrs. Berlinton upon her marriage, had endeavoured, from the first
of her entrance into high life, to draw her into a love of play; not
with an idea of doing her any mischief, for she was no more her enemy
than her friend; but to answer her own purposes of having a Faro table
under her own direction. She was a woman of fashion, and as such
every-where received; but her fortune was small, and her passion for
gaming inordinate; and as there was not, at this time, one Faro table at
Southampton, whither she was ordered for her health, she was almost
wearied into a lethargy, till her reiterated intreaties prevailed, at
length, with Mrs. Berlinton to hold one at her own house.

The fatigue of life without view, the peril of talents without prudence,
and the satiety of pleasure without intermission, were already
dangerously assaulting the early independence and the moment of vacancy
and weariness was seized by Mrs. Norfield, to press the essay of a new
mode of amusement.

Mrs. Berlinton's house opened, failed not to be filled; and opened for a
Faro table, to be filled with a peculiar set. To game has,
unfortunately, always its attractions; to game with a perfect novice is
not what will render it less alluring; and to see that novice rich and
beautiful is still less likely to be repelling.

Mr. Berlinton, when he made this marriage, supposed he had engaged for
life a fair nurse to his infirmities; but when he saw her fixed
aversion, he had not spirit to cope with it; and when she had always an
excuse for a separation, he had not the sense to acquaint himself how
she passed her time in his absence. A natural imbecility of mind was now
nearly verging upon dotage, and as he rarely quitted his room but at
meal times, she made a point never to see him in any other part of the
day. Her antipathy rendered her obdurate, though her disposition was
gentle, and she had now left him at Tunbridge, to meet her aunt at
Southampton, with a knowledge he was too ill to follow her, and a
determination, upon various pretences, to stay away from him for some
months. The ill fate of such unequal alliances is almost daily
exemplified in life; and though few young brides of old bridegrooms fly
their mates thus openly and decidedly, their retainers have seldom much
cause to rejoice in superior happiness, since they are generally
regarded but as the gaolers of their young prey.

Moderation was the last praise to which Mrs. Berlinton had any claim;
what she entered upon through persecution, in an interval of mental
supineness, she was soon awake to as a pleasure, and next pursued as a
passion. Her beloved correspondent was neglected; her favourite authors
were set aside; her country rambles were given up; balls and the rooms
were forgotten; and Faro alone engrossed her faculties by day, and her
dreams during the short epoch she reserved for sleep at night. She lost,
as might be expected, as constantly as she played; but as money was not
what she naturally valued, she disdained to weigh that circumstance;
and so long as she had any to pay, resigned it with more grace than by
others it was won.

That Camilla was not caught by this ruinous fascination, was not simply
the effect of necessity. Had the state of her finances been as
flourishing as it was decayed, she would have been equally steady in
this forbearance: her reason was fair, though her feelings frequently
chased it from the field. She looked on, therefore, with safety, though
not wholly with indifference; she had too much fancy not to be amused by
the spirit of the business, and was too animated not to take part in the
successive hopes and fears of the several competitors; but though her
quick sensations prompted a readiness, like that of Mrs. Berlinton, to
enter warmly into all that was presented to her, the resemblance went no
further; what she was once convinced was wrong she was incapable of
practising.

Upon Gaming, the first feeling and the latest reflection are commonly
one; both point its hazards to be unnecessary, its purposes rapacious,
and its end desperate loss, or destructive gain; she not only,
therefore, held back; she took the liberty, upon the privilege of their
avowed friendship, to remonstrate against this dangerous pastime with
Mrs. Berlinton. But that lady, though eminently designed to be amiable,
had now contracted the fearful habit of giving way to every propensity;
and finding her native notions of happiness were blighted in the bud,
concluded that all which now remained for her was the indulgence of
every luxury. She heard with sweetness the expostulation of her young
friend; but she pursued her own course.

In a very few days, however, while the blush of shame dyed her beautiful
cheeks, she inquired if Camilla could lend her a little ready money.

A blush of no less unpleasant feelings overspread the face of her fair
guest, in being compelled to own she had none to lend; but she eagerly
promised to procure some from Mrs. Mittin, who had a note in her hand to
exchange for the payment of some small debts contracted at Tunbridge.
Mrs. Berlinton, gathering, from her confusion, how ill she was stored,
would not hear of applying to this resource, 'though I hate,' she cried,
'to be indebted to that odious old cousin, of whom I was obliged to
borrow last night.'

Glaring imprudence in others is a lesson even to the most unthinking;
Camilla, when she found that Mrs. Berlinton had lost every guinea she
could command, ventured to renew still more forcibly her exhortations
against the Faro table; but Mrs. Berlinton, notwithstanding she
possessed an excellent capacity, was so little fortified with any
practical tenets either of religion or morality, that where sentiment
did not take the part of what was right, she had no preservative against
what was wrong. The Faro table, therefore, was still opened; and Lord
Valhurst, by the sums he lent, obtained every privilege of intimacy in
the family, except that of being welcome.

Against this perilous mode of proceeding Camilla was not the only
warner. Mrs. Ulst saw with extreme repugnance the mode of life her niece
was pursuing, and reprimanded her with severe reproach; but her
influence was now lost; and Mrs. Berlinton, though she kindly attended
her, and sought to alleviate her sufferings, acted as if she were not in
existence.

It was now Mrs. Mittin gained the highest point of her ambition; Mrs.
Berlinton, tired of remonstrances she could not controvert, and would
not observe, was extremely relieved by finding a person who would sit
with her aunt, comply with her humours, hear her lamentations, subscribe
to her opinions, and beguile her of her rigid fretfulness by the
amusement of gossiping anecdotes.

Mrs. Mittin had begun life as the apprentice to a small country
milliner; but had rendered herself so useful to a sick elderly
gentlewoman, who lodged in the house, that she left her a legacy, which,
by sinking into an annuity, enabled her to quit her business, and set
up, in her own conception, for a gentlewoman herself; though with so
very small an income, that to sustain her new post, she was frequently
reduced to far greater dependence and hardships than she experienced in
her old one. She was good-humoured, yet laborious; gay, yet subservient;
poor, yet dissipated. To be useful, she would submit to any drudgery; to
become agreeable, devoted herself to any flattery. To please was her
incessant desire, and her rage for popularity included every rank and
class of society. The more eminent, of course, were her first objects,
but the same aim descended to the lowest. She would work, read, go of
errands, or cook a dinner; be a parasite, a spy, an attendant, a drudge;
keep a secret, or spread a report; incite a quarrel, or coax contending
parties into peace; invent any expedient, and execute any scheme ... all
with the pretext to oblige others, but all, in fact, for simple
egotism; as prevalent in her mind as in that of the more highly
ambitious, though meaner and less dangerous.

Camilla was much relieved when she found this officious person was no
longer retained solely upon her account; but still she could neither
obtain her bills, no answers ever arriving, nor the money for her twenty
pound note, Mrs. Mittin always evading to deliver it, and asserting she
was sure somebody would come in the stage the next day for the payment
she had promised; and when Camilla wanted cash for any of the very few
articles she now allowed herself to think indispensable, instead of
restoring it into her hands, she flew out herself to purchase the goods
that were required, and always brought them home with assurances they
were cheaper than the shopkeepers would let her have them for herself.

Camilla resisted all incitements to new dress and new ornaments, with a
fortitude which must not be judged by the aged, nor the retired, who
weighing only the frivolity of what she withstood, are not qualified to
appreciate the merit of this sort of resignation; the young, the gay,
the new in life, who know that, amongst minor calamities, none are more
alarming to the juvenile breast than the fear of not appearing initiated
in the reigning modes, can alone do justice to the present philosophy of
Camilla, in seeing that all she wore, by the quick changes of fashion,
seemed already out of date; in refusing to look at the perpetual
diversity of apparel daily brought, by various dress modellers, for the
approbation of Mrs. Berlinton, and in seeing that lady always newly,
brightly, and in a distinguished manner attired, yet appearing by her
side in exactly the same array that she had constantly worn at
Tunbridge. Nor was Camilla indifferent to this contrast; but she
submitted to it as the duty of her present involved situation, which
exacted from her every privation, in preference to bestowing upon any
new expence the only sum she could command towards clearing what was
past.

But, after a very short time, the little wardrobe exhibited a worse
quality than that of not keeping pace with the last devices of the
_ton_; it lost not merely its newness, but its delicacy. Alas! thought
she, how long, in the careful and rare wear of Etherington and Cleves,
all this would have served me; while here, in this daily use, a
fortnight is scarce passed, yet all is spoilt and destroyed. Ah! public
places are only for the rich!

Now, therefore, Mrs. Mittin was of serious utility; she failed not to
observe the declining state of her attire; and though she wondered at
the parsimony which so resolutely prohibited all orders for its renewal,
in a young lady she considered as so great an heiress, she was yet proud
to display her various powers of proving serviceable. She turned,
changed, rubbed, cleaned, and new made up all the several articles of
which her dress was composed, to so much advantage, and with such
striking effect, that for yet a few days more all seemed renewed, and by
the arts of some few alterations, her appearance was rather more than
less fashionable than upon her first arrival.

But this could not last long; and when all, again, was fading into a
state of decay, Mrs. Berlinton received an invitation for herself and
her fair guest, to a great ball and supper, given upon the occasion of a
young nobleman's coming of age, in which all the dancers, by agreement,
were to be habited in uniform.

This uniform was to be clear fine lawn, with lilac plumes and ornaments.

Camilla had now, with consuming regret, passed several days without one
sight of Edgar. This invitation, therefore, which was general to all the
company at Southampton, was, in its first sound, delicious; but became,
upon consideration, the reverse. Clear lawn and lilac plumes and
ornaments she had none; how to go she knew not; yet Edgar she was sure
would be there; how to stay away she knew less.

This was a severe moment to her courage; she felt it faltering, and
putting down the card of invitation, without the force of desiring Mrs.
Berlinton to make her excuse, repaired to her own room, terrified by the
preponderance of her wishes to a consent which she knew her situation
rendered unwarrantable.

There, however, though she gained time for reflection, she gathered not
the resolution she sought. The stay at Southampton, by the desire of
Lynmere, had been lengthened; yet only a week now remained, before she
must return to her father and her uncle ... but how return? separated
from Edgar? Edgar whom she still believed she had only to see again in
some more auspicious moment, to re-conquer and fix for life! But when
and where might that auspicious moment be looked for? not at Mrs.
Berlinton's; there he no more attempted to visit: not at the Rooms;
those now were decidedly relinquished, and all general invitations were
inadequate to draw Mrs. Berlinton from her new pursuit: where, then, was
this happy explanation to pass?

When our wishes can only be gratified with difficulty, we conclude, in
the ardour of combating their obstacle, that to lose them, is to lose
everything, to obtain them is to ensure all good. At this ball, and this
supper, Camilla painted Edgar completely restored to her; she was
certain he would dance with her; she was sure he would sit by no one
else during the repast; the many days since they had met would endear to
him every moment they could now spend together, and her active
imagination soon worked up scenes so important from this evening, that
she next persuaded her belief that all chance of reconciliation hung
wholly upon the meeting it offered.

Impelled by this notion, yet wavering, dissatisfied, and uncomfortable,
she summoned Mrs. Mittin, and entreated she would make such inquiries
concerning the value of the ball-dress uniform, as would enable her to
estimate its entire expence.

Her hours passed now in extreme disquietude; for while all her hopes
centred in the approaching festival, the estimate which was to determine
her power of enjoying it was by no means easy to procure. Mrs. Mittin,
though an adept in such matters, took more pleasure in the parade than
in the performance of her task; and always answered to her inquiries,
that it was impossible to speak so soon; that she must go to such
another shop first; that she must consult with such and such a person;
and that she must consider over more closely the orders given by Mrs.
Berlinton, which were to be her direction, though with the stipulation
of having materials much cheaper and more common.

At length, however, she burst into her room, one morning, before she was
dressed, saying: 'Now, my dear miss, I hope I shall make you happy;' and
displayed, upon the bed, a beautiful piece of fine lawn.

Camilla examined and admired it, asked what it was a yard, and how much
would suffice for the dress.

'Why, my dear, I'll answer for it there's enough for three whole
dresses; why it's a whole piece; and I dare say I can get a handkerchief
and an apron out of it into the bargain.'

'But I want neither handkerchief, nor apron, nor three dresses, Mrs.
Mittin; I shall take the smallest quantity that is possible, if I take
any at all.'

Mrs. Mittin said that the man would not cut it, and she must take the
whole, or none.

Camilla was amazed she could so far have misunderstood her as to bring
it upon such terms, and begged she would carry it back.

'Nay, if you don't take this, my dear, there's nothing in the shops that
comes near it for less than fifteen shillings a-yard; Mrs. Berlinton
gives eighteen for her's, and it don't look one bit to choose; and this,
if you take it all together, you may have for ten, for all its width,
for there's 30 yards, and the piece comes to but fifteen pound.'

Camilla protested she would not, at this time, pay ten shillings a-yard
for any gown in the world.

Mrs. Mittin, who had flattered herself that the handkerchief and apron,
at least, if not one of the gowns, would have fallen to her share, was
much discomposed by this unexpected declaration; and disappointed,
murmuring, and conceiving her the most avaricious of mortals, was forced
away; leaving Camilla in complete despondence of any power to effect her
wish with propriety.

Mrs. Mittin came back late, and with a look of dismay; the man of whom
she had had the muslin, who was a traveller, whom she had met at a
friend's, had not waited her return; and, as she had left the fifteen
pounds with him, for a pledge of the security of his goods, she supposed
he had made off, to get rid of the whole piece at once.

Camilla felt petrified. No possible pleasure or desire could urge her,
deliberately, to what she deemed an extravagance; yet here, in one
moment, she was despoiled of three parts of all she possessed, either
for her own use, or towards the restitution of her just debts with
others.

Observing her distress, though with more displeasure than pity, from
believing it founded in the most extraordinary covetousness, Mrs. Mittin
proposed measuring the piece in three, and disposing of the two gowns
she did not want to Mrs. Berlinton, or her sister and Miss Lynmere.

Camilla was a little revived; but the respite of difficulty was short;
upon opening the piece, it was found damaged; and after the first few
yards, which Mrs. Mittin had sedulously examined, not a breadth had
escaped some rent, fray, or mischief.

The ill being now irremediable, to make up the dress in the cheapest
manner possible was the only consolation that remained. Mrs. Mittin
knew a mantua-maker who, to oblige her, would undertake this for a very
small payment; and she promised to procure everything else that was
necessary for the merest trifle.

Determined, however, to risk nothing more in such hands, she now
positively demanded that the residue of the note should be restored to
her own keeping. Mrs. Mittin, though much affronted, honestly refunded
the five pounds. The little articles she had occasionally brought were
still unpaid for; but her passion for detaining the money was merely
with a view to give herself consequence, in boasting how and by whom she
was trusted, and now and then drawing out her purse, before those who
had less to produce; but wholly without any design of imposition or
fraud; all she could obtain by hints and address she conceived to be
fair booty; but further she went not even in thought.

Three days now only remained before this event-promising ball was to
take place, and within three after it, the Southampton expedition was to
close. Camilla scarce breathed from impatience for the important moment,
which was preceded by an invitation to all the company, to take a sail
on the Southampton water on the morning of the entertainment.

END OF THE FOURTH VOLUME.




VOLUME V


BOOK IX




CHAPTER I

_A Water Party_


The ball dress of Camilla was not yet ready, when she set out for the
amusement of the morning. Melmond, upon this occasion, was forced into
the excursion; his sister represented, so pathetically, the ungrateful
ill-breeding of sequestering himself from a company of which it must so
publicly be judged Eugenia would make one, with the impossibility of for
ever escaping the sight of Indiana, that he could not, in common
decency, any longer postpone the double meeting he almost equally
dreaded.

And this, with all that could aggravate its misery, from seeing the two
objects together, immediately occurred. Sir Hugh Tyrold's coach,
containing Miss Margland, Indiana, Eugenia, and Dr. Orkborne, was
arrived just before that of Mrs. Berlinton; and, the morning being very
fine, they had just alighted, to join the company assembling upon the
beach for the expedition. Miss Margland still continued to exact the
attendance of the Doctor, though his wry looks and sluggish pace always
proclaimed his ill will to the task. But Clermont, the only proper beau
for her parties, was completely unattainable. He had connected himself
with young Halder, and his associates, from whom, while he received
instructions relative to the stables and the dog-kennels, he returned,
with suitable edification, lessons on the culinary art.

Melmond, deeply distressed, besought his sister not to alight till the
last moment. She pitied him too sincerely not to comply; and, in a very
short time, she had herself an aggregate of almost all the gentlemen on
the beach before the coach.

Among these, the first to press forward were the two Westwyns, each
enraptured to again see Camilla; and the most successful in obtaining
notice was Lord Valhurst, with whom Camilla still thought it prudent,
however irksome, to discourse, rather than receive again the assiduities
of Henry: but her mind, far from them all, was hovering on the edge of
the shore, where Edgar was walking.

Edgar, for some time past, had joined the utmost uneasiness what conduct
to pursue with regard to the friends of Camilla, to the heart-rending
decision of parting from her for ever. He soon learnt the new and
dangerous manner in which Mrs. Berlinton spent her evenings, and the
idea that most naturally occurred to him, was imparting it to Mr.
Tyrold. But in what way could he address that gentleman, without first
knowing if Camilla had acquainted him with the step she had taken? He
felt too strongly the severe blow it would prove, not to wish softening
it with every palliation; and while these still lingering feelings awed
his proceedings, his servant learnt, from Molly Mill, that Melmond had
been favourably received at Cleves, as a suitor to Eugenia. Finding so
near an alliance likely to take place with the brother, he gave up his
plan of remonstrating against the sister, except in private counsel to
Camilla; for which, and for uttering his fearful adieu, he was now
waiting but to speak to her unobserved.

Still, however, with pain unabating he saw the eager approach to her of
Henry, with disgust that of Lord Valhurst, and with alarm the general
herd.

Lord Pervil, the young nobleman who deemed it worth while to be at the
expence of several hundred pounds, in order to let the world know how
old he was, now, with his mother, a widow lady, and some other
relations, came down in a superb new equipage, to the water-side. Mrs.
Berlinton could not be so singular, as not to join in the general crowd,
that flocked around them with congratulations; and all parties, in a few
minutes, were assembled on one spot.

Edgar, when he had spoken to the group to which the honours of the day
belonged, made up to Camilla, gravely enquired after her health; and
then placed himself as near to her as he was able, in the hope of
conferring with her when the company began to move.

Her spirits now rose, and her prospects re-opened to their wished
termination. All her regret was for Henry, who saw her present
avoidance, and bemoaned her long absence, with a sadness that reproached
and afflicted her.

A very fine yacht, and three large pleasure-boats, were in readiness for
this company, surrounded by various other vessels of all sorts and
conditions, which were filled with miscellaneous parties, who meant to
partake the same gales for their own diversion or curiosity. The invited
set was now summoned to the water, Lord Pervil and his relations leading
the way by a small boat to the yacht, to which Mrs. Berlinton and the
Cleves party were particularly selected guests.

Camilla, depending upon the assistance of Edgar, in passing through the
boat to the yacht, so obviously turned from Henry, that he lost all
courage for persevering in addressing her, and was even, though most
unwillingly, retiring from a vicinity in which he seemed palpably
obtrusive, had not his father insisted upon detaining him, whispering,
'Be of good heart, Hal! the girl will come round yet.'

Edgar kept equally near her, with a design that was the counterpart of
her own wish, of offering her his hand when it was her turn to enter the
boat; but they were both disappointed, the Peer, not waiting that
rotation, presented her his arm as soon as Lady Pervil had led the way.
There was no redress, though Camilla was as much provoked as either of
the young rivals.

Lord Valhurst did not long exult in his victory; the unsteadiness of the
boat made him rather want help for himself, than find force to bestow it
upon another, and, upon mounting at the helm to pass her on to the
yacht, he tottered, his foot slipt, and he must have sunk between the
two vessels, had not a waterman caught him up, and dragged him into the
yacht, with no further misfortune than a bruised shin, wet legs and
feet, and a deplorably rueful countenance, from mingled fright and
mortification.

Edgar, not wholly unsuspicious such an accident might happen, was
darting into the boat to snatch Camilla from its participation, when he
felt himself forcibly pulled back, and saw, at the same moment, Henry,
who had also started forward, but whom nothing had retarded, anticipate
his purpose, and aid her into the yacht.

Looking round to see by what, or by whom, he had so unaccountably been
stopt, he perceived old Mr. Westwyn, his forefinger upon his nose in
sign of silence and secrecy, grasping him by the coat.

'What is the humour of this, Sir?' cried he, indignantly.

Mr. Westwyn, still making his token for discretion, and bending forward
to speak in his ear, said, 'Do, there's a good soul, let my boy help
that young lady. Hal will be much obliged to you, I can tell you; and
he's a very good lad.'

The nature of Edgar was too candid to suffer his wrath to resist a
request so simple in sincerity; but deeply he sighed to find, by its
implication, that the passion of Henry was thus still fed with hopes.

The passing of other ladies, with their esquires, prevented him, who had
no lady he wished to conduct, from making his way yet into the yacht;
and the honest old gentleman, detained by the same reason, entered
promptly into the history of the present situation of his son with
regard to Camilla; relating, frankly, that he thought her the sweetest
girl in the world, except that she did not know her own mind; for she
had been so pleased with his son first of all, that he really thought he
should oblige her by making it a match: 'which I could not,' added he,
'have the heart to refuse to a girl that gave the boy such a good
character. You'd be surprised to know how she took to him! you may be
proud, says she to me, you may be proud of your son! which is what I
shall never forget; for though I loved Hal just the same before, I never
could tell but what it was only because he was my own. And I'm so afraid
of behaving like a blind old goose, that I often snub Hal, when he's no
more to blame than I am myself, for fear of his getting out of my hands,
and behaving like a certain young man he has been brought up with, and
who, I assure you, deserves to have his ears cropt ten times a day, for
one piece of impudence or other. I should not have been sorry if he'd
fallen into the water along with that old lord, whom I don't wish much
good to neither; for, between friends, it seems to me that it's he that
has put her out of conceit with my poor Hal: for all of a sudden, nobody
can tell why nor wherefore, she takes it into her head there's nothing
else worth listening to, but just his old compliments. And my poor Hal,
after thinking she had such a kindness for him, that he had nothing to
do but put on his best coat--for I told him I'd have none of his
new-fangled modes of affronting my worthy old friend, by doing to him
like a postillion, with a cropt head, and half a coat--after thinking
he'd only to ask his consent, for he'd got mine without ever a word, all
at once, without the least quarrel, or either I or Hal giving her the
least offence, she won't so much as let him speak to her; but turns off
to that old fellow that tumbled into the water there, and had near made
her slip in after, if it had not been for my son's stopping her, which
I sha'n't forget your kindness in letting him do; but what's more, she
won't speak to me neither! though all I want is to ask her the reason of
her behaviour! which I shall certainly do, if I can catch her any five
minutes away from that lord; for you'll never believe what good friends
we were, before she took so to him. We three, that is, she and I, and
Hal, used to speak to nobody else, scarce. Poor Hal thought he'd got it
all his own way. And I can't but own I thought as much myself; for there
was no knowing she'd hold herself so above us, all at once. I assure
you, if we don't bring her to, it will go pretty hard with us; for I
like her just as well as Hal does. I'd have made over to them the best
half of my income immediately.'

Edgar had never yet felt such serious displeasure against Camilla, as
seized him upon this artless narrative. To have trifled thus, and, as he
believed, most wantonly, with the feelings and peace of two amiable
persons, whether from the vanity of making a new conquest, or the
tyranny of persecuting an old one, shewed a love of power the most
unjustifiable, and a levity the most unpardonable. And when he
considered himself as exactly in the same suspensive embarrassment, as a
young man of little more than a fortnight's acquaintance, he felt
indignantly ashamed of so humiliating a rivalry, and a strong diminution
of regret at his present purpose.

Melmond, meanwhile, pressed by his sister, seconded by his own sense of
propriety, had forced himself to the Cleves' party; and, after bowing
civilly to Miss Margland, who courteously smiled upon one who she
imagined would become master of Cleves, and most profoundly to Indiana,
who coloured, but deigned not the smallest salutation in return, offered
his hand to Eugenia; but with a mind so absorbed, and steps so
uncertain, that he was unable to afford her any assistance; and her
lameness and helplessness made her so much require it, that she was in
danger of falling every moment; yet she felt in Paradise; she thought
him but enfeebled, as she was enfeebled herself, by a tender
sensibility; and danger, therefore, was not merely braved, it was dear,
it was precious to her.

Indiana now consoled her mortification, with the solace of believing a
retaliation at hand, that would overcome the otherwise indelible
disgrace of being superseded by Eugenia in a conquest. Full of her own
little scheme, she imperiously refused all offers of aid, and walked on
alone, till crossing the boat, she gave a shriek at every step, made
hazardous by her wilful rejection of assistance, and acted over again
the charm of terror, of which she well recollected the power upon a
former occasion.

These were sounds to vibrate but too surely to the heart of Melmond; he
turned involuntarily to look at her; her beauty had all its original
enchantment; and he snatched away his eyes. He led on her whom still
less he durst view; but another glance, thus surprised from him, shewed
Indiana unguarded, unprotected; his imagination painted her immediately
in a watery grave; and, seeing Eugenia safe, though not accommodated, he
rushed back to the boat, and with trembling respect implored her to
accept his aid.

Triumphant, now, she conceived herself in her turn, and looking at him
with haughty disdain, said, she chose to go alone; and when again he
conjured her not to risk her precious safety, added, 'You know you don't
care about it; so pray go to your Miss Eugenia Tyrold.'

Young Melmond, delicate, refined, and well bred, was precisely amongst
the first to feel, that a reply such as this must be classed amongst the
reverse of those three epithets--had it come from any mouth but that of
Indiana!--but love is deaf, as well as blind, to every defect of its
chosen object, during the season of passion: from her, therefore, this
answer, leaving unobserved the littleness and spleen which composed it,
retained but so much of meaning as belongs to announcing jealousy, and
in giving him that idea, filled him with sensations that almost tore him
asunder.

Urged by her pique, she contrived, and with real risk, to jump into the
yacht alone; though, if swayed by any less potent motive, she would
sooner have remained in the boat the whole day. But what is the strength
which may be put upon a par with inclination? and what the general
courage that partial enterprise will not exceed?

Melmond, who only to some amiable cause could attribute whatever flowed
from so beautiful an object, having once started the idea of jealousy,
could give its source only to love: the impure spring of envy entered
not into his suggestions. What, then, was his distraction, to think
himself so greatly miserable! to believe he was secretly favoured by
Indiana, at the instant of his first devoirs to another! Duty and
desire were equally urgent to be heard; he shrunk in utter despondence
from the two objects that seemed to personify both, and retreated, to
the utmost of his power, from the sight of either.

Miss Margland had more than echoed every scream of Indiana, though
nobody had seemed to hear her. Dr. Orkborne, the only beau she could
compel into her service, was missing; her eye and voice alike every
where demanded him in vain; he neither appeared to her view, nor
answered her indignant calls.--Nor, indeed, though she forced his
attendance, had she the most remote hope of inspiriting him to any
gallantry: but still he was a man, and she thought it a mark of
consequence to have one in her train; nor was it by any means nothing to
her to torment Dr. Orkborne with her reproaches. To dispositions highly
irascible, it is frequently more gratifying to have a subject of
complaint than of acknowledgment.

The ladies being now all accommodated upon the deck, sailing orders were
given, when an 'holla! holla!' making the company look round, Lynmere
desired to be admitted. All the party intended for the yacht were
already on board, and Lord Pervil told Mr. Lynmere he would find a very
good place in one of the pleasure boats: but he answered he was just
come from them, and preferred going in the yacht. Lord Pervil then only
hoped the ladies would excuse being a little crowded. Edgar had already
glided in, and Mr. Westwyn had openly declared, when asked to go to one
of the boats, that he always went where Hal went, be it where it might.

Clermont, now, elbowing his way into a group of gentlemen, and
addressing himself to young Halder, who was amongst them, said: 'Do you
know what they've got to eat here?'

'No.'

'What the deuce! have not you examined the larder? I have been looking
over the three boats,--there's nothing upon earth!--so I came to see if
I could do any better here.'

Halder vowed if there were nothing to eat, he would sooner jump over
board, and swim to shore, than go starving on.

'Starving?' said Mr. Westwyn, 'why I saw, myself, several baskets of
provisions taken into each of the boats.'

'Only ham and fowls,' answered Clermont, contemptuously.

'Only ham and fowls? why what would you have?'

'O the d----l,' answered he, making faces, 'not that antediluvian stuff!
any thing's better than ham and fowls.'

'Stilton cheese, for instance?' cried Mr. Westwyn, with a wrathful
sneer, that made Clermont, who could not endure, yet, for many reasons,
could not resent it, hastily decamp from his vicinity.

Mr. Westwyn, looking after the young epicure with an expression of angry
scorn, now took the arm of Edgar, whose evident interest in his first
communication encouraged further confidence, and said: 'That person that
you see walk that way just now, is a fellow that I have a prodigious
longing to give a good caning to. I can't say I like him; yet he's
nephew and heir to the very best man in the three kingdoms. However, I
heartily hope his uncle will disinherit him, for he's a poor fool as
well as a sorry fellow. I love to speak my mind plainly.'

Edgar was ill-disposed to conversation, and intent only upon Camilla,
who was now seated between Mrs. Berlinton and Eugenia, and occupied by
the fine prospects every where open to her; yet he explained the error
of Clermont's being heir, as well as nephew, to Sir Hugh; at which the
old gentleman, almost jumping with surprise and joy, said: 'Why, then
who's to pay all his debts at Leipsic? I can't say but what I'm glad to
hear this. I hope he'll be sent to prison, with all my heart, to teach
him a little better manners. For my old friend will never cure him; he
spoils young people prodigiously. I don't believe he'd so much as give
'em a horse-whipping, let 'em do what they would. That i'n't my way. Ask
Hal!'

Here he stopt, disturbed by a new sight, which displaced Clermont from
his thoughts.

Camilla, to whom the beauties of nature had mental, as well as visual
charms, from the blessings, as well as pleasure, she had from childhood
been instructed to consider as surrounding them, was so enchanted by the
delicious scenery every way courting her eyes, the transparent
brightness of the noble piece of water upon which she was sailing, the
richness and verdure of its banks, the still and gently gliding motion
of the vessel, the clearness of the heavens, and the serenity of the
air, that all her cares, for a while, would have been lost in admiring
contemplation, had she not painfully seen the eternal watching of Henry
for her notice, and gathered from the expression of his eyes, his
intended expostulation. The self-reproach with which she felt how ill
she could make her defence, joined to a sincere and generous wish to
spare him the humiliation of a rejection, made her seek so to engage
herself, as to prevent the possibility of his uttering two sentences
following. But as this was difficult with Eugenia, who was lost in
silent meditation upon her own happiness, or Mrs. Berlinton, who was
occupied in examining the beauty so fatal to the repose of her brother,
she had found such trouble in eluding him, that, when she saw Lord
Valhurst advance from the cabin, where he had been drying and refreshing
himself, she welcomed him as a resource, and, taking advantage of the
civility she owed him for what he had suffered in esquiring her, gave
him her sole attention; always persuaded his admiration was but a sort
of old fashioned politeness, equally without design in itself, or
subject for comment in others.

But what is so hard to judge as the human heart? The fairest observers
misconstrue all motives to action, where any received prepossession has
found an hypothesis. To Edgar this conduct appeared the most degrading
fondness for adulation, and to Mr. Westwyn a tyrannical caprice, meant
to mortify his son. 'I hope you saw that! I hope you saw that!' cried
he, 'for now I don't care a pin for her any longer! and if Hal is such a
mere fool as ever to think of her any more, I'll never see his face
again as long as I live. After looking askew at the poor boy all this
time, to turn about and make way for that nasty old fellow; as who
should say, I'll speak to nothing but a lord! is what I shall never
forgive; and I wish I had never seen the girl, nor Hal neither. I can't
say I like such ways. I can't abide 'em.'

A sigh that then escaped Edgar, would have told a more discerning
person, that he came in for his ample share in the same wish.

'And, after all,' continued he, 'being a lord is no such great feat that
ever I could learn. Hal might be a lord too, if he could get a title.
There is nothing required for it but what any man may have; nobody asks
after what he can do, or what he can say. If he's got a good head, it's
well; and if he has not, it's all one. And that's what you can't say of
such a likely young fellow as my son. You may see twenty for one that's
as well looking. Indeed, to my mind, I don't know that ever I saw a
prettier lad in my life. So she might do worse, I promise her, though
she has used my son so shabbily. I don't like her the better for it, I
assure her; and so you may tell her, if you please. I'm no great friend
to not speaking my mind.'

The fear of being too late for the evening's arrangements, made Lord
Pervil, after a two hours sail, give orders for veering about: the
ladies were advised to go into the cabin during this evolution, and
Camilla was amongst those who most readily complied, for the novelty of
viewing what she had not yet seen. But when, with the rest, she was
returning to the deck, Lord Valhurst, who had just descended, entreated
her to stop one moment.

Not at all conjecturing his reason, she knew not how to refuse, but
innocently begged him to speak quick, as she was in haste, not to lose
any of the beautiful landscapes they were passing.

'Ah what,' cried the enamoured peer, 'what in the world is beautiful in
any comparison with yourself? To me no possible object can have such
charms; and I have now no wish remaining but never to lose sight of it.'

Amazed beyond all measure, she stared at him a moment in silence, and
then, confirmed by his looks that he was serious, would have left the
cabin with precipitance: but, preventing her from passing; 'Charming
Miss Tyrold!' he cried, 'let the confession of my flame meet your
favour, and I will instantly make my proposals to your friends.'

To Camilla this offer appeared as little delicate, as its maker was
attractive; yet she thought herself indebted for its general purport,
and, as soon as her astonishment allowed her, gracefully thanked him for
the honour of his good opinion, but entreated him to make no application
to her friends, as it would not be in her power to concur in their
consent.

Concluding this to be modest shyness, he was beginning a passionate
protestation of the warmth of his regard, when the effusion was stopt by
the appearance of Edgar.

Little imagining so serious a scene to be passing as the few words he
now gathered gave him to understand, his perplexity at her not returning
with the other ladies, made him suggest this to be a favourable moment
to seize for following her himself, and demanding the sought, though
dreaded conference. But when he found that his lordship, instead of
making, as he had supposed, his usual fond, yet unmeaning compliments,
was pompously offering his hand, he precipitately retired.

No liveliness of temper had injured in Camilla the real modesty of her
character. A sense, therefore, of obligation for this partiality
accompanied its surprise, and was preparing her for repeating the
rejection with acknowledgments though with firmness, when the sight of
Edgar brought an entirely new train of feelings and ideas into her mind.
O! happy moment! thought she; he must have heard enough of what was
passed to know me, at least, to be disinterested! he must see, now, it
was himself, not his situation in life, I was so prompt in
accepting--and if again he manifests the same preference, I may receive
it with more frankness than ever, for he will see my whole heart,
sincerely, singly, inviolably his own!

Bewitched with this notion, she escaped from the peer, and ran up to the
deck, with a renovation of animal spirits, so high, so lively, and so
buoyant, that she scarce knew what she said or did, from the
uncontroulable gaiety, which made every idea dance to a happiness new
even to her happy mind. Whoever she looked at, she smiled upon; to
whatever was proposed, she assented: scarce could she restrain her voice
from involuntarily singing, or her feet from instinctively dancing.

Edgar, compared with what he now felt, believed that hitherto he had
been a stranger to what wonder meant. Is this, thought he, Camilla? Has
she wilfully fascinated this old man seriously to win him, and has she
won him but to triumph in the vanity of her conquest? How is her
delicacy perverted! what is become of her sensibility? Is this the
artless Camilla? modest as she was gay, docile as she was spirited,
gentle as she was intelligent? O how spoilt! how altered! how gone!

Camilla, little suspicious of this construction, thought it would be now
equally wrong to speak any more with either Henry or Lord Valhurst, and
talked with all others indiscriminately, changing her object with almost
every speech.

A moment's reflection would have told her, that quietness alone, in her
present situation, could do justice to the purity of her intentions: but
reflection is rarely the partner of happiness in the youthful breast; it
is commonly brought by sorrow, and flies at the first dawn of returning
joy.

Thus, while she dispensed to all around, with views the most innocent,
her gay and almost wild felicity, the very delight to which she owed her
animation, of believing she was evincing to Edgar with what singleness
she was his own, gave her the appearance, in his judgment, of a
finished, a vain, an all-accomplished coquette. The exaltation of her
ideas brightened her eyes into a vivacity almost dazzling, gave an
attraction to her smiles that was irresistible, the charm of fascination
to the sound of her voice, to her air a thousand nameless graces, and to
her manner and expression an enchantment.

Powers so captivating, now for the first time united with a facility of
intercourse, soon drew around her all the attendant admiring beaux.

No animal is more gregarious than a fashionable young man, who, whatever
may be his abilities to think, rarely decides, and still less frequently
acts for himself. He may wish, he may appreciate, internally with
justice and wisdom; but he only says, and only does, what some other man
of fashion, higher in vogue, or older in courage, has said or has done
before him.

The young Lord Pervil, the star of the present day, was now drawn into
the magic circle of Camilla; this was full sufficient to bring into it
every minor luminary of his constellation; and even the resplendent and
incomparable beauty of Indiana, even the soft and melting influence of
the expressively lovely Mrs. Berlinton, gave way to the superior
ascendance of that varied grace, and winning vivacity, which seemed
instinctively sharing with the beholders its own pleasure and animation.

To Edgar alone this gave her not new charms: he saw in her more of
beauty, but less of interest; the sentence dictated by Dr. Marchmont, as
the watch-word to his feelings, _were she mine_, recurred to him
incessantly; alas! he thought, with this dissipated delight in
admiration, what individual can make her happy? to the rational serenity
of domestic life, she is lost!

Again, as he viewed the thickening group before her, offering fresh and
fresh incense, which her occupied mind scarce perceived, though her
elevated spirits unconsciously encouraged, he internally exclaimed: 'O,
if her trusting father saw her thus! her father who, with all his tender
lenity, has not the blind indulgence of her uncle, how would he start!
how would his sense of fair propriety be revolted!--or if her
mother--her respectable mother, beheld thus changed, thus undignified,
thus open to all flattery and all flatterers, her no longer peerless
daughter--how would she blush! how would the tint of shame rob her
impressive countenance of its noble confidence!'

These thoughts were too agitating for observation; his eyes moistened
with sadness in associating to his disappointment that of her revered
and exemplary parents, and he retreated from her sight till the moment
of landing; when with sudden desperation, melancholy yet determined, he
told himself he would no longer be withheld from fulfilling his purpose.

He made way, then, to the group, though with unsteady steps; his eye
pierced through to Camilla; she caught and fixt it. He felt cold; but
still advanced. She saw the change, but did not understand it. He
offered her his hand before Lady Pervil arose to lead the way, lest some
competitor should seize it; she accepted it, rather surprized by such
sudden promptness, though encouraged by it to a still further dependance
upon her revived and sanguine expectations.

Yet deeper sunk this flattering illusion, when she found his whole frame
was shaking, and saw his complexion every moment varying. She continued,
though in a less disengaged manner, her sprightly discourse with the
group; for he uttered not a word. Content that he had secured her hand,
he waited an opportunity less public.

Lady Pervil, who possessed that true politeness of a well-bred woman of
rank, who knows herself never so much respected as when she lays aside
mere heraldic claims to superiority, would not quit the yacht of which
she did the honours, till every other lady was conducted to the shore.
Edgar had else purposed to have detained Camilla in the vessel a moment
later than her party, to hear the very few words it was his intention to
speak. Frustrated of this design, he led her away with the rest, still
totally silent, till her feet touched the beach: she was then, with
seeming carelessness, withdrawing her hand, to trip off to Mrs.
Berlinton; but Edgar, suddenly grasping it, tremulously said: 'Will it
be too much presumption--in a rejected man--to beg the honour of three
minutes conference with Miss Tyrold, before she joins her party?'

A voice piercing from the deep could not have caused in Camilla a more
immediate revulsion of ideas; but she was silent, in her turn, and he
led her along the beach, while Mrs. Berlinton, attended by a train of
beaux, went to her carriage, where, thus engaged, she contentedly
waited.

'Do not fear,' he resumed, when they had passed the crowd, 'do not fear
to listen to me, though, once more, I venture to obtrude upon you some
advice; let it not displease you; it is in the spirit of the purest good
will; it is singly, solely, and disinterestedly as a friend.'

Camilla was now all emotion; pale she turned, but Edgar did not look at
her; and she strove to thank him in a common manner, and to appear cool
and unmoved.

'My opinion, my fears rather, concerning Mrs. Berlinton, as I find she
hopes soon for a near connexion with your family, will henceforth remain
buried in my own breast: yet, should you, to any use hereafter remember
them, I shall rejoice: though should nothing ever recur to remind you of
them, I shall rejoice still more. Nor will I again torment you about
that very underbred woman who inhabits the same house, and who every
where boasts an intimacy with its two ladies, that is heard with general
astonishment: nor yet upon another, and far more important topic, will I
now touch,--the present evening recreation at Mrs. Berlinton's. I know
you are merely a spectatress, and I will not alarm your friends, nor
dwell myself, upon collateral mischiefs, or eventual dangers, from a
business that in three days will end, by your restoration to the most
respectable of all protections. All that, now, I mean to enter upon, all
that, now, I wish to enforce, a few words will comprise, and those words
will be my--'

He would have said _my last_ but his breath failed him; he stopt; he
wanted her to seize his meaning unpronounced; and, though it came to her
as a thunderbolt from heaven, its very horror helped her; she divined
what he could not utter, by feeling what she could not hear.

'Few, indeed,' cried he, in broken accents, 'must be these final words!
but how can I set out upon my so long procrastinated tour, with an idea
that you are not in perfect safety, yet without attempting to point out
to you your danger? And yet,--that you should be surrounded by admirers
can create no wonder;--that you should feel your power without
displeasure, is equally natural;--I scarcely know, therefore, what I
would urge--yet perhaps, untold, you may conceive what struggles in my
breast, and do justice to the conflict between friendship and respect,
where one prompts a freedom, which the other [trembles] to execute. I
need not, I think, say, that to offend you is nearly the only thing that
could aggravate the affliction of this parting.'--

Camilla turned aside from him; but not to weep; her spirit was now
re-wakened by resentment, that he could thus propose a separation,
without enquiring if she persisted to desire it.

'I tire you?' resumed he, mournfully; 'yet can you be angry that a
little I linger? Farewell, however--the grave, when it closes in upon me
can alone end my prayers for your felicity! I commit wholly to you my
character and my conduct, with regard to your most honoured father, whom
I beseech and conjure you to assure of my eternal gratitude and
affection. But I am uncertain of your wishes; I will, therefore, depart
without seeing him. When I return to this country, all will be
forgotten--or remembered only--' _by me_, he meant to say, but he
checked himself, and, with forced composure, went on:

'That I travel not with any view of pleasure, you, who know what I
leave--how I prize what I lose,--and how lately I thought all I most
coveted mine for ever, will easily believe. But if earthly bliss is the
lot of few, what right had I to expect being so selected? Severe as is
this moment, with blessings, not with murmurs, I quit you! blessings
which my life, could it be useful to you, should consecrate. If you were
persuaded our dispositions would not assimilate; if mine appeared to you
too rigorous, too ungenial, your timely precaution has spared more
misery than it has inflicted. How could I have borne the light, when it
had shewn me Camilla unhappy--yet Camilla my own--?'

His struggle here grew vain, his voice faltered; the resentment of
Camilla forsook her; she raised her head, and was turning to him her
softened countenance, and filling eyes, when she saw Melmond, and a
party of gentlemen, fast approaching her from Mrs. Berlinton. Edgar saw
them too, and cutting short all he meant to have added, kissed, without
knowing what he did, the lace of her cloak, and ejaculating, 'Be Heaven
your guard, and happiness your portion!' left her hand to that of
Melmond, which was held out to her, and slightly bowing to the whole
party, walked slowly, and frequently looking back, away: while Camilla,
nearly blinded now by tears that would no longer be restrained, kept her
eyes fixedly upon the earth, and was drawn, more dead than alive, by
Melmond to the coach.




CHAPTER II

_Touches of Wit and Humour_


The suddenness of this blow to Camilla, at the moment when her
expectations from Edgar were wound up to the summit of all she desired,
would have stupefied her into a consternation beyond even affliction,
had not the mildness of his farewell, the kindness of his prayers, and
the friendship of his counsels, joined to the generosity of leaving
wholly to herself the account of their separation, subdued all the pride
that sought to stifle her tenderness, and penetrated her with an
admiration which left not one particle of censure to diminish her
regret.

Melmond and his sister, always open to distress, and susceptible to
pity, saw with true concern this melancholy change, and concluded that
Mandlebert had communicated some painful intelligence.

She went straight to her own room, with a sign of supplication that Mrs.
Berlinton would not follow; and turning quick from Mrs. Mittin, who met
her at the street door.

Mrs. Berlinton yielded; but Mrs. Mittin was not easily rebuffed. She was
loaded with lilac plumes, ribbands, and gauzes, and Camilla saw her bed
completely covered with her new ball dress.

This sight was, at first, an aggravation of her agony, by appearing to
her as superfluous as it was expensive: but wherever hope could find an
aperture to creep in at, it was sure of a welcome from Camilla. Edgar
was undoubtedly invited to the ball; why should he not be there? he had
taken leave of her, indeed, and he certainly proposed going abroad; but
could a mere meeting once more, be so repugnant as not to be endured.

The answer to this question was favourable to her wishes, for by her
wishes it was framed: and the next play of her fertile and quick
reviving imagination, described the meeting that would ensue, the
accidents that would bring them into the same set, the circumstances
that would draw them again into conversation, and the sincerity with
which she would do justice to her unalterable esteem, by assuring him
how injurious to it were his surmises that she thought him rigorous,
austere, or in any single instance to blame.

These hopes somewhat appeased, though their uncertainty could not banish
her terrors, and she was able to appear at dinner tolerably composed.

Another affair, immediately after, superseded them, for the present, by
more urgent difficulties.

Soon after her arrival at Southampton, a poor woman, who washed for her,
made a petition in behalf of her brother, a petty shop-keeper, who, by
various common, yet pitiable circumstances of unmerited ill success in
business, was unable to give either money or security to the wholesale
dealers, for the renewal of his exhausted stock in trade; though the
present full season, made it rational to suppose, that, if he had his
usual commodities, he might retrieve his credit, save himself from
bankruptcy, and his children from beggary. These last, which were five
in number, were all, upon various pretences, brought to Camilla, whose
pity they excited by the innocence with which they seemed ignorant of
requiring it; and who received them with smiles and encouragement,
however frivolous their errands, and frequent their interruptions. But
the goods which their father wanted to lay in, to revive his trade,
demanded full thirty pounds, which, Camilla declared, were as absolutely
out of her power to give as thirty thousand, though she promised to
plead to Sir Hugh for the sum, upon her return to Cleves, and was
prevailed with to grant her name to this promise for the wholesale
dealers. These would trust, however, to no verbal security; and Mrs.
Mittin, who from collateral reasons was completely a friend of the poor
man, offered to be bound for him herself, though thirty pounds were
nearly her year's income, provided Camilla would sign a paper, by which
she would engage _upon her honour_, to indemnify her of any loss she
might eventually sustain by this agreement, as soon as she was of age,
or should find it in her power before that time.

The seriousness of this clause, made Camilla refuse the responsibility,
protesting she should have no added means in consequence of being of
age. But Mrs. Mittin assured Higden, the poor man, as she assured all
others, that she was heiress to immense wealth, for she had had it from
one that had it from her own brother's own mouth; and that though she
could not find out why she was so shy of owning it, she supposed it was
only from the fear of being imposed upon.

The steadiness of Camilla, however, could not withstand her compassion,
when the washerwoman brought the poor children to beg for their father;
and, certain of her uncle's bounty, she would have run a far more
palpable risk, sooner than have assumed the force to send them weeping
away.

The stores were then delivered; and all the family poured forth their
thanks.

But this day, in quitting the dining parlour, she was stopt in the hall
by Higden, who, in unfeigned agonies, related, that some flasks of oil,
in a small hamper, which were amongst the miscellaneous articles of his
just collected stores, had, by some cruel accident, been crushed, and
their contents, finding their way into all the other packages, had
stained or destroyed them.

Camilla, to whose foresight misfortune never presented itself, heard
this with nearly equal terror for herself, and sorrow for the poor man:
yet her own part, in a second minute, appeared that of mere
inconvenience, compared with his, which seemed ruin irretrievable; she
sought, therefore, to comfort him; but could afford no further help,
since she had painfully to beg from her uncle the sum already so
uselessly incurred. He ventured still to press, that, if again he could
obtain a supply, every evil chance should be guarded against; but
Camilla had now learned that accidents were possible; and the fear which
arises from disappointed trust, made her think of probable mischiefs
with too acute a discernment, to deem it right to run again any hazard,
where, if there were a failure, another, not herself, would be the
sufferer. Yet the despair of the poor man induced her to promise she
would write in his favour, though not act in it again unauthorised.

With feelings of still augmented discomfort, from her denial, she
repaired to her toilette; but attired herself without seeing what she
put on, or knowing, but by Mrs. Mittin's descriptions and boastings,
that her dress was new, of the Pervil uniform, and made precisely like
that of Mrs. Berlinton. Her agitated spirits, suspended, not between
hope and fear, but hope and despair, permitted no examination of its
elegance: the recollection of its expence, and the knowledge that Edgar
thought her degenerating into coquetry, left nothing but regret for its
wear.

Mrs. Berlinton, who never before, since her marriage, had been of any
party where her attractions had not been unrivalled, had believed
herself superior to pleasure from personal homage, and knew not, till
she missed it, that it made any part of her amusement in public. But the
Beauty, when first she perceives a competitor for the adulation she has
enjoyed exclusively, and the Statesman, at the first turn of popular
applause to an antagonist, are the two beings who, perhaps, for the
moment, require the most severe display of self-command, to disguise,
under the semblance of good humour or indifference, the disappointment
they experience in themselves, or the contempt with which they are
seized for the changing multitude.

Mrs. Berlinton, though she felt no resentment against Camilla for the
desertion she had occasioned her, felt much surprize; not to be first
was new to her: and whoever, in any station of life, any class of
society, has had regular and acknowledged precedency, must own a sudden
descent to be rather awkward. Where resignation is voluntary, to give up
the higher place may denote more greatness of mind than to retain it;
but where imposed by others, few things are less exhilarating to the
principal, or impress less respect upon the by-stander.

Mrs. Berlinton had never been vain; but she could not be ignorant of her
beauty; and that the world's admiration should be so wondrously fickle,
or so curiously short-lived, as to make even the bloom of youth fade
before the higher zest of novelty, was an earlier lesson than her mind
was prepared to receive. She thought she had dressed herself that
morning with too much carelessness of what was becoming, and devoted to
this evening a greater portion of labour and study.

While Camilla was impatiently waiting, Mrs. Pollard, the washerwoman,
gained admittance to her, and bringing two interesting little children
of from four to five years old, and an elder girl of eleven, made them
join with herself to implore their benefactress to save them all from
destruction.

Higden having had the imprudence, in his grief, to make known his recent
misfortune, it had reached the ears of his landlord, who already was
watchful and suspicious, from a year and half arrears of his rent; and
steps were immediately preparing to seize whatever was upon the premises
the next morning; which, by bringing upon him all his other creditors,
would infallibly immure him in the lingering hopelessness of a prison.

Camilla now wavered; the debt was but eighteen pounds; the noble
largesses of her uncle in charity, till, of late, that he had been
somewhat drained by Lionel, were nearly unlimited.--She paused--looked
now at the pleading group, now at her expensive dress; asked how, for
her own hopes, she could risk so much, yet for their deliverance from
ruin so little; and with a blush turning from the mirrour, and to the
children with a tear, finally consented that the landlord should apply
to her the next morning.

       *       *       *       *       *

Lord Pervil had some time opened the ball before Mrs. Berlinton's
arrival; but he looked every where for Camilla, to succeed to a young
lady of quality with whom he had danced the first two dances. He could
not, however, believe he had found, though he now soon saw and made up
to her. The brilliancy of her eyes was dimmed by weeping, her vivacity
was changed into dejection, sighs and looks of absence took place of
smiles and sallies of gaiety, and her whole character seemed to have
lost its spring and elasticity. She gave him her hand, to preserve her
power of giving it if claimed by Edgar, and though he had thought of her
without ceasing since she had charmed him in the yacht, till he had
obtained it, not a lady appeared in the room, by the time these two
dances were over, that he would not more cheerfully have chosen for two
more: her gravity every minute encreased, her eye rolled, with restless
anxiety, every where, except to meet his, and so little were her
thoughts, looks, or conversation bestowed upon her partner, that instead
of finding the animated beauty who had nearly captivated him on board
the yacht, he seemed coupled with a fair lifeless machine, whom the
music, perforce, put in motion; and relinquished her hand with as little
reluctance as she withdrew it.

Melmond had again, by his sister, been forced into the party, though
with added unwillingness, from his new idea of Indiana. Now, however, to
avoid that fair bane was impossible: Indiana was the first object to
meet every eye, from the lustre of her beauty, and the fineness of her
figure, each more than ever transcendently conspicuous, from the uniform
which had obliged every other female in the room to appear in exactly
the same attire. Yet great and unrivalled as was the admiration which
she met, what came simply and naturally was insufficient for the thirst
with which she now quaffed this intoxicating beverage; and to render its
draughts still more delicious, she made Eugenia always hold by her arm.
The contrast here to the spectators was diverting as well as striking,
and renewed attention to her own charms, when the eye began to grow
nearly sated with gazing. The ingenuous Eugenia, incapable of suspecting
such a design, was always the dupe to the request, from the opinion it
was made in kindness, to save her from fatigue in the eternal sauntering
of a public place; and, lost to all fear, in being lost to all hope, as
to her own appearance, cheerfully accompanied her beautiful kinswoman,
without conjecturing that, in a company whence the illiterate and vulgar
were excluded, personal imperfections could excite pleasantry, or be a
subject of satire.

Camilla, who still saw nothing of Edgar, yet still thought it possible
he might come, joined them as soon as she was able. Miss Margland was
full of complaints about Dr. Orkborne, for his affording them no
assistance in the yacht, and not coming home even to dinner, nor to
attend them to Lord Pervil's; and Eugenia, who was sincerely attached to
the Doctor, from the many years he had been her preceptor, was beginning
to express her serious uneasiness at his thus strangely vanishing; when
Clermont, with the most obstreperous laughter, made up to them, and
said: 'I'll tell you a monstrous good joke! the best thing you ever
heard in your life! the old Doctor's been upon the very point of being
drowned!--and he has not had a morsel to eat all day!'

He then related that his man, having seen him composedly seated, and
musing upon a pile of planks which were seasoning upon the beach, with
his face turned away from the company to avoid its interruptions, had
enquired if he had any commands at home, whither he was going: 'Not for
meaning to do them,' continued Lynmere; 'No, no! catch Bob at that! but
only to break in upon him; for Bob's a rare hand at a joke. He says he's
ready to die with laughing, when he speaks to the old Doctor while he's
studying, because he looks so much as if he wished we were all hanged.
However, he answered tolerably civilly, and only desired that nobody
might go into his room till he came home from the sail, for he'd forgot
to lock it. So Bob, who smoked how the matter was, says: 'The sail, Sir,
what are you going alone, then? for all the company's been gone these
two hours.' So this put him in such a taking, Bob says he never laughed
so much in his life. He jumped up as if he'd been bit: 'Gone?' says he,
'why where's Miss Eugenia, I promised Sir Hugh not to lose sight of
her.' So he said he'd go after her that very moment. 'Call me a boat,'
said he: just as if he'd ordered a hackney coach; for he knows about as
much of winds and tides as my little bay Filly, that I bought of Halder
yesterday for fifty pounds, but that I shall make worth seventy in less
than a month. Well, there was nothing to be had but a small fishing
boat, so Bob winks at the man to take in a friend; for he has all those
fellows in a string. So in went his Latinship, and off they put. Bob
fell into such a fit of laughter, he says I might have heard him a mile
off. I don't think Bob has his fellow upon earth for fun.'

Eugenia now interrupted the narration, with a serious enquiry where Dr.
Orkborne was at present.

Lynmere, shouting at what he thought the ridicule of this concern,
answered, that Bob had told the fisherman to go about his own business,
unless the Doctor offered to pay him handsomely for taking him on board
the yacht; but thinking it would be a good joke to know what was become
of him, he had gone himself, with Halder, and some more choice blades,
to the beach, about half an hour ago, to make Bob see if the fishing
boat was come in; and, by good luck, they arrived at the very nick of
time, and saw the Doctor, the fish, and the fishing-tackle, all hauled
out together. 'And a better sight was never seen before, I promise you!'
continued Lynmere; 'I thought I should quite have burst my sides with
looking at him, he was so wet and so cold, and so miserable; and when I
thought of his having had no dinner, I shouted till I was ready to roll
on the beach--and he smelt so of the fish, that I could have hugged Bob,
'twas such monstrous good sport. He got three half crowns in a minute
for his ingenuity. Halder began;--and two others of us gave two more.'

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

'Why we got about the fisherman, and then we had all the same fun over
again: He says, that, at first, the poor gentleman was in a great
taking, fretting and fuming, and looking out for the yacht, and seeming
almost beside himself for hurry to get to it; but after that, he takes
out a little red book and a pencil, and falls to writing, just as hard
as if he'd come into the boat for nothing else; insomuch, that when they
were just coming along-side the yacht, he never lifted up his head, nor
listened to one word, but kept making a motion with his hand to be let
alone: and when the man said the yacht would be passed, he bid him hold
his peace, and not interrupt him so, in such a pettish manner, that the
man resolved to take honest Bob's advice, and go on about his own
business. And so he did, and the Doctor was as content as a lord, till
he had scribbled all he could scratch out of his noddle: but then came
the best sport of all; for when he had nothing more to write, and looked
up, and saw the boat stock still, and the man fishing at his leisure,
and heard the yacht had been bound homeward of a good hour, he was in
such a perilous passion, the man says, that he actually thought he'd
have jumped overboard. I'll bet what you will he won't ask Bob to call
him a boat again in a hurry.'

'As to his behaviour,' said Miss Margland, 'it's the last thing in the
world to surprize me, after what I have seen myself; nor any body else,
I believe, neither. Who is Dr. Orkborne? I doubt much if any body ever
heard his name before. I should like to know if any body can tell who
was his grandfather!'

She then declared, if she could get any soul to fetch him, he should
still come, if it were only that he might not pass the evening all in
his own way, which would be just the thing to encourage him to hide
himself out of sight, on purpose not to help them another time.

Eugenia was going to beg he might not be disturbed, when Melmond, all
alacrity to seize any means of absenting himself from the two cousins,
who produced in him so severe a conflict, offered his services to carry
a message to the Doctor; which, being readily accepted, he set off.

Indiana and Eugenia, not wholly without similarity of sensation, looked
after him. Indiana had now caught his eye; and though quickness was no
part of her character, the tale it told had convinced her that her
power, though no longer acknowledged was not extinguished; it required
neither elemental precepts, nor sagacious perceptions, to make this
discovery, and she exultingly determined to appease her late
mortification, by reducing him to her feet. She stopt not to enquire
what such a step might be to Eugenia, nor what was likely, or even
desirable to be its event. Where narrow minds imagine they have received
injury, they seek revenge rather than redress, from an opinion that such
a conduct asserts their own importance.

Still vainly, and wretchedly, the eyes of Camilla sought Edgar: the
evening advanced, but he came not; yet, catching at every possible
chance for hope, she thought some other room that they had not visited,
might be open for company, where, finally, they might meet.

Dr. Orkborne accompanied Melmond back. Miss Margland was preparing him a
reproachful reception, but was so much offended by the fishy smell which
he brought into the room, that she had immediate recourse to her salts,
and besought him to stand out of her way. He complied without
reluctance, though with high disdain.

The young ladies were all dancing. Indiana had no sooner perceived
Melmond, than she determined to engage his attention: the arts of
coquetry require but slender parts, where the love of admiration is
potent; she pretended, therefore, to feel extremely ill, put her hand to
her forehead, and telling her partner, Mr. Halder, she could not stand
another minute, hastened to Miss Margland, and cast herself, as if
fainting, upon her neck.

This had all the success with Melmond that his own lively imagination
could give it. He flew to a side-table to get her a glass of water,
which his trembling hand could scarce hold, but which she received from
him with a languishing sweetness, that dissolved every tie but of love,
and he '_hung over her enamoured_[4];' while Miss Margland related that
she could hardly keep from fainting herself, so much she had been
shocked and disordered by the horrid smell of Dr. Orkborne.

[Footnote 4: Milton]

Indiana now caught the infection, and protested she was so much worse,
that if she had not a little air she should die. Melmond was flying to
open a window, but a lady who sat close to it, objected; and he had then
recourse to two folding doors, leading to a portico open to a large
garden.

Hither Indiana permitted herself to be led, and led by the thrice happy,
yet thrice miserable Melmond. Miss Margland was accompanying them, but
Lady Pervil, advancing to enquire what went wrong, gave her an
opportunity irresistible to inveigh against Dr. Orkborne; and as her
well-bred hearer, though little interested in such a detail, would not
interrupt it, Indiana arrived alone in the portico with Melmond. Halder,
who had danced with her, followed, but supposing Melmond the favoured
man, walked singing off, and made the tour of the garden.

This situation was to Melmond as dangerous, as to Indiana it was
exulting. She now suddenly withdrew her hand, with an air of poignant
disdain, which the illuminated portico and house made amply visible; and
when, surprised and much moved, he tremblingly enquired if she were
worse, she answered, 'Why do you ask? I am sure you do not care.'

Easily deprived of all forbearance, 'Heavens!' he exclaimed, 'do I live,
yet suffer this imputation! O divine Indiana! load me with every other
reproach, rather than this dreadful charge of insensibility to all that
is most lovely, most perfect upon earth!'

'I thought,' said Indiana, again softening her fine eyes, 'you had quite
forgot me, and all the vows you made to me.'

'Wretch that I am,' cried Melmond nearly distracted by this charge, and
by the regret at losing him, which seemed its purpose, 'condemned to
every species of woe! O fair, angelic Indiana! in a cottage with you
would I have dwelt, more delightedly, and more proudly, than any
potentate in the most gorgeous palace: but, alas! from you--formed to
enchant all mankind, and add grace to every dignity--from you could I
dare ask such a sacrifice?'

Indiana now listened with an attentive softness no longer factitious;
though all her views wafted her to splendour and high life, her ear
could not withstand the romantic sound of love and a cottage; and though
no character was ever less formed to know and taste the blessings such a
spot may bestow and reciprocate, she imagined she might there be happy,
for she considered such a habitation but as a bower of eglantine and
roses, in which she might repose and be adored all day long.

Melmond saw but too quickly the relenting cast of her countenance; and
ecstasy and despair combated which should bear sway in his breast. 'Ah,
madam,' he cried, 'most adorable and most adored of women! you know my
terrible situation, but you know not the sufferings, nor the constancy
of my heart!--the persecution of friends, the pressure of distress, the
hopelessness of my idolized Indiana--'

A deep sigh interrupted him--it came not from Indiana--startled, he
looked round--and beheld Eugenia, leaning against the door by which she
seemed to have intended entering, pale, petrified, aghast.

Shame now tied his tongue, and tingled, with quick reproach, through his
whole frame. He looked at Indiana with despair, at Eugenia with remorse;
injured rectitude and blushing honour urged him to the swiftest
termination of so every way terrible a scene, and bowing low to Eugenia,
'I durst not, madam,' he cried, 'ever hope for your pardon! yet I rather
deluded myself than deceived you when I ventured to solicit your
acceptance. Alas! I am a bankrupt both in fortune and in heart, and can
only pray you will hasten to forget--that you may forbear to execrate
me!'

He then disappeared, finding a way out by the garden, to avoid
re-entering the ball-room.

Eugenia, who, in this speech, comprehended an eternal adieu, sunk upon
the seat of the portico, cold, shivering, almost lifeless. Little
prepared for such an event, she had followed Indiana the moment she was
disengaged from the dance, not suspicious of any _tête-à-tête_, from
believing Halder of the party. The energy of Melmond made her approach
unheard; and the words she unavoidably caught, nearly turned her to
marble.

Indiana was sorry for her distress, yet felt a triumph in its cause; and
wondered how so plain a little creature could take it into her head to
think of marrying.

Camilla now joined them, affrighted at the evident anguish of Eugenia,
who, leaning upon her affectionate bosom, had the relief excited by
pity, of bursting into tears, while despondingly she uttered: 'All is
over, my sister, and over for life with Eugenia! Melmond flies and
detests me! I am odious in his sight! I am horror to this thoughts!'

Camilla wept over her in silent, but heart-breaking sympathy. Indiana
returned to the dance: but the two suffering sisters remained in the
portico till summoned to depart. They were insensible to the night air,
from the fever of their minds. They spoke no more; they felt the
insufficiency of words to express their griefs, and their mutual
compassion was all that softened their mutual sorrows.




CHAPTER III

_An Adieu_


Lost to all happiness, and for the first time in her life, divested of
hope, Camilla at a late hour returned to Mrs. Berlinton's. And here,
her heart-breaking disappointment received the cruel aggravation of the
most severe self-reproach, when, in facing the mirror to deposit her
ornaments upon the toilette table, she considered the expensive elegance
of her whole dress, now, even in her own estimation, by its abortive
purpose, rendered glaringly extravagant. Since her project had failed,
she saw the impropriety of having risked so much in its attempt; and a
train of just reflections ensued, to which her understanding was always
equal, though her gaiety was seldom disposed. 'Would Edgar,' thought
she, 'wait the event of a meeting at a ball to decide his conduct? Had
he not every title to claim a conference with me, if he had the smallest
inclination? Rejected as he calls himself, I had not pretended to demand
our separation from any doubts, any displeasure of my own. From the
moment he suffered me to quit, without reclamation, the roof under which
I had proposed our parting, I ought to have seen it was but his own
desire, perhaps design, I was executing. And all the reluctance he
seemed to feel, which so weakly I attributed to regard, was but the
expiring sensibility of the last moment of intercourse. Not with
murmurs, he says, he will quit me--nor with murmurs will I now resign
him!--with blessings, he says, he leaves me--O Edgar! mayest thou too be
blest! The erring and unequal Camilla deserved thee not!'

A more minute examination of her attire was not calculated to improve
her serenity. Her robe was everywhere edged with the finest Valencienne
lace; her lilac shoes, sash, and gloves, were richly spangled with
silver, and finished with a silver fringe; her ear-rings and necklace
were of lilac and gold beads; her fan and shoe roses were brilliant with
lilac foil, and her bouquet of artificial lilac flowers, and her plumes
of lilac feathers, were here and there tipt with the most tiny
transparent white beads, to give them the effect of being glittering
with the dew.

Of the cost of all this she was no judge, but, certain its amount must
be high, a warm displeasure arose against the incorrigible Mrs. Mittin,
who had not only taken the pattern, but the value of Mrs. Berlinton's
dress for her guide: and a yet greater dissatisfaction ensued with
herself, for trusting the smallest commission to so vain and
ungovernable an agent. She could only hope to hoard the payment from the
whole of her next year's allowance, by living in so forbearing and
retired a manner, as to require nothing for herself.

The new, but all powerful guest which now assailed her, unhappiness, had
still kept her eyes from closing, when she was called up to Mr. Tennet,
the landlord of Higden. Her fuller knowledge of her own hopeless debts,
could not make her faithless to her engagement; for her acquaintance
with misery awakened but more pity for the misery of others. She
admitted him, therefore, without demur; and found he was a land
surveyor, who had often been employed by Sir Hugh at Cleves. He accepted
her verbal promise to be answerable for the rent now due, declining her
note of hand, which her minority made illegal, and engaging not to hurry
her for the money; well satisfied, by the Tyrold character in the whole
county, he might abide by her word of honour, founded upon the known
munificence of her uncle.

This delay was a relief, as it saved a partial demand, that must have
forced an abrupt confession of her own debts, or have deceived the
baronet into a belief she had nothing to solicit.

When this business was transacted, she hastened to Eugenia, to console
whose sufferings was all that could mitigate her own.

One of the maids then came to say she had forgotten to inform her, that,
some time after she had set out for Lord Pervil's a stranger, much
muffled up, and with a hat flapped over his face so as wholly to hide
it, had enquired for her, and seemed much disturbed when he heard she
was at the ball, but said he would call again the next day at noon.

No conjecture occurred to Camilla but that this must be Edgar; it was
contrary to all probability; but no other image could find way to her
mind. She hastened, inexpressibly perturbed, to her sister, determining
to be at home before twelve o'clock, and fashioning to herself all the
varieties such a meeting could afford; every one of which, however they
began, ended regularly with a reconciliation.

She found Eugenia weeping in bed. She embraced her with the extremest
tenderness: 'Ah my sister!' said the unhappy mourner, 'I weep not for my
disappointment, great as it may be--and I do not attempt describing
it!--it is but my secondary sorrow. I weep, Camilla, for my own
infatuation! for the folly, the blindness of which I find myself
culpable. O Camilla! is it possible I could ever--for a moment, a single
moment, suppose Melmond could willingly be mine! could see his exquisite
susceptibility of every thing that is most perfect, yet persuade myself,
he could take, by choice, the poor Eugenia for his wife! the mangled,
deformed,--unfortunate Eugenia!'

Camilla, touched to the heart, wept now more than her sister. 'That
Eugenia,' she cried, 'has but to be known, to leave all beauty, all
figure, every exterior advantage aloof, by the nobler, the more just
superiority of intrinsic worth. Let our estimates but be mental, and who
will not be proud to be placed in parallel with Eugenia?'

She was then beginning her own sad relation, when an unopened letter
upon the toilette table caught her eye. It had been placed there by
Molly Mill, who thought her mistress asleep. Struck by the shape of the
seal, Camilla rose to examine it: what was her palpitation, then, to see
the cypher E M, and, turning to the other side, to perceive the hand
writing of Edgar!

She put it into her sister's hand, with expectation too big for speech.
Eugenia opened it, and they read it silently together.

     _To Miss_ EUGENIA TYROLD.

     Southampton.

     'Tis yet but a short time--in every account but my own--since I
     thought myself forming a legal claim to address Miss Eugenia Tyrold
     as my sister. Every other claim to that affectionate and endearing
     title has been hers beyond her own memory; hers by the filial love
     I bear her venerated parents; hers, by the tender esteem due to the
     union of almost every virtue. These first and early ties must
     remain for ever. Disappointment here cannot pierce her barbarous
     shafts, fortune cannot wanton in reversing, nor can time dissolve
     them.----

'O Edgar!' exclaimed Camilla, stopping the reading, and putting her
hand, as in benediction, upon the paper, 'do you deign to talk of
disappointment? do you condescend to intimate you are unhappy? Ah, my
Eugenia, you shall clear this dreadful error!--'tis to you he
applies--you shall be peace-maker; restorer!'

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

     Of the other--yet nearer claim, I will not speak. You have probably
     known longer than myself, its annihilation, and I will not pain
     your generous heart with any view of my sufferings in such a
     deprivation. I write but to take with my pen the leave I dare not
     trust myself to take by word of mouth; to wish to your opening
     prospects all the happiness that has flown mine, and to entreat you
     to answer for me to the whole of your loved family, that its name
     is what, through life, my ear with most reverence will hear, my
     heart with most devotion will love.

     EDGAR MANDLEBERT.

At the kind wish upon her own opening prospects, Eugenia wept afresh;
but when Camilla took the letter to press to her lips and her heart what
he said of his sufferings, she perceived at the doubling down, two lines
more:--

     I am this moment leaving Southampton for the Isle of Wight, whence
     I shall sail to the first port, that the first vessel with which I
     may meet shall be bound.

'No, my dear Eugenia,' cried she, then colouring, and putting down the
letter, 'your mediation will be spared. He acquaints us he is quitting
England. He can only mention it to avoid the persecution of an answer.
Certainly none shall be obtruded upon him.'

Eugenia pleaded that still a letter might overtake him at the Isle of
Wight, and all misunderstanding might be rectified. 'And then, my
sister, all may be well, and your happiness renewed.--It has not flown
you--like that of Eugenia--from any radical cause. Her's is not only
gone, past all resource, but has left behind it disgrace with sorrow,
derision with disappointment!'

Camilla strove to soothe her, but would no longer listen to any
mediation; she resolved, at once, to write of the separation to her
father, and beseech him to send for her to Etherington, and never again
suffer her to quit that roof, where alone her peace was without
disturbance, her conduct without reproach. Even her debts, now, she felt
equal to avowing, for as, far from contracting new ones, she meant in
future to reside in complete obscurity, she hoped the feelings of this
moment would procure pardon for her indiscretions, which her own
sedulous future oeconomy should be indefatigable to repair.

Eugenia would not strive longer against a procedure which she deemed
dignified, and the departure of Camilla was hurried by a messenger, who
brought word that the strange man, with the flapped hat, was returned,
and entreated her, for Heaven's sake, to let him speak with her one
moment.

Dead, now, to the hope she had entertained of this enquirer, she merely
from his own urgency complied with his call; for her curiosity was gone
since she now knew it could not be Edgar.

       *       *       *       *       *

Edgar, indeed, was actually departed. His heart was loaded with sorrow,
his prospect seemed black with despondence; but Camilla was lost to that
perfect confidence, and unbounded esteem, he required to feel for his
wife, and no tenderness without them, no partial good opinion, nor
general admiration, could make him wish to lead her to the altar. 'No!'
cried he, 'Dr. Marchmont; you judged me better than my first passion,
and her untried steadiness enabled me to judge myself. Misery only could
have followed my view of her in the mixt society in which the thousand
accidents of life might occasionally have placed us. I can only be happy
with a character as simple in the world, as in retirement; as artless at
an assembly, as in a cottage. Without that heavenly simplicity, the
union of all else that renders life desirable, were vain! without
that--all her enchanting qualities, with which nothing can vie, and
which are entwined around my heart-strings, were ineffectual to my
peace.'

'You are right,' said the Doctor, 'and your timely caution, and early
wisdom, will protect you from the bitterness of a personal experience
like mine. With all the charms she assembles, her character seems too
unstable for private domestic life. When a few years more have blunted
the wild vivacity, the floating ambition, the changing propensities
which now render her inconsistent to others, and fluctuating even to
herself, she may yet become as respectable, as she must always be
amiable. But now, ... whoever takes her from the circle in which she is
playing, will see her lost to all gaiety, though without daring to
complain, from the restraint of bidden duties, which make the bidder a
tyrant.'

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

He had, originally, purposed visiting Mr. Tyrold before he set out, and
conversing with him upon the state of danger in which he thought his
daughter; but his tenderness for her feelings, during his last adieu,
had beguiled him of this plan, lest it should prove painful, injurious,
or inauspicious to her own views or designs in breaking to her friends
their breach. He now addressed a few lines to his revered guardian, to
be delivered by Dr. Marchmont; to whom he gave discretionary powers, if
any explanation should be demanded; though clogged with an earnest
clause, that he would neither advance, nor confess any thing that could
hurt Camilla, even a moment, unless to avert from her some danger, or
substantiate some good.

Dr. Marchmont determined to accompany him to the Isle of Wight, whither
he resolved to go, and wait for his baggage; and undertook the
superintendance of his estate and affairs in his absence.

When they were summoned to the little vessel, Edgar changed colour, his
heart beat quick, and he sighed rather than breathed. He held his hand
upon his eyes and forehead for a few minutes, in agony inexpressible,
then silently gave his servant the letter he had written for Eugenia,
took the Doctor by the arm, walked to the beach, and got aboard; his
head still turned wholly towards the town, his eyes looking above it, as
if seeking to fix the habitation of Camilla. Dr. Marchmont sought to
draw his attention another way, but it was rivetted to the spot they
were quitting.

'I feel truly your unhappiness, my dear Mandlebert,' said he, 'that this
young creature, with defects of so cruel a tendency, mingles qualities
of so endearing a nature. Judge, however, the predominance of what is
faulty, since parents so exemplary have not been able to make the scales
weigh down on the side of right. Alas! Mr. Tyrold has himself erred, in
committing, at so early a period, her conduct into her own reins. The
very virtues, in the first youth, are so little regulated by reflection,
that, were [they] not watched nor aided, they run into extremes nearly
as pernicious, though not so unamiable as the vices. What instance more
than this now before us can shew the futility of education, and the
precariousness of innate worth, when the contaminating world is allowed
to seize its inexperienced prey, before the character is fixed as well
as formed?'

A deeply assenting sigh broke from the bosom of Edgar, whose strained
eyes held their purpose, till neither beach, nor town, nor even a spire
of Southampton, were discernible. Again, then, for a moment, he covered
them with his hand, and exclaimed: 'Farewell! Camilla, farewell!'




CHAPTER IV

_A modest Request_


Quick, though without a wish of speed, was the return home of Camilla;
she felt at this moment in that crushed and desolate state, where the
sudden extinction of hope leaves the mind without energy to form even a
wish. She was quick only because too nervous to be slow, and hurried on,
so little knowing why, that when she came to Mrs. Berlinton's, she was
running to her own room, wholly forgetting what had called her from
Eugenia, till the servant said, 'this is the man, ma'am.'

She then saw, parading up and down the hall, a figure wrapt round in a
dark blue roquelo, with no part of his face visible, from the flaps of
his hat.

At another time she might have been startled: but she was now
indifferent to everything, and only enquired what was his business.

He made no answer but by a low bow, pointing, at the same time to the
door of one of the parlours, and then, in a supplicating manner, putting
together his hands, as if begging to speak to her in private.

Careless, rather than courageous, she was going into an empty room with
him, when the servant whispered her to be upon her guard, as the man had
a very suspicious look.

Stopping short, then, she again repeated her question, adding, 'I can
hear anything you have to say where we now are.'

The stranger shook his head, with a motion towards the servant, that
seemed to demand his absence.

Alas! thought she, it is some gentleman in distress, who wants to beg
and is ashamed. I have nothing to give him! I will, at least, therefore,
not insist upon his exposing himself. She then whispered the footman to
keep in the hall, and near the parlour, which she entered, telling the
incognito he might follow.

But she was seriously alarmed out of her apathy, upon seeing him
cautiously shut the door, and sedulously examine the apartment.

She wanted not presence of mind, when not robbed of it by some peculiar
and poignant feelings. She turned immediately to the bell, certain its
first touch would bring in the footman: but, perceiving her purpose, the
stranger seized her by the arm, and in a hoarse low voice said: 'Are you
mad, Camilla? don't you know me?' and she recognized her brother.

She expostulated upon his having so causelessly terrified her, and
enquired why he came so disguised.

He laughed heartily at her affright, and extolled his own skill in
personating a subtle ruffian; declaring he liked to have a touch at all
trades, in case of accidents.

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

'O no, my dear! this was only for my opening. I have an hundred smart
freaks in my head, any one of them worth a little trip to Southampton.
Besides, I wanted to know what you were about. How does a certain master
Edgar Mandlebert do? Don't blush, child. What a little sly rogue you
have been! hey ho? Tears?--My dear Camilla! what's all this?'

She entreated him to make his enquiries of Eugenia.

'Well, you took me in, I promise you. I fully thought the young Baronet
had been the man. And, really he's as fine a fellow as I ever saw.'

'Do not speak of him, I beg! O Lionel!--if you knew--' She was going to
say, how through your means, that affair has injured me--but she checked
complaints which she now regarded as useless, and therefore degrading;
and, wiping her eyes, asked if he had yet considered the large sum, for
the obligation of which he had made her seem responsible to Sir Sedley,
whom she should not know how ever to meet, nor consequently, how ever to
visit in the county, till some payment, if not made, were at least
arranged.

'Pho, pho, my dear child, don't be so Vellum-like; you'll be fit for
nothing, soon, but to file bills and score accounts. What's two hundred
to him? Hang him! I wish 'twere as much again--I hate making a fuss
about nothing. But come, tell me something to raise my spirits--I am
horribly melancholy. I've some notion of making a little sport here with
Miss Scare-crow. How does she go on? Waspish as ever?'

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

'Two things, my dear. The first of which is the pleasure of seeing you;
and the second, is a little amusement I propose myself with old Dr. Hic,
Hæc, Hoc. I find Clermont's had rare sport with him already. It's deuced
unlucky I did not come sooner.'

'Clermont? When did you see Clermont?'

'Don't be curious, child. I never encourage curiosity. It always leads
to disagreeable questions. You may tell me any thing you please, but ask
nothing. That's my manner of dealing with little girls. How did you like
my sending the Major to you? Was not that good fudge? What do you look
so grave for, my dear? You're enough to give one the vapours.'

Camilla attempted not to rally; she felt pierced as by a poniard at the
very sight of Lionel. The debt he had made her contract with Sir Sedley,
the secrecy it exacted, the correspondence it had drawn on, the cruel
circumstances it had produced, and the heart-breaking event to which it
had, ultimately, led, made his view excite sensations too corrosive, and
reflections too bitter, for any enjoyment of a gaiety, which her utmost
partiality could not disentangle from levity the most unfeeling.

'Come, come, for pity's sake, be a little less stupid, I conjure you.
How terribly you want a good shaking! shall I give you one? By the way,
you have never thanked me for sending you that smart young tinker. You
are horribly ungrateful to all my tender care to provide you a good
spouse. What! not a smile? Not one dear little dimple for all my rattle?
Nay, then, if that's the case, let's to business at once. Anything is
better than mawkishness. I always preferred being flogged for a frolic,
to being told I was a good boy, at the expence of sitting still, and
learning my lesson.'

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

'O yes, always; nobody has more; only I do it so briskly, people always
suppose it nothing but pleasure. However, just at this minute, I am
really in rather an ugly dilemma. You know, my dear girl, there is a
certain little rather awkward affair of mine, which I once hinted to
you.'--

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

'O, none of your hopes with that grave face! Hope, with a grave face,
always means fear. Now, as I am already half shoes over in the slough
of despond, 'twill be horrid ungenerous to poke me still lower.'

Camilla now began to tremble, and would ask no questions--Lionel, when
he had silenced her, seemed at a loss how to proceed; he walked about
the room with quick jerks, opened and shut the window, seated himself
upon every chair, and every table; and then, in a half passion, said:
'so you don't want to hear any more? and you don't care a fig if I'm
hanged or drowned?'

'My spirits are not high, my dear Lionel; and my head is full, and my
heart is oppressed: if you have any thing, therefore, important to say,
speak, I beg without trifling.'

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

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

'Why she's so pretty! so monstrous pretty! besides, she doats upon me.
You don't half conceive what a pretty fellow I am, Camilla. A sister
never knows how to judge a man. All the women like me prodigiously.'

'Indeed, Lionel, you take an undue advantage of my affection. I must
seriously insist that you mention this subject to me no more.'

'I don't intend it. I intend to finish with this once--provided you do
me one last good turn. Will you, now? Come, don't be queer.'

'I will do nothing, absolutely nothing in so improper--so shocking a
business. Indeed, I know not how to forgive you for naming it again.'

'Well, then, I'll pledge you my word and honour you shall never hear of
it more, if you'll only grant me this one favour.'

Displeased at the past, and frightened for what might be to come, she
protested she would immediately leave the room, if he continued this
persecution: adding, 'how affectionately I love you, I need not, I am
sure, say; but a confidence such as this, from a brother to a sister,
disgraces us both: and let me penetrate, but not irritate you, if I own,
that I much doubt whether I ought not from the beginning, to have
revealed this transaction at Etherington. Do not be angry Lionel: has
not every consideration been surmounted by the fear of giving you pain?'

Finding he still would be heard, she was peremptorily quitting the
room; but when she had her hand upon the door, he effectually stopt her,
by saying, 'Nay, then, if nothing will content you but getting the whole
out at once, you may make yourself easy, the business is at end,
for----we're blown!'

'I must certainly be glad if such a business is at an end, Lionel; but
how do you mean blown? to whom? in what manner?'

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

'Husband?'

'O, the deuce! I did not mean to say that: however, it's out! and as it
must have been known sooner or later----'

Camilla now had an air the nearest to severity she had ever worn:
'Adieu, Lionel!' she cried, 'I am sorry for you, indeed; but you must
find another hearer for this guilty history.--I will listen no more!'

Lionel now detained her by force. 'How can you take up the thing so
wrong,' said he; 'when I tell you it's over, isn't that enough? Besides,
I promise you I have not wanted for my punishment: when you hear all,
you'll find that.'

Too sick for speech, yet too weak for resistance, she was constrained to
return to her seat, and hear what he pleased to relate.

'My adventure, my dear, was discovered entirely by the want of a little
hush money. 'Tis the very deuce and all for a man to be in love when he
is poor. If I had only had a little hush-money--yes, yes, I understand
that eye! but as to those paltry sums I have had, from time to time,
since this affair, why they could not be expected to last for ever: And
the first went to a housemaid,--and the second to the groom,--and the
third----'

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

'Nay, I only mention it to let you know it's all gone fairly. Besides,
as to her being a married woman, which, I see, is what you think so much
the worst of all, I assure you, if you knew her husband, you would not
wonder; he deserves every thing. Such a tiresome quiz! It was often
hours before we could get rid of him. You never knew such a blockhead.
The poor thing can't bear him. But she's fond of me to distraction. Nay,
nay, don't frown so! If you'll believe me, Camilla, you'll quite spoil
your face. Well, the fellow that threatens to betray us, won't keep our
secret under three hundred pounds! There's an unconscionable knave!
However, I thought that better than a trial too; not that she would have
broken her heart at a separation, you'll believe; but then ... there's a
certain horrid thing called damages! And then my father's
particularities,--and my mother's seeing things in such strong
lights--and a parson's son,--and all that.'--

Camilla, shaking and pale, now entreated him to get her a glass of
water, and, for a while, at least, to forbear continuing this terrible
story.

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

'Finding it vain to hope any longer for entire concealment, I thought a
private discovery less shocking than a public one; and therefore,
telling my story as well as I could, I stated that three hundred pounds
would save both the expences and publicity of a trial; and, with every
possible profession of contrition and reformation, I humbly petitioned
for that sum from my uncle.'

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

'He's well revenged for mine, I promise you! There's no plague lost
between us, as you'll own, when you've heard the end of my poor
petition. I followed up my letter, according to my usual custom, the
next day, in order to receive my money, knowing poor uncle hates writing
worse than giving: well, and when I arrived, my mind just made up to a
few gentle reprimands against naughtiness, and as many gentle promises
to do so no more; out pops me the old butler, and says his master can't
see me! Not see me? Why, who's with him? Your father, Sir! O,--then for
your life, cries I, don't say I have been here--but now--Camilla will
you think me punished or not?--My uncle had a little gout in his
right-hand, and had made my father open and read--that very day,--all
his letters! If ever you knew old Nick serve a poor young fellow a worse
turn than that, tell me so? I owe him such a grudge for it, I could
almost find [it] in my heart to turn parson myself.'

Camilla could not utter a word. She dropt her head over her folded arms
upon the table, to hide her offending brother from her sight, whom now,
placed in opposition to her all-excellent father, she blamed beyond her
powers, beyond what she conceived even her rights of expression.

'Why now, my dear Camilla, what do you hide your face for? Do you think
I'm not as sorry for this thing as you can be for the life of you?
However, now comes the worst; and if you don't pity me when you hear
this, you may depend upon it you have no bowels. I was making off as
fast as I could, mum the word to the servants, when in comes old Jacob
with a letter. I snatched it from him, hoping my uncle had privately
sent me a draft--but the direction was written by my father! Don't you
begin to feel a little for me now?'

She could only raise her head to ejaculate, 'My poor--poor father!' and
then, nearly in an agony, drop it again.

'Hey-day, Camilla? how's this? what! not one word of poor, poor brother,
too? why you are harder than flint. However, read that letter. And then,
if you don't think me the most unhappy young fellow in existence, you
are fit to devise tortures for the inquisition.'

She took the letter eagerly, yet awfully, kissed in weeping the
hand-writing, and read what follows:

     _To_ LIONEL TYROLD, _Esq._

     To have brought up my family with the purity of principle which the
     holy profession of their father ought to inspire him to teach, has
     been, from the hour that my paternal solicitudes commenced, the
     most fervent of my prayers. How my hopes have been deluded you have
     but too long known; how grossly they have failed has reached my own
     knowledge but this moment. I here resign the vain expectation, that
     through my son the community might bless me: may a forfeiture so
     dread not extend to me, also, through my  daughters!--

Camilla stopt, sunk upon her knees, and devoutly repeated the last
sentence, with her own ardent supplications joined to it before she
could proceed.

     A few words more must, for the present, suffice between us.
     Accident, by throwing into my hands this last letter to the uncle
     whose goodness you have most unwarrantably and unfeelingly abused,
     has given birth to an investigation, by which I have arrived at the
     discovery of the long course of rapacity by which you have
     pillaged from the same source. Henceforth, you will find it dry. I
     have stated to my brother the mistake of his compliance, and
     obtained his solemn word, that all intercourse between you, that
     has not my previous approbation, shall here finally cease. You will
     now, therefore, empty no more those coffers which, but for you,
     have only been opened to the just claims of benevolence.

     You will regard this detection as the wrath of ill-fortune; I view
     it, on the contrary, as the mercy of Providence. What were further
     pecuniary exonerations, but deeper plunges into vilifying
     dissoluteness? If, as you intimate, the refusal of your present
     demands will expose you to public shame, may its shock awaken
     feelings that may restore you to private virtue! I cannot spare you
     from disgrace, by aiding you in corruption; I cannot rescue you
     from worldly dishonour, by hiding and abetting crimes that may
     unfold to eternal misery. To errour I would be lenient; to
     penitence I would be consoling; to reformation I would open my
     arms: but to him who confesses his guilt only to save himself from
     punishment, to him who would elude the incurred penalties of his
     wickedness, by shamelessly soliciting a respectable old relation to
     use bribery for its concealment,--to him, I can only say, since all
     precepts of virtue have failed to shew thee its excellence, go!
     learn of misfortune the evils, at least of vice! Pay to the laws of
     society what retribution they require for their violation--and if
     suffering should lead to contrition, and seclusion from the world
     bring thee back to rectitude, then thou may'st find again thy
     father

     AUGUSTUS TYROLD.

     Another name I mention not. I present not to this sullied page an
     image of such purity: yet, if thy own thoughts dare paint it to thy
     view, will not thy heart, O Lionel! smite thee and say,--From her
     native land, from her sorrowing husband, from daughters just
     opening into life, by my follies and indiscretions I have driven my
     mother--by my guilt I shall make her blush to return to  them?--

Camilla wept over this letter till its characters were almost effaced by
her tears. To withhold from her father the knowledge of the misconduct
of Lionel, what had she not suffered? what not sacrificed? yet to find
it all unavailing, to find him thus informed of his son's wanton calls
for money, his culpable connection, and his just fears of seeing it
published and punished,--and to consider with all this, that Edgar,
through these unpardonable deviations from right, was irretrievably lost
to her, excited sorrow the most depressing for her father, and regrets
scarce supportable for herself.

'Well,' cried Lionel, 'what do you think of my case now? Don't you allow
I pay pretty handsomely for a mere young man's gambol? I assure you I
don't know what might have been the consequence, if Jacob had not
afforded me a little comfort. He told me you were going to be married to
'squire Mandlebert, and that you were all at Southton, and that he was
sure you would do any thing in the world to get me out of jeopardy; and
so, thinking pretty much the same myself, here I am! Well, what say you,
Camilla? Will you speak a little word for me to Edgar?'

Shame, now taking place of affliction, stopt her tears, which dried upon
her burning cheeks, as she answered, 'He is well known to you,
Lionel:--you can address him yourself!'

'No; that's your mistake, my dear. I have a little odd money matter to
settle with him already; and besides, we have had a sort of a falling
out upon the subject; for when I spoke to him about it last, he gave
himself the airs of an old justice of the peace, and said if he did not
find the affair given up, nothing should induce him ever to help me
again. What a mere codger that lad has turned out!'

'Ah, noble Edgar! just, high-principled, and firm!' half pronounced
Camilla, while again the icicles dissolved, and trickled down her face.

'See but the different way in which things strike people! however, it is
not very pretty in you, Camilla, to praise him for treating me so
scurvily. But come, dost think he'll lend me the money?'

'Lend,' repeated she, significantly.

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

'And how? And when?'

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

'For shame, brother!'

'Nay, nay, you know as well as I do, I must have it at last. Who else
has he to leave it to? Come, will you beg the three hundred for me? He
dare not refuse you, you know, in your day of power.'

'Lionel,' cried she, with extreme emotion, 'I shall see him no more!
nor, perhaps may you!--He has left England.'

'Impossible! why Jacob told me unky was working night and day at
preparations for your keeping the wedding at Cleves.'

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

'I must go to her then, directly. I have not a moment to lose. If you
won't make Edgar help me in this business--and I know he won't do it of
his own accord, I am utterly done up. There will remain but one single
thing for me. So now for my roquelo. But do only tell me, Camilla, if
you ever knew such a poor unlucky wight? for before I came to you,
certain it would not be easy to make that young prig do any thing he had
already declared against, I found out cousin Clermont. What a handsome
coxcomb that is! Well, I told him my case, for one young fellow soon
comprehends the difficulties of another, and begged him to ask for the
money of uncle Hugh, as if for himself, telling him, that as he was a
new-comer, and a new beginner, he could not so readily be refused; and
promising to serve him as good a turn myself, when he had got a little
into our ways, and wanted it, with my good uncle Relvil. Well! what do
you think was the next news? It's enough to make a man's hair stand on
end, to see what a spite fortune has taken to me! Do you know he has got
debts of his own, of one sort or another, that poor unky has never heard
of, to the amount of upwards of a thousand pounds?'

He then muffled himself up and departed.




CHAPTER V

_A Self-dissection_


Camilla remained in a state of accumulated distress, that knew not upon
what object most to dwell: her father, shocked and irritated beyond the
mild endurance of his character; her brother, wantonly sporting with his
family's honour, and his own morals and reputation; her uncle, preparing
for nuptials broken off without his knowledge; Edgar, by a thousand
perversities of accident, of indiscretion, of misunderstanding, for ever
parted from her;--rushed all together upon her mind, each combating for
precedence, each individually foiled, yet all collectively triumphant.
Nor were even these her sole subjects of affliction: yet another cause
was added, in debts contracted from mingled thoughtlessness,
inexperience, and generosity, augmented to she knew not what sum, and to
be paid by she knew not what means. And this topic, which in itself
seemed to her the least interesting, soon, by the circumstances with
which it was connected, grew the most pressing of any. How, at a moment
like this, could she make her purposed confession to her father, whose
wounded mind demanded all she could offer of condolement? How call upon
her uncle to be responsible for what she owed, when she now knew the
enormous accounts preparing for him from Clermont, of which he was
himself yet uninformed?

       *       *       *       *       *

Lionel soon returned. 'So it's really all off?' he cried; 'dame Fortune,
methinks, has a mind to give me a taste of her art that I shan't easily
forget. Eugenia would tell me no particulars. But, since things are
thus, there is only one step left for poor Pillgarlick. I must whisk
over to the Continent.'

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

'My father?--Why, you see he gives me up. He thinks--I thank him!--a
little wholesome discipline will do me good. Don't you understand what
he means by _seclusion from the world_? A prison, my dear! a gaol!
However, I'm not quite of that opinion. I really think a man's as well
off in a little open air. So fare thee well, child. As soon as ever my
dear uncle Relvil says good night, I'll come home again, and wish you
all good morning.'

'Lionel! Lionel!--'

'Well, well! I know it's very wrong, and all that; so say nothing. Don't
distress me, I beg, for I hate to be hipped. Besides, old Relvil don't
deserve much better; why can't he behave like a man, and settle an
annuity upon himself, and an old servant, and a dog, and a cat, and a
parrot, and then let an honest young fellow see a little of the world
handsomely, and like a gentleman? But your bachelor uncles, and maiden
aunts, are the most tantalizing fellows and fellowesses in the
creation.'

He then kissed her, and was going; but, earnestly detaining him, she
conjured that he would let her first hint his design to their father,
that at least it might be set aside, if it would still more deeply
disturb him.

'No, child, no; I know his way of reasoning already. He thinks every man
should pay for what he owes, either with money or stripes. Now my poor
dear little body is not of that opinion. And what would they get by
having me shut up in prison? And I'll defy 'em to cast me in any other
damages. I've a few debts, too, of my own, that make me a little uneasy.
I don't mean to trades people; they can wait well enough; our credit is
good: but a man looks horrid small, walking about, when he can't pay his
debts of honour. However, when I disappear, perhaps my father will take
compassion upon my character. If not, the Relvil estate shall wipe off
all in the long run.'

'And is it possible, Lionel, thus lightly, thus negligently, thus
unmoved, you can plan such a journey? such an exile?'

'Why what can I do? what can I possibly do? I am obliged to be off in my
own defence. Unless, indeed, I marry little Miss Dennel, which I have
once or twice thought of; for she's a monstrous fool. But then she is
very rich. How should you like her for a sister? Nay, nay, I'm serious.
Don't shake your head as if I was joking. What do you think of her for
my spouse?'

'She is a good girl, I believe, Lionel, though a simple one; and I
should be sorry to see her unhappy; and how could either of you be
otherwise, with contempt such as this?'

'Bless thy heart, my little dear, what have husbands and wives to do
with making one another unhappy? Prithee don't set about forming thy
notions of married people from the parsonage-house, and conclude a wife
no better than a real rib, sticking always close to a man's side. You
grow so horrid sententious, I really begin to believe you intend to take
out your diploma soon, and put on the surplice my father meant for his
poor son.'

'Alas, Lionel!--how changed, how hard--forgive me if I say how hard must
you be grown, to be capable of gaiety and rattle at this period!'

'You'll die an old maid, Camilla, take my word for it. And I'm really
sorry, for you're not an ugly girl. You might have been got off. But
come, don't look so melancholy at a little silly sport. The world is so
full of sorrow, my dear girl, so little visited by happiness, that
cheerfulness is almost as necessary as existence, in such a vale of
tears.'

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

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

Camilla cast up her eyes and hands: 'Lionel,' she cried, 'what have you
done with your heart? has it banished every natural feeling? has the
affecting letter of the best of fathers, his cruel separation from the
most excellent of mothers, and even your own dreadfully censurable
conduct, served but to amuse you with ridicule and derision?'

'Camilla,' cried he, taking her hands, 'you wrong me! you think I have
no feeling, because I am not always crying. However, shall I tell you
the truth? I hate myself! and so completely hate myself at this moment,
that I dare not be grave! dare not suffer reflection to take hold of me,
lest it should make life too odious for me to bear it. I have run on
from folly to wickedness for want of thought; and now thought is ready
to come back, I must run from that, for want of fortitude. What has
bewitched me, I know no more than you; but I never meant to play this
abominable part. And now, if I did not flog up my spirits to prevent
their flagging, I suppose I should hang or drown. And, believe me, if I
were condemned to the galleys, I should think it less than I deserve;
for I hate myself, I repeat--I honour my father, though I have used him
so ill; I love my mother,--for all her deuced severity,--to the bottom
of my soul; I would cut off my left arm for Lavinia and Eugenia; and for
thee, Camilla, I would lop off my right!--But yet, when some frolic or
gambol comes into my way, I forget you all! clear out of my memory you
all walk, as if I had never beheld you!'

Camilla now embraced him with a deluge of tears, entreated him to
forgive the asperity his seeming want of all feeling had drawn from her,
and frequently to write to her, and acquaint her how he went on, and
send his direction for her answers; that so, at least, their father
might know how he employed himself, and have the power to give him
counsel.

'But how, my poor Lionel,' she added, 'how will you live abroad? How
will you even travel?'

'Why as to how I shall live there, I don't know; but as well as I
deserve easily: however, as to how I shall get there, look here,' taking
from his pocket a handful of guineas, 'that good little Eugenia has
given me every thing, even to the last half crown, that she had at
Southampton, to help me forward.'

'Dear excellent, ever generous Eugenia! O that I could follow her
example! but alas! I have nothing!--and worse than nothing!'

They then affectionately embraced each other, and parted.




CHAPTER VI

_A Reckoning_


What Camilla experienced at this juncture she believed inadmissible of
aggravation. Even the breaking off with Edgar seemed as a new misfortune
from the new force which circumstances gave to its affliction. With his
sympathising aid, how might she have softened the sorrows of her father!
how have broken the shock of the blow Clermont was preparing for her
uncle? But now, instead of lessening their griefs, she must herself
inflict upon them a heavier evil than any they had yet suffered. And how
could she reveal tidings for which they were so wholly unprepared? how
be even intelligible in the history, without exposing the guilty Lionel
beyond all chance of pardon?

Again she went to counsel with Eugenia, who, with her usual
disinterested affection, proposed taking the painful business upon
herself at their return home. Camilla with tears of gratitude accepted
the sisterly office, and resolved to devote the rest of her short time
for Southampton to Mrs. Berlinton; who, shocked to see her evident
unhappiness, hung over her with the most melting tenderness: bewailing
alike the disappointment of Eugenia, and the conduct of her brother; who
now, with exquisite misery, shut himself wholly up in his room.

This compassionate kindness somewhat softened her anguish; but when the
engagements of Mrs. Berlinton called her away, Mrs. Mittin burst briskly
into her chamber.

'Well, my dear,' cried she, 'I come with better news now than ever! only
guess what it is!'

Nothing could less conduce to the tranquillity of Camilla than such a
desire; her conjectures always flowed into the channels of her wishes;
and she thought immediately that Mrs. Mittin had been informed of her
situation, and came to her with some intelligence of Edgar.

Mrs. Mittin, after keeping her a full quarter of an hour in suspence, at
last said: 'Do you know Miss Dennel's going to be married?--though she
was fifteen only yesterday!--and I am invited to the wedding?'

No surprise had ever yet produced less pleasure to Camilla, who now
ceased to listen, though Mrs. Mittin by no means ceased to speak, till
her attention was awakened by the following sentence: 'So, as I am to go
to town, to shop with her, at her own papa's desire, you can give me the
money, you know, my dear, and I can pay off your Tunbridge bills for
you.'

She then took out of her pockets some accounts, which, she said, she had
just received; though, in fact, they had been in her possession more
than a week: but till the invitation of Miss Dennel called her so
pleasantly away, she had thought it prudent to keep every motive in
reserve, that added importance to her stay.

Camilla, with the utmost apprehension, took the papers into her hands;
they were the bills from Tunbridge, of the milliner, the shoe-maker, the
haberdasher, and the glover, and amounted altogether to sixteen pounds.

The chief articles had been nearly forced upon her by Mrs. Mittin, with
assurances of their cheapness, and representations of their necessity,
that, joined to her entire ignorance of the enormous charges of fashion,
had led her to imagine four or five guineas the utmost sum at which they
could be estimated.

What now, then, was her horror! if to sixteen pounds amounted the
trifles she had had at Tunbridge, what calculation must she make of
articles, so infinitely more valuable, that belonged to her debts at
Southampton? And to whom now could she apply? The unhappy situation of
her father was no longer an only reason to forbear such a call upon him:
Lionel, still under age, was flying the kingdom with debts, which, be
they small as they might, would, to Mr. Tyrold's limited income, be as
heavy as the more considerable ones of her cousin upon Sir Hugh; yet who
besides could give her aid? Eugenia, whose yearly allowance, according
to her settled future fortune, was five times that of her sisters, had
given what help she had in her power, before she quitted Cleves, upon
the affair of the horse; and all that remained of a considerable present
made for her Southampton expedition by her uncle, who in every thing
distinguished her as his successor and heiress, she had just bestowed
upon Lionel, even, as he had declared, to her last half crown. Mrs.
Berlinton, whose tender friendship might, in this emergence, have
encouraged solicitation, was involved in debts of honour, and wanted
money for herself; and to Mrs. Arlbery, her only other acquaintance rich
enough to give assistance, and with whom she was intimate enough to ask
it, she already owed five guineas; and how, in conscience or decency,
could she address her for so much more, when she saw before her no time,
no term, upon which she could fix for restitution?

In this terrible state, with no one to counsel her, and no powers of
self-judgment, she felt a dread of going home, that rendered the coming
day a day of horror, though to a home to which, hitherto, she had turned
as the first joy of her happiness, or softest solace of any disturbance.
Her filial affections were in their pristine force; her short commerce
with the world had robbed them of none of their vivacity; her regard for
Edgar, whom she delighted to consider as a younger Mr. Tyrold, had
rather enlarged than divided them; but to return a burthen to an already
burthened house, an affliction to an already afflicted parent--'No!' she
broke out, aloud, 'I cannot go home!--I cannot carry calamity to my
father!--He will be mild--but he will look unhappy; and I would not see
his face in sorrow--sorrow of my own creating--for years of after joy!'

She threw herself down upon the bed, hid her face with the counterpane,
and wept, in desperate carelessness of the presence of Mrs. Mittin, and
answering nothing that she said.

In affairs of this sort, Mrs. Mittin had a quickness of apprehension,
which, though but the attribute of ready cunning, was not inferior to
the keenest penetration, possessed, for deeper investigations, by
characters of more solid sagacity. From the fear which Camilla, in her
anguish, had uttered of seeing her father, she gathered, there must be
some severe restriction in money concerns; and, without troubling
herself to consider what they might be, saw that to aid her at this
moment would be the highest obligation; and immediately set at work a
brain as fertile in worldly expedients, as it was barren of intellectual
endowments, in forming a plan of present relief, which she concluded
would gain her a rich and powerful friend for life.

She was not long in suggesting a proposition, which Camilla started up
eagerly to hear, almost breathless with the hope of any reprieve to her
terrors.

Mrs. Mittin, amongst her numerous friends, counted a Mr. Clykes, a
money-lender, a man, she said, of the first credit for such matters with
people of fashion in any difficulty. If Camilla, therefore, would
collect her debts, this gentleman would pay them, for a handsome
premium, and handsome interest, till she was able, at her own full
leisure, to return the principal, with a proper present.

Camilla nearly embraced her with rapture for this scheme. The premium
she would collect as she could, and the interest she would pay from her
allowance, certain that when her uncle was cleared from his
embarrassments, her own might be revealed without any serious distress.
She put, therefore, the affair wholly into the hands of Mrs. Mittin,
besought her, the next morning, to demand all her Southampton bills, to
add to them those for the rent and the stores of Higden, and then to
transact the business with Mr. Clykes; promising to agree to whatever
premium, interest, and present, he should demand, with endless
acknowledgments to herself for so great a service.

She grieved to employ a person so utterly disagreeable to Edgar; but to
avert immediate evil was ever resistless to her ardent mind.

The whole of the Southampton accounts were brought her early the next
morning by the active Mrs. Mittin, who now concluded, that what she had
conceived to be covetousness in Camilla, was only the fear of a hard
tyrant of a father, who kept her so parsimoniously, that she could allow
herself no indulgence, till the death of her uncle should endow her with
her own rich inheritance.

Had this arrangement not taken place before the arrival of the bills,
Camilla, upon beholding them, thought she should have been driven to
complete distraction. The ear-rings and necklace, silver fringes and
spangles, feathers, nosegay, and shoe-roses, with the other parts of the
dress, and the fine Valencienne edging, came to thirty-three pounds. The
cloak also, that cheapest thing in the world, was nine guineas; and
various small articles, which Mrs. Mittin had occasionally brought in,
and others with which Camilla could not dispense, came to another five
pounds. To this, the rent for Higden added eighteen; and the bill of
stores, which had been calculated at thirty, was sent in at
thirty-seven.

The whole, therefore, with the sixteen pounds from Tunbridge, amounted
to one hundred and eighteen pounds nine shillings.

Struck to the very soul with the idea of what she must have endured to
have presented, at such a period, so large an account, either at Cleves
or at Etherington, she felt lifted into paradise by the escape of this
expedient, and lost sight of every possible future difficulty, in the
relief of avoiding so severe a present penalty.

By this means, also, the tradesmen would not wait; and she had been
educated with so just an abhorrence of receiving the goods, and
benefiting from the labours of others, without speeding them their
rights and their rewards, that she felt despicable as well as miserable,
when she possessed what she had not repaid.

Mrs. Mittin was now invested with full powers for the agency, which her
journey to London would give her immediate means to execute. She was to
meet Miss Dennel there in two days, to assist in the wedding purchases,
and then to accompany that young lady to her father's house in
Hampshire, whence she could visit Etherington, and finally arrange the
transaction.

Camilla, again thanking, took leave of her, to consign her few remaining
hours to Mrs. Berlinton, who was impatient at losing one moment of the
society she began sincerely to regret she had not more uniformly
preferred to all other. As sad now with cares as Camilla was with
afflictions, she had robbed her situation of nearly the only good which
belonged to it--an affluent power to gratify every luxury, whether of
generosity or personal indulgence. Her gaming, to want of happiness,
added now want of money; and Camilla, with a sigh, saw something more
wretched, because far deeper and more wilful in error than herself.

They mingled their tears for their separate personal evils, with the
kindest consolation that either could suggest for the other, till
Camilla was told that Eugenia desired to see her in the parlour.

Mrs. Berlinton, ashamed, yet delighted to meet her again, went down at
the same time. She embraced her with fondness, but ventured not to utter
either apology or concern. Eugenia was serious but composed, sighed
often, yet both accepted and returned her caresses.

Camilla enquired if Miss Margland expected them immediately.

'Yes,' she answered; 'but I have first a little business of my own to
transact.' Then, turning to Mrs. Berlinton, and forcing a smile, 'You
will be surprised,' she said, 'to hear me ask for ... your brother!...
but I must see him before I can leave Southampton.'

Mrs. Berlinton hung her head: 'There is certainly,' she cried,
'no reproach he does not merit ... yet, if you knew ... the
respect ... the ... the....'

Eugenia rang the bell, making a slight apology, but not listening to
what Mrs. Berlinton strove to say; who, colouring and uneasy, still
attempted to utter something softening to what had passed.

'Be so good,' said Eugenia, when the footman appeared, 'to tell Mr.
Melmond I beg to speak with him.'

Camilla astonished, and Mrs. Berlinton silenced, waited, in an
unpleasant pause, the event.

Eugenia, absorbed in thought, neither spoke to, nor looked at them, nor
moved, till the door opened, and Melmond, who durst not refuse so direct
a summons, though he would have preferred any punishment to obeying it,
blushing, bowing, and trembling, entered the room.

She then started, half heaved, and half checked a sigh, took a folded
note out of her pocket-book, and with a faint smile, said, 'I fear my
desire must have been painful to you; but you see me now for the last
time--I hope!--with any ill-will.'

She stopt for breath to go on; Melmond, amazed, striving vainly to
articulate one word of excuse, one profession even of respect.

'Believe me, Sir,' she then continued, 'surprise was the last sensation
I experienced upon a late ... transaction. My extraordinary personal
defects and deformity have been some time known to me, though--I cannot
tell how--I had the weakness or vanity not to think of them as I ought
to have done!----But I see I give you uneasiness, and therefore I will
be more concise.'

Melmond, confounded, had bowed down his head not to look at her, while
Camilla and Mrs. Berlinton both wept.

'The sentiments, Sir,' she then went on, 'of my cousin have never been
declared to me; but it is not very difficult to me to divine what they
may be. All that is certain, is the unkindness of Fortune, which forbids
her to listen, or you to plead to them. This, Sir, shall be my
care'--she stopt a moment, looking paler, and wanting voice; but
presently recovering, proceeded--'my happiness, let me say, to
endeavour to rectify. I have much influence with my kind uncle; can I
doubt, when I represent to him that I have just escaped making two
worthy people wretched, he will deny aiding me to make them happy? No!
the residence already intended at Cleves will still be open, though one
of its parties will be changed. But as my uncle, in a manner unexampled,
has bound himself, in my favour, from any future disposition of what he
possesses, I have ventured, Sir, upon this paper, to obviate any
apprehensions of your friends, for the unhappy time when that generous
uncle can no longer act for himself.'

She then unfolded, and gave him the paper, which contained these words:

     'I here solemnly engage myself, if Miss Indiana Lynmere accepts,
     with the consent of Sir Hugh Tyrold, the hand of Frederic Melmond,
     to share with them, so united, whatever fortune or estate I may be
     endowed with, to the end of my life, and to bequeath them the same
     equal portion by will after my death.

     Signed. EUGENIA TYROLD.'

Unable to read, yet conceiving the purport of the writing, Melmond was
at her feet. She endeavoured to raise him, and though extremely
affected, said, with an air of some pleasantry, 'Shew less surprise,
Sir, or I shall conclude you thought me as frightful within as without!
But no! Providence is too good to make the mind necessarily deformed
with the body.'

'Ah, Madam!' exclaimed Melmond, wholly overcome, 'the noblest as well as
softest of human hearts I perceive to be yours----and were mine at my
own disposal--it must find you resistless!'--

'No more, no more!' interrupted she, penetrated with a pleasure in these
words which she durst not indulge, 'you shall hear from me
soon.--Meanwhile, be Hope your motto, Friendship shall be mine.'

She was then going to hold out her hand to him; but her courage failed;
she hastily embraced Mrs. Berlinton, took the arm of Camilla, and
hurried out of the house, followed by the footman who had attended her.

Melmond, who had seen the motion of her hand now advancing, now
withdrawn, would have given the universe to have stamped upon it his
grateful reverence; but his courage was still less than her own; she
seemed to him, on the sudden, transformed to a deity, benignly employed
to rescue and bless him, but whose transcendent goodness he could only,
at a distance, and in all humility, adore.

Mrs. Berlinton was left penetrated nearly as much as her brother, and
doubtful if even the divine Indiana could render him as happy as the
exalted, the incomparable Eugenia.

       *       *       *       *       *

The two sisters found Miss Margland in extreme ill-humour waiting their
arrival, and the whole party immediately quitted Southampton.

It not seldom occurred to Miss Margland to be cross merely as a mark of
consequence; but here the displeasure was as deep with herself as with
others. She had entered Southampton with a persuasion her fair pupil
would make there the establishment so long the promised mede of her
confinement; and Indiana herself, not knowing where to stop her sanguine
and inflated hopes, imagined that the fame of her beauty would make the
place where it first was exhibited the resort of all of fashion in the
nation. And the opening of the scene had answered to their fullest
expectations: no other name was heard but Indiana Lynmere, no other
figure was admired, no other face could bear examination.

But her triumph, though splendid, was short; she soon found that the
overtures of eyes were more ready than those of speech; and though one
young baronet, enchanted with her beauty, immediately professed himself
her lover, when he was disdained, in the full assurance of higher
offers, and because a peer had addressed himself to Eugenia, she saw not
that he was succeeded by any other, nor yet that he broke his own heart.
Men of taste, after the first conversation, found her more admirable to
look at than speak with; adventurers soon discovered that her personal
charms were her only dower; the common herd were repulsed from
approaching her by the repulsive manners of Miss Margland; and all
evinced, that though a passion for beauty was still as fashionable as it
was natural, the time was past when the altar of Hymen required no other
incense to blaze upon it.

The governess, therefore, and the pupil, quitted Southampton with equal
disappointment and indignation; the first foreseeing another long and
yawning sojourn at Cleves; the second firmly believing herself the most
unaccountably ill-used person in the creation, that one offer only had
reached her, and that without repetition, though admired nearly to
adoration, she literally rather than metaphorically conceived herself a
demi-goddess.

One solitary offer to Eugenia, of an every way ruined young nobleman,
though a blast both to the settlement and the peace of Indiana, was to
herself wholly nugatory. Intent, at that period, upon dedicating for
ever to Melmond her virgin heart, she was sorry, upon his account, for
the application, but gave it not, upon her own, a moment's
consideration. This proposition was made upon her first arrival, and was
followed by no other. She was then, by the account given to the master
of the ceremonies by Miss Margland, regarded as the heiress of Cleves:
but, almost immediately after, the report spread by Mrs. Mittin, that
Camilla was the true heiress, gained such ground amongst the
shopkeepers, and thence travelled so rapidly from gossip to gossip, and
house to house, that Eugenia was soon no more thought of; though a
species of doubt was cast upon the whole party, from the double
assertion, that kept off from Camilla, also, the fortune seekers of the
place.

But another rumour got abroad, that soon entirely cleared Eugenia, not
merely of lovers but acquaintances; namely, her studies with Dr.
Orkborne. This was a prevailing theme of spite with Miss Margland, when
the Doctor had neglected and displeased her; and a topic always at hand
for her spleen, when it was angered by other circumstances not so easy
of blame or of mention.

This, shortly, made Eugenia stared at still more than her peculiar
appearance. The misses, in tittering, ran away from the learned lady;
the beaux contemptuously sneering, rejoiced she was too ugly to take in
any poor fellow to marry her. Some imagined her studies had stinted her
growth; and all were convinced her education had made her such a fright.

Of the whole party, the only one who quitted Southampton in spirits was
Dr. Orkborne. He was delighted to be no longer under the dominion of
Miss Margland, who, though she never left him tranquil in the possession
of all he valued, his leisure, and his books and papers, eternally
annoyed him with reproaches upon his absence, non-attendance, and
ignorance of high life; asking always, when angry, 'If any one had ever
heard who was his grandfather?'

The doctor, in return, despising, like most who have it not, whatever
belonged to noble birth, regarded her and her progenitors as the pest of
the human race; frequently, when incensed by interruption, exclaiming,
'Where intellect is uncultivated, what is man better than a brute, or
woman than an idiot?'

Nor was his return to his own room, books, and hours, under the roof of
the indulgent Sir Hugh, the only relief of this removal: he knew not of
the previous departure of Dr. Marchmont, and he was glad to quit a spot
where he was open to a comparison which he felt to be always to his
disadvantage.

So much more powerful and more prominent is character than education,
that no two men could be more different than Dr. Marchmont and Dr.
Orkborne, though the same university had finished their studies, and the
same passion, pursuit, and success in respect to learning, had raised
and had spread their names and celebrity. The first, with all his
scholastic endowments, was a man of the world, and a grace to society;
the second, though in erudition equally respectable, was wholly lost to
the general community, and alive only with his pen and his books. They
enjoyed, indeed, in common, that happy and often sole reward of learned
labours, the privilege of snatching some care from time, some repining
from misfortune, by seizing for themselves, and their own exclusive use,
the whole monopoly of mind; but they employed it not to the same
extension. The things and people of this lower sphere were studiously,
by Dr. Orkborne, sunk in oblivion by the domineering prevalence of the
alternate transport and toil of intellectual occupation; Dr. Marchmont,
on the contrary, though his education led to the same propensities,
still held his fellow creatures to be of higher consideration than their
productions. Without such extravagance in the pursuit of his studies, he
knew it the happy province of literary occupations, where voluntary, to
absorb worldly solicitudes, and banish for a while even mental
anxieties; and though the charm may be broken by every fresh intrusion
of calamity, it unites again with the first retirement, and, without
diminishing the feelings of social life, has a power, from time to time,
to set aside their sufferings.




CHAPTER VII

_Brides and no Brides_


In the hall of the Cleves mansion the party from Southampton were
received by Sir Hugh, Mr. Tyrold, and Lavinia. The baronet greeted in
particular the two nieces he regarded as brides elect, with an elation
that prevented him from observing their sadness; while their confusion
at his mistake he attributed to the mere bashfulness of their situation.
He enquired, nevertheless, with some surprise, why the two bridegrooms
did not attend them? which, he owned, he thought rather odd; though he
supposed it might be only the new way.

The changing colour and starting tears of the two sisters still escaped
his kindly occupied but undiscerning eyes: while Mr. Tyrold, having
tenderly embraced, avoided looking at them from the fear of adding to
their blushes, and sat quiet and grave, striving to alleviate his
present new and deep sorrow, by participating in the revived happiness
of his brother. But Lavinia soon saw their mutual distress, and with
apprehensive affection watched an opportunity to investigate its cause.

'But come,' cried Sir Hugh, 'I sha'n't wait for those gentlemen to shew
you what I've done for you, seeing they don't wait for me, by their
following their own way, which, however, I suppose they may be with
their lawyers, none of those gentleman having been here, which I think
rather slow, considering the rooms are almost ready.'

He would now have taken them round the house; but, nearly expiring with
shame, they entreated to be excused; and, insupportably oppressed by the
cruel discovery they had to divulge, stole apart to consult upon what
measures they should take. They then settled that Camilla should
accompany Mr. Tyrold to Etherington, but keep off all disclosure till
the next morning, when Eugenia would arrive, and unfold the sad tidings.

When they returned to the parlour, they found Sir Hugh, in the innocency
of his heart, had forced Indiana, Miss Margland, and even Dr. Orkborne,
to view his improvements for the expected nuptials, judging the
disinterestedness of their pleasure by his own; though to the two
ladies, nothing could be less gratifying than preparations for a scene
in which they were to bear no part, and the Doctor thought every evil
genius at work to detain him from his study and his manuscripts.

'But what's the oddest' cried the Baronet, 'of all, is nobody's coming
for poor Indiana; which I could never have expected, especially in the
point of taking off little Eugenia first, whom her own cousin did not
think pretty enough; which I can never think over and above good natured
in him, being so difficult. However, I hope we shall soon forget that,
now for which reason, I forgive him.'

Indiana was so much piqued, she could scarce refrain from relating the
portico history at Lord Pervil's; but the Baronet, not remarking her
discomposure, turned to Camilla and Eugenia, smilingly exclaiming:
'Well, my dear girls, I sha'n't mention what we have been looking at in
your absence, because of your blushes, which I hope you approve. But we
shall soon, I hope, see it all together, without any of your modesty's
minding it. I shall have to pinch a little for it the rest of the year,
which, God knows, will be a pleasure to me, for the sake of my two dear
girls, as well as of Mr. Edgar; not to mention the new young gentleman;
who seems a pretty kind of person too, though he is not one of our own
relations.'

He was rather disappointed when he found Camilla was to go to
Etherington, but desired there might be a general meeting the next day,
when he should also invite Dr. Marchmont. 'For I think' said he, 'he's
as little proud as the best dunce amongst us; which makes me like him as
well. And I can't say but I was as much obliged to him that day about
the mad bull, as if he had been one of my nephews or nieces himself:
which is what I sha'n't forget.'

In the way back to Etherington, Camilla could scarce utter a word; and
Lavinia, who had just gathered from her, in a whisper 'All is over with
Edgar!' with divided, but silent pity, looked from her father to her
sister, thought of her brother, and wept for all three. Mr. Tyrold alone
was capable of any exertion. Unwilling to give Camilla, whom he
concluded impressed with the thousand solicitudes of her impending
change of situation, any abrupt account of her brother's cruel conduct,
he spoke with composure though not with cheerfulness, and hoped, by a
general gravity, to prepare, without alarming her, for the ill news he
must inevitably relate. But he soon, however, observed an excess of
sadness upon her countenance, far deeper than what he could attribute to
the thoughts he had first suggested, and wholly different from an
agitation in which though fear bears a part, hope preponderates.

It now struck him that probably Lionel had been at Southampton: for so
wide was every idea from supposing any mischief with Edgar, that, like
Sir Hugh, upon his non-appearance, he had concluded him engaged with his
lawyer. But of Melmond, less sure, he had been more open in enquiry, and
with inexpressible concern, for his beloved and unfortunate Eugenia,
gathered that the affair was ended: though her succeeding plan, by her
own desire, Camilla left for her own explanation.

When they arrived at Etherington, taking her into his study, 'Camilla,'
he said, 'tell me, I beg ... do you know anything of Lionel?'

An unrestrained burst of tears convinced him his conjecture was right,
and he soon obtained all the particulars of the meeting, except its
levity and flightiness. Where directly questioned, no sisterly
tenderness could induce her to filial prevarication; but she rejoiced to
spare her brother all exposure that mere silence could spare; and as Mr.
Tyrold suspected not her former knowledge of his extravagance and ill
conduct, he neither asked, nor heard, any thing beyond the last
interview.

At the plan of going abroad, he sighed heavily, but would take no
measures to prevent it. Lionel, he saw was certain of being cast in any
trial; and though he would not stretch out his arm to avert the
punishment he thought deserved, he was not sorry to change the languid
waste of imprisonment at home, for the hardships with which he might
live upon little abroad.

A calamity such as this seemed cause full sufficient for the distress of
Camilla; Mr. Tyrold sought no other; but though she wept, now, at
liberty, his very freedom from suspicion and enquiry increased her
anguish. 'Your happy fate,' cried he, 'is what most, at this moment
supports me; and to that I shall chiefly owe the support of your mother;
whom a blow such as this will more bitterly try than the loss of our
whole income, or even than the life itself of your brother. Her virtue
is above misfortune, but her soul will shudder at guilt.'

The horror of Camilla was nearly intolerable at this speech, and the
dreadful disappointment which she knew yet to be awaiting her loved
parents. 'Take comfort, my dearest girl,' said Mr. Tyrold, who saw her
suffering, 'it is yours, for all our sakes to be cheerful, for to you we
shall owe the worthiest of sons, at the piercing juncture when the
weakest and most faulty fails us.'

'O my father!' she cried, 'speak not such words! Lionel himself ...' she
was going to say: has made you less unhappy than you will be made by me:
but she durst not finish her phrase; she turned away from him her
streaming eyes, and stopt.

'My dearest child,' he cried, 'let not your rising prospects be thus
dampt by this cruel event. The connection you have formed will be a
consolation to us all. It binds to us for life a character already so
dear to us; it will afford to our Lavinia, should we leave her single, a
certain asylum; it will give to our Eugenia a counsellor that may save
her hereafter from fraud and ruin; it may aid poor Lionel, when, some
time hence, he returns to his country, to return to the right path,
whence so widely he has strayed; and it will heal with lenient balm the
wounded, bleeding bosom of a meritorious but deeply afflicted mother!
While to your father, my Camilla....'

These last words were not heard; such a mention of her mother had
already overpowered her, and unable to let him keep up his delusion, she
supported her shaking frame against his shoulder, and exclaimed in a
tone of agony: 'O my father! you harrow me to the soul!--Edgar has left
me!--has left England!--left us all!----'

Shocked, yet nearly incredulous, he insisted upon looking at her: her
countenance impelled belief. The woe it expressed could be excited by
nothing less than the deprivation of every worldly expectation, and a
single glance was an answer to a thousand interrogatories.

Mr. Tyrold now sat down, with an air between calmness and despondence,
saying, 'And how has this come to pass?'

Again she got behind him, and in a voice scarce audible, said, Eugenia
would, the next morning, explain all.

'Very well, I will wait;' he quietly, but with palpably stifled
emotions, answered: 'Go, my love, go to Lavinia; open to her your heart;
you will find consolation in her kindness. My own, I confess, is now
weighed down with sorrow! this last and unexpected stroke will demand
some time, some solitude, to be yielded to as it ought.' He then held
out to her his hand, which she could scarcely approach from trembling,
and scarcely kiss for weeping, and added: 'I know what you feel for
me--and know, too, that my loss to yours is nothing,--for yours is not
to be estimated! you are young, however, and, with yourself, it may pass
away ... but your mother--my heart, Camilla, is rent for your
unfortunate mother!'

He then embraced her, called Lavinia, and retired for the night.

Terribly it passed with them all.

The next morning, before they assembled to breakfast, Eugenia was in the
chamber of Camilla.

She entered with a bright beam upon her countenance, which, in defiance
of the ravaging distemper that had altered her, gave it an expression
almost celestial. It was the pure emanation of virtue, of disinterested,
of even heroic virtue. 'Camilla!' she cried, 'all is settled with my
uncle! Indiana ... you will not wonder--consents; and already this
morning I have written to Mr. Mel....'

With all her exaltation, her voice faltered at the name, and, with a
faint smile, but deep blush, she called for the congratulations of her
sister upon her speedy success.

'Ah, far more than my congratulations, my esteem, my veneration is
yours, dear and generous Eugenia! true daughter of my mother! and
proudest recompence of my father!'

She was not sufficiently serene to give any particulars of the
transaction; and Mr. Tyrold soon sent for her to his room.

Camilla, trembling and hanging over her, said: 'You will do for me, I
know better than I could do for myself:--but spare poor Lionel--and be
just to Edgar!'--

Eugenia strictly obeyed: in sparing Lionel she spared also her father,
whom his highly unfeeling behaviour with regard to Sir Sedley would yet
further have incensed and grieved; and, in doing justice to Edgar, she
flattered herself she prevented an alienation from one yet destined to
be nearly allied to him, since time, she still hoped, would effect the
reconciliation of Camilla with the youth whom--next to Melmond--she
thought the most amiable upon earth.

Mr. Tyrold, by this means, gathered no further intelligence than that
they had parted upon some mutual, though slight dissatisfaction. He
hoped, therefore, with Eugenia, they might soon meet again; and
resolved, till he could better judge what might prove the event, to keep
this distress from Sir Hugh.

He then met Camilla with the most consolatory kindness; yet would not
trust her ardent mind with the hopes he cherished himself, dreading
infinitely more to give than to receive disappointment. He blamed her
for admitting any doubts of the true regard of Edgar, in whom promise
was always short of performance, and whom he conceived displeased by
unjust suspicions, or offended by undue expectations of professions,
which the very sincerity of his rational and manly character prevented
him from making.

Camilla heard in silence suggestions she could not answer, without
relating the history of Sir Sedley: 'No, Lionel, no!' she said to
herself, 'I will not now betray you! I have lost all!--and now the loss
to me is irreparable, shall I blast you yet further to my poor father,
whose deepest sigh is already for your misconduct?'

The story of Eugenia herself he learnt with true admiration, and gave to
her magnanimity its dearest mede, in her mother's promised, and his own
immediate approbation.

But Sir Hugh, notwithstanding all Eugenia could urge in favour of
Melmond, had heard her account with grief and resentment. All, however,
being actually ready for the double wedding, he could not, he said,
answer to his conscience doing so much for the rest, and refusing the
same for Indiana, whom he called upon to accept or reject the
preparations made for her cousin.

Indiana stood fluttering for a few minutes between the exultation of
being the first bride, and the mortification of marrying a man without
fortune or title. But the observation of Sir Hugh, upon the oddity of
her marrying the last, she was piqued with a most earnest ambition to
reverse. Nor did Melmond himself go for nothing in this affair, as all
she had of heart he had been the first to touch.

She retired for a short conference with Miss Margland, who was nearly in
an equal dilemma, from unwillingness to dispose of her beautiful pupil
without a title, and from eagerness to quit Cleves, which she thought a
convent for dullness, and a prison for confinement. Melmond had strongly
in his favour the received maxim amongst match-makers, that a young
lady without fortune has a less and less chance of getting off upon
every public appearance, which they call a public failure: their joint
deliberations were, however, interrupted by an abrupt intrusion of Molly
Mill, who announced she had just heard that Miss Dennel was going to be
married.

This information ended the discussion. The disgrace of a bridal
appearance anticipated in the neighbourhood by such a chit, made Indiana
hastily run down stairs, and tell her uncle that the merit of Melmond
determined her to refuse every body for his sake.

A man and horse, therefore, at break of day the next morning, was sent
off by Eugenia to Southampton with these words:

     _To_ FREDERIC MELMOND, _Esq._;

     You will be welcome, Sir, at Cleves, where you will forget, I hope,
     every painful sensation, in the happiness which awaits you, and
     dismiss all retrospection, to return with sincerity the serene
     friendship of

     EUGENIA TYROLD.

Mr. Tyrold now visited Cleves with only his younger daughter, and
excused the non-appearance there, for the present, of Camilla;
acknowledging that some peculiar incidents, which he could not yet
explain, kept Mandlebert away, and must postpone the celebration of the
marriage.

The vexation this gave Sir Hugh, redoubled his anxiety to break to him
the evil by degrees, if to break it to him at all should become
indispensable.




CHAPTER VIII

_A Hint for Debtors_


Mr. Tyrold was well aware that to keep from Sir Hugh the affliction of
Camilla, he must keep from him Camilla herself: for though her sighs she
could suppress, and her tears disperse, her voice had lost its tone, her
countenance its gaiety; her eyes no longer sparkled, her very smiles
betrayed anguish. He was the last to wonder at her sufferings, for Edgar
was nearly as dear to him as herself; but he knew not, that, added to
this annihilation of happiness, her peace was consumed by her secret
knowledge of the blows yet impending for himself and for her uncle.
Concealment, always abhorrent to her nature, had, till now, been unknown
even to her thoughts; and its weight, from a species of culpability that
seemed attached to its practice, was, at times, more dreadful to bear
than the loss even of Edgar himself. The latter blackened every prospect
of felicity; but the former, still more tremendous to the pure
principles in which she had been educated, seemed to strike even at her
innocence. The first wish of an ingenuous mind is to anticipate even
enquiry; the feeling, therefore, that most heavily weighs it down, is
any fear of detection.

While they were at breakfast the following morning, the servant brought
in the name of Dr. Marchmont.

Camilla felt nearly fainting. Why he was come--whence--whether Edgar
accompanied him--or sent by him any message--whether he were returned to
Beech Park--or sailed for the Continent----were doubts that pressed so
fast, and so vehemently upon her mind, that she feared to quit the room
lest she should meet Edgar in the passage, and feared still more to
continue in it, lest Dr. Marchmont should enter without him. Mr. Tyrold,
who participated in all her feelings, and shared the same ideas, gently
committed her to Lavinia, and went into his study to the doctor.

His own illusion was there quickly destroyed. The looks of Dr. Marchmont
boded nothing that was happy. They wore not their customary expression.
The gravity of Mr. Tyrold shewed a mind prepared for ill news, if not
already oppressed with it, and the doctor, after a few general speeches,
delivered the letter from Edgar.

Mr. Tyrold received it with a secret shuddering: 'Where,' he said, 'is
Mandlebert at present?'

'I believe, by this time--at the Hague.'

This sentence, with the grieved, yet still air and tone of voice which
accompanied it, was death at once to every flattering hope: he
immediately read the letter, which, conceived in the tenderest terms of
reverence and affection, took a short and simple, though touchingly
respectful leave of the purposed connection, and demolished at once
every distant view of future conciliation.

He hung his head a moment, and sighed from the bottom of his heart; but
the resignation which he summoned upon every sorrow was never deaf to
his call, and when he had secretly ejaculated a short and silent prayer
for fortitude to his beloved wife, he turned calmly to the doctor, and
began conversing upon other affairs.

Dr. Marchmont presumed not to manifest the commiseration with which he
was filled. He saw the true Christian, enduring with humility
misfortune, and the respectable parent supporting the dignity of his
daughter by his own. To the first character, complaint was forbidden; to
the second, it would have been degrading. He looked at him with
veneration, but to spare further useless and painful efforts, soon took
leave.

Mr. Tyrold, shaking hands with him, said, as they were parting, 'when
you write to Mandlebert, assure him of my constant affection. The world,
Dr. Marchmont is too full of real evil, for me at least, to cause one
moment of unnecessary uneasiness to any of its poor pilgrims. 'Tis
strange, my dear doctor, this is not more generally considered, since
the advantage would be so reciprocal from man to man. But wrapt up in
our own short moment, we forget our neighbour's long hour! and existence
is ultimately embittered to all, by the refined susceptibility for
ourselves that monopolizes our feelings.'

Doctor Marchmont, who in this last sentence construed a slight
reflection upon Edgar, expressively answered, 'Our sensibility for
others is not always dormant, because not apparent. How much of worth
and excellence may two characters separately possess, where yet there
are disuniting particles which impede their harmonizing with each
other!'

Mr. Tyrold, powerfully struck, saw now the general nature of the
conceptions which had caused this lamented breach. He could not concur,
but he would not attempt to controvert: opinion in this case must have
even the precedence of justice. If Edgar thought his daughter of a
disposition with which his own could not sympathise, it were vain to
expatiate upon her virtues or her sweetness; that one doubt previously
taken might mar their assimilating efficacy. Comprehending, therefore,
the cause at large, he desired no detail; the words of Dr. Marchmont,
though decisive, were not offensive, and they parted perfect friends,
each perceiving, yet forgiving, that each cast upon the other the error
of false reasoning; Edgar to the one, and Camilla to the other,
appearing faultless in the separation.

But not in the tasks which succeeded were their offices as easily to be
compared. Dr. Marchmont wrote to Edgar that all was quietly
relinquished, and his measures were honourably acquitted; while Mr.
Tyrold, shut up in his study, spent there some of the severest minutes
of his life, in struggling for the equanimity he coveted to pronounce to
his daughter this last doom. Pity for her suspence accelerated his
efforts, and he then sent for her down stairs.

His utmost composure, in such an interview, was highly necessary for
both. The pale and trembling Camilla advanced with downcast eyes; but
when he took her in his arms, and kissed her, a sudden ray of hope shot
across her quick imagination, and she looked up: an instant was now
sufficient to rectify her mistake. The tenderness of her father wore no
air of congratulation, it was the mere offspring of compassion, and the
woe with which it was mixt, though mild, though patient, was too potent
to require words for explanation.

The glance sufficed; her head dropt, her tears in torrents bathed his
bosom; and she retired to Lavinia while yet neither of them had spoken.

Mr. Tyrold, contented with virtuous exertions, demanded not
impossibilities; he left to nature that first grief which too early
exhortation or controul rather inflames than appeases. He then brought
her back to his apartment.

He conjured her, there, to remember that she grieved not alone; that
where the tears flowed not so fast from the eyes, the sources were not
dry whence they sprung, and that bridled sorrow was sometimes the most
suffering.

'Alas, my dearest father, to think you mourn too--and for me!--will that
lessen what I feel?'

'Yes, my dear child, by a generous duty it will point out to watch that
the excess of one affliction involve you not in another.'

'What a motive,' she answered, 'for exertion! If the smallest part of
your happiness--of my honoured mother's--depends upon mine, I shall be
unhappy, I think, no more!'

A gush of tears ill accorded with this fond declaration; but Mr. Tyrold,
without noticing them, kindly replied, 'Let your filial affection, my
child, check the inordinacy of your affliction, and I will accept with
pleasure for your virtuous mother, and with thanks for myself, the
exertion which, beginning for our sakes, may lead you to that self
denial which is the parent of our best human actions, and approximates
us the most to what is divine.'

Broken-hearted as was Camilla, her sorrows would, at least apparently,
have abated from consolation so tender, if all she felt had been known;
if no latent and lurking evil had hung upon her spirits, defeating all
argument, and blighting all comfort, by the cruel consciousness of
concealed mischief, which while incessantly she studied the best moment
for revealing, accident might prematurely betray.

Upon this subject her thoughts were unremittingly bent, till, in a few
days time, she received a letter from Mrs. Mittin, informing her she had
just seen the money-lender, Mr. Clykes, who, finding her so much under
age, would not undertake the business for less than ten per cent, nor
without a free premium of at least twenty pounds.

The latter demand, so entirely out of her power to grant, gave to her
the mental strength she had yet sought in vain; and determining to end
this baneful secret, she seized her own first moment of emotion to
relate to her father the whole of her distresses, and cast herself upon
his mercy.

I shall be happier, she cried, much happier, as, with tottering steps,
she hurried to the study; he will be lenient, I know;--and even if not,
what displeasure can I incur so severe as the eternal apprehension of
doing wrong?

But her plan, though well formed, had fixed upon an ill-timed moment for
its execution. She entered the room with an agitation which rather
sought than shunned remark, that some enquiry might make an opening for
her confession: but Mr. Tyrold was intently reading a letter, and
examining some papers, from which he raised not his eyes at her
approach. She stood fearfully before him till he had done; but then,
still not looking up, he leant his head upon his hand, with a
countenance so disturbed, that, alarmed from her design, by the
apprehension he had received some ill tidings from Lisbon, she asked, in
a faint voice, if the foreign post were come in?

'I hope not!' he answered: 'I should look with pain, at this moment,
upon the hand of your unhappy mother!'

Camilla, affrighted, knew not now what to conjecture; but gliding into
her pocket the letter of Mrs. Mittin, stood suspended from her purpose.

'What a reception,' he presently added, 'is preparing for that noblest
of women when her exile may end! That epoch, to which I have looked
forward as the brightener of my every view upon earth--how is it now
clouded!'

Giving her, then, the letter and papers; 'The son,' he said, 'who once I
had hoped would prove the guardian of his sisters, the honour of his
mother's days, the future prop of my own--See, Camilla, on how sandy a
foundation mortal man builds mortal hopes!'

The letter was from a very respectable tradesman, containing a complaint
that, for the three years Lionel had been at the University, he had
never paid one bill, though he continually ordered new articles: and
begging Mr. Tyrold would have the goodness to settle the accounts he
enclosed; the young gentleman, after fixing a day for payment, having
suddenly absconded without notice to any one.

'The sum, you see,' continued Mr. Tyrold, 'amounts to one hundred and
seventy-one pounds; a sum, for my income, enormous. The allowance I made
this cruel boy, was not only adequate to all his proper wants, and
reasonable desires, but all I could afford without distressing myself,
or injuring my other children: yet it has served him, I imagine, but for
pocket money! The immense sums he has extorted from both his uncles,
must have been swallowed up at a gaming table. Into what wretched
courses has he run! These bills, large as they are, I regard but as
forerunners of others; all he has received he has squandered upon his
vices, and to-morrow, and the next day, and the next, I may expect an
encreasing list of his debts, from his hatter, his hosier, his
shoe-maker, his taylor,--and whoever he has employed.

Camilla, overwhelmed with internal shame, yet more powerful than grief
itself, stood motionless. These expences appeared but like a second part
of her own, with her milliner, her jeweller, and her haberdasher; which
now seemed to herself not less wanton in extravagance.

Surprised by her entire silence, Mr. Tyrold looked up. Her cheeks,
rather livid than pale, and the deep dismay of her countenance,
extremely affected him. The kindness of his embraces relieved her by
melting her into tears, though the speech which accompanied them was, to
her consciousness, but reproach: 'Let not your sisterly feelings thus
subdue you, my dearest Camilla. Be comforted that you have given us no
affliction yourself, save what we must feel for your own undeservedly
altered prospects. No unthinking imprudence, no unfeeling selfishness,
has ever, for an instant, driven from your thoughts what you owe to your
duty, or weakened your pleasure in every endearing filial tie. Let this
cheer you, my child; and let us all try to submit calmly to our general
disappointment.'

Praise thus ill-timed, rather probed than healed her wounds. Am I
punished? am I punished? She internally exclaimed; but could not bear to
meet the eyes of her father, whose indulgence she felt as if abusing,
and whose good opinion seemed now but a delusion. Again, he made her
over to the gentle Lavinia for comfort, and fearing serious ill effects
from added misery, exerted himself, from this time, to appear cheerful
when she was present.

His predictions failed not to be fulfilled: the application made by one
creditor, soon reached every other, and urged similar measures. Bills,
therefore, came in daily, with petitions for payment; and as Lionel
still wanted a month or two of being of age, his creditors depended with
confidence upon the responsibility of his father.

Nor here closed the claims springing from general ill conduct. Two young
men of fashion, hard pressed for their own failures, stated to Mr.
Tyrold the debts of honour owing them from Lionel: and three notorious
gamesters, who had drawn in the unthinking youth to his ruin, enforced
the same information, with a hint that, if they were left unsatisfied,
the credit of the young man would fall the sacrifice of their ill
treatment.

The absence of Mrs. Tyrold at this period, by sparing her daily
difficulty as well as pain, was rejoiced in by her husband; though
never so strongly had he wanted her aiding counsel, her equal interest,
and her consoling participation. Obliged to act without them, his
deliberation was short and decisive for his measures, but long and
painful for their means of execution. He at once determined to pay,
though for the last time, all the trades people; but the manner of
obtaining the money required more consideration.

The bills, when all collected, amounted to something above five hundred
pounds, which was but one hundred short of his full yearly income.

Of this, he had always contrived to lay by an hundred pounds annually,
which sum, with its accumulating interest, was destined to be divided
between Lavinia and Camilla. Eugenia required nothing; and Lionel was to
inherit the paternal little fortune. The portion of Mrs. Tyrold, which
was small, the estate of her father having been almost all entailed upon
Mr. Relvil, was to be divided equally amongst her children.

To take from the little hoard which, with so tender a care, he had
heaped for the daughters, so large a share for the son, and to answer
demands so unduly raised, and ill deserved, was repulsive to his
inclination, and shocked his strong sense of equal justice. To apply to
Mr. Relvil would be preposterous; for though upon him dwelt all his
ultimate hopes for Lionel, he knew him, at this moment, to be so
suffering and so irritated by his means, that to hear of any new
misdemeanours might incense him to an irrevocable disinheritance.

With regard to Sir Hugh, nothing was too much to expect from his
generous kindness; yet he knew that his bountiful heart had always kept
his income from overflowing; and that, for three years past, Lionel had
drained it without mercy. His preparations, also, for the double
marriages had, of late, much straitened him. To take up even the
smallest part of what, in less expensive times, he had laid by, he would
regard as a breach of his solemn vow, by which he imagined himself bound
to leave Eugenia the full property she would have possessed, had he died
instantly upon making it. Reason might have shewn this a tie of
supererogation; but where any man conceived himself obeying the dictates
of his conscience, Mr. Tyrold held his motives too sacred for dispute.

The painful result of this afflicting meditation, was laying before his
daughters the whole of his difficulties, and demanding if they would
willingly concur in paying their brother's bills from their appropriate
little store, by adopting an altered plan of life, and severe
self-denial of their present ease and elegance, to aid its speedy
replacement.

Their satisfaction in any expedient to serve their brother that seemed
to fall upon themselves, was sincere, was even joyful: but they jointly
besought that the sum might be freely taken up, and deducted for ever
more from the hoard; since no earthly gratification could be so great to
them, as contributing their mite to prevent any deprivation of domestic
enjoyment to their beloved parents.

His eyes glistened, but not from grief; it was the pleasure of virtuous
happiness in their purity of filial affection. But though he knew their
sincerity, he would not listen to their petition. 'You are not yet,'
said he, 'aware what your future calls may be for money. What I have yet
been able to save, without this unexpected seizure, would be inadequate
to your even decent maintenance, should any accident stop short its
encrease. Weep not, my dear children! my health is still good, and my
prospect of lengthened life seems fair. It would be, however, a temporal
folly as well as a spiritual presumption, to forget the precarious
tenure of human existence. My life, my dear girls, will be happier,
without being shorter, for making provisions for its worldly cessation.'

'But, Sir! but my father!' cried Camilla, hanging over him, and losing
in filial tenderness her personal distresses; 'if your manner of living
is altered, and my dear mother returns home and sees you relinquishing
any of your small, your temperate indulgencies, may it not yet more
embitter her sufferings and her displeasure for the unhappy cause? For
her sake then, if not for ours----'

'Do not turn away, dearest Sir!' cried Lavinia; 'what mother ever
merited to have her peace the first study of her children, if it is not
ours?'

'O Providence benign!' said Mr. Tyrold, folding them to his heart, 'how
am I yet blessed in my children!--True and excellent daughters of my
invaluable wife--this little narration is the solace I shall have to
offer for the grief I must communicate.'

He would not, however, hearken to their proposition; his peace, he said,
required not only immediate measures for replacing what he must borrow,
but also that no chasm should have lieu in funding his usual annual sum
for them. All he would accept was the same severe forbearance he should
instantly practice himself, and which their mother, when restored to
them, would be the first to adopt and improve. And this, till its end
was answered, they would all steadily continue, and then, with cheerful
self-approvance, resume their wonted comforts.

Mr. Tyrold had too frequent views of the brevity of human life to
postpone, even from one sun to another, any action he deemed essential.
A new general system, therefore, immediately pervaded his house. Two of
the servants, with whom he best could dispense, were discharged; which
hurt him more than any other privation, for he loved, and was loved by
every domestic who lived with him. His table, always simple though
elegant, was now reduced to plain necessaries; he parted with every
horse, but one to whose long services he held himself a debtor; and
whatever, throughout the whole economy of his small establishment,
admitted simplifying, deducting, or abolishment, received, without
delay, its requisite alteration or dismission.

These new regulations were quietly, but completely, put in practice,
before he would discharge one bill for his son; to whom, nevertheless,
though his conduct was strict, his feelings were still lenient. He
attributed not to moral turpitude his errours nor his crimes, but to the
prevalence of ill example, and to an unjustifiable and dangerous levity,
which irresistibly led him to treat with mockery and trifling the most
serious subjects. The punishment, however, which he had now drawn upon
himself, would yet, he hoped, touch his heart.

But the debts called debts of honour, met not with similar treatment. He
answered with spirited resentment demands he deemed highly flagitious,
counselling those who sent them, when next they applied to an unhappy
family to whose calamities they had contributed, to enquire first if its
principles, as well as its fortune, made the hazards of gaming amongst
its domestic responsibilities.




CHAPTER IX

_A Lover's Eye_


The serenity of virtue would now again have made its abode the breast of
Mr. Tyrold, but for the constant wretchedness to which he saw his
daughter a prey. With the benignest pity he strove to revive her; a pity
unabated by any wonder, unalloyed with any blame. His wonder fell all
upon Edgar, whom he considered as refining away mortal happiness, by
dissatisfaction that it was not divine; but his censure, which he
reserved wholly for vice, exonerated them both. Still, however, he
flattered himself that ere long, to her youthful mind and native
cheerfulness, tranquillity, if not felicity, would imperceptibly return,
from such a union for exertion of filial and sisterly duties: that
industry would sweeten rest, virtue gild privation, and self-approvance
convert every sacrifice into enjoyment.

But peace such as this was far from her bosom. While the desertion of
Edgar had tolled the death bell to all her hopes, an unremitting
contention disturbed her mind, whether to avow or conceal her situation
with regard to the money-lender. The reflections of every night brought
a dissatisfaction in her conduct, which determined her upon an openness
the most undisguised for the following morning: but timidity, and the
desire of reprieve from the fearful task, again, the following morning,
regularly postponed her purpose.

In the first horror occasioned by her father's distress from the bills
of her brother, she wrote a supplicating letter to Mrs. Mittin, to
intreat she would endeavour to quiet her creditors till she could
arrange something for their payment. And while this produced a
correspondence replete with danger, difficulty, and impropriety, a new
circumstance occurred, which yet more cruelly embittered her conflicting
emotions. Lavinia, in the virtuous eagerness of her heart to forward the
general oeconomy, insisted wholly to relinquish, for this year, her
appropriate allowance; declaring that, by careful management, she could
dispense with anything new, and that the very few expences she might
find utterly unavoidable, she would demand from time to time as they
occurred. Camilla, at this proposition, retreated, in agony, to her
chamber. To make the same was impossible; for how, then, find interest
for the money-lender? yet to withstand so just an example, seemed a
disgrace to every duty and every feeling.

Lavinia, who, in her countenance and abrupt departure, read the new
distress she had incautiously excited, with a thousand self-reproaches
followed her. She had considered but the common cause when she spoke,
without weighing the strange appearance of not being seconded by her
sister: But her mind was amongst the last to covet the narrow praise of
insidious comparison; and her concern for the proposal she had made,
when she saw its effect, was as deep as that of Camilla in hearing it,
though not attended with the same aggravations.

Mr. Tyrold remained utterly surprized. The generous and disinterested
nature of Camilla, made it impossible to suspect her restrained by a
greater love of money than Lavinia; and he could not endure to suppose
her late visits to public places, had rendered personal oeconomy more
painful. But he would make no enquiry that might seem a reproach; nor
suffer any privation or contribution that was not cheerful and
voluntary.

       *       *       *       *       *

The purchases for the wedding of Miss Dennel being now made, that young
lady came down to the country to solemnize her nuptials, accompanied by
Mrs. Mittin, who instantly visited Camilla. She could settle nothing,
she said, with the money-lender, without the premium; but she had coaxed
all the creditors, by assuring them, that, as the debtor was a great
heiress, they were certain of their money when she came to her estate.
Camilla could not endure to owe their forbearance to a falsehood; though
to convince Mrs. Mittin of her errour, in contradiction to the assertion
of Lionel, was a vain attempt. The business, however, pressed; and to
keep back these but too just claimants was her present most fervent
desire. Mrs. Mittin was amongst the most expert of expedient-mongers,
and soon started a method for raising the premium. She asked to look at
what Camilla possessed of trinkets: and the prize ear-rings of
Tunbridge, the ear-rings and necklace of Southampton, and several small
toys occasionally given her, were collected. The locket she also
demanded, to make weight; but neither that, nor the peculiar gifts, as
keep-sakes, of her father, mother, or uncle, consisting of a seal, a
ring, and a watch, would she part with. What she would relinquish,
however, Mrs. Mittin disposed of to one of her numerous friends; but
they raised only, when intrinsically valued, sixteen pounds. Lavinia
then insisted upon coming forward with a contribution of every trinket
she was worth, save what had the same sacred motives of detention: and
the twenty pounds, without any ceremony of acknowledgment, were
delivered to Mr. Clykes; who then took into his own hands the payment of
the hundred and eighteen pounds; for which he received a bond, signed by
Camilla, and witnessed by Mrs. Mittin; and another note of hand,
promising ten per cent. interest for the sum, till the principal were
repaid. These two notes, he acknowledged, were mere pledges of honour,
as the law would treat her as an infant: but he never acted without
them, as they prevented mistakes in private dealings.

This important affair arranged, Camilla felt somewhat more at ease; she
was relieved from hourly alarms, and left the mistress to make her
confession as circumstances directed. But she obtained not for nothing
the agency of Mrs. Mittin, who was not a character to leave self out of
consideration in her transactions for others; and at every visit made at
Etherington from this time, she observed something in the apparel of
Camilla that was utterly old fashioned, or too mean for her to wear; but
which would do well enough for herself, when vamped up, as she knew how.
Her obligations and inexperience made it impossible to her to resist,
though, at this season of saving care, she gave up nothing which she
could not have rendered useful, by industry and contrivance.

       *       *       *       *       *

During this unhappy period at Etherington, a brighter, though not
unclouded scene, was exhibited at Cleves. Melmond arrived; he was
permitted to pay his addresses to the fair Indiana, and believed
felicity celestial accorded to him even upon earth.

But this adored object herself suffered some severe repining at her
fate, when she saw, from her window, her lover gallop into the park
without equipage, without domestics, and mounted on a hired horse. The
grimacing shrugs of Miss Margland shewed she entered into this
mortification; and they were nearly conspiring to dismiss the ignoble
pretender, when a letter, which he modestly sent up, from his sister,
inviting Indiana to pass a few weeks in Grosvenor Square, once again
secured the interest of the brother. She suffered, therefore, Sir Hugh
to hand her down stairs, and the enamoured Melmond thought himself the
most blest of men.

The sight of such eager enjoyment, and the really amiable qualities of
this youth, soon completely reconciled the Baronet to this new business;
for he saw no reason, he said, in fact, why one niece had not as good a
right to be married first as another. The generous and sentimental
Eugenia never ceased her kind offices, and steadily wore an air of
tolerable cheerfulness all day, though her pillow was nightly wetted
with tears for her unfortunate lot.

Nor, with all her native equanimity and acquired philosophy, was this a
situation to bring back serenity. The enthusiastic raptures of Melmond
elevated him, in her eyes, to something above human; and while his
adoration of Indiana presented to her a picture of all she thought most
fascinating, his grateful softness of respect to herself, was
penetratingly touching to her already conquered heart.

Indiana, meanwhile, began ere long, to catch some of the pleasure she
inspired. The passionate animation of Melmond, soon not only resumed its
first power, but became even essential to her. No one else had yet
seemed to think her so completely a goddess, except Mr. Macdersey, whom
she scarce expected ever to see again. With Melmond she could do nothing
that did not make her appear to him still more lovely: and though her
whims, thus indulged, became almost endless, they but kindled with fresh
flame his admiration. If she fretted, he thought her all sensibility; if
she pouted, all dignity; if her laughter was unmeaning, she was made up
of innocent gaiety; if what she said was shallow, he called her the
child of pure nature; if she were angry, how becoming was her spirit! if
illiberal, how noble was her frankness! Her person charmed his eye, but
his own imagination framed her mind, and while his enchanted faculties
were the mere slaves of her beauty, they persuaded themselves they were
vanquished by every other perfection.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Tyrold had not yet related Edgar's defection to Sir Hugh; though
from the moment the time of hope was past, he wished to end that of
expectation. But the pressure of the affairs of Lionel detained him at
Etherington, and he could not bear to give grief to his brother, till he
could soften its effect by the consolation of some residence at Cleves.
This time now arrived; and the next day was fixed for his painful task,
in which he meant to spare Camilla any share, when Jacob begged
immediate admittance into the study, where Mr. Tyrold and his daughters
were drinking tea.

His scared look instantly announced ill news. Mr. Tyrold was alarmed,
Lavinia was frightened, and Camilla exclaimed, 'Jacob, speak at once!'

He begged to sit down.

Camilla ran to get him a chair.

'Is my brother well, Jacob?' cried Mr. Tyrold.

'Why, pretty well, considering, Sir,--but these are vast bad times for
us!'

'O! if my uncle is but well,' cried Camilla, relieved from her first
dreadful doubt, 'all, I hope, will do right!'

'Why, ay, Miss,' said Jacob, smiling, 'I knew you'd be master's best
comfort; and so I told him, and so he says, for that matter himself, as
I've got to tell you from him. But, for all that, he takes on prodigious
bad. I never saw him in the like way, except just that time when Miss
Geny had the small pox.'

They all supplicated him to forbear further comments, and then gathered,
that a money-agent, employed by young Lynmere, had just arrived at
Cleves; where, with bitter complaints, he related that, having been
duped into believing him heir to Sir Hugh Tyrold, he had been prevailed
with to grant him money, from time to time, to pay certain bills,
contracted not only there, but in London, for goods sent thence by his
order, to the amount of near thirteen hundred pounds, without the
interest, of which he should give a separate account; that he had vainly
applied to the young gentleman for re-imbursement, who finally assured
him he was just disinherited by his uncle. No hope, therefore, remained
to save him from the ruin of this affair, but in the compassion of the
Baronet, which he now came to most humbly solicit.

While Mr. Tyrold, in silent surprise and concern, listened to an
account that placed his brother in difficulties so similar to his own,
Camilla, sinking back in her chair; looked pale, looked almost lifeless.
The history of the debts she already knew, and had daily expected to
hear; but the circumstance of the money-lender, and the delusion
concerning the inheritance, so resembled her own terrible, and yet
unknown story, that she felt personally involved in all the shame and
horror of the relation.

Mr. Tyrold, who believed her suffering all for her uncle, made further
enquiries, while Lavinia tenderly sustained her. 'Don't take on so, dear
Miss,' said Jacob, 'for all our hope is in you, as Master and I both
said; and he bid me tell your papa, that if he'd only give young 'Squire
Mandlebert a jog, to egg him on, that he might not be so shilly shally,
as soon as ever the wedding's over, he'd accept his kind invitation to
Beech Park, and bide there till he got clear, as one may say.'

Mr. Tyrold now required no assigned motive for the excessive distress of
his daughter, and hastened to turn Jacob from this too terribly trying
subject, by saying, 'My brother then means to pay these demands?'

'Lauk, yes, Sir! his honour pays every thing as any body asks him; only
he says he don't know how, because of having no more money, being so
hard run with all our preparations we have been making this last
fortnight.'

Camilla, with every moment encreasing agitation, hid her face against
Lavinia; but Mr. Tyrold, with some energy, said: 'The interest, at
least, I hope he will not discharge; for those dangerous vultures, who
lie in wait for the weak or erring, to encourage their frailties or
vices, by affording them means to pursue them, deserve much severer
punishment, than merely losing a recompense for their iniquitous
snares.'

This was quite too much for the already disordered Camilla; she quitted
her sister, glided out of the room, and delivered herself over as a prey
no longer to sorrow but remorse. Her conduct seemed to have been
precisely the conduct of Clermont, and she felt herself dreadfully
implicated as one of the _weak or erring_, guilty of _frailties or
vices_.

That an uncle so dearly loved should believe she was forming an
establishment which would afford him an asylum during his difficulties,
now every prospect of that establishment was over, was so heart-piercing
a circumstance, that to her father it seemed sufficient for the whole
of what she endured. He made her over, therefore, to Lavinia, while he
hastened to Cleves; for Jacob, when he had said all he was ordered to
say, all he had gathered himself, and all he was able to suggest,
finished with letting him know that his master begged he would set out
that very moment.

The time of his absence was spent by Camilla in an anguish that, at his
return, seemed quite to have changed her. He was alarmed, and redoubled
his tenderness; but his tenderness was no longer her joy. He knows not,
she thought, whom he caresses; knows not that the wounds just beginning
to heal for the son, are soon to be again opened for the daughter!

Yet her affections were all awake to enquire after her uncle; and when
she heard that nothing could so much sooth him as her sight, all fear of
his comments, all terror of exertion, subsided in the possible chance of
consoling him: and Mr. Tyrold, who thought every act of duty led to
cheerfulness, sent to desire the carriage might fetch her the next
morning.

He passed slightly over to Camilla the scene he had himself gone
through; but he confessed to Lavinia its difficulty and pain. Sir Hugh
had acknowledged he had drawn his bankers dry, yet had merely current
cash to go on till the next quarter, whence he intended to deduct the
further expences of the weddings. Nevertheless, he was determined upon
paying every shilling of the demand, not only for the debts, but for all
the complicate interest. He would not listen to any reasoning upon this
subject, because, he said, he had it upon his conscience that the first
fault was his own, in letting poor Clermont leave the kingdom, without
clearing up to him that he had made Eugenia his exclusive heiress. It
was in vain Mr. Tyrold pointed out, that no future hopes of wealth could
exculpate this unauthorized extravagance in Clermont, and no dissipation
in Clermont could apologize for the clandestine loan, and its illegal
interest: 'The poor boy,' said he, 'did it all, knowing no better, which
how can I expect, when I did wrong myself, being his uncle? Though, if I
were to have twenty more nephews and nieces in future, the first word I
should say to them would be to tell them I should give them nothing; to
the end that having no hope, they might all be happy one as another.'
All, therefore, that was left for Mr. Tyrold, was to counsel him upon
the best and shortest means of raising the sum; and for this purpose,
he meant to be with him again the next day.

This affair, however, with all its reproach for the past, and all its
sacrifices for the time to come, by no means so deeply affected Sir Hugh
as the blow Mr. Tyrold could no longer spare concerning Edgar. It sunk
to his heart, dispirited him to tears, and sent him, extremely ill, to
bed.

The chaise came early the next morning, and Mr. Tyrold had the pleasure
to see Camilla exert herself to appear less sad. Lavinia was also of the
party, as he meant to stay the whole day.

Eugenia met them in the hall, with the welcome intelligence that Sir
Hugh, though he had passed a wretched night, was now somewhat better,
and considerably cheered, by a visit from his old Yorkshire friend, Mr.
Westwyn.

Nevertheless, Sir Hugh dismissed him, and everybody else, to receive
Camilla alone.

She endeavoured to approach him calmly, but his own unchecked emotions
soon overset her borrowed fortitude, and the interview proved equally
afflicting to both. The cruel mischiefs brought upon him by Clermont,
were as nothing in the balance of his misfortunes, when opposed to
the sight of sorrow upon that face which, hitherto, had so
constantly enlivened him as an image of joy: and with her, every
self-disappointment yielded, for the moment, to the regret of losing so
precious a blessing, as offering a refuge, in a time of difficulty, to
an uncle so dear to her.

Mr. Tyrold would not suffer this scene to be long uninterrupted; he
entered, with a cheering countenance, that compelled them to dry their
tears, and told them the Westwyns could not much longer be left out,
though they remained, well contented, for the present, with Miss
Margland and his other daughters. 'Melmond and Indiana,' added he,
smiling, 'seem at present not beings of this lower sphere, nor to have a
moment to spare for those who are.'

'That, my dear brother,' answered the Baronet, 'is all my comfort; for
as to all the rest of my marrying, you see what it's come to! who could
have thought of young Mr. Edgar's turning out in the same way? I can't
say but what I take it pretty unkind of him, letting me prepare at this
rate for nothing; besides Beech Park's being within but a stone's throw,
as one may say, as well as his own agreeableness. However, now I've
seen a little more of the world, I can't say I find much difference
between the good and the bad, with respect to their all doing alike. The
young boys now-a-days, whatever's come to 'em, don't know what they'd be
at. They think nothing of disappointing a person if once they've a mind
to change their minds. All one's preparations go for nothing; which they
never think of.'

Mr. Tyrold now prevailed for the re-admission of Mr. Westwyn, who was
accompanied by his son, and followed by the Cleves family.

The cheeks of Camilla recovered their usual hue at the sight of Henry,
from the various interesting recollections which occurred with it. She
was seen herself with their original admiration, both by the father and
the son, though with the former it was now mingled with anger, and with
the latter no longer gilded with hope. Yet the complaints against her,
which, upon his arrival, Mr. Westwyn meant to make, were soon not merely
relinquished, but transformed into pity, upon the view of her dejected
countenance, and silent melancholy.

The Baronet, however, revived again, by seeing his old friend, whose
humour so much resembled his own, that, in Yorkshire, he had been always
his first favourite. Each the children of untutored nature, honest and
open alike in their words and their dealings, their characters and their
propensities were nearly the same, though Sir Hugh, more self-formed,
had a language and manner of his own; and Mr. Westwyn, of a temper less
equal and less gentle, gave way, as they arose, to such angry passions
as the indulgent Baronet never felt.

'My dear friend,' said Mr. Westwyn, 'you don't take much notice of my
Hal, though, I'll give you my word, you won't see such another young
fellow every day. However, it's as well not, before his face, for it
might only make him think himself somebody: and that, while I am alive,
I don't intend he should do. I can't bear a young fellow not dutiful.
I've always a bad opinion of him. I can't say he pleases me.'

'My dear Westwyn,' answered the Baronet, 'I've no doubt but what master
Hal is very good, for which I am truly glad. But as to much
over-rejoicing, now, upon the score of young boys, it's what I can't do,
seeing they've turned out so ill, one after another, as far as I have
had to do with them; for which, however, I hope I bear 'em no malice.
They've enough to answer for without that, which, I hope, they'll think
of in time.'

'Why to be sure, Sir Hugh, if you set about thinking of a young fellow
by the pattern of my friend Clermont, I can't say I'm much surprised you
don't care to give him a good word; I can't say I am. I am pretty much
of the same way of thinking. I love to speak the truth.' He then took
Mr. Tyrold apart, and ran on with a history of all he had gathered,
while at Leipsic, of the conduct and way of life of Clermont Lynmere.
'He was a disgrace,' said he, 'even to the English name, as a Professor
told me, that I can't remember the name of, it's so prodigious long;
but, if it had not been for my son, he told me, they'd have thought all
the English young fellows good for nothing, except extravagance, and
eating and drinking! "They'd all round have got an ill name," says he,
"if it had not been for your son," were his words which I shall never
forget. I sent him over a noble pipe of Madeira, which I'd just got for
myself, as soon as I came home. I took to him very much, I can't say but
I did; he was a very good man; he had prodigiously the look of an
Englishman. He said Hal was an ornament to the university. I took it
very well of him. I wish he had not such a hard name. I can never call
it to mind. I hate a hard name. I can never speak it without a blunder.'

Sir Hugh now, who had been talking with Henry, called upon Mr. Westwyn,
to beg his pardon for not speaking of him more respectfully, saying: 'I
see he's quite agreeable, which I should have noticed from the first,
only being what I did not know; which I hope is my excuse; my head, my
dear friend, not getting on much, in point of quickness: though I can't
say it's for want of pains, since you and I used to live so much
together; but to no great end, for I always find myself in the back,
however it happens: which your son, Master Hal, is, I see, quite the
contrary.'

Mr. Westwyn was so much gratified by this praise, that he immediately
confessed the scheme and wish he had formed of marrying Hal to Camilla,
only for her not approving it. Sir Hugh protested nothing could give him
more pleasure than such a connexion, and significantly added, he had
other nieces, besides Camilla.

'Why, yes,' said Mr. Westwyn, 'and I can't keep from looking at 'em; I
like 'em all mightily. I'm a great friend to taking from a good stock. I
chuse to know what I'm about. That girl at Southampton hit my fancy
prodigiously. But I'm not for the beauty. A beauty won't make a good
wife. It takes her too much time to put her cap on. That little one,
there, with the hump, which I don't mind, nor the limp, neither, I like
vastly. But I'm afraid Hal won't take to her. A young man don't much
fancy an ugly girl. He's always hankering after something pretty.
There's that other indeed, Miss Lavinia, is as handsome a girl as I'd
wish to see. And she seems as good, too. However, I'm not for judging
all by the eye. I'm past that. An old man should not play the fool.
Which I wish somebody would whisper to a certain Lord that I know of,
that don't behave quite to my mind. I'm not fond of an old fool: nor a
young one neither. They make me sick.'

Sir Hugh heard and agreed to all this, with the same simplicity with
which it was spoken; and, soon after, Yorkshire becoming their theme,
Mr. Tyrold had the pleasure of seeing his brother so much re-animated by
the revival of old scenes, ideas, and connexions, that he heartily
joined in pressing the Mr. Westwyns to spend a fortnight at Cleves, to
which they consented with pleasure.




CHAPTER X

_A Bride's Resolves_


With every allowance for a grief in which so deeply he shared, Mr.
Tyrold felt nearly bowed down with sorrow, when he observed his own
tenderness abate of its power to console, and his exhortations of their
influence with his miserable daughter, whose complicated afflictions
seemed desperate to herself, and to him nearly hopeless.

He now began to fear the rigid oeconomy and retirement of their
present lives might add secret disgust or fatigue to the disappointment
of her heart. He sighed at an idea so little in unison with all that had
hitherto appeared of her disposition; yet remembered she was very young
and very lively, and thought that, if caught by a love of gayer scenes
than Etherington afforded, she was at a season of life which brings its
own excuse for such venial ambition.

He mentioned, therefore, with great kindness, their exclusion from all
society, and proposed making an application to Mrs. Needham, a lady high
in the esteem of Mrs. Tyrold, to have the goodness to take the charge of
carrying them a little into the world, during the absence of their
mother. 'I can neither exact nor desire,' he said, 'to sequester you
from all amusement for a term so utterly indefinite as that of her
restoration; since it is now more than ever desirable to regain the
favour of your uncle Relvil for Lionel, who has resisted every
profession for which I have sought to prepare him; though his idle and
licentious courses so little fit him for contentment with the small
patrimony he will one day inherit.'

The sisters mutually and sincerely declined this proposition; Lavinia
had too much employment to find time ever slow of passage; and Camilla,
joined to the want of all spirit for recreation, had a dread of
appearing in the county, lest she should meet with Sir Sedley Clarendel,
whose two hundred pounds were amongst the evils ever present to her. The
money which Eugenia meant to save for this account had all been given to
Lionel; and now her marriage was at an end, and no particular sum
expected, she must be very long in replacing it; especially as Jacob was
first to be considered; though he had kindly protested he was in no
haste to be paid.

Mr. Tyrold was not sorry to have his proposition declined; yet saw the
sadness of Camilla unabated, and suggested, for a transient diversity, a
visit to the Grove; enquiring why an acquaintance begun with so much
warmth and pleasure, seemed thus utterly relinquished. Camilla had
herself thought with shame of her apparently ungrateful neglect of Mrs.
Arlbery; but the five guineas she had borrowed, and forgotten to pay,
while she might yet have asked them of Sir Hugh, and which now she had
no ability any where to raise, made the idea of meeting with her
painful. And thus, overwhelmed with regret and repentance for all
around, her spirits gone, and her heart sunk, she desired never more,
except for Cleves, to stir from Etherington.

Had he seen the least symptom of her revival, Mr. Tyrold would have been
gratified by her strengthened love of home; but this was far from being
the case; and, upon the marriage of Miss Dennel, which was now
celebrated, he was glad of an opportunity to force her abroad, from the
necessity of making a congratulatory visit to the bride's aunt, Mrs.
Arlbery.

The chariot, therefore, of Sir Hugh being borrowed, she was compelled
into this exertion; which was ill repaid by her reception from Mrs.
Arlbery, who, hurt as well as offended by her long absence and total
silence, wore an air of the most chilling coldness. Camilla felt sorry
and ashamed; but too much disturbed to attempt any palliation for her
non-appearance, and remissness of even a note or message.

The room was full of morning visitors, all collected for the same
complimentary purpose; but she was relieved with respect to her fears of
Sir Sedley Clarendel, in hearing of his tour to the Hebrides.

Her mournful countenance soon, however, dispersed the anger of Mrs.
Arlbery. 'What,' cried she, 'has befallen you, my fair friend? if you
are not immeasurably unhappy, you are very seriously ill.'

'Yes,--no,--my spirits--have not been good--' answered she,
stammering;--'but yours may, perhaps, assist to restore them.'

The composition of Mrs. Arlbery had no particle of either malice or
vengeance; she now threw off, therefore, all reserve, and taking her by
the hand, said: 'shall I keep you to spend the day with me? Yes, or no?
Peace or war?'

And without waiting for an answer, she sent back the chariot, and a
message to Mr. Tyrold, that she would carry home his daughter in the
evening.

'And now, my faithless Fair,' cried she, as soon as they were alone,
'tell me what has led you to this abominable fickleness? with me, I
mean! If you had grown tired of any body else, I should have thought
nothing so natural. But you know, I suppose, that the same thing we
philosophise into an admirable good joke for our neighbours, we moralise
into a crime against ourselves.'

'I thought,' said Camilla, attempting to smile, 'none but country
cousins ever made apologies?'

'Nay, now, I must forgive you without one word more!' answered Mrs.
Arlbery, laughing, and shaking hands with her; 'a happy citation of one
_bon mot_, is worth any ten offences. So, you see, you have nine to
commit, in store, clear of all damages. But the pleasure of finding one
has not said a good thing only for once, thence to be forgotten and die
away in the winds, is far greater than you can yet awhile conceive. In
the first pride of youth and beauty, our attention is all upon how we
are looked at. But when those begin to be somewhat on the wane--when
that barbarous time comes into play, which revenges upon poor miserable
woman all the airs she has been playing upon silly man--our ambition,
then, is how we are listened to. So now, cutting short reproach and
excuse, and all the wearying round of explanation, tell me a little of
your history since we last met.'

This was the last thing Camilla meant to undertake: but she began, in a
hesitating manner, to speak of her little debt. Mrs. Arlbery, eagerly
interrupting her, insisted it should not be mentioned; adding: 'I go on
vastly well again; I am breaking in two ponies, and building a new
phaeton; and I shall soon pay for both, without the smallest
inconvenience,--except just pinching my servants, and starving my
visitors. But tell me something of your adventures. You are not half so
communicative as Rumour, which has given me a thousand details of you,
and married you and your whole set to at least half a dozen men a piece,
since you were last at the Grove. Amongst others, it asserts, that my
old Lord Valhurst was seriously at your feet? That prating Mrs. Mittin,
who fastened upon my poor little niece at Tunbridge, and who is now her
factotum, pretends that my lord's own servants spoke of it publicly at
Mrs. Berlinton's.'

This was a fact that, being thus divulged, a very few questions made
impossible to deny; though Camilla was highly superior to the indelicacy
and ingratitude of repaying the preference of any gentleman by
publishing his rejection.

'And what in the world, my dear child,' said Mrs. Arlbery, 'could
provoke you to so wild an action as refusing him?'

'Good Heaven, Mrs. Arlbery!'

'O, what--you were not in love with him? I believe not!--but if he was
in love with you, take my word for it, that would have done quite as
well. 'Tis such a little while that same love lasts, even when it is
begun with, that you have but a few months to lose, to be exactly upon a
par with those who set out with all the quivers of Cupid, darting from
heart to heart. He has still fortune enough left for a handsome
settlement; you can't help outliving him, and then, think but how
delectable would be your situation! Freedom, money at will, the choice
of your own friends, and the enjoyment of your own humour!'

'You would but try me, my dear Mrs. Arlbery; for you cannot, I'm sure,
believe me capable of making so solemn an engagement for such mercenary
hopes, and selfish purposes.'

'This is all the romance of false reasoning. You have not sought the
man, but the man you. You would not have solicited his acceptance, but
yielded to his solicitation of yours. The balance is always just, where
force is not used. The man has his reasons for chusing you; you have
your reasons for suffering yourself to be chosen. What his are, you have
no business to enquire; nor has he the smallest right to investigate
yours.'

This was by no means the style in which Camilla had been brought up to
think of marriage; and Mrs. Arlbery presently added: 'You are grave? yet
I speak but as a being of the world I live in: though I address one that
knows nothing about it. Tell me, however, a little more of your affairs.
What are all these marriages and no marriages, our neighbourhood is so
busy in making and unmaking?'

Camilla returned the most brief and quiet answers in her power; but was
too late to save the delicacy of Eugenia in concealing her late double
disappointments, the abortive preparations of Sir Hugh having travelled
through all the adjoining country. 'Poor little dear ugly thing!' cried
Mrs. Arlbery, 'she must certainly go off with her footman;--unless,
indeed, that good old pedant, who teaches her that vast quantity of
stuff she will have to unlearn, when once she goes a little about, will
take compassion upon her and her thousands, and put them both into his
own pockets.'

This raillery was painful nearly to disgust to Camilla; who frankly
declared she saw her sister with no eyes but those of respect and
affection, and could not endure to hear her mentioned in so ridiculous a
manner.

'Never judge the heart of a wit,' answered she, laughing, 'by the
tongue! We have often as good hearts, ay, and as much good nature, too,
as the careful prosers who utter nothing but what is right, or the heavy
thinkers who have too little fancy to say anything that is wrong. But we
have a pleasure in our own rattle that cruelly runs away with our
discretion.'

She then more seriously apologized for what she had said, and declared
herself an unaffected admirer of all she had heard of the good qualities
of Eugenia.

Other subjects were then taken up, till they were interrupted by a visit
from the young bride, Mrs. Lissin.

Jumping into the room, 'I'm just run away,' she cried, 'without saying a
word to any body! I ordered my coach myself, and told my own footman to
whisper me when it came, that I might get off, without saying a word of
the matter. Dear! how they'll all stare when they miss me! I hope
they'll be frightened!'

'And why so, you little chit? why do you want to make them uneasy?'

'O! I don't mind! I'm so glad to have my own way, I don't care for
anything else. Dear, how do you do, Miss Camilla Tyrold? I wonder you
have not been to see me! I had a great mind to have invited you to have
been one of my bride's maids. But papa was so monstrous cross, he would
not let me do hardly any thing I liked. I was never so glad in my life
as when I went out of the house to be married! I'll never ask him about
any one thing as long as I live again. I'll always do just what I
chuse.'

'And you are quite sure Mr. Lissin will never interfere with that
resolution?'

'O, I sha'n't let him! I dare say he would else. That's one reason I
came out so, just now, on purpose to let him see I was my own mistress.
And I told my coachman, and my own footman, and my maid, all three, that
if they said one word, I'd turn 'em all away. For I intend always to
turn 'em away when I don't like 'em. I shall never say anything to Mr.
Lissin first, for fear of his meddling. I'm quite determined I won't be
crossed any more, now I've servants of my own. I'm sure I've been
crossed long enough.'

Then, turning to Camilla, 'Dear,' she cried, 'how grave you look! Dear,
I wonder you don't marry too! When I ordered my coach, just now, I was
ready to cry for joy, to think of not having to ask papa about it. And
to-day, at breakfast, I dare say I rung twenty times, for one thing or
another. As fast as ever I could think of any thing, I went to ringing
again. For when I was at papa's, every time I rang the bell, he always
asked me what I wanted. Only think of keeping one under so!'

'And what in the world said Mr. Lissin to so prodigious an uproar?'

'O, he stared like any thing. But he could not say much: I intend to use
him to it from the first, that he may never plague me, like papa, with
asking me what's the reason for every thing. If I don't like the dinner
to-day, I'll order a new one, to be dressed for me on purpose. And Mr.
Lissin, and papa, and Mrs. Mittin, and the rest of 'em, may eat the old
one. Papa never let me order the dinner at home; he always would know
what there was himself, and have what he chose. I'm resolved I'll have
every thing I like best, now, every day. I could not get at the cook
alone this morning, because so many of 'em were in the way; though I
rung for her a dozen times. But to-morrow, I'll tell her of some things
I intend to have the whole year through; in particular, currant tarts,
and minced veal, and mashed potatoes. I've been determined upon that
these three years, for against I was married.'

Then, taking Camilla by the hand, she begged she would accompany her to
next room, saying, 'Pray excuse me, Aunt Arlbery, because I want to talk
to Miss Tyrold about a secret.'

When they came to another apartment, after carefully shutting the door,
'Only think,' she cried, 'Miss Camilla Tyrold, of my marrying Mr. Lissin
at last! Pray did you ever suspect it? I'm sure I did not. When papa
told me of it, you can't think how I was surprised. I always thought it
would have been Colonel Andover, or Mr. Macdersey, or else Mr. Summers;
unless it had been Mr. Wiggan; or else your brother; but Mr. Lissin
never once came into my head, because of his being so old. I dare say
he's seven and twenty! only think!--But I believe he and papa had
settled it all along, only papa never told it me, till just before hand.
I don't like him much; do you?'

'I have not the pleasure to know him: but I hope you will endeavour to
like him better, now.'

'I don't much care whether I do or not, for I shall never mind him. I
always determined never to mind a husband. One minds one's papa because
one can't help it: But only think of my being married before you! though
you're seventeen years old--almost eighteen, I dare say--and I'm only
just fifteen. I could not help thinking of it all the time I was
dressing for a bride. You can't think how pretty my dress was. Papa made
Mrs. Mittin buy it, because, he said, she could get every thing so
cheap: but I made her get it the dearest she could, for all that. Papa's
monstrous stingy.'

This secret conference was broken up by a violent ringing at the gate,
succeeded by the appearance of Mr. Lissin, who, without any ceremony,
opened the door of the chamber into which the ladies had retired.

'So, ma'am!' said he, visibly very angry, 'I have the pleasure at last
to find you! dinner has waited till it is spoilt, and I hope, therefore,
now, you will do us the favour to come and sit at the head of your
table.'

She looked frightened, and he took her hand, which she had not courage
to draw back, though in a voice that spoke a sob near at hand, 'I'm
sure,' she cried, 'this is not being treated like a married woman! and
I'm sure if I'd known I might not do as I like, and come out when I'd a
mind, I would not have married at all!'

Mr. Lissin, with little or no apology to Mrs. Arlbery, then conveyed his
fair bride to her coach.

'Poor simple girl!' exclaimed Mrs. Arlbery. 'Mr. Lissin, who is a
country squire of Northwick, will soon teach her another lesson, than
that of ordering her carriage just at dinner time! The poor child took
it into her head that, because, upon marrying, she might say, "my
house," "my coach," and "my servants," instead of "my papa's;" and ring
her bell for [whom] she pleased, and give her own orders, that she was
to arrive at complete liberty and independence, and that her husband had
merely to give her his name, and lodge in the same dwelling: and she
will regard him soon, as a tyrant and a brute, for not letting her play
all day long the part of a wild school girl, just come home for the
holidays.'

The rest of the visit passed without further investigation on the part
of Mrs. Arlbery, or embarrassment on that of Camilla; who found again
some little pleasure in the conversation which, at first, had so much
charmed, and the kindness which even her apparent neglect had not
extinguished.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. Arlbery, in two days, claimed her again. Mr. Tyrold would not
permit her to send an excuse, and she found that lady more kindly
disposed to her than ever; but with an undisguised compassion and
concern in her countenance and manner. She had now learnt that Edgar was
gone abroad; and she had learnt that Camilla had private debts, to the
amount of one hundred and eighteen pounds.

The shock of Camilla, when spoken to upon this subject, was terrible.
She soon gathered, she had been betrayed by Mrs. Mittin, who, though she
had made the communication as a profound secret to Mrs. Arlbery, with
whom she had met at Mrs. Lissin's, there was every reason to suppose
would whisper it, in the same manner, to an hundred persons besides.

Mrs. Arlbery, seeing her just uneasiness, promised, in this particular,
to obviate it herself, by a conference with Mrs. Mittin, in which she
would represent, that her own ruin would be the consequence of divulging
this affair, from the general opinion which would prevail, that she had
seduced a young lady under age, to having dealings with a usurer.

Camilla, deeply colouring, accepted her kind offer; but was forced upon
a confession of the transaction; though with a shame for her trust in
such a character as Mrs. Mittin, that made her deem the relation a
penance almost adequate to its wrong.




CHAPTER XI

_The Workings of Sorrow_


The visit of the Westwyns to Sir Hugh shewed Lavinia in so favourable a
light, that nothing less than the strong prepossession already conceived
for Camilla could have guarded the heart of the son, or the wishes of
the father, from the complete captivation of her modest beauty, her
intrinsic worth, and the cheerful alacrity, and virtuous self-denial,
with which she presided in the new oeconomy of the rectory. But though
the utter demolition of hope played with Henry its usual part of
demolishing, also, half the fervour of admiration, he still felt, in
consequence of his late failure, a distaste of any similar attempt: and
Mr. Westwyn, unbribed by the high praise of his son, which had won him
in Camilla, left him master of his choice. Each, however, found a
delight in the Tyrold society, that seconded the wishes of the Baronet
to make them lengthen their visit.

The retrenchments, by which the debts of Clermont were to be paid,
could no longer, nevertheless, be deferred; and Mr. Tyrold was just
setting out for Cleves, to give his counsel for their arrangement, when
his daughters were broken in upon by Mrs. Mittin.

Camilla could scarcely look at her, for displeasure at her conduct; but
soon observed she seemed herself full of resentment and ill humour. She
desired a private interview; and Camilla then found, that Mrs. Arlbery
had not only represented her fault, and frightened her with its
consequences, but occasioned, though most undesignedly, new disturbances
and new dangers to herself: for Mrs. Mittin at length learnt, in this
conference, with equal certainty, surprise, and provocation, that the
inheritance of Sir Hugh was positively and entirely settled upon his
youngest niece; and that the denials of all expectation on the part of
Camilla, which she had always taken for closeness, conveyed but the
simple truth. Alarmed lest she should incur the anger of Mr. Clykes, who
was amongst her most useful friends, she had written him word of the
discovery, with her concern at the mistake: and Mr. Clykes, judging now
he had no chance of the gratuity finally promised for _honour_ and
_secrecy_, and even that his principal was in danger, had sent an
enraged answer, with an imperious declaration, that he must either
immediately be repaid all he had laid out, or receive some security for
its being refunded, of higher value than the note of a minor of no
fortune nor expectations.

Mrs. Mittin protested she did not know which way to turn, she was so
sorry to have disobliged so good a friend; and broke forth into a
vehement invective against Mr. Dubster, for pretending he knew the truth
from young Squire Tyrold himself.

Long as was her lamentation, and satisfied as she always felt to hear
her own voice, her pause still came too soon for any reply from Camilla,
who now felt the discovery of her situation to be inevitable,
compulsatory and disgraceful. Self-upbraidings that she had ever
listened to such an expedient, assailed her with the cruellest
poignancy, mingling almost self-detestation with utter despair.

In vain Mrs. Mittin pressed for some satisfaction; she was mute from
inability to devise any; till the coachman of Mr. Lissin sent word he
could wait no longer. She then, in a broken voice, said, 'Be so good as
to write to Mr. Clykes, that if he will have the patience to wait a few
days, I will prepare my friends to settle my accounts with him.'

Mrs. Mittin then, recovering from her own fright in this business,
answered, 'O, if that's the case, my dear young lady, pray don't be
uneasy, for it grieves me to vex you; and I'll promise you I'll coax my
good friend to wait such a matter as that; for he's a vast regard for
me; he'll do any thing I ask him, I know.'

She now went away; and Lavinia, who ran to her sister, found her in a
state of distress, that melted her gentle heart to behold: but when she
gathered what had passed, 'This disclosure, my dearest Camilla,' she
cried, 'can never be so tremendous as the incessant fear of its
discovery. Think of that, I conjure you! and endeavour to bear the one
great shock, that will lead to after peace and ease.'

'No, my dear sister, peace and ease are no more for me!--My happiness
was already buried;--and now, all that remained of consolation will be
cut off also, in the lost good opinion of my father and mother!--that
destroyed--and Edgar gone--what is life to me?--I barely exist!'

'And is it possible you can even a moment doubt their forgiveness? dear
as you are to them, cherished, beloved!--'

'No--not their forgiveness--but their esteem, their confidence, their
pleasure in their daughter will all end!--think, Lavinia, of my
mother!--when she finds I, too, have contributed to the distress and
disturbance of my father--that on my account, too, his small income is
again straitened, his few gratifications are diminished--O Lavinia! how
has she strove to guard her poor tottering girl from evil! And how has
her fondness been always the pride of my life! What a conclusion is this
to her cares! what a reward to all the goodness of my father!'

In this state of desperate wretchedness, she was still incapable to make
the avowal which was now become indispensable, and which must require
another loan from the store her father held so sacred. Lavinia had even
less courage; and they determined to apply to Eugenia, who, though as
softly feeling as either, mingled in her character a sort of heroic
philosophy, that enabled her to execute and to endure the hardest tasks,
where she thought them the demand of virtue. They resolved, therefore,
the next morning, to send a note to Cleves for the carriage, and to
commit the affair to this inexperienced and youthful female sage.

Far from running, as she was wont, to meet her father upon his entrance,
Camilla was twice sent for before she could gain strength to appear in
his presence; nor could his utmost kindness enable her to look up.

The heart of Mr. Tyrold was penetrated by her avoidance, and yet more
sunk by her sight. His best hopes were all defeated of affording her
parental comfort, and he was still to seek for her revival or support.

He related what had passed at Cleves, with the accustomed openness with
which he conversed with his children as his friends. Clermont, he said,
was arrived, and had authenticated all the accounts, with so little of
either shame or sense, that a character less determined upon indulgence
than that of Sir Hugh, must have revolted from affording him succour, if
merely to mortify him into repentance. The manner of making payment,
however, had been the difficult discussion of the whole day. Sir Hugh
was unequal to performing any thing, though ready to consent to every
thing. When he proposed the sale of several of his numerous horses, he
objected, that what remained would be hard worked: when he mentioned
diminishing his table, he was afraid the poor would take it ill, as they
were used to have his orts: and when he talked of discharging some of
his servants, he was sure they would think it very unkind. 'His heart,'
continued Mr. Tyrold, 'is so bountiful, and so full of kindness, that he
pleads his tender feelings, and regretting wishes, against the sound
reason of hard necessity. What is right, however, must only in itself
seek what is pleasant; and there, when it ceases to look more abroad, it
is sure to find it.'

He stopt, hearing a deep sigh from Camilla, who secretly ejaculated a
prayer that this sentence might live, henceforward, in her memory. He
divined the wish, which devoutly he echoed, and continued:

'There is so little, in fine, that he could bear to relinquish, that,
with my utmost efforts, I could not calculate any retrenchment, to which
he will agree, at more than an hundred a year. Yet his scruples
concerning his vow resist all the entreaties of our disinterested
Eugenia, to either sell out for the sum, or cut down any trees in
Yorkshire. These difficulties, too potent for his weak frame, were again
sinking him into that despondence which we should all sedulously guard
against, as the most prevailing of foes to active virtue, when, to
relieve him, I made a proposal which my dear girls will both, I trust,
find peculiar pleasure in seconding.'

Camilla had already [attempted] to raise her drooping head, conscience
struck at what was said of despondence; and now endeavoured to join in
the cheerful confidence expressed by Lavinia, that he could not be
mistaken.

'The little hoard, into which already we have broken for Lionel,' he
went on, 'I have offered to lend him for present payment, as far as it
will go, and to receive it again at stated periods. In the mean while, I
shall accept from him the same interest as from the bank. For this I am
to have also security. I run no risk of the little all I have to leave
to my two girls.'

He now looked at them both, expecting to see pleasure even in Camilla,
that what was destined, hereafter, for herself, could prove of the
smallest utility to Sir Hugh; but his disappointment, and her shock were
equal. Too true for the most transitory disguise, the keenest anguish
shot from her eye; and Mr. Tyrold, amazed, said: 'Is it Camilla who
would draw back from any service to her uncle?'

'Ah no!' cried she, with clasped hands, 'I would die to do him any good!
and O!--that my death at this moment----'

She stopt, affrighted, for Mr. Tyrold frowned. A frown upon a face so
constantly benign, was new, was awful to her; but she instantly
recollected his condemnation of wishes so desperate, and fearfully
taking his hand, besought his forgiveness.

His brow instantly resumed its serenity. 'I have nothing,' said he, 'my
dearest child, to forgive, from the moment you recollect yourself. But
try, for your own sake, to keep in mind, that the current sorrows,
however acute, of current life, are but uselessly aggravated by vain
wishes for death. The smallest kind office better proves affection than
any words, however elevated.'

The conference here broke up; something incomprehensible seemed to Mr.
Tyrold to be blended with the grief of Camilla; and though from her
birth she had manifested, by every opportunity, the most liberal
disregard of wealth, the something not to be understood seemed always to
have money for its object. What this might be, he now fervently wished
to explore; yet still hoped, by patient kindness, to receive her
confidence voluntarily.

Camilla now was half dead; Lavinia could with difficulty sustain, but by
no possible means revive her. What a period was this to disclose to her
Father that she must deprive him, in part, even of his promised solace
in his intended assistance to his brother, to satisfy debts of which he
suspected not the existence!

When forced down stairs, by a summons to supper, Mr. Tyrold, to console
her for his momentary displeasure, redoubled his caresses; but his
tenderness only made her weep yet more bitterly, and he looked at her
with a heart rent with anguish. For Lavinia, for Eugenia, he would have
felt similar grief; but their far less gay, though equally innocent
natures, would have made the view of their affliction less strikingly
oppressive. Camilla had, hitherto, seemed in the spring of joy yet more
than of life. Anxiety flew at her approach, and animation took its
place. Nothing could shake his resignation; yet to behold her constant
sadness, severely tried his fortitude. To see tears trickling
incessantly down the pale cheeks so lately blooming; to see her youthful
countenance wear the haggard expression of care; to see life, in its
wish and purposes seem at an end, 'ere, in its ordinary calculation, it
was reckoned to have begun, drew him from every other consideration, and
filled his whole mind with monopolizing apprehension.

He now himself pressed her, for change of scene, to accept an invitation
she had received from Mrs. Berlinton to Grosvenor Square, whither
Indiana was going in a few days, to spend a fortnight or three weeks
before her marriage. But she declined the excursion, as not more
unseasonable in its expence, than ungenial to her feelings.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following morning, while they were at their melancholy breakfast, a
letter arrived from Lisbon, which Mr. Tyrold read with visible
disturbance, exclaiming, from time to time, 'Lionel, thou art indeed
punished!'

The sisters were equally alarmed, but Lavinia alone could make any
enquiry.

Mr. Tyrold then informed them, their uncle Relvil had just acknowledged
to their Mother, that he could no longer, in justice, conceal that,
previously to his quitting England, he had privately married his
house-keeper, to induce her to accompany him in his voyage: and that,
during his first wrath upon the detection of Lionel, he had disinherited
him in favour of a little boy of her own, by a former marriage, whom
they had brought with them to Lisbon.

Mr. Tyrold, though it had been his constant study to bring up his
children without any reference to their rich uncles, had never
internally doubted, but that the bachelor brother of Mrs. Tyrold would
leave his fortune to the son of his only sister, who was his sole near
relation. And Lionel, he knew, in defiance of his admonitions, had built
upon it himself, rather as a certainty than a hope. 'He will now see,'
said Mr. Tyrold, 'his presumption, and feel, by what he suffers, what he
has earned. Yet culpable as he has been, he is now, also, unfortunate;
and where crimes are followed by punishment, it is not for mortal man to
harbour unabating resentment. I will write a few lines of comfort to
him.'

Camilla, in this concession, experienced all she could feel of
satisfaction; but the short sensation died away at the last words of the
letter of her Mother, which Mr. Tyrold read aloud.

'You, I well know, will immediately in this evil, find for yourself, and
impart to our children, something of instruction, if not of comfort.
Shall I recollect this without emulation? No, I will bear up from this
stroke, which, at least, permits my return to Etherington; where, in the
bosom of my dear family, and supported by its honoured chief, I will
forget my voyage, my painful absence, and my disappointment, in
exertions of practical oeconomy, strict, but not rigid, which our good
children will vie with each other to adopt: sedulous, all around, to
shew in what we can most forbear. I hope almost immediately to claim my
share in these labours, which such motives will make light, and such
companions render precious.'

In agony past repression at these words, Camilla glided out of the room.
The return of her Mother was now horrour to her, not joy; her shattered
nerves could not bear the interview, while under a cloud threatening to
burst in such a storm; and she entreated Lavinia to tell her Father that
she accepted his proposal for going to Mrs. Berlinton's; 'and there,'
she cried, 'Lavinia, I will wait, till Eugenia has told the dreadful
history that thus humbles me to the dust!'

Lavinia was too timid to oppose reason to this suffering; and Mr.
Tyrold, already cruelly apprehensive the obscurity of their recluse
lives contributed to her depression, and believing she compared her
present privations to the lost elegancies of Beech Park, sighed
heavily, yet said he was glad she would remove from a spot in which
reminiscence was so painful. This was not, indeed, he added, the period
he should have selected for her visiting the capital, or residing at
Mrs. Berlinton's; but she was too much touched by the state of her
family, not to be guarded in her expences; and the pressure of her even
augmenting sadness, was heavier upon his mind than any other alarm.

The conscience-struck Camilla could make no profession, no promise; nor
yet, though ardently wishing it, refuse his offered advance of her next
quarter's allowance, lest she should be reduced again to the necessity
of borrowing.

This step once decided, brought with it something like a gloomy
composure. 'I shall avoid,' she cried, 'at least, with my Mother, these
killing caresses of deluded kindness that break my heart with my Father.
She, too, would soon discover there was something darker in my sadness
than even grief! She would be sure that even my exquisite loss could not
render me ungrateful to all condolement; she would know that a daughter
whom she had herself reared and instructed, would blush so unceasingly
to publish any personal disappointment, let her feel it how she might. O
my loved Mother! how did the delight of knowing your kind expectations
keep me, while under your guidance in the way I ought to go! O Mother of
my heart! what a grievous disappointment awaits your sad return! To
find, at the first opening of your virtuous schemes of general
saving--that I, as well as Lionel, have involved my family in
debts--that I, as well as Clermont, have committed them clandestinely to
a usurer!'

Lavinia undertook to give Eugenia proper instructions for her
commission; but news arrived, the next day, that Sir Hugh would take no
denial to Eugenia's being herself of the party. This added not, however,
to the courage of Camilla for staying, and her next determination was to
reveal the whole by letter.

Mr. Tyrold would not send her to Cleves to take leave, that her uncle
might not be tempted to exercise his wonted, but now no longer
convenient generosity, nor yet be exposed to the pain of withholding it.
'You will go, now, my dear girl,' he said, 'in your pristine simplicity,
and what can so every way become you? It is not for a scheme of
pleasure, but for a stimulus to mental exertion, I part with you. When
you return, your excellent Mother will aid your task, and reward its
labour. Remember but, while in your own hands, that open oeconomy,
springing from discretion, is always respected. It is false shame alone
that begets ridicule.'

Weeping and silent she heard him, and his fears gained ground that her
disappointment, joined to a view of gayer life, had robbed Etherington
of all charms to her. Bitterly he regretted he had ever suffered her to
leave his roof, though he would not now force her stay. Compulsion could
only detain her person; and might heighten the disgust of her mind.

The little time which remained was given wholly to packing and
preparing; and continued employment hid from Mr. Tyrold her emotion,
which encreased every moment, till the carriage of Sir Hugh stopt at the
gate. Lost, then, to all sensation, but the horrour of the avowal that
must intervene 'ere they met again, with incertitude if again he would
see her with the same kindness, she flew into his arms, rather agonised
than affectionate; kissed his hands with fervour, kissed every separate
finger, rested upon his shoulder, hid her face in his bosom, caught and
pressed to her lips even the flaps of his coat, and scarce restrained
herself from bending to kiss his feet; yet without uttering a word,
without even shedding a tear.

Strangely surprised, and deeply affected, Mr. Tyrold, straining her to
his breast, said: 'Why, my dear child, why, my dearest Camilla, if thus
agitated by our parting, do you leave me?'

This question brought her to recollection, by the impossibility she
found to answer it; she tore herself, therefore, away from him, embraced
Lavinia, and hurried into the coach.




BOOK X




CHAPTER I

_A Surprise_


Camilla strove to check her grief upon entering the carriage, in which
Miss Margland had again the charge of the young party; but the
interrogatory of her Father, _Why will you leave me?_ was mentally
repeated without ceasing. Ah! why, indeed! thought she, at a moment when
every filial duty called more than ever for my stay!--Well, might he not
divine the unnatural reason! can I believe it myself?--Believe such an
hour arrived?--when my Mother--the best of Mothers!--is expected--when
she returns to her family, Camilla seeks another abode! is not this a
dream? and may I not one day awake from it?

Miss Margland was in the highest good humour at this expedition: and
Indiana was still enraptured to visit London, from old expectations
which she knew not how to relinquish; though they were fixed to no
point, and as fantastic as vague. Eugenia, whose dejection had made Sir
Hugh press her into the party, found nothing in it to revive her; and
Camilla entered Grosvenor-square with keen dissatisfaction of every
sort. The cautions of Edgar against Mrs. Berlinton broke into all the
little relief she might have experienced upon again seeing her. She had
meant to keep his final exhortations constantly in her mind, and to make
all his opinions and counsels the rule and measure of her conduct: but a
cruel perversity of events seemed to cast her every action into an
apparent defiance of his wishes.

Mrs. Berlinton, who, in a mansion the most splendid, received her with
the same gentle sweetness she had first sought her regard, was delighted
by the unexpected sight of Eugenia, whose visit had been settled too
late to be announced by letter; and caressed Indiana immediately as a
sister. Miss Margland, who came but for two days, sought with much
adulation to obtain an invitation for a longer stay; but Mrs. Berlinton,
though all courtesy and grace, incommoded herself with no society that
she did not find pleasing.

Melmond, who had accompanied them on horseback, was eager to engage the
kindness of his sister for Indiana; and Mrs. Berlinton, in compliment to
her arrival, refused all parties for the evening, and bestowed upon her
an almost undivided attention.

This was not quite so pleasant to him in proof as in hope. Passionless,
in this case, herself, the delusions of beauty deceived not her
understanding; and half an hour sufficed to shew Indiana to be
frivolous, uncultivated, and unmeaning. The perfection, nevertheless, of
her face and person, obviated either wonder or censure of the choice of
her brother; though she could not but regret that he had not seen with
mental eyes the truly superior Eugenia.

The wretched Camilla quitted them all as soon as possible, to retire to
her chamber, and ruminate upon her purposed letter. She meant, at first,
to write in detail; but her difficulties accumulated as she weighed
them. 'What a season,' cried she, 'to sink Lionel still deeper in
disgrace! What a treachery, after voluntarily assisting him, to complain
of, and betray him! ah! let my own faults teach me mercy for the faults
of others!' yet, without this acknowledgment, what exculpation could she
offer for the origin of her debts? and all she had incurred at
Tunbridge? those of Southampton she now thought every way unpardonable.
Even were she to relate the vain hopes which had led to the expence of
the ball dress, could she plead, to an understanding like that of her
Mother, that she had been deceived and played upon by such a woman as
Mrs. Mittin? 'I am astonished now myself,' she cried, 'at that passive
facility!--but to me, alas, thought comes only with repentance!' The
Higden debt, both for the rent and the stores, was the only one at which
she did not blush, since, great as was her indiscretion, in not
enquiring into her powers before she plighted her services, it would be
palliated by her motive.

Vainly she took up her pen; not even a line could she write. 'How
enervating,' she cried, 'is all wrong! I have been, till now, a happy
stranger to fear! Partially favoured, and fondly confiding, I have
looked at my dear Father, I have met my beloved Mother, with the same
courage, and the same pleasure that I looked at and met my brother and
my sisters, and only with more reverence. How miserable a change! I
shudder now at the presence of the most indulgent of Fathers! I fly
with guilty cowardice from the fondest of Mothers!'

Eugenia, when able, followed her; and had no sooner heard the whole
history, than, tenderly embracing her, she said, 'Let not this distress
seem so desperate to you, my dearest sister! your own account points out
to me how to relieve it, without either betraying our poor Lionel, or
further weighing down our already heavily burthened friends.'

'And how, my dear Eugenia?' cried Camilla, with fearful gratitude, and
involuntarily reviving by the most distant idea of such a project.

By adopting, she said, the same means that had been invented by Mrs.
Mittin. She had many valuable trinkets, the annual offerings of her
munificent uncle, the sale of which would go far enough, she could not
doubt, towards the payment of the principal, to induce the money-lender
to accept interest for the rest, till the general affairs of their house
were re-established; when what remained of the sum could be discharged,
without difficulty, by herself; now no longer wanting money, nor capable
of receiving any pleasure from it, but by the pleasure she might give.

Camilla pressed her in her arms, almost kneeling with fond
acknowledgments, and accepted, without hesitation, her generous offer.

'All, then, is arranged,' said Eugenia, with a smile so benign it seemed
nearly beautiful; 'and to friendship, and each other, we will devote our
future days. My spirits will revive in the revival of Camilla. To see
her again gay will be renovation to my uncle; and who knows, my dear
sister, but our whole family may again be blest, 'ere long, with peace?'

       *       *       *       *       *

The next morning they sent off a note to the money-lender, whose
direction Camilla had received from Mrs. Mittin, entreating his patience
for a fortnight, or three weeks, when he would receive the greatest part
of his money, with every species of acknowledgment.

Camilla, much relieved, went to sit with Mrs. Berlinton, but on entering
the dressing room, was struck by the sight of Bellamy, just quitting
it.

Mrs. Berlinton, upon her appearance, with a look of soft rapture
approaching her, said: 'Felicitate me, loveliest Camilla!--my friend, my
chosen friend is restored to me, and the society for which so long I
have sighed in vain, may be once more mine!'

Camilla, startled, exclaimed with earnestness, 'My dearest Mrs.
Berlinton, pardon me, I entreat--but is Mr. Bellamy known to Mr.
Berlinton?'

'No!' answered she, disdainfully; 'but he has been seen by him. Mr.
Berlinton is a stranger to merit or taste; and Alphonso, to him, is but
as any other man.'

'They are, however, acquainted with each other?' said Camilla.

Mrs. Berlinton answered, that, after her marriage, she remained three
months in Wales with her aunt, where Bellamy was travelling to view the
country, and where, almost immediately after that unhappy enthralment,
she first knew him, and first learnt the soothing charms of friendship;
but from that period they had met no more, though they had constantly
corresponded.

Camilla was now first sensible to all the alarm with which Edgar had
hitherto striven to impress her in vain. The impropriety of such a
connexion, the danger of such a partiality, filled her with wonder and
disturbance. She hesitated whether to relate or not the adventure of
Bellamy with her sister; but the strong repugnance of Eugenia to having
it named, and the impossibility of proving the truth of the general
opinion of his base scheme, decided her to silence. Upon the plans and
the sentiments, however, of Mrs. Berlinton herself, she spared not the
extremest sincerity; but she gained no ground by the contest, though she
lost not any kindness by the attempt.

At dinner, she felt extremely disturbed by the re-appearance of Bellamy,
[who] alone, she found, had been excepted by Mrs. Berlinton, in the
orders of general denial to company. He seemed, himself, much struck at
the sight of Eugenia, who blushed and looked embarrassed by his
presence. He did not, however, address her; he confined his attentions
to Mrs. Berlinton, or Miss Margland.

The former received them with distinguishing softness; the latter, at
first, disdainfully repelled them, from the general belief at Cleves of
his attempted elopement with Eugenia; but afterwards, finding she was
left wholly to a person who had no resources for entertaining her,
namely, herself,--and knowing Eugenia safe while immediately under her
eye, she deigned to treat him with more consideration.

The opera was proposed for the evening, Mrs. Berlinton, having both
tickets and her box at the service of her fair friends, as the lady with
whom she had subscribed was out of town. Indiana was enchanted, Miss
Margland was elevated, and Eugenia not unwilling to seek some
recreation, though hopeless of finding it. But Camilla, notwithstanding
she was lightened, at this moment, from one of her most corrosive cares,
was too entirely miserable for any species of amusement. The same strong
feelings that gave to pleasure, when she was happy, so high a zest,
rendered it nearly abhorrent to her, when grief had possession of her
mind.

After dinner, when the ladies retired to dress, Camilla, with some
uneasiness, conjured Eugenia to avoid renewing any acquaintance with
Bellamy.

Eugenia blushing, while a tear started into either eye, said she was but
too well guarded from Bellamy, through a late transaction; which had
exalted her to a summit of happiness, from which she could never now
descend to any new plan of life, beyond the single state and retirement.

       *       *       *       *       *

At night, the whole party went to the Opera, except Camilla, who, in
spending the evening alone, meant to ruminate upon her affairs, and
arrange her future conduct: but Edgar, his virtues, and his loss, took
imperious possession of all her thoughts; and while she dwelt upon his
honour, his sincerity, and his goodness, and traced, with cherished
recollection, every scene in which she had been engaged with him, he and
they recurred to her as visions of all earthly felicity.

Awakened from these reveries, by the sound of the carriage, and the
rapping at the street door, she was hastening down stairs to meet her
sister, when she heard Melmond call out from the coach: 'Is Miss Eugenia
Tyrold come home?'

'No;' the man answered; and Melmond exclaimed; 'Good Heaven!--I must run
then back to the theatre. Do not be alarmed, my Indiana, and do not
alarm Miss Camilla, for I will not return without her.'

They all entered but himself; while Camilla, fixed to the stair upon
which she had heard these words, remained some minutes motionless. Then,
tottering down to the parlour, with a voice hollow from affright, and a
face pale as death, she tremulously articulated, 'where is my sister?'

They looked all aghast, and not one of them, for some time, was capable
to give any account that was intelligible. She then gathered that, in
coming out of the theatre, to get to the coach, they had missed her.
None of them knew how, which way, in what manner.

'And where's Mr. Bellamy?' cried she, in an agony of apprehension; 'was
he at the Opera? where--where is he?'

Miss Margland looked dismayed, and Mrs. Berlinton amazed, at this
interrogatory; but they both said he had only been in the box at the
beginning of the Opera, and afterwards to help them out of the crowd.

'And who did he help? who? who?' exclaimed Camilla.

'Me,--first--' answered Miss Margland,--'and, when we got into a great
crowd, he took care of Miss Eugenia too.' She then added, that in this
crowd, both she and Eugenia had been separated from Mrs. Berlinton and
Indiana, who by Melmond and another gentleman had been handed straight
to the carriage, without difficulty; that soon after, she had lost the
arm of Bellamy, who, by some mistake, had turned a wrong way; but she
got to the coach by herself; where they had waited full half an hour,
Melmond running to and fro and searching in every direction, but in
vain, to find Eugenia. Nor had Bellamy again appeared. They then came
home, hoping he had put her into a chair, and that she might be arrived
before them.

'Dreadful! dreadful!' cried Camilla, sinking on the floor, 'she is
forced away! she is lost!'

When again her strength returned, she desired that some one might go
immediately to the house or lodgings of Bellamy, to enquire if he were
come home.

This was done by a footman, who brought word he had not been seen there
since six o'clock in the evening, when he dressed, and went out.

Camilla now, confirmed in her horrible surmise, was nearly frantic. She
bewailed her sister, her father, her uncle; she wanted herself to rush
forth, to search Eugenia in the streets; she could scarce be detained
within, scarce kept off from entire delirium.




CHAPTER II

_A Narrative_


It was four o'clock in the morning when Melmond returned. Camilla rushed
to the street-door to meet him. His silence and his mournful air
announced his ill success. She wrung her hands in anguish, and besought
him to send instantly an express to Etherington, with the fatal tidings.

He went himself to the nearest stables, desiring she would prepare a
letter while he got a man and horse for the journey.

In scrawling and indistinct characters she then wrote:

     'O my Father--our Eugenia has disappeared! she was lost last night
     at the Opera--Mr. Bellamy was conducting her to Mrs. Berlinton's
     coach--but we have seen neither of them since!--what--what must we
     do?'

Melmond wrote the address, which her hand could not make legible; and
Miss Margland prepared for the post a laboured vindication to Sir Hugh
of her own conduct upon this occasion.

Indiana was long gone to bed. She was really very sorry; but she was
really much tired; and she could do, as she said, no good.

But Mrs. Berlinton felt an alarm for Eugenia, and an astonishment
concerning Bellamy, that would fully have wakened her faculties, had she
been wholly unmoved by the misery of Camilla. Far other was, however,
her nature, gentle, compassionate, and sympathising; and her own
internal disturbance, though great even beyond her own conception why,
sunk at sight of the excess of wretchedness which disordered her poor
friend.

There could be but one possible opinion of this disastrous adventure,
which was, that Bellamy had spirited this young creature away, to secure
her fortune, by her hand. Melmond again went forth, to make enquiry at
all the stables in London, for any carriage that might have been hired
for a late hour. And at six o'clock, in great perturbation, he came
back, saying, he had just traced that she was put into a chaise and four
from a hackney coach; that the chaise was hired in Piccadilly, and
engaged for a week. He was now determined to ride post himself in the
pursuit, that, if any accidental delay retarded them, he might recover
her before she arrived at Gretna Green, whither he could not doubt she
was to be conveyed: but as she could not be married by force, his
presence might yet be in time to prevent persecution, or foul play.

Camilla nearly embraced him with transport at this ray of hope, and,
leaving his tenderest condolements for Indiana, whom he implored his
sister to watch sedulously, he galloped northwards.

His heart was most sincerely in the business; what he owed to the noble
conduct which the high sentiments and pure regard of Eugenia had
dictated, had excited a tender veneration, which made him hold his life
as too small an offering to be refused for her service, if its sacrifice
could essentially shew his gratitude. And often his secret mind had
breathed a wish, that her love of literature had been instilled into her
cousin; though he studiously checked, as profane, all that was not
admiration of that most exquisite workmanship of nature.

Mrs. Berlinton wanted not to be told this proceeding was wrong, yet
still found it impossible to persuade herself Eugenia would not soon
think it right; though Eugenia was the creature that she most revered in
the whole world, and though, with Bellamy himself she felt irritated and
disappointed.

Camilla in every evil reverted to the loss of Edgar, whose guardian
care, had she preserved him, would have preserved, she thought, her
loved Eugenia.

The express from Etherington brought back only a few lines written by
Lavinia, with an account that Mr. Tyrold, in deep misery, was setting
out post for Scotland.

A week past thus in suspence, nearly intolerable to Camilla, before
Melmond returned.

Always upon the watch, she heard his voice, and flew to meet him in the
dressing room. He was at the feet of Indiana, to whom he was pouring
forth his ardent lamentations at this long deprivation of her sight.

But joy had evidently no part in his tenderness; Camilla saw at once
depression and evil tidings, and, sinking upon a chair, could scarcely
pronounce, 'Have you not then found her?'

'I have left her but this minute,' he answered, in a tone the most
melancholy.

'Ah! you have then seen her! you have seen my dearest Eugenia?--O, Mr.
Melmond, why have you left her at all?'

It was long before he could answer; he besought her to compose herself;
he expressed the extremest solicitude for the uneasiness of Indiana,
whose eternal interruptions of 'Dear! where is she?--Dear! why did not
she come back?--Dear! who took her away?' he attributed to the agitation
of the fondest friendship, and conjured, while tears of terror started
into his eyes, that she would moderate the excess of her sensibility. It
seems the peculiar province of the lover, to transfuse all that he
himself most prizes, and thinks praise-worthy, into the breast of his
chosen object; nor is he more blind to the defects with which she may
abound, than prodigal in gifts of virtues which exist but in his own
admiration.

'And my Father? my poor Father!' cried Camilla, 'you have seen nothing
of my Father?'

'Pardon me; I have just left him also.'

'And not with Eugenia?'

'Yes; they are together.'

Rapture now defied all apprehension with Camilla; the idea of Eugenia
restored to her Father, was an idea of entire happiness; but her joy
affected Melmond yet more than her alarm: he could not let her fasten
upon any false expectations; he bid his sister aid him to support
Indiana, and then, with all the gentleness of the sincerest concern,
confessed that Eugenia was married before she was overtaken.

This was a blow for which Camilla was still unprepared. She concluded it
a forced marriage; horror froze her veins, her blood no longer flowed,
her heart ceased to beat, she fell lifeless on the ground.

Her recovery was more speedy than it was happy, and she was assisted to
her chamber, no longer asking any questions, no longer desiring further
information. All was over of hope: and the particulars seemed
immaterial, since the catastrophe was as irreversible as it was
afflicting.

Mrs. Berlinton still attended her, grieved for her suffering, yet
believing that Eugenia would be the happiest of women; though an
indignation the most forcible mingled with her surprise at the conduct
of Bellamy.

This dread sort of chasm in the acuteness of the feelings of Camilla
lasted not long; and Mrs. Berlinton then brought from Melmond the
following account.

With the utmost speed he could use, he could not, though a single
horseman, overtake them. They never, as he learnt by the way, remitted
their journey, nor stopt for the smallest refreshment but at some
cottage. At length, in the last stage to Gretna Green, he met them upon
their return. It was easy to him to see that his errand was vain, and
the knot indissolubly tied, by the blinds being down, and the easy air
with which Bellamy was looking around him.

Eugenia sat back in the chaise with a handkerchief to her eyes. He stopt
the vehicle, and told Bellamy he must speak with that lady. 'That lady,
Sir,' he proudly answered, 'is my wife; speak to her, therefore; ... but
in my hearing.' Eugenia at this dropt her handkerchief, and looked up.
Her eyes were sunk into her head by weeping, and her face was a living
picture of grief. Melmond loudly exclaimed: 'I come by the authority of
her friends, and I demand her own account of this transaction.' 'We are
now going to our friends,' replied he, 'ourselves, and we shall send
them no messages.' He then ordered the postillion to drive on, telling
him at his peril to stop no more; Eugenia, in a tone but just audible,
saying: 'Adieu, Mr. Melmond! Adieu!'

To have risked his life in her rescue, at such a moment, seemed to him
nothing, could he but more certainly have ascertained her own wishes,
and real situation: but as she attempted neither resistance nor
remonstrance, he concluded Bellamy spoke truth; and if they were
married, he could not unmarry them; and if they were going to her
friends, they were doing all he could now exact. He resolved, however,
to follow, and if they should turn any other road, to call for
assistance till he could investigate the truth.

They stopt occasionally for refreshments at the usual inns, and
travelled no more in the dark; but Bellamy never lost sight of her; and
Melmond, in watching, observed that she returned to the chaise with as
little opposition as she quitted it, though weeping always, and never,
for a voluntary moment, uncovering her face. Bellamy seemed always most
assiduous in his attentions: she never appeared to repulse him, nor to
receive from him any comfort.

On the second day's journey, just as Bellamy had handed her from the
chaise, at the inn where they meant to dine, and which Melmond, as
usual, entered at the same time, he saw Mr. Tyrold--hurrying, but so
shaking he could scarcely support himself, from a parlour, whence he had
seen them alight, into the passage. The eyes, ever downcast, of
Eugenia, perceived him not, till she was clasped, in mute agony, in his
arms. She then looked up, saw who it was, and fainted away. Bellamy,
though he knew him not, supposed who he might be, and his reverend
appearance seemed to impress him with awe. Nevertheless, he was himself
seizing the now senseless Eugenia, to convey her to some room; when Mr.
Tyrold, reviving from indignation, fixed his eyes upon his face, and
said: 'By what authority, Sir, do you presume to take charge of my
daughter?'--'By the authority,' he answered, 'of a husband.' Mr. Tyrold
said no more; he caught at the arm of Melmond, though he had not yet
seen who he was, and Bellamy carried Eugenia into the first vacant
parlour, followed only by the woman of the house.

Melmond then, respectfully, and filled with the deepest commiseration,
sought to make himself known to Mr. Tyrold; but he heard him not, he
heeded no one; he sat down upon a trunk, accidentally in the passage
where all this had passed, saying, but almost without seeming conscious
that he spoke aloud: 'This, indeed, is a blow to break both our hearts!'
Melmond then stood silently by, for he saw, by his folded hands and
uplighted eyes, he was ejaculating some prayer: after which, with a
countenance more firm, and limbs better able to sustain him, he rose,
and moved towards the parlour into which the fainting Eugenia had been
carried.

Melmond then again spoke to him by his name. He recollected the voice,
turned to him, and gave him his hand, which was of an icy coldness. 'You
are very kind, Mr. Melmond,' he said; 'my poor girl'--but stopt,
checking what he meant to add, and went to the parlour-door.

It was locked. The woman of the house had left it, and said, the lady
was recovered from her fit. Mr. Tyrold, from a thousand feelings, seemed
unable to demand admission for himself: he desired Melmond to speak, and
claim an audience alone for him with his daughter.

Bellamy opened the door with a look evidently humbled and frightened,
yet affecting perfect ease. When Melmond made known his commission,
Eugenia, starting up, exclaimed: 'Yes, yes! I will see my dear Father
alone!--and O! that this poor frame might sink to rest on his loved
bosom!'

'In a moment! in a moment!' cried Bellamy, motioning Melmond to
withdraw; 'tell Mr. Tyrold he shall come in a moment.'

Melmond was forced to retreat; but heard him hastily say, as again he
fastened the door, 'My life, O Eugenia! is in your hands--and is it thus
you requite my ardent love and constancy?'

Mr. Tyrold now would wait but a few minutes: it was palpable Bellamy
feared the interview; and he could fear it but from one motive: he sent
him, therefore, word by Melmond, that if he did not immediately retire,
and leave him to a conference alone with his daughter, he would apply no
more for a meeting till he claimed it in a court of justice.

Bellamy soon came out, bowed obsequiously to Mr. Tyrold, who passed him
without notice, and who was then for half an hour shut up with Eugenia.
Longer Bellamy could not endure; he broke in upon them, and left the
room no more.

Soon after, Mr. Tyrold came out, his own eyes now as red as those of the
weeping bride. He took Melmond apart, thanked him for his kindness, but
said nothing could be done. He entreated him therefore to return to his
own happier affairs; adding, 'I cannot talk upon this miserable event.
Tell Camilla, her sister is, for the present, going home with me--though
not, alas! alone! Tell her, too, I will write to her upon my arrival at
Etherington.'

'This,' concluded Mrs. Berlinton, 'is all my brother has to relate; all
that for himself he adds, is, that if ever, to something human, the mind
of an angel was accorded--that mind seems enshrined in the heart of
Eugenia!'

Nothing that Camilla had yet experienced of unhappiness, had penetrated
her with feelings of such deadly woe as this event. Eugenia, from her
childhood, had seemed marked by calamity: her ill health, even from
infancy, and her subsequent misfortunes, had excited in her whole house
the tenderest pity, to which the uncommon character with which she grew
up, had added respect and admiration. And the strange, and almost
continual trials she had had to encounter, from the period of her
attaining her fifteenth year, which, far from souring her mind, had
seemed to render it more perfect, had now nearly sanctified her in the
estimation of them all. To see her, therefore, fall, at last, a
sacrifice to deceit or violence,--for one, if not both, had palpably put
her into the possession of Bellamy, was a grief more piercingly wounding
than all she had yet suffered. Whatever she had personally to bear, she
constantly imagined some imprudence or impropriety had provoked; but
Eugenia, while she appeared to her so blameless, that she could merit no
evil, was so amiable, that willingly she would have borne for her their
united portions.

How it had been effected, since force would be illegal, still kept
amazement joined to sorrow, till the promised letter arrived from Mr.
Tyrold, with an account of the transaction.

Eugenia, parted from Miss Margland by Bellamy, in the crowd, was obliged
to accept his protection, which, till then, she had refused, to restore
her to her company. The coach, he said, he knew, had orders to wait in
Pall Mall, whither the other ladies would be conveyed in chairs, to
avoid danger from the surrounding carriages. She desired to go, also, in
a chair: but he hurried her by quick surprize into a hackney-coach,
which, he said, would be more speedy, and bidding the man drive to Pall
Mall, seated himself opposite to her. She had not the most remote
suspicion of his design, as his behaviour was even coldly distant,
though she wondered Pall Mall was so far off, and that the coachman
drove so fast, till they stopt at a turnpike----and then, in one quick
and decided moment, she comprehended her situation, and made an attempt
for her own deliverance--but he prevented her from being heard.--And the
scenes that followed she declined relating. Yet, what she would not
recount, she could not, to the questions of her Father, deny, that
force, from that moment, was used, to repel all her efforts for
obtaining help, and to remove her into a chaise.

Mr. Tyrold required to hear nothing more, to establish a prosecution,
and to seize her, publickly, from Bellamy. But from this she recoiled.
'No, my dear Father,' she continued, 'the die is cast! and I am his!
Solemn has been my vow! sacred I must hold it!'

She then briefly narrated, that though violence was used to silence her
at every place where she sought to be rescued, every interval was
employed, by Bellamy, in the humblest supplications for her pardon, and
most passionate protestations of regard, all beginning and all ending in
declaring, that to live longer without her was impossible, and pledging
his ardent attachment for obtaining her future favour; spending the
period from stage to stage, or turnpike to turnpike, in kneeling to
beseech forgiveness for the desperation to which he was driven, by the
most cruel and hopeless passion that ever seized the heart of man. When
they were near their journey's end, he owned that his life was in her
hands, but he was indifferent whether he lost it from the misery of
living without her, or from her vengeance of this last struggle of his
despair. She assured him his life was safe, and offered him pardon upon
condition of immediate restoration to her friends; but, suddenly
producing a pistol, 'Now then,' he said, O! amiable object of my
constant love! bless me with your hand, or prepare to see me die at your
feet!' And, with a terrifying oath, he bound himself not to lose her and
outlive her loss. She besought him to be more reasonable, with the
gentlest prayers; but his vehemence only encreased; she offered him
every other promise he could name; but he preferred death to every other
she should grant. She then pronounced, though in trembling, a positive
refusal. Instantly he lifted up his pistol, and calling out; 'Forgive,
then, O hard-hearted Eugenia, my uncontroulable passion, and shed a tear
over the corpse I am going to prostrate at your feet!' was pointing it
to his temple, when, overcome with horror, she caught his arm,
exclaiming; 'Ah! stop! I consent to what you please!' It was in vain she
strove afterwards to retract; one scene followed another, till he had
bound her by all she herself held sacred, to rescue him from suicide, by
consenting to the union. He found a person who performed the marriage
ceremony on the minute of her quitting the chaise. She uttered not one
word; she was passive, scared, and scarce alive; but resisted not the
eventful ring, with which he encircled her finger, and seemed rousing as
from a dream, upon hearing him call her his wife. He professed eternal
gratitude, and eternal devotion; but no sooner was all conflict at an
end, than, consigning herself wholly to grief, she wept without
intermission.

When Mr. Tyrold had heard her history, abhorrence of such barbarous
force, and detestation of such foul play upon the ingenuous credulity of
her nature, made him insist, yet more strongly, upon taking legal
measures for procuring an immediate separation, and subsequent
punishment; but the reiterated vows with which, since the ceremony, he
had bound her to himself, so forcibly awed the strict conscientiousness
of her principles, that no representations could absolve her opinion of
what she now held her duty; and while she confessed her unhappiness at a
connection formed by such cruel means, she conjured him not to encrease
it, by rendering her, in her own estimation, perjured.

'Patiently, therefore,' continued Mr. Tyrold, 'we must bear, what vainly
we should combat, and bow down to those calamities of which the purpose
is hidden, nor fancy no good is answered, because none is obvious. Man
develops but little, though he experiences much. The time will come for
his greater diffusion of knowledge; let him meet it without dread, by
using worthily his actual portion. I resign myself, therefore, with
reverence to this blow; though none yet has struck so hardly at my
heart. We must now do what we can for this victim to her own purity, by
seeking means to secure her future independence, and by bettering--if
possible!--her betrayer. What a daughter, what a sister, what a friend,
has her family thus lost! How will your poor Mother receive such killing
tidings! Misfortune, sickness, and poverty, she has heroism to endure;
but innocence oppressed through its own artlessness, and inexperience
duped by villainy, will shake her utmost firmness, and harass into
disorder her, as yet, unbroken powers of encountering adversity.
Alas!--no evils that visited the early years of this loved child, have
proved to her so grievous as the large fortune with which they were
followed! We repined, my Camilla, at the deprivation you sustained at
that period.--We owe to it, perhaps, that you have not as treacherously
been betrayed!

'How has the opening promise of our Eugenia more than answered our
fondest expectations! Her knowledge is still less uncommon than her
simplicity, her philosophy for herself than her zeal in the service of
others. She is singular with sweetness, peculiar, yet not impracticable;
generous without parade, and wise without consciousness. Yet now, so
sacrificed seems all,--that I dwell upon her excellencies as if
enumerating them over her tomb!'

A letter from Lavinia contained some further particulars. Their Father,
she said, finding the poor victim resolute, meant to spare Sir Hugh all
that was possible of the detestable craft of Bellamy; and Eugenia was
already struggling to recover her natural serenity, that she might
appear before him without endangering his own. Bellamy talked of nothing
but love and rapture; yet the unsuspicious Eugenia was the only person
he deceived; for so little from the heart seemed either his looks or his
expressions, that it was palpable he was acting a part, to all who
believed it possible words and thoughts could be divided.

A postscript to this letter was added by Eugenia herself.

     'Ah, my Camilla!... where now are all our sweet promised
     participations? But let me not talk of myself; nor do you, my
     affectionate sister, dwell upon me at this period. One thing I
     undertook shall yet be performed; the moment I am able to go to
     Cleves, I will deliver, through Lavinia, what I mentioned. Does
     anything else remain that is yet in my power? Tell me, my Camilla,
     and think but with what joy you will give joy again to your

     EUGENIA.'

Broken hearted over these letters, Camilla spent her time in their
perpetual perusal, in wiping from them her tears, and pressing with fond
anguish to her lips the signature of her hapless sister, self-beguiled
by her own credulous goodness, and self-devoted by her conscientious
scruples.




CHAPTER III

_The Progress of Dissipation_


Mr. Clykes, by the promised payment and reward, being for the present
appeased, Camilla still admitted some hope of waiting a more favourable
moment for her cruel confession. She received, also, a little, though
mournful, reprieve from terror, by a letter from Lisbon, written to
again postpone the return of Mrs. Tyrold, at the earnest request of Mr.
Relvil; and she flattered herself that, before her arrival, she should
be enabled to resume those only duties which could draw her from
despondence. She lived, meanwhile, wholly shut up from all company,
consigned to penitence for her indiscretions, to grief for the fate of
her sister, and to wasting regret of her own causelessly lost felicity.

Indiana smiled not more sweetly upon Melmond, for Miss Margland's
advising her to consider in time, whether the promises made by Miss
Eugenia Tyrold would be binding to Mrs. Bellamy. She saw, nevertheless,
no good, she said, it could do her cousin, that she should neglect such
an opportunity of seeing London: and Miss Margland, in aid of this
desire, spared so much trouble to Mrs. Berlinton, who soon wearied of
Indiana, that she had the satisfaction of being invited to remain in
Grosvenor-square till the two young ladies returned into the country.

Mrs. Berlinton, who indulged, in full extent, every feeling, but
investigated none, had been piqued and hurt to extreme unhappiness at
the late conduct of Bellamy. Attracted by his fine person, and caught by
the first flattery which had talked to her of her own, she had easily
been captivated by his description of the sympathy which united, and
penetrated by his lamentations at the destiny which parted them. His
request for her friendship had been the first circumstance, after her
marriage, which had given her any interest in life; and soon, with the
common effect of such dangerous expedients to while away chagrin, had
occupied all her thoughts, and made the rest of the universe seem to her
as a blank. But their continued separation from each other, made the day
soon too long for mere regret; and her pliant mind, in this state of
vacancy, had readily been bent to the new pursuit pressed upon her by
Mrs. Norfield; which, however, upon the re-appearance of Bellamy, would
speedily have given way to the resumption of his influence, had not his
elopement with Eugenia left her again all at large. It destroyed an
illusion strong though not definable; demolished a friendship ill
conceived, and worse understood; and brought with it a disappointment
which confused all her ideas. To be inactive was, however, impossible;
simplicity, once given up, returned to the dissipated no more; or
returns but when experience brings conviction. That all is hollow where
the heart bears no part; all is peril where principle is not the guide.

The Faro Table was now re-opened, and again but too powerfully sharpened
the faculties which mortification had blunted. A company the most
miscellaneous composed her evening assemblies, which were soon,
nevertheless, amongst the most fashionable, as well as crowded of the
metropolis. Whatever there, is new and splendid, is sure of a run for at
least a season. Enquiries into what is right, or strictures upon what is
wrong, rarely molest popularity, till the rise of some fresher luminary
gives fashion another abode.

Calamity requires not more fortitude than pleasure. What she began but
to divert disappointment and lassitude, she continued to attain
celebrity; and the company which Faro and Fashion brought together, she
soon grew ambitious to collect by motives of more appropriate flattery.
All her aim, now, was to be universally alluring; and she looked from
object to object, in smiling discourse, till one by one, every object
could look only at her: and grace and softness which had been secretly
bewitching while she had the dignity to keep admiration aloof, were
boldly declared to be invincible, since she permitted such professions
to reach her ear.

Long surrounded by gazing admirers, she became now encircled by avowed
adorers; and what for victory she had essayed, she pursued ardently for
pleasure. Coquetry is as fascinating to those who practise it, as to
those whom it seduces; and she found herself, shortly, more happy by a
conquest effected by wiles and by art, than by any devotion paid
straight forward, and uncourted. The generality of her new ambition
protected it from permanent ill consequences; aiming at everyone, she
cared for no one; mortified by Bellamy, she resolved to mortify others,
and in proportion as her smiles grew softer her heart became harder.

Indiana, at this period, immersed at once from the most private retreat
into the gayest vortex of pleasure, thought herself in the upper
regions, where happiness, composed by her own ideas, consisted of
perpetual admiration to unfading beauty: but though the high qualities
with which the devotion of Melmond had gifted her had enslaved his
reason and understanding from suspecting that so fair a form could
enclose aught short of its own perfection, his heart was struck, and all
his feelings were offended, when he saw her capable of dissipation upon
a season of calamity to Eugenia; Eugenia, whom though he could not love,
he venerated; Eugenia, whose nature he thought divine, though her
person, unhappily, was but too human; Eugenia, to whom he owed the union
upon which hung all his wishes ... to seek pleasure while Eugenia
suffered, was astonishing, was incomprehensible. He felt as if every
principle of his love were violated; he looked another way, to disguise
his shock;--but when he looked at her again, it was forgotten.

       *       *       *       *       *

Camilla soon after learnt, from Lavinia, that Sir Hugh had been deeply
affected by the history of the elopement, though it had been softened
to him by all possible means, at the desire of the heroic Eugenia
herself; who would now own to no one the force with which she had been
carried off. Bellamy continued the most unremitting demonstrations of
affection, which she received with gentleness, and appeared entirely to
credit as sincere; but he had already absolutely refused a residence
offered for them both at Cleves, and made Eugenia herself ask a separate
provision of her uncle, though she could not even a moment pretend that
the desire was her own. Sir Hugh, nevertheless, had yielded; and
notwithstanding his present embarrassments from Clermont, had insisted
upon settling a thousand pounds a year upon her immediately; in
consequence of which, Bellamy had instantly taken a house at Belfont, to
which they were already removing. Eugenia had recovered her gentle
fortitude, seemed to submit to her destiny, and repined solely she could
not, yet, keep her engagement with respect to the trinkets, which though
she had openly told Bellamy were promised to a friend, he had seized to
pack up, and said, 'he could not re-deliver till they were arranged in
their new dwelling.' But she charged Lavinia to express her hopes that
the detention would not last long.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the given three weeks expired, Indiana, infatuated with London,
begged and obtained leave to stretch her residence there to a month.

Eugenia was now settled at Belfont; but still Camilla received no
intelligence of the promised boon, and spent her lingering hours in her
chamber, no longer even invited thence, except at meals, by Mrs.
Berlinton; whose extreme and encreasing dissipation, from first allowing
no time, took off, next, all desire for social life. Surprised and hurt,
Camilla was called off a little from herself, through concern. She
sincerely loved Mrs. Berlinton, whom it was difficult to see and know
with indifference, and she softly represented to her how ill she felt at
ease in the falling off she experienced in her partiality.

Mrs. Berlinton tenderly embraced her, protesting she was dear to her as
ever; and feeling, while she spoke, her first affection return; but not
a moment had she to bestow from her new mode of life: some party was
always formed which she had not force of mind to break; an internal
restlessness, from the want of some right pursuit, joined to a
disappointment she could not own, made that party induce another; and
though none gave her real pleasure, which her strong, however
undisciplined and unguided feelings, shut out from such a species of
vague life, all gave employment to expectation, and were preferable to a
regret at once consuming and mortifying.

Her gentleness, however, and her returned personal kindness, encouraged
Camilla to repeat her admonitions, and engage assistance from Melmond,
who, at any other period, would, uncalled, have given his whole
attention to a sister dear at once to his honour and his heart; but
Indiana more than occupied, she engrossed him. She now expected an
adoration so unremitting, that if she surprised his eyes turned any
other way even a moment, she reproached him with abated love, and it was
the business of a day to obtain a reconciliation.

Gratefully, however, at the instigation of Camilla, he resumed the
vigilance with which, upon her first entering London the preceding year,
he had attended to all the actions of his sister. But the difference
already produced by the effect of flattery, the hardening of example,
and the sway of uncontrolled early power, astonished and alarmed him. At
her first setting out, she had hearkened to all counsel, frightened by
every representation of danger, and humbled by every remonstrance
against impropriety. But she now heard him with little or no emotion;
and from beginning to listen unmoved, soon proceeded to reply and
resist. A search, rather than a love, of pleasure had seized her young
mind, which had now gained an ascendant that rendered contest less
shocking, than yielding would have been painful.

The tribulation of Melmond at this ill success, rested not solely upon
his sister; he saw yet more danger for Indiana, who now seemed scarce to
live but while arraying, or displaying herself. His passion had lost its
novelty, and her eyes lost their beaming pleasure in listening to it;
and the regard he had fondly expected to take place of first ecstacy, he
now found unattainable, from want of all materials for its structure.
His discourse, when not of her beauty, but strained her faculties; his
reading, when compelled to hear it, but wearied her intellects. She had
no genius to catch his meaning, and no attention to supply its place.

Deeply he now thought of Eugenia, with that regret ever attached to
frail humanity, for what is removed from possible possession. The purity
of her love, the cultivation of her mind, and the nobleness of her
sentiments, now bore forth a contrast to the general mental and
intellectual littleness of Indiana, which made him blame the fastidious
eyes that could dwell upon her face and form; and feel that, even with
the matchless Indiana, he must sigh at their mutual perversity of fate.

Nor missed he more in soul, than Indiana in adoration, who turned from
what she now resented as coldness, to the violent praises of Macdersey,
who became, at this period, a frequenter of Mrs. Berlinton's assemblies.
She understood not the inevitable difference of the altered situation;
that he who was accepted might be grateful, but could not be anxious;
and that Melmond, while in suspense, wore the same impassioned air, and
spoke the same impassioned feelings as Macdersey. To her, all seemed the
change not from doubt to security, but from love to insensibility.

To live always at her feet, while he thought her all-divine, was his own
first joy and greatest pride: but when once he found his goddess had
every mortal imperfection, his homage ceased, with amazement that ever
it could have been excited. Those eyes, thought he, which I have gazed
at whole days with such unreflecting admiration; and whose shape,
colour, size, and sweet proportion still hold their pre-eminence, now,
while retaining their first lustre, have lost all their illusory charm!
I meet them--but to deplore their vacancy of the soul's intelligence--I
fondly--vainly seek!

       *       *       *       *       *

Even when again the time arrived for returning to Cleves, Indiana,
hanging languidly upon every minute she could steal from it, petitioned
for a few days more from the ever-granting Baronet, which, while by her
devoted to coquetry, admiration, and dress, were consumed by Camilla in
almost every species of wretchedness. Mrs. Mittin wrote her word that
Mr. Clykes was become more uneasy than ever for his money, as she had
thought it indispensable to acquaint him of the reports in the
neighbourhood, that Mr. Tyrold had met with misfortunes, and was
retrenching: if he could not, therefore, be paid quickly, he must put in
his claims elsewhere.

The same post brought from Lavinia an account so afflicting of Eugenia,
as nearly to annihilate even this deep personal distress. It was known,
through Molly Mill, who, by the express insistance of Sir Hugh,
continued to live with her young Mistress, that Bellamy had already, at
Belfont, cast off the mask of pretended passion, and grossly demanded of
her Mistress to beg money for him of Sir Hugh; acknowledging, without
scruple, large debts, that demanded speedy payment, and pressing her to
ask for the immediate possession of the Yorkshire estate. Her Mistress,
though mildly, always steadily refused; which occasioned reproaches so
rude and violent as almost to frighten her into fits; and so loud, that
they were often heard by every servant in the house.

Camilla, at this dreadful history, grew nearly indifferent to all else,
and would have relinquished, almost unrepining, her expectations of
personal relief, but that Lavinia, in the name of their unhappy sister,
bid her still cherish them; assuring her she hoped yet to perform her
engagement, as Mr. Bellamy never disputed her already given promise,
though he had mislaid the key of the box in which the trinkets were
deposited.

Nor even here rested the misery of Camilla: another alarm stole upon her
mind, of a nature the most dreadful.

Upon the first evening of this newly-granted stay, while she was
conversing alone with Mrs. Berlinton before the nocturnal _toilette_ of
that lady, a servant announced Mr. Bellamy. Mrs. Berlinton blushed high,
evidently with as much of anger as surprise; Camilla hastily
withdrawing, to avoid an object abhorrent to her, wondered she would
admit him: yet, anxious for any intelligence that could relate to her
sister, enquired when he was gone, and ran towards the dressing-room to
ask what had passed: but before she reached the door, the sound of his
voice re-entering the hall, and of his step re-ascending the stairs,
made her fly into the adjoining apartment, not to encounter him; where
the instant he had shut the door, and before she could move, she heard
him exclaim, 'You weep still, my lovely friend? Ah! can one doubt so
injurious remain upon your mind as to suppose any thing but the cruel
necessity of my misfortunes could have made me tarnish our celestial
friendship with any other engagement? Ah! look at her ... and look at
yourself!'

Camilla, who, at first, had been immoveable from consternation, now
recovered sufficiently to get back to her room. But she returned no more
to Mrs. Berlinton, though Bellamy soon departed; her eagerness for
information subsided in indignant sorrow. That Eugenia, the injured, the
inestimable Eugenia, should be spoken of, by the very violator who had
torn her from her friends, as a mere burthen attached to the wealth she
procured him, struck at her heart as a poniard. And the impropriety to
herself, and the wrong to Eugenia, of Mrs. Berlinton, in listening to
such a discourse, totally sunk that lady in her esteem; though it
determined her, as a duty due to them all around, to represent what she
felt upon this subject; and the next day, the instant she was visible,
she begged an audience.

Mrs. Berlinton was pensive and dejected, but, as usual, open and
unguarded; she began herself to speak of the visit of Bellamy, and to
ask why she ran away.

Camilla, without answer or hesitation, related what she had overheard;
adding: 'O, Mrs. Berlinton! can you suffer him to talk thus? Can you
think of my injured Eugenia--lately your own favourite friend--and bear
to hear him?'

'How injured, my ever-dear Camilla? Does she know what he says? Can it
hurt her unheard? Can it affect her unimagined? He but solaces his
sadness by a confidence he holds sacred; 'tis the type of our
friendship, now dearer, he says, than ever, since reciprocated by such
sympathy.'

'You affright me, Mrs. Berlinton! what a perversion of reason to talk of
sympathy in your situations? Did Eugenia press him to the altar? Did any
friends solicit the alliance? Oh, Mrs. Berlinton! think but a moment,
and your own feeling mind will paint his conduct in colours I have not
the skill to attain!'

'You are right!' cried she, blushing in her unwilling conviction: 'I
know not how he could delude me to believe our fates resembled.
Certainly nothing can be less similar.'

Camilla was happy in this victory; but the following day, Bellamy, at
the same hour was announced, and in the same manner was admitted;
Camilla flying, and Mrs. Berlinton protesting she should attack his
mistaken comparison with severity.

Severity, however, was a quality with which she was unacquainted;
Camilla, anxious in every way, hastened to her when he was gone, but
found her dissolved in tender tears, shed, she declared, in regret of
the uneasiness she had given him, for he had now made her fully
sensible his destiny alone was to blame.

The understanding of Camilla was highly superior to being duped by such
flimsy sophistry, which she heard with added detestation of the
character of Bellamy; yet perceived that no remonstrance could prevent
his admittance, and that every interview regularly destroyed the effect
of every exhortation.

In this melancholy period, the sole satisfaction she received was
through a letter written by Lionel from Ostend, in which he told her
that the dread of imprisonment, or want, in a foreign country, made him
lead a life so parsimonious, so totally deprived of all pleasure and all
comfort, that he was almost consumed with regret for the wilfulness with
which he had thrown away his innumerable advantages; and so much struck
with the retrospection of the wanton follies and vices which had
involved him in such dishonour and ruin, that he began now to think he
had rather been mad than wicked;--so unmeaning, unreflecting, and
unprovoked, as well as worthless, had been the course he had pursued.

Camilla sent this letter immediately to her Father, who remitted to
Lionel such a sum as must obviate distress, with such intimation for the
future as he hoped would best encourage more solid reformation.

Thus passed the time, improperly, or unhappily to all, till the third
period fixed for the return to the country elapsed: and Camilla, finding
the whole view of her journey abortive, saw the accumulated yet useless
suffering involved through her ill-judged procrastination. Yet, as
Eugenia still did not despair, even her confession was unwritten; and as
Miss Margland and Indiana granted her request of going round by Belfont,
which she had previously arranged from an ardent desire to embrace her
loved sister, she still dwelt on a last hope from that interview.




CHAPTER IV

_Hints upon National Prejudice_


With mingled disquietude and distaste, Melmond saw the reluctance of
Indiana to quit town, and that he was less than a cypher with her upon
the last evening's assembly, where, without deigning to bestow one look
upon him, she chatted, smiled, and fluttered with every one else;
undisguisedly betraying that [he] whom she should soon have alone, and
have always, should not rob of even one precious moment this last
splendid blaze of general admiration. He sighed; and in common with the
hapless perverseness of mortals, thought he had _thrown away_, in
Eugenia, _a gem richer than all her tribe_![5]

[Footnote 5: Shakespeare]

Camilla, whose heart, however dead to joy, was invariably open to
tenderness, was melted with fond emotions in the idea of again meeting
her beloved Eugenia, and ready for her journey nearly with the light.

Soon after she was dressed, a house maid, tapping at her door, said,
'Pray, Ma'am, is Miss Lynmere with you?'

'No.'

Presently Miss Margland came herself.

'Pray, Miss Camilla, do you know any thing of Miss Lynmere? It's the
oddest thing in the world where she can be!'

Camilla, now, went forth to aid the search; Melmond, who was waiting to
hand her into the carriage, looked amazed at the enquiry. It soon,
however, was clear, that she was no where in the house; and, after
sundry examinations and researches, one of the maids was brought to
confess having aided her, in the middle of the night, to go into the
street, where she was handed into a post chaise by Mr. Macdersey.

Melmond appeared thunder struck. An action so unexpected at the period
of a solemn engagement which waited but the journey to Cleves for being
compleated, seemed to him, at first, incredible. But, when Miss Margland
exclaimed 'O pursue her; Mr. Melmond! order your horse, and gallop to
Scotland immediately!' he gravely, and rather drily answered: 'By no
means, Ma'am! The man who has the honour of her preference, is the only
one who can have any hope to make her happy. I have no ambition for a
hand that has been voluntarily held out to another.'

He then returned, quietly, to his own lodgings; far more indignant than
hurt at this abrupt conclusion of a connexion which, though it had
opened to him as a promise of Elysium, was closing with every menace of
mutual discontent.

Camilla was truly concerned; and not merely for the future risk run by
her Cousin, in this rash flight, but for the new disappointment to her
Uncle. She was obliged, however, to bestow her whole attention upon Miss
Margland, whose tribulation was yet greater, and who, in losing thus her
pupil, lost the expected reward of near thirteen years of unwilling
attendance. She had, by no means, indeed, merited this treachery from
Indiana, whom though incapable to instruct in much good, she had
sedulously guarded from all evil.

To return to Sir Hugh without her charge, without indeed either of the
young ladies who were put under her care, she had not courage. Nor could
Camilla so little feel for her distress as to request it. An express,
therefore, was ordered to Cleves, for informing him of these ill
tidings, with a very elaborate panegyric from Miss Margland of her own
conduct; and a desire to know if she should remain in town till
something transpired concerning Indiana.

The express was but just gone, when a packet, which ought to have
arrived two days before, by the stage, was delivered to Camilla. Its
intention was merely to convey more speedily a letter from Lavinia,
containing the terrible information that Mr. Clykes had just been at
Etherington himself, to deliver in his accounts, and press immediate
payment! Their Father, Lavinia said, conceived the whole some
imposition, till the man produced the paper signed by his daughter. She
had then been called in, and obliged to confess her knowledge of the
transaction. She would avoid, she said, particulars that could be only
uselessly afflicting; but the interview had ended in their Father's
agreeing to pay, when it should be possible, the sums actually delivered
to the creditors, and for which Mr. Clykes could produce their own
receipts; but refusing, positively and absolutely, any gratuity
whatsoever, from detestation of so dangerous and seductive a species of
trade, as clandestine and illegal money-lending to minors: The man, much
provoked, said a friend of his had been used far more handsomely by Sir
Hugh Tyrold; but finding his remonstrances vain, acknowledged the law
against him for the interest; but threatened to send in an account for
his own trouble, in collecting and paying the bills, that he would
dispute, for validity, in any court of justice to which he could be
summoned: and, in leaving the house, he menaced an immediate writ, if
all he could legally claim were not paid the next day; unless a new
bond were properly signed, with a promise to abide by that already
drawn up. Their Father, she was forced to confess, had now lent his
every guinea, for the debts of Clermont, to Sir Hugh; and was at this
instant, deliberating to whom he should apply; but desired, meanwhile,
an exact statement of the debts which this man had in commission to
discharge. The letter concluded with Lavinia's unfeigned grief in the
task of writing it.

Camilla read it with a distraction that made it wholly unintelligible to
her; yet could not read it a second time; her eyes became dim, her
faculties confused, and she rather felt deprived of the power of
thinking, than filled with any new and dreadful subjects for rumination.

In this state, the letter on the floor, her eyes staring around, yet
looking vacant, and searching nothing she was called to Lord O'Lerney,
who begged the honour of a conference with her upon business.

She shook her head, in token of denial, but could not speak. The servant
looked amazed; yet brought her a second message, that his Lordship was
extremely sorry to torment her, but wished to communicate something
concerning Mr. Macdersey.

She then faintly articulated, 'I can see nobody.'

Still the same dreadful vacuity superseded her sensibility, till, soon
after, she received a note from Lady Isabella Irby, desiring to be
admitted to a short conversation with her upon the part of Lord
O'Lerney.

With the name of Lady Isabella Irby recurred the remembrance that she
was a favourite of Edgar--and bursting into tears, she consented to the
interview; which took place immediately.

The terrible state in which she appeared was naturally, though not
justly, attributed by her ladyship to the elopement of her Cousin: while
Camilla, called by her sight to softer regrets, beheld again, in mental
view, the loved and gentle image of Edgar.

Lady Isabella apologised politely, but briefly, for her intrusion,
saying: 'My Lord O'Lerney, whose judgment is never in any danger, but
where warped by his wish of giving pleasure, insists upon it that you
will be less incommoded by a quick forced admission of me than of
himself. Nobody else will think so: but it is not easy to refuse him: so
here I am. The motive of this intrusion you can but too readily divine.
Lord O'Lerney is truly concerned at this rash action in his kinsman,
which he learnt by an accidental call at his lodgings, where various
circumstances had just made it known. He could not rest without desiring
to see some part of the young lady's family, and making an offer of his
own best services with respect to some arrangement for her future
establishment. It is for this purpose, you have been so importunately
hurried; Lord O'Lerney wishing to make the first news that is sent to
Sir Hugh Tyrold less alarming, by stating, at once, what he can
communicate concerning Mr. Macdersey.'

Camilla, who only now recollected that Mr. Macdersey was related to Lord
O'Lerney, was softened into some attention, and much gratitude for his
goodness, and for her Ladyship's benevolence in being its messenger.

'Will you, then,' said Lady Isabella, 'now you understand the purport of
his visit, see Lord O'Lerney himself? He can give you much better and
clearer documents than I can; and it is always the best and shortest
mode to deal with principals.'

Camilla mechanically complied, and Lady Isabella sent her footman with a
note to his Lordship, who was waiting at her house in Park-lane.

The discourse still fell wholly upon Lady Isabella; Camilla, lost
alternately in misery and absence, spoke not, heard not; yet former
scenes, though not present circumstances, were brought to her mind by
the object before her, and almost with reverence, she looked at the
favourite of Edgar, in whose sweetness of countenance, good sense,
delicacy, and propriety, she conceived herself reading every moment the
causes of his approbation. Ah, why, thought she, while unable to reply,
or to listen to what was said, why knew I not this charming woman, while
yet he took an interest in my conduct and connexions! Perhaps her gentle
wisdom might have drawn me into its own path! how would he have
delighted to have seen me under such influence! how now, even now,--lost
to him as I am!--would he generously rejoice, could he view the
condescending partiality of looks and manner that seem to denote her
disposition to kindness!

Lord O'Lerney soon joined them; and after thanking Camilla for granting,
and his Ambassadress for obtaining him an audience, said; 'I have been
eager for the honour of a conference with Miss Tyrold, in the hope of
somewhat alleviating the fears for the future, that may naturally join
with displeasure for the present, from the very unadvised step of this
morning. But, however wrong the manner in which this marriage may be
effected, the alliance in itself will not, I hope, be so
disadvantageous, as matches of this expeditious character prove in
general. The actual possessions of Macdersey are, indeed, far beneath
what Miss Lynmere, with her uncommon claims, might demand; but his
expectations are considerable, and well founded; and his family will all
come forward to meet her, with every mark of respect, for which, as its
head, I shall lead the way. He is honest, honourable, and good natured;
not particularly endowed, with judgment or discretion, but by no means
wanting in parts, though they are rather wild and eccentric.'

His Lordship then gave a full and satisfactory detail of the present
state, and future hopes of his kinsman; and added, that it should be his
own immediate care to endeavour to secure for the fair bride a fixed
settlement, from the rich old cousin who had long promised to make
Macdersey his heir. He told Camilla to write this, without delay, to the
young lady's Uncle, with full leave to use his name and authority.

'At all times,' he continued, 'it is necessary to be quick, and as
explicit as possible, in representing what can conciliate an adventure
of this sort, of which the clandestine measure implies on one side, if
not on both, something wrong; but most especially it is necessary to use
speed where the flight is made with an Hibernian; for with the English
in general, it is nearly enough that a man should be born in Ireland, to
decide him for a fortune-hunter. If you lived, however, in that country,
you would see the matter pretty equally arranged; and that there are not
more of our pennyless beaux who return laden with the commodity of rich
wives, than of those better circumstanced who bring home wives with more
estimable dowries.'

He then added, that it was from Miss Lynmere herself he had learnt the
residence of Camilla in Grosvenor Square; for, having made some
acquaintance with her at one of Mrs. Berlinton's evening parties, he had
heard she was a niece of Sir Hugh Tyrold, and immediately enquired after
her fair kinswoman, whom he had seen at Tunbridge.

Camilla thanked him for remembering her; and Lady Isabella, with a
countenance that implied approbation in the remark, said; 'I have never
once heard of Miss Tyrold at the assemblies of this house.'

She quietly replied she had never been present at them; but a look of
sensibility with which her eyes dropt, spoke more than she intended, of
concern at their existence, or at least frequency.

'Your lovely young Hostess,' said Lord O'Lerney, 'has entered the world
at too early an hour to be aware of the surfeit she is preparing
herself, by this unremitting luxury of pleasure; but I know so well her
innocence and good qualities, that I doubt not but the error will bring
its own cure, and she will gladly return to the literary and elegant
intercourse, which she has just now given up for one so much more
tumultuous.'

'I am glad you still think so, my Lord;' said Lady Isabella, also
looking down; 'she is a very sweet creature, and the little I have seen
of her, made me, while in her sight, warmly her well-wisher.
Nevertheless I should rather see any young person, for whom I was much
interested,--unless endowed with the very remarkable forbearance of Miss
Tyrold,--under her influence after the period your Lordship expects to
return, than during its _interregnum_!'

Camilla disavowed all claim to such praise, blushing both for her friend
and herself at what was said. Lord O'Lerney, looking concerned, paused,
and then answered, 'You know my partiality for Mrs. Berlinton: yet I
always see with fresh respect the courage with which my dear Lady
Isabella casts aside her native reserve and timidity, where she thinks a
hint--an intimation--may do good, or avert dangers.'

His eye was then fixed upon Camilla, who surprized, turned hastily to
Lady Isabella, and saw a tender compassion in her countenance, that
confirmed the interpretation of Lord O'Lerney; joined with a modest
confusion that seemed afraid, or ashamed, of what had escaped her.

Grateful for herself, but extremely grieved for the idea that seemed to
have gone forth of Mrs. Berlinton, she felt a tear start into her eye.
She chaced it, with as little emotion as she could shew; and Lord
O'Lerney, with an air of gayer kindness, said; 'As we must now, Miss
Tyrold, account ourselves to be somewhat allied, you permit me, I hope,
to recommend my gallant Cousin to your protection with Sir Hugh? That he
has his share of the wildness, the blunders, the eccentricities, and the
rhodomontade, which form, with you English, our stationary national
character, must not be denied; but he has also, what may equally, I
hope, be given us in the lump, generosity, spirit, and good intentions.
With all this....'

He was here interrupted; the door being suddenly burst open by Mrs.
Mittin, who entered, exclaiming, 'Lord, Miss, what a sad thing this is!
I declare it's put me quite into a quiver! And all Winchester's quite in
an uproar, as one may say. You never see how every body's in a turmoil!'

Here ended the little interval of horrour in Camilla. Mrs. Mittin and
Mr. Clykes seemed to her as one; yet that, already, her Cousin's
elopement should have spread so near home, seemed impossible. 'When,'
she cried, 'were you in Winchester? And how came this affair known to
you?'

'Known? why, my dear Miss, it was there it all happened. I come through
it with Mr. Dennel, who was so obliging as to bring me to town, for a
little business I've got to do; and next week he'll take me back again;
for as to poor little Mrs. Lissin, she'll be quite lost without me. She
don't know her right hand from her left, as one may say. But how should
she, poor child? Why she is but a baby. What's fifteen? And she's no
more.'

'We'll talk of that,' said Camilla, colouring at her loquacious
familiarity, 'some other time.' And attempted to beg Lord O'Lerney would
finish what he was saying. But Mrs. Mittin, somewhat affronted, cried;
'Lord, only think of your sitting here, talking, and making yourself so
comfortable, just as if nothing was the matter! when every body else is
in such a taking as never was the like! I must say, as to that, a
gentleman more liked, and in more respect never was, I believe; and I
can't say but what I'm very sorry myself for what Mr. Clykes has done;
however, I told you, you know, you'd best not provoke him; for though
there can't be a better sort of man, he'll leave no stone unturned to
get his money.'

'For Heaven's sake,' cried Camilla, startled, 'what....'

'What?... Why, Lord, Miss! don't you know your Papa's took up? He's put
in Winchester Prison, for that debt, you know.'

The breath of Camilla instantly stopt, and senseless, lifeless, she sunk
upon the floor.

Lord O'Lerney quitted the room in great concern, to call some female
assistants; but Lady Isabella remained, contributing with equal
tenderness and judgment to her aid, though much personally affected by
the incident.

Her recovery was quick, but it was only to despair; to screams rather
than lamentations, to cries rather than tears. Her reason felt the shock
as forcibly as her heart; the one seemed tottering on its seat, the
other bursting its abode. Words of alarming incoherency proclaimed the
danger menacing her intellects, while agonies nearly convulsive
distorted her features, and writhed her form.

Unaffectedly shocked, yet not venturing, upon so slight an acquaintance,
to interfere, Lady Isabella uttered gently but impressively her good
wishes and concern, and glided away.

The nearly distracted Camilla saw not that she went; and knew no longer
that she had been in the room. She held her forehead one moment; called
for death the next; and the next wildly deprecated eternal punishment.
But as the horrour nearly intolerable of this first abrupt blow gave
way, the desire of flying instantly to her Father was the symptom of
restored recollection.

Hastening then to Miss Margland, she conjured her, by all that was most
affecting, to set off immediately for Winchester. But Miss Margland,
though she spared not the most severe attacks upon the already
self-condemned and nearly demolished Camilla, always found something
relative to herself that was more pressing than what could regard any
other, and declared she could not stir from town till she received an
answer from Sir Hugh.

Camilla besought at least to have the carriage; but of this she asserted
herself at present the indisputable mistress, and as the express might
come back in a few hours, with directions that she should set off
immediately, she would not listen to parting with it. Camilla, frantic
to be gone, flew then down stairs, and called to the porter in the hall,
that some one should instantly seek her a chaise, coach, or any
conveyance whatever, that could carry her to Winchester.

She perceived not that Lady Isabella, waiting for her footman, who had,
accidentally, gone on further, upon some message, now opened the door of
the parlour, where Lord O'Lerney was conversing with her upon what had
happened; she was flying back, though not knowing whither nor which way
she turned, when Lord O'Lerney, gently stopping her, asked, why she
would not, on such an emergence, apply for the carriage of Mrs.
Berlinton? Lady Isabella seconded the motion, by a soft, but just hint,
of the danger of her taking such a journey, in a hired carriage,
entirely unprotected.

She had scarce consideration enough left to either thank or understand
them, yet mechanically followed their counsel, and went to Mrs.
Berlinton; Lord O'Lerney, deeply touched by her distress, sending in a
servant at the same time with his name, and following: while Lady
Isabella, too much interested to go till something was decided, quietly
shut herself into the parlour, there to wait his Lordship's information.

The request for the carriage was, indeed, rather made by him than by
Camilla, who, when she entered the room, and would have spoken, found
herself deprived of the power of utterance, and looked a picture of
speechless dismay.

The tender feelings of Mrs. Berlinton were all immediately awakened by
this sight, and she eagerly answered Lord O'Lerney, that both her
carriage and herself should be devoted to her distressed friend: yet,
the first emotion over, she recollected an engagement she could not
break, though one she hesitated to mention, and at last only alluded to
unexplained, though making known it was insurmountable; while the
colour, of which her late hours had robbed her lovely cheeks, returned
to them as she stammered her retractation.

The next day, however, she was beginning to promise,--but Camilla, to
whom the next minute seemed endless, flew down again to the hall, to
supplicate the first footman she could meet, to run and order any sort
of carriage he could find; with but barely sufficient recollection to
refrain running out with that view herself.

Lady Isabella, again coming forth, entreated to know if there were any
commission, any possible service she could herself perform. Camilla
thanked her, without knowing what she said; and Lord O'Lerney, who was
descending the stairs, repeated similar offers. But wild with affright,
or shuddering with horrour, she passed without hearing or observing him.

To see a young creature in a state so deplorable, and to consider her as
travelling without any friend or support, in so shaken a condition, to
visit an imprisoned Father, touched these benign observers with the
sincerest commiseration; and the connexion of a part of his family
forming at this moment with a branch of her own, induced Lord O'Lerney
to believe he was almost bound to take care of her himself. 'And yet,'
said he to Lady Isabella, 'though I am old enough to be her grandfather,
the world, should I travel with her, might impute my assistance to a
species of admiration which I hope to experience no more--as witness my
trusting myself so much with Lady Isabella Irby!'

Lady Isabella, from the quick coincidence of similar feelings, instantly
conceived his wishes, and paused to weigh their possibility. A short
consideration was sufficient for this purpose. It brought to her memory
her various engagements; but it represented at the same time to her
benevolence that they would be all, by the performance of one good
action,

    More honour'd in the breach than the observance:

She sent, therefore, a message after Camilla, entreating a short
conference.

Camilla, who was trying to comprehend some further account from Mrs.
Mittin, silently, but hastily obeyed the call; and her look of wild
anguish would have fixed the benign intention of Lady Isabella, had it
been wavering. In a simple phrase, but with a manner the most delicate,
her Ladyship then offered to conduct her to Winchester. A service so
unexpected, a goodness so consoling, instantly brought Camilla to the
use of her frightened away faculties, but with sensations of gratitude
so forcible, that Lord O'Lerney with difficulty saved her from falling
at the feet of his amiable friend, and with yet more difficulty
restrained his own knees from doing her that homage. And still the more
strongly he felt this active exertion, from the disappointment he had
just endured through the failure of his favourite Mrs. Berlinton.

No time was to be lost; Lady Isabella determined to do well what she
once undertook to do at all; she went to Park-lane, to make known her
excursion, and arrange some affairs, and then instantly returned, in her
own post-chaise, and four horses, for Camilla; who was driven from the
metropolis.




CHAPTER V

_The Operation of Terror_


Lady Isabella, for the first two or three miles, left Camilla
uninterruptedly to her own thoughts; she then endeavoured to engage her
in some discourse, but was soon forced to desist. Her misery exceeded
all measure of restraint, all power of effort. Her Father in prison! and
for her own debts! The picture was too horrible for her view, yet too
adhesive to all her thoughts, all her feelings, all her faculties, to be
removed from them a moment. Penetrated by what she owed to Lady
Isabella, she frequently took her hand, pressed it between her own,
pressed it to her lips; but could shew her no other gratitude, and force
herself to no other exertion.

It was still early, they travelled post, and with four horses, and
arrived at Winchester before eight o'clock.

Shaking, she entered the town, half fainting, half dead. Lady Isabella
would have driven straight on to Etherington, which was but a stage
further; but to enter the rectory, whence the Rector himself was
torn--'No!' cried she, 'no! there where abides my Father, there alone
will I abide! No roof shall cover my head, but that which covers his! I
have no wish but to sink at his feet--to crawl in the dust--to confine
myself to the hardest labour for the remnant of my miserable existence,
so it might expiate but this guilty outrage!'

Lady Isabella took not any advantage of the anguish that was thus
bursting forth with secret history; she was too delicate and too good to
seize such a moment for surprising confidence, and only enquired if she
had any friend in the town, who could direct her whither to go, and
accompany as well as direct.

She knew no one with sufficient intimacy to endure presenting herself to
them upon such an occasion; and preferred proceeding alone to the sad
and cruel interview. Lady Isabella ordered the chaise to an hotel, where
she was shewn into a room upstairs, whence she sent one of her own
servants to enquire out where debtors were confined, and if Mr. Tyrold
were in custody: charging him not to name, from whom or why he came, and
begging Camilla to get ready a note to prepare her Father for the
meeting, and prevent any affecting surprise. She then went to chuse
herself a chamber, determined not to quit her voluntary charge, till she
saw her in the hands of her own friends.

Camilla could not write: to kneel, to weep, to sue, was all she could
bear to plan; to present to him the sight of her hand writing she had
not courage.

Presently she heard a chaise drive rapidly through the inn gate: it
might be him, perhaps released; she flew down the stairs with that wild
hope; but no sooner had descended them, than a dread of his view took
its place, and she ran back: she stopt, however, in the landing place,
to hear who entered.

Suddenly a voice struck her ear that made her start; that vibrated quick
to her heart, and there seemed to arrest the springs of life; she
thought it the voice of her Mother----

It ceased to speak; and she dropt on one knee, inwardly, but fervently
praying her senses might deceive her.

Again, however, and more distinctly, it reached her; doubt then ceased,
and terrour next to horrour took its place. What was said she knew not,
her trepidation was too great to take in more than the sound.

Prostrate she fell on the floor; but hearing a waiter say, 'Up stairs,
madam, you may have a room to yourself.' She started, rose, and rushing
violently back to the apartment she had quitted, bolted herself in;
exclaiming, 'I am not worthy to see you, my Mother! I have cast my
Father into prison--and I know you will abhor me!'

She then sat down against the door, to listen if she were pursued; she
heard a footstep, a female step; she concluded it that of her Mother;
'She can come,' cried she, 'but to give me her malediction!' And flew
frantic about the room, looking for any means of escape, yet perceiving
only the window, whence she must be dashed to destruction.

She now heard a hand upon the lock of the door. 'O that I could die!
that I could die!' she cried, madly advancing to the window, and
throwing up the sash, yet with quick instinctive repentance pulling it
down, shuddering and exclaiming: 'Is there no death for me but
murder--no murder but suicide?'

A voice now found its way through her cries to her ear, that said, 'It
is me, my dear Miss Tyrold; will you not admit me?'

It was Lady Isabella; but her Mother might be with her: she could not,
however, refuse to open the door, though desperately she said to
herself: If she is there, I will pass her, and rush into the streets!

Seeing, however, Lady Isabella alone, she dropt on her knees,
ejaculating 'Thank Heaven! thank Heaven! one moment yet I am spared!'

'What is it, my dear Miss Tyrold,' said Lady Isabella, 'that causes you
this sudden agony? what can it be that thus dreadfully disorders you?'

'Is she with you?' cried she, in a voice scarce audible, 'does she
follow me? does she demand my Father?'

'Rise, dear madam, and compose yourself. If you mean a Lady whom this
minute I have passed, and whose countenance so much resembles yours,
that I thought her at once some near relation, she is just gone from
this house.'

'Thank Heaven! thank Heaven!' again ejaculated the prostrate Camilla;
'My Mother is spared a little longer the dreadful sight of all she must
now most abominate upon earth!'

She then begged Lady Isabella instantly to order the chaise, and return
to town.

'On the contrary,' answered her Ladyship, extremely surprised at so wild
a request, 'Let me rather, myself, carry you to your family.'

'O no, Lady Isabella, no!' cried Camilla, speaking with frightful
rapidity, and shaking in every limb, 'all now is changed. I came to wait
upon my Father--to humble myself at his feet--not to obtrude myself upon
my Mother!--O Lady Isabella!--I shall have broken her heart--and I dare
not offend her with my sight!'

Lady Isabella, with the most judicious gentleness, endeavoured to render
her more reasonable. 'I pretend not,' she said, 'to decide upon your
situation, though I comprehend its general affliction: yet still, and at
all events, its termination must be a meeting. Suffer me, therefore,
rather to hasten than retard so right a measure. Allow of my mediation,
and give me the infinite pleasure of leaving you in the hands of your
friends.'

Camilla, though scarcely able to articulate her words, declared again
the motive to her journey was at an end; that her Father had now one to
watch, soothe, and attend him, who had none of her dreadful drawbacks to
consoling powers; and that she would remain at Mrs. Berlinton's till
summoned home by their immediate commands.

Lady Isabella began pleading their own rights to decide if or not the
meeting should be deferred: but wildly interrupting her, 'You know not,'
she cried, 'what it is you ask. I have not nerves, I have not hardiness
to force myself into such a presence. An injured Father ... an offended
Mother ... O Lady Isabella! if you knew how I adore--and how I have
ruined them!...'

'Let me go to them from you, myself; let me represent your situation.
They are now probably together. That Lady whom I saw but from the
stairs, though her countenance so much struck me, and whom I now
conclude to be Mrs. Tyrold, said, as she passed, I shall walk; I only
want a guide;'--

'They had not, then, even met!' cried Camilla, starting up with fresh
horrour; 'she is but just arrived--has but just been at Etherington--and
there heard--that her husband was in prison--and in prison for the debts
of her daughter! her guilty ... perhaps reprobated daughter!'--

Again, wringing her hands, half distracted, 'O, that the earth,' she
cried, 'had received me, ere I quitted the parental roof! Innocent I had
then died, beloved, regretted,--no shame would have embittered my
Father's sorrow--no wrath my Mother's--no culpable misconduct would have
blighted with disgrace their so long--long wished-for meeting!'

The compassionating, yet judicious Lady Isabella, willing to shorten the
sufferings she pitied, made yet another effort to prevent this unadvised
return, by proposing they should both sleep this night at Winchester,
that Camilla might gather some particulars of her family, and some
composure for herself, to better judge what step to pursue. But all
desire of meeting was now converted into horrour; she was too much known
in the neighbourhood to escape being recognized if she stayed till the
morning, and her shattered intellects, she declared, could not bear
passing a whole night in expectation of a discovery through some
accident. 'Have I not already,' cried she, 'heard her voice and fled its
sound? Judge then, Lady Isabella, if I can present myself before her!
No, I must write, first. I have a long and dreadful history to
relate--and then, when she has heard it--and when the rectory has again
its reverend master--and when they find some little palliation, where
now they can see only guilt--and when all is committed without disguise
to their goodness--their mercy--they may say to me perhaps themselves:
Unhappy Camilla! thou hast paid thy just penalty; come home, then, to
thy parents' roof, thou penitent child!'

Lady Isabella knew too little of the characters with which she had to
deal, to judge if it would be right to insist any further: she ordered,
therefore, fresh horses to her chaise, and as soon as her footman came
back, who brought the now useless direction where Mr. Tyrold was to be
found, they galloped out of Winchester.

At Alton they stopt to sleep; and, her immediate terrour removed, she
became more sensible of what she owed to Lady Isabella, to whom, in the
course of the evening, she recounted frankly the whole history of her
debts, except what related to Lionel.

'Your Ladyship hears me,' said she, in conclusion, 'with the patience of
benevolence, though I fear, with the censure of all judgment. What evils
have accrued from want of consideration and foresight! My errours have
all been doubled by concealment--every mischief has been augmented by
delay. O, Lady Isabella! how sad an example shall I add to your powers
of benign instruction!--From day to day, from hour to hour, I planned
expedients, where I ought to have made confessions! To avoid one
dreadful--but direct evil, what I have suffered has been nearly
intolerable--what I have inflicted, unpardonable!'

Lady Isabella, much touched by her openness and confidence, repaid them
by all that compassion could suggest, or that a sincere disposition
towards esteem could anticipate of kindness. She gathered the amount of
the sum for which Mr. Tyrold was confined, and besought Camilla to let
it less weigh upon her spirits, as she could herself undertake that Lord
O'Lerney would accommodate him with it immediately, and wait his perfect
leisure for re-payment. 'I have known him,' said she, 'from a child, and
have always seen, with respect and admiration, the prompt pleasure with
which he rather seizes than accepts every opportunity to do good.'

Camilla returned the most grateful thanks; but acknowledged she had no
apprehension but that the writ would immediately be withdrawn, as the
county was almost filled with friends to her Father, who would come
forward upon such an occasion. 'What rests thus upon my mind,' said she,
'and what upon his--and upon my Mother's will rest--is the disgrace--and
the cause! the one so public, the other so clandestine! And besides,
though this debt will be easily discharged, its payment by a loan is
but incurring another: and how that is to be paid, I know not indeed.
Alas! Lady Isabella!--the Father I have thus dreadfully involved, has
hitherto, throughout his exemplary life, held it a sacred duty to adapt
his expences to his income!'

Again Lady Isabella gave what consolation she could bestow; and in
return for her trust, said she would speak to her with sincerity upon a
point of much delicacy. It was of her friend, Mrs. Berlinton; 'who now,'
said she, 'you are not, perhaps, aware, is become a general topic of
discourse. To the platonics, with which she set out in life, she has, of
late, joined coquetry; nor even there stops the ardour with which she
seeks to animate her existence; to two characters, hitherto thought the
most contradictory, the sentimental and the flirting, she unites yet a
third, till now believed incompatible with the pleasures and pursuits of
either; this, I need not tell you, is that of a gamestress. And when to
three such attributes is added an open aversion to her husband, a
professed, an even boasted hatred of his person, his name, his very
being--what hope can be entertained, be her heart, her intentions what
they may, that the various dangers she sets at defiance, will not
ultimately take their revenge, and surprise her in their trammels?'

Edgar himself seemed, to Camilla, to be speaking in this representation;
and that idea made it catch her attention, in the midst of her utmost
misery. She urged, however, all she knew, and could suggest, in favour
of Mrs. Berlinton; and Lady Isabella expressed much concern in
occasioning her any painful sensations. 'But who,' said she, 'can see
you thus nearly, and not be interested in your happiness? And I have
known, alas!--though I am still under thirty, instances innumerable of
self-deluded young women, who trusting to their own pure intentions,
have neither feared nor heeded the dangers which encircled them, till
imperceptibly, from the insidious influence of levity, they have pursued
the very course they began with disclaiming, and followed the very steps
from which at first they unaffectedly recoiled.'

Instructed and grateful, though incapable of being tranquillised,
Camilla the next day reached Grosvenor Square long before her fair
friend had left her downy pillow. Lady Isabella exacted a promise to be
informed of her proceedings, and, loaded with merited acknowledgments,
returned to her own mansion.

Camilla took possession of the first room in which she found a pen and
ink, and wrote instantly to Lavinia a short, rapid, and incoherent
letter, upon the distraction of her mind at the dreadful calamity she
had occasioned her Father, and the accumulated horrours to which her
Mother had returned. She durst not present herself before them uncalled,
not even by letter; but she would live in the strictest retirement and
penance till they ordered her home, for which epoch, not more longed
[for] than dreaded, she besought her sister's mediation.

This sent off, she forced herself to wait upon Miss Margland, who had
received an answer from Cleves to continue in town till Indiana wrote or
re-appeared. She was put immediately into uncommon good-humour, by the
ill success at the journey of Camilla, which she protested was exactly
what she expected.

Camilla then strove to recollect all she had been told by Lord O'Lerney
of Mr. Macdersey, and to relate it to Miss Margland, who, pleased and
surprised, undertook to write it to Sir Hugh.

To three days of dreadful suspense she now saw herself inevitably
condemned, in waiting an answer from Lavinia: but as her eyes were
opened to remark, by the admonitions of Lady Isabella, and her attention
was called back to the earlier cautions of Edgar, her time, though spent
with misery, hung not upon her unoccupied. She thought herself called
upon by every tie of friendship, faithfully and courageously to
represent to Mrs. Berlinton her impropriety of conduct with regard to
Bellamy, and the reports that were spread abroad to her more general
disadvantage.

Her reception from that Lady, she had thought, for the first time, cold.
She had welcomed her, indeed, with an accustomed embrace, but her
kindness seemed strained, her smile was faint, and the eyes which so
softly used to second it, were averted.

As soon as they were alone together, Camilla took her hand; but, without
returning its pressure, Mrs. Berlinton presented her with a new poem for
her evening's amusement.

Camilla put it down, but while hesitating how to begin, Bellamy was
announced. She started, and flew away, but returned when he was gone,
and begged a conference.

Mrs. Berlinton answered certainly; though she looked embarrassed, and
added not immediately, as she was obliged to dress for the evening.

Camilla entreated she might speak with her before dinner the next day.

To this she received a gentle assent: but no interview at the time
appointed took place; and when at dinner they met, no notice was taken
of the neglect.

She now saw she was pointedly avoided. Her courage, however, was called
upon, her gratitude was indebted for past kindnesses, and her honour
felt a double engagement. The opportunity therefore she could not obtain
by request, she resolved to seize by surprise.

Bellamy was again, however, announced; but the moment that, from her own
chamber, she heard him descend the stairs, she flew to the
dressing-room, and abruptly entered it.

The surprise she gave was not greater than that she received. Mrs.
Berlinton, her fine eyes streaming with tears, and her white hands
uplifted with an air of supplication, was evidently in an act of
devotion. Camilla drew back, and would have retired, but she hastily
dried her eyes, and said: 'Miss Tyrold? Do you want me? where's
Miss--Miss Margland?'

'Ah! my dearest Mrs. Berlinton! my friend, as I had hoped, and by me,
surely I trust loved for ever,' cried Camilla, throwing her arms round
her neck, 'why this sorrow? why this distance? why this unkind
avoidance?'

Mrs. Berlinton, who, at first, had shrunk from her embrace, now fell, in
trembling agitation, upon her breast. Camilla hoped this was the instant
to improve; when she appeared to be, herself, calling religion to her
aid, and when the tenderness of her appeal seemed to bring back a
movement of her first partiality. 'Suffer, suffer me,' she therefore
cried, 'to speak to you now! hear me, my dear and amiable friend, with
the sweetness that first won my affection!'

Mrs. Berlinton, affrighted, drew back, acknowledging herself unhappy;
but shrinking from all discourse, and starting when Camilla named
Bellamy, with a confusion she vainly strove to repress.

Unhackneyed in the world as was Camilla, her understanding and sense of
right stood here in the place of experience, to point out the danger and
impropriety surrounding her friend; and catching her by the gown, as she
would have quitted the room, 'Mrs. Berlinton,' she emphatically cried,
'if you persist in this unhappy, this perilous intercourse, you risk
your reputation, you risk my sister's peace, you risk even your own
future condemnation!--O forgive me, forgive me! I see how I have
affected you--but you would listen to no milder words!'

Mrs. Berlinton had sunk upon a chair, her hands clasped upon her
forehead, and tears running rapidly down her cheeks. Brought up with
religious terrours, yet ill instructed in religious principles, the
dread of future punishment nearly demolished her, though no regular
creed of right kept her consistently or systematically in any uniform
exercise of good. But thus forcibly surprised into sudden conscientious
recollections, she betrayed, rather than opened her heart, and
acknowledged that she was weeping at a denial she had given to Bellamy;
who, molested by the impossibility of ever conversing with her
undisturbed, had entreated her to grant him, from time to time, a few
hours society, in a peaceful retirement. 'Nor should I--nor could I--'
she cried, 'refuse him--for I have every reliance in his honour--but
that the guilty world, ignorant of the purity of our friendship, might
causelessly alarm my brother for my fame. And this, and the fear of
any--though so groundless--uneasiness to your sister, makes me resist
his powerful eloquence, and even my own notions of what is due to our
exalted league of friendship.'

Camilla listened with horrour to this avowal, yet saw, with compassion,
that her friend endeavoured to persuade herself she was free from wrong;
though with censure that she sought to gloss over, rather than
investigate, every doubt to the contrary: but while fear was predominant
for the event of such a situation to herself, abhorrence filled her
whole mind against Bellamy, in every part, every plan, and every
probability of the business.

'O Mrs. Berlinton!' she cried, 'conquer this terrible infatuation, which
obscures danger from your sight, and right from your discernment! Mr.
Bellamy is married; and if you think, yourself, my sister would be hurt
to know of these unhallowed leagues and bonds, you must be sure, with
the least reflection, that they are wrong; you too, are married; and if
Mr. Melmond would join with the world in contemning the extraordinary
project you mention, you must feel, with the least reflexion, it ought
not to be granted. Even were you both single, it would be equally
improper, though not so wide spreading in its mischief. I have committed
many errours; yet not one of them wilfully, or against conviction:
nevertheless, the ill consequences that have ensued, tear me at this
moment with repentant sorrow:--Ah! think then, what you--so tender, so
susceptible, so feeling, will suffer, if with your apprehensions all
awake, you listen to any request that may make my sister unhappy, or
involve your deserving brother in any difficulty or hazard!'

Mrs. Berlinton was now subdued. Touched, terrified, and convinced, she
embraced Camilla, wept in her arms, and promised to see Bellamy no more.

The next day arrived an answer from Lavinia, long, minute, and
melancholy, but tenderly affectionate and replete with pity.

'Ah, my sister,' she began, 'we cannot yet meet! Our Mother is in no
state to bear any added emotion. The firmness of her whole character,
the fortitude of her whole life, hitherto unbroken by any passion, and
superior to any misfortune, have both given way, suddenly and
dreadfully, to the scene following her arrival.'

She then went back to particulars.

Mr. Clykes, she had heard, finding his bill for his own trouble
positively refused, had conceived the Tyrold family in danger of
bankruptcy, by the general rumours of the joint claimants of Lionel and
Clermont; and imagining he had no time to lose, hoped by an arrest to
frighten their Father to terms, in order to obviate the disgrace of such
a measure. Their Father would, however, hear of none, nor pay any thing
above the exact amount of the signed receipts of the various creditors;
and submitted to the confinement, in preference to applying to any
friend to be his bail, till he could consult with a lawyer. He was
already at Winchester, where he had given Clykes a meeting, when the
writ was served against him. He sent a dispatch to Etherington, to
prevent any surprise at his not returning, and to desire the affair
might not travel to Cleves, where Lavinia was then with Sir Hugh. This
note, addressed to the upper servant, fell into the hands of Mrs. Tyrold
herself, the next evening, upon her sudden arrival. She had been thus
unexpectedly brought back by the news of the flight of Bellamy with
Eugenia: her brother was still ill; but every consideration gave way to
the maternal; and in the hope to yet rescue her daughter from this
violator, she set off in a packet which was just sailing. But what, upon
descending from the chaise, was the horrour of her first news! She went
on instantly to Winchester, and alighting at an hotel, took a guide and
went to the place of confinement.

'The meeting that ensued,' continued Lavinia, 'no one witnessed, but
everyone may imagine. I will not therefore, wound your feelings, my
dearest Camilla, with even touching upon my own. The impression,
however, left upon the mind of our poor Mother, I should try vainly to
disguise, since it has given her a shock that has forced from me the
opening of this letter.'

She then besought her to take, nevertheless, some comfort, since she had
the unspeakable satisfaction to inform her that their Father was
returned to the rectory. He had been liberated, from the writ's being
withdrawn; though without his consent, without even his knowledge, and
contrary to his wishes. Nor was it yet ascertained by whom this was
done, though circumstances allowed no division to their conjectures.

Harry Westwyn had learnt the terrible event in a ride he had
accidentally taken to Winchester; and, upon returning to Cleves, had
communicated it, with the most feeling circumspection, to herself. The
excess of grief with which she had heard him, had seemed to penetrate to
his quickly sensitive soul, 'for he is yet more amiable,' she added,
'than his Father's partiality paints him;' they agreed not to name it to
Sir Hugh; though Harry assured her that no less than five gentlemen in
the vicinity had already flown to Mr. Tyrold, to conjure to be accepted
as his bail: but he chose first to consult his lawyer upon the validity
of the claim made against him. All their care, however, was ineffectual;
through some of the servants, Sir Hugh was informed of the affair, and
his affliction was despair. He accused himself as being the cause of
this evil, from the money he had borrowed for Clermont, which might
wholly have been avoided, had he followed his brother's advice in
immediate and severe retrenchments. These, however, he now began, in a
manner that threatened to rob him of every comfort; and Mr. Westwyn was
so much affected by his distress, that, to relieve him, at least, from
the expence of two guests and their servants, he instantly took leave,
promising nevertheless, to yet see him again, before he returned for the
rest of his days to his native home. In a few hours after the departure
of these gentlemen, news arrived that Mr. Tyrold was again at the
rectory. Mr. Clykes had suddenly sent his receipt, in full of all
demands, and then set off for London.

'There cannot be a doubt this was the deed of the generous Mr. Westwyn,
in compact with his deserving Son,' continued Lavinia; 'they have been
traced to Winchester; but we none of us know where, at present, to
direct to them. The delight of my Uncle at this act of his worthy old
friend, has extremely revived him. My Father is much dissatisfied the
wretched Clykes should thus be paid all his fraudulent claims; but my
Mother and my Uncle would, I believe, scarce have supported life under
his longer confinement.'

The letter thus concluded.

     'My Mother, when first she heard you were in town, was herself
     going to send for you; but when she understood that Miss Margland
     was with you, and you lived in utter seclusion from company, she
     said; "Since she is safe, I had rather not yet see her." Our
     beloved Father acquiesces, for he thinks you, at present, too much
     shaken, as well as herself, for so agitating an interview, till her
     mind is restored to its usual firmness. Judge then, my sister,
     since even he is for the delay, if your Lavinia can gather courage
     to plead against it?

     'You know, my dearest Camilla, her extreme and tender fondness; you
     cannot, therefore, doubt, but her displeasure will soon pass away.
     But when, to the dreadful pangs of finding the hapless fate of
     Eugenia irremediable, was added the baneful sight of an adored
     Husband in custody, you cannot wonder such complicate shocks should
     have disordered her frame, and taught her,--even her, as my
     imcomparable Father has just said to me, "that always to be
     superior to calamity, demands a mental strength beyond the frail
     texture of the human composition; though to wish, and to try for
     it, shews we have _that within_, which aspires at a higher state,
     and prepares us for fuller perfection".'

     'Can I better finish my letter than with words such as these?
     Adieu, then, my dear sister, I hope soon to write more cheerful
     tidings.

     'Our poor Mother is gone to Belfont. What a meeting again there!

     LAVINIA TYROLD.'

A wish for death, immediate death, in common with every youthful
mourner, in the first paroxysm of violent sorrow, was the sole sensation
which accompanied the reading, or remained after the finishing of this
letter, with Camilla. 'Here,' she cried, falling prostrate, 'here might
I but at once expire! close these unworthy eyes, forbidden to raise
themselves to the authors of my existence! finish my short and culpable
career, forgotten--since no longer cherished--by the parents I have
offended--by the Mother who no longer wishes to see me!'

She laid down her head, and her sight became dim; a convulsive
shivering, from feelings over-strained, and nerves dreadfully shattered,
seized her; she sighed short and quick, and thought her prayer already
accomplishing; but the delusion soon ceased; she found life still in its
vigour, though bereft of its joy; and death no nearer to her frame, for
being called upon by her wishes.

In the heaviness of disappointment, 'I have lived,' she cried, 'too
long, and yet I cannot die! I am become an alien to my family, and a
burthen to myself! ordered from my home by my Father, lest my sight
should be destructive to my Mother--while my sister durst not even plead
for me.... O happy Edgar! how great has been thy escape not to have
taken for thy wife this excommunicated wretch!'--

To live thus, seemed to her impossible; to pass even the day in such
wretchedness she believed impracticable. Any, every period appeared to
her preferable, and in the desperation of her heart, she determined
instantly to pursue her Mother to Belfont; and there, by the gentle
intercession of Eugenia, to obtain her pardon, or, which she thought
immediately would follow its refusal, to sink to death at her feet.

Relieved from the intenseness of her agony by this plan, and ever eager
to pursue the first idea that arose, she flew to borrow from Mrs.
Berlinton her post-chaise for the next morning, and to supplicate that
Miss Margland would accompany her to Belfont; whence, if she missed Mrs.
Tyrold, they could easily return the same day, as the distance was not
more than thirteen miles.

The chaise was accorded promptly by Mrs. Berlinton, and no regret
expressed at the uncertainty of Camilla whether or not she should
return; but Miss Margland, though burning with curiosity to see Eugenia
as Mrs. Bellamy, would not quit town, from continual expectation of some
news of Indiana.

At an early hour the following morning, and feeling as if suspended but
by a thread between life and death, Camilla set off for Belfont.




CHAPTER VI

_The Reverse of a Mask_


The plan of Camilla was to stop within twenty yards of the house of
Bellamy, and then send for Molly Mill. But till she gave this direction
to the driver, she was not aware of the inconvenience of being without a
servant, which had not previously occurred either to Mrs. Berlinton or
herself. The man could not leave his horses, and she was compelled to
let him draw up to the gate. There, when he rang at a bell, her terrour,
lest she should suddenly encounter Mrs. Tyrold, made her bid him open
the chaise door, that she might get out and walk on, before he enquired
for Molly. But, in stepping from the carriage, she discerned, over a
paling at some distance, Eugenia herself, alone, slowly walking, and her
head turned another way.

Every personal, and even every filial idea, was buried instantly in this
sight. The disastrous state of this beloved and unhappy sister, and her
own peculiar knowledge of the worthless character of the wretch who had
betrayed her into his snares, penetrated her with an anguish that took
thought from all else; and darting through the great gate, and thence
through a smaller one, which opened to the spot where she saw her
walking, she flew to her in a speechless transport of sorrow, folded her
in her arms, and sobbed upon her shoulder.

Starting, shaking, amazed, Eugenia looked at her; 'Good Heaven!' she
exclaimed, 'is it my Sister?--Is it Camilla?--Do I, indeed, see one so
dear to me?' And, too weak to sustain herself, she sunk, though not
fainting, upon the turf.

Camilla could not articulate a syllable. The horrour she had conceived
against Bellamy chilled all attempt at consolation, and her own misery
which, the preceding moment, seemed to be crushing the springs of life,
vanished in the agonized affection with which she felt the misfortunes
of her sister.

Eugenia soon recovered, and rising, and holding her by the hand, yet
seeming to refuse herself the emotion of returning her embraces, said,
with a faint effort to smile; 'You have surprised me, indeed, my dear
Camilla, and convicted me to myself of my vain philosophy. I had thought
I should never more be moved thus again. But I see now, the affections
are not so speedily to be all vanquished.'

The melancholy conveyed by this idea of believed apathy, in a young
creature so innocent, and but just dawning into life, still beyond
speech, and nearly beyond sufferance, affected Camilla, who hanging over
her, sighed out: 'My dearest!... dearest Eugenia!'

'And what is it has brought to me this unexpected, but loved sight? Does
Mr. Bellamy know you are here?'

'No,' she answered, shuddering at his name.

Eugenia looked pensive, looked distressed; and casting down her eyes and
hesitating, with a deep sigh said: 'I, ... I have not the trinkets for
my dear Sister ... Mr. Bellamy ...' she stopt.

Called to her sad self by this shock, of which she strove to repress the
emotion, Camilla recollected her own 'almost blunted purpose[6],' and
fearfully asked if their Mother were yet at Belfont.

[Footnote 6: Hamlet]

'Ah, no!' she answered, clasping her hands, and leaning her head upon
her sister's neck: 'She is gone!--The day before yesterday she was with
me,--with me only for one hour!--yet to pass with her such another, I
think, my dear Camilla, would soon lead me where I might learn a better
philosophy than that I so vainly thought I had already acquired here!'

Camilla, struck with awe, ventured not even at an enquiry; and they
both, for some little time, walked on in silence.

'Did she name to you,' at length, in broken accents, she asked, 'did she
name to you, my Eugenia, ... the poor, banished ... Camilla?----'

'Banished? No. How banished?'

'She did not mention me?'

'No. She came to me but upon one subject. She failed in her purpose, ...
and left me.'

A sigh that was nearly a groan finished this short little speech.

'Ah, Heaven! my Eugenia,' cried Camilla, now in agony unresisted, 'tell
me, then, what passed! what new disappointment had my unhappy Mother to
sustain? And how, and by what cruel fatality, has it fallen to your
lot ... even to yours ... to suffer her wishes to fail?'

'You know nothing, then,' said Eugenia, after a pause, 'of her view--her
errand hither?'

'Nothing; but that to see you brought her not only hither, but to
England.'

'Blessed may she be!' cried Eugenia, fervently, 'and rewarded where
rewards are just, and are permanent!'

Camilla zealously joined in the prayer, yet besought to know if she
might not be informed of the view to which she alluded?

'We must go, then,' said Eugenia, 'into the house; my poor frame is yet
feebler than my mind, and I cannot support it unaided while I make such
a relation.'

Camilla, affrighted, now gave up her request; but the generous Eugenia
would not leave her in suspense. They went, therefore, to a parlour,
where, shutting the doors and windows, she said, 'I must be concise, for
both our sakes; and when you understand me, we must talk instantly of
other things.'

Camilla could give only a tacit promise; but her air shewed she would
hold it sacred as any bond.

'The idea which brought over this inestimable Parent, and which brought
her, at a moment when she knew me to be alone, to this sad house, these
sad arms ... Camilla! how shall I speak it? It was to exonerate me from
my vows, as forced! to annul all my engagements, as compulsatory! and to
restore me again ... O, Camilla! Camilla! to my Parents, my Sisters, my
Uncle, my dearly-loved Cleves!'

She gasped almost convulsively; yet though Camilla now even conjured her
to say no more, went on: 'A proposal such as this, pressed upon me by
one whose probity and honour hold all calamity at nought, if opposed to
the most minute deviation from right--a proposal such as this ... ah!
let me not go back to the one terrible half instant of demur! It was
heart-rending, it was killing! I thought myself again in the bosom of my
loved family!'--

'And is it so utterly impossible? And can it not yet be effected?'--

'No, my dear Sister, no! The horrible scenes I must go through in a
public trial for such a purpose--the solemn vows I must set aside, the
re-iterated promises I must break,----no, my dear Sister, no!... And
now, we will speak of this no more.'

Camilla knew too well her firmness, her enthusiasm to perform whatever
she conceived to be her duty, to enter into any contest. Yet to see her
thus self devoted, where even her upright Mother, and pious Father,
those patterns of resignation to every heaven-inflicted sorrow, thought
her ties were repealed by the very villainy which had formed them,
seemed more melancholy, and yet harder for submission, than her first
seizure by the worthless Bellamy.

'And how bore my poor Mother ... my poor unfortunate Mother! destined
thus to woes of every sort, though from children who adore her!--how
bore she the deprivation of a hope that had brought her so far?'

'Like herself! nobly! when once it was decided, and she saw that though,
upon certain avowals, the law might revoke my plighted faith, it could
not abrogate the scruples of my conscience. She thinks them
overstrained, but she knows them to be sincere, and permitted them,
therefore, to silence her. Unfit to be seen by any others, she hurried
then away. And then, Camilla, began my trial! Indeed I thought, when she
had left me, ... when my arms no more embraced her honoured knees, and
neither her blessings, nor her sorrows soothed or wounded my ears, I
thought I might defy all evil to assault, all woe to afflict me ever
again! that my eyes were exhausted of every tear, and my heart was
emptied of all power of future feeling. I seemed suddenly quite
hardened;--transformed I thought to stone, as senseless, as immovable,
and as cold!'

The sensations of Camilla were all such as she durst not utter; but
Eugenia, assuming some composure; added, 'Of this and of me now
enough--speak, my dear Sister, of yourself. How have you been enabled to
come hither? And what could you mean by saying you were banished?'

'Alas! my dearest Eugenia, if my unhappy situation is unknown to you,
why should I agitate you with new pain? my Mother, I find, spared you;
and not only you, but me--though I have wrung her heart, tortured it by
a sight never to be obliterated from her memory--she would not rob me of
my beloved sister's regard; nor even name me, lest the altered tone of
her voice should make you say, Of what Camilla does my Mother speak?'

Eugenia, with earnest wonder, begged an explanation; but when Camilla
found her wholly uninformed of the history of their Father's
confinement, she recoiled from giving her such a shock: yet having gone
too far entirely to recede, she rested the displeasure of their Mother
upon the debts, and the dealings with a usurer; both sufficiently
repugnant to the strictness and nobleness of Mrs. Tyrold, to seem ample
justification of her displeasure.

Eugenia entered into the distresses of her sister, as if exempt herself
from all suffering: and Camilla, thus commiserating and commiserated,
knew now how to tear herself away; for though Eugenia pressed not her
stay, she turned pale, when a door opened, a clock struck, or any thing
seemed to prognosticate a separation; and looked as if to part with her
were death.

At length, however, the lateness of the day forced more of resolution.
But when Camilla then rang to give orders for the carriage, the footman
said it had been gone more than two hours. The postillion, being left
without any directions, thought it convenient to suppose he was done
with; and knowing Camilla had no authority, and his lady no inclination
to chide him, had given in her little packet, and driven off, without
enquiry.

Far from repining at this mixture of impertinence and carelessness,
Camilla would have rejoiced in an accident that seemed to invite her
stay, had not her sister seemed more startled than pleased by it. She
begged, therefore, that a post chaise might be ordered; and Molly Mill,
the only servant to whom the mistress of the house appeared willing to
speak, received the commission. At sight of Camilla, Molly had cried
bitterly, and beginning 'O Miss!--' seemed entering into some
lamentation and detail; but Eugenia, checking her, half whispered: 'Good
Molly, remember what you promised!'

When Molly came back, she said that there were no horses at Belfont, and
would be none till the next morning.

The sisters involuntarily congratulated one another upon this accident,
though they reciprocated a sigh, that to necessity alone they should owe
their lengthened intercourse.

'But, my dear mistress,' cried Molly, 'there's a lad that I know very
well, for I always see him when I go of an errand, that's going to
Salisbury; and he says he must go through Etherington, and if you've any
thing you want to send he'll take it for you; and he can bring any thing
back, for he shall be here again to morrow, for he goes post.'

Eugenia, sending away Molly, said, 'Why should you not seize such an
opportunity to address a few lines to our dear Mother? I may then have
the satisfaction to see her answer: and if, ... as I cannot doubt, she
tells you to return home with Miss Margland;--for she will not, I am
sure, let you travel about alone;--what a relief will it be to me to
know the distresses of my beloved sister are terminated! I shall paint
your meeting in my "mind's eye," see you again restored to the sunshine
of her fondness, and while away my solitary languor with reveries far
more soothing than any that I have yet experienced at Belfont.'

Camilla embraced her generous Sister; and always readiest for what was
speediest, wrote these lines, directed

     _To Miss_ TYROLD.

     I cannot continue silent, yet to whom may I address myself? I dare
     not apply to my Father--I scarce dare even think of my
     Mother--Encompassed with all of guilt with which imprudence could
     ensnare me, my courage is gone with my happiness! which way may I
     then turn? In pity to a wretched sister, drop, O Lavinia, at the
     feet of her I durst not name, but whom I revere, if possible, even
     more than I have offended, this small and humble memorial of my
     unhappy existence--my penitence, my supplication, my indescribable,
     though merited anguish!

     CAMILLA.

Could the two sisters, even in this melancholy state, have continued
together, they felt that yet from tender sympathy, consolation might
revisit their bosoms. The day closed in; but they could not bear to
part; and though, from hour to hour, they pronounced an adieu, they
still sat on, talked on, and found a balm in their restored intercourse,
so healing and so sweet, that the sun, though they hailed not its beams,
rose while they were yet repeating Good Night!

They then thought it too late to retire, mutually agreeing with how much
greater facility they might recover their lost rest, than an opportunity
such as this for undisturbed conversation.

Every minute of this endearing commerce made separation seem harder; and
the answer for which they waited from Etherington, anxiously and
fearfully as it was expected, so whiled away the minutes, that it was
noon, and no chaise had been ordered, when they heard one driving up to
the house.

Alarmed, they listened to know what it portended. 'Mr. Bellamy,' said
Eugenia, in a low voice, 'scarce ever comes home at this hour.'

'Can it be my Mother herself?' cried Camilla.

In a few minutes, however, Eugenia looked pale, ''Tis his step!' she
whispered; and presently Bellamy opened the door.

Obliged to acknowledge his entrance, Camilla arose; but her parched lips
and clammy mouth made her feel as if his sight had given her a fever,
and she attempted not to force any speech.

He did not seem surprized at seeing her, asked how she did, rather
cavalierly than civilly: rang the bell, and gave various orders;
addressed scarce a word to his wife, and walked whistling about the
room.

A change so gross and quick from the obsequious Bellamy Camilla had
hitherto seen, was beyond even her worst expectations, and she conceived
as low an opinion of his understanding and his manners, as of his
morals.

Eugenia kept her eyes rivetted to the ground; and though she tried, from
time to time, to say something to them both, evidently required her
utmost fortitude to remain in the room.

At length; 'Miss Camilla,' he said, 'I suppose you know Miss Margland is
gone?'

'Gone? whither?--how gone?'

'Why home. That is to her home, as she thinks it, Cleves. She set off
this morning with the light.'

Camilla, astonished, was now called forth from her taciturnity; 'What
possibly,' she cried, 'can have induced this sudden journey? Has my
uncle sent for her?'

'No; your uncle has nothing to do with it. She had a letter last night
from Mrs. Macdersey, with one enclosed for Sir Hugh, to beg pardon and
so forth; and this morning she set off to carry it.'

Camilla was confounded. Why Miss Margland had not, at least, called at
Belfont to enquire if she would proceed with her, was beyond all her
conjecture.

Soon after, Bellamy's servant came in with a letter for Camilla, which
had arrived after she left town, and was given to him by Mrs.
Berlinton's butler. She retired into the next room to read it, where, to
her great consternation, she found it was from Jacob, and had been
written the day of Mr. Tyrold's arrest, though, as it was sent by a
private hand, it had only now arrived. 'Things going,' he said, 'so bad
at Cleves, on account of so many misfortunes, his master was denying
himself all his natural comforts, and in particular he had sent to
un-order a new pipe of Madeira, saying he would go without; though, as
Miss might remember, it was the very wine the doctors had ordered for
his stomach. This all the servants had taken so to heart, that they had
resolved to buy it among 'em, and get it privately laid in, and not let
his honour know but what it was always the same, till he had drunk so
much he could not help himself. For this, they were to join, according
to their wages or savings; Now I' says Jacob, 'being, by his gud
honnur's genrosty, the ritchist ammung us, fur my kalling, wants to do
the most, after nixt to the buttlur and huskippir, so, der Miss, awl
I've gut beng in the funs, witch I cant sil out withowt los, if you can
lit me have the munny fur the hurs, without ullconvenince, til Miss Geny
that was can pay it, I shul be mutch obbleggd, poor Miss Geny nut hawing
of a fardin, witch wil be a gret fevur to, Madm,

     Yur humbbel survent til deth

     JACCUB MORD.'

       *       *       *       *       *

So touching a mark of the fond gratitude of the Cleves' servants to
their kind master, mingled tenderness, in defiance of all horrour, in
the tears of Camilla; but her total inability to satisfy the just claims
of Jacob, since now her resource even in Eugenia failed, with the grief
of either defeating his worthy project, or making it lastingly hurtful
to him, was amongst the severest strokes which had followed her ill
advised schemes. To proclaim such an additional debt, was a shame from
which she shrunk; yet to fly immediately to Cleves, and try to soothe
her oppressed uncle, was an idea that still seemed gifted with some
power to soothe herself. Whither indeed else could she now go? she had
no longer either carriage or protectress in town; and what she gathered
of the re-admission of Bellamy to Grosvenor-square, made the cautions
and opinions of Edgar burst forcibly upon her mind, to impede, though
most mournfully, all future return to Mrs. Berlinton.

A pliancy so weak, or so wilful, seemed to announce in that lady an
almost determined incorrigibility in wrong, however it might be checked,
in its progress, by a mingled love of right, and a fear of ill
consequences.

'Ah Edgar!' she cried, 'had I trusted you as I ought, from the moment
of your generous declaration--had my confidence been as firm in your
kindness as in your honour, what misery had I been saved!--from this
connexion--from my debts--from every wide-spreading mischief!--I could
then have erred no more, for I should have thought but of your
approvance!'

These regrets were, as usual, resuming their absorbing powers;--for all
other evils seemed fluctuating, but here misery was stationary; when the
voice of Bellamy, speaking harshly to his unhappy wife, and some words
she unavoidably caught, by which she found he was requesting that she
would demand money of Sir Hugh, made her conclude him not aware he was
overheard, and force herself back to the parlour. But his inattention
upon her return was so near rudeness, that she soon felt convinced Mrs.
Berlinton had acquainted him with her remonstrances and ill opinion: he
seemed in guilty fear of letting her converse even a moment with
Eugenia; and presently, though with an air of pretended unconcern, said:
'You have no commands for the chaise I came in, Miss Camilla?'

'No, Sir, ... What chaise?... Why?...' she stammered.

'It's difficult sometimes to get one at this place; and these horses are
very fresh. I bid them stay till they asked you.'

This was so palpable a hint for her to depart, that she could not but
answer she would make use of it, when she had taken leave of her sister;
whom she now looked at with emotions near despair at her fate, and with
difficulty restrained even its most unbridled expressions. But Bellamy
kept close, and no private conference could take place. Eugenia merely
said: 'Which way, my dear sister, shall you go?'

'I ... I am not, fixed--to ... to Cleves, I believe,' answered she,
scarce knowing herself what she said.

'I am very glad of it,' she replied, 'for the sake of my poor--' she
found her voice falter, and did not pronounce 'uncle;' but added, 'as
Miss Margland has already left London, I think you right to go thither
at once; it may abridge many difficulties; and with post-horses, you may
be there before it is dark.'

They then embraced tenderly, but parted without any further speech, and
she set off rather mechanically than designedly for Cleves.




CHAPTER VII

_A New View of an old Mansion_


Camilla, for some time, bestowed no thought upon what she was doing, nor
whither she was going. A scene so dreadful as that she now quitted, and
a character of such utter unworthiness as that with which her sister for
life was tied, absorbed her faculties, and nearly broke her heart.

When she stopt, however, at Bagshot, for fresh horses, the obligation of
giving directions to others, made her think of herself; and, bewildered
with uncertainty whether the step she took were right or wrong, she
regretted she had not, at least, desired to stay till the answer arrived
from Etherington. Yet her journey had the sanction of Eugenia's
concurrence; and Eugenia seemed to her oracular.

When she came upon the cross road leading from Winchester to Cleves, and
felt her quick approach to the spot so loved yet dreaded, the horses
seemed to her to fly. Twenty times she called out to the driver not to
hurry; who as often assured her the bad roads prevented any haste; she
wanted to form some appropriate plan and speech for every emergence; but
she could suggest none for any. She was now at the feet of her Mother,
now kissing the hands of her Father, now embraced again by her fond
uncle;--and now rejected by them all. But while her fancy was at work
alternately to soothe and to torture her, the park lodge met her eyes,
with still no resolution taken.

Vehemently she stopt the chaise. To drive in through the park would call
a general attention, and she wished, ere her arrival were announced, to
consult alone with Lavinia. She resolved, therefore, to get out of the
carriage, and run by a private path, to a small door at the back of the
house, whence she could glide to the chamber commonly appropriated to
her sister.

She told the postillion to wait, and alighting, walked quick and
fearfully towards the lodge.

She passed through the park-gate for foot passengers without notice from
the porter. It was twilight. She saw no one; and rejoiced in the general
vacancy. Trembling, but with celerity, she '_skimmed_,' like her
celebrated name-sake, the turf; and annoyed only by the shadows of the
trees, which all, as first they caught her eye, seemed the precursors
of the approach of Mrs. Tyrold, speedily reached the mansion: but when
she came to the little door by which she meant to enter, she found it
fastened.

To the front door she durst not go, from the numerous chances by which
she might surprise some of the family in the hall: and to present
herself at the servant's gate would have an appearance degrading and
clandestine.

She recollected, at last, the sash-door of a bow-window belonging to a
room that was never occupied but in summer. Thither she went, and
knowing the spring by which it could be opened on the outside, let
herself into the house.

With steps not to be heard, and scarce breathing, she got thence into a
long stone passage, whence she meant to mount the back stairs.

She was relieved by not meeting anyone in the way, though surprised to
hear no foot-steps about the house, and no voices from any of the
apartments.

Cautiously she went on, looking round at every step, to avoid any sudden
encounter; but when she came to the bed-chamber gallery, she saw that
the door of the room of Sir Hugh, by which she must necessarily pass,
was wide open.

It was possible he might be in it: she had not courage to pass; her
sight, thus unprepared, after so many heavy evils, might be too
affecting for his weak frame. She turned short round, and entered a
large apartment at the head of the stairs, called the billiard-room,
where she resolved to wait and watch ere she ventured any further.

Its aspect was to the front of the house; she stole gently to a window,
whence she thought the melancholy of her own mind pervaded the park.
None of her uncle's horses were in sight; no one was passing to and fro;
and she looked vainly even for the house-dog who ordinarily patrolled
before the mansion.

She ventured to bend forwarder, to take a view of the side wings; these,
however, presented not any sight more exhilarating nor more animated.
Nothing was in motion, no one was visible, not even a fire blazed
cheerfulness.

She next strove to catch a glance of the windows belonging to the
chamber of Eugenia; but her sigh, though sad, was without surprise to
see their shutters shut. Those of Indiana were closed also. 'How
mournfully,' cried she, 'is all changed! what of virtues are gone with
Eugenia! what of beauty with Indiana! the one so constantly interesting!
the other looking always so lovely!'--

But deeper still was her sigh, since mingled with self-reproach, to
perceive her own chamber also shut up. 'Alas!' she cried, 'my poor uncle
considers us all as dead to him!' She durst not lean sufficiently
forward to examine the drawing-room, in which she concluded the family
assembled; but she observed, with wonder, that even the library was not
open, though it was still too light for candles; and Dr. Orkborne, who
usually sat there, from the forgetfulness of application, was the last
to demand them.

The fear of discovery was now combated by an anxiety to see some
one,--any one, ... and she returned to the passage. All there was still
quiet, and she hazarded gliding past the open door, though without
daring to look into the room; but when she came to the chamber of
Lavinia, which she softly entered, all was dark, and it was evidently
not in present use.

This was truly distressful. She concluded her sister was returned to
Etherington, and knew not to whom to apply for counsel or mediation. She
no longer, however, feared meeting her parents, who certainly had not
made her sister quit Cleves without themselves; and, after a little
hesitation, relying upon the ever sure lenity of her uncle, she
determined to cast herself upon his kindness: but first to send in a
short note, to avoid giving him any surprise.

She returned down the gallery, meaning to apply for pen and ink to the
first person she could find: she could only, she knew, meet with a
friend; unless, by ill fortune, she should encounter Miss Margland, the
way to whose apartment she sedulously shunned.

No longer, however, quite so cautious, she stopt near the chamber of Sir
Hugh, and convinced by the stillness it was empty, could not resist
stepping into the apartment.

It looked despoiled and forsaken. Nothing was in its wonted order; his
favourite guns hung not over the chimney-piece; the corners of the room
were emptied of his sticks; his great chair was in a new place; no
cushions for his dogs were near the fire; the bedstead was naked.

She now felt petrified; she sunk on the floor, to ejaculate a prayer for
his safety, but knew not how to rise again, for terrour; nor which way
next to turn, nor what even to conjecture.

Thus she remained, till suspense grew worse than certainty, and she
forced herself from the room to seek some explanation. It was possible
the whole family residence might be changed to the back front of the
house. She descended the stairs with almost equal apprehension of
meeting any one or seeing no one. The stone passage was now nearly dark.
It was always the first part of the house that was lighted, as its
windows were small and high: but no preparations were now making for
that purpose. She went to the house-keeper's room, which was at the foot
of the stairs she had descended. The door was shut, and she could not
open it. She tried repeatedly, but vainly, to be heard by soft taps and
whisperings; no one answered.

Amazed, confounded, she turned slowly another away; not a soul was in
sight, not a sound within hearing. Every thing looked desolate, all the
family seemed to be vanished.

Insensibly, yet irresistibly, she now moved on towards the drawing-room.
The door was shut. She hesitated whether or not to attempt it. She
listened. She hoped to catch the voice of her uncle: but all was
inviolably still.

This was the only place of assembling in the evening; but her uncle
might have dropt asleep, and she would not hazard startling him with her
presence. She would sooner go to the hall at once, and be announced in
the common way by a servant.

But what was her astonishment in coming to the hall, to find neither
servant, light nor fire? and the marble pavement covered with trunks,
packing mats, straw, ropes, and boxes? Terrified and astonished, she
thought herself walking in her sleep. She could combine no ideas, either
good or bad, to account for such a scene, and she looked at it
bewildered and incredulous.

After a long hesitation, spent in wonder rather than thought, she at
length determined to enter the breakfast parlour, and ring the bell:
when the distant sound of a carriage, that was just entering the park,
made her shut herself into the room, hastily, but silently.

It advanced rapidly; she trembled; it was surely, she thought, her
Mother.

When it drove up to the portico, and she heard the house-bell ring, she
instinctively barred her door; but finding no one approach to the call,
while the bell was impatiently re-rung, her strong emotions of
expectation were taking her again into the hall: but as her hand was
upon the lock of the door, a light glimmered through the key hole. She
heard some step advancing, and precipitately drew back.

The hall-door was now opened, and a man enquired for a young lady just
come from Alresford.

'There's no young lady here at all,' was the answer, in the voice of
Jacob.

Finding it only her own driver, she ventured out; crying 'O Jacob! where
is my dear uncle?'

Jacob was, at first, incapable of all answer, through surprise at her
strange appearance; but then said, 'O Miss Camilla! you'll go nigh to
break your good heart when you knows it all! But how, you've got into
the house is what I can't guess; but I wish, for my poor master's sake,
it had been before now!'

Horrour crept through every vein of Camilla, in the explanation she
awaited of this fearful mystery. She motioned to the driver to stay,
returned back to the parlour, and beckoned, for she could not speak, to
Jacob to follow her.

When he came, and, shutting the door, was beginning a diffuse
lamentation, eagerness to avert lengthened suspense recovered her voice,
and she passionately exclaimed: 'Jacob! in two words, where is my
uncle?--Is he well?'

'Why, yes, Miss Camilla, considering--' he began; but Camilla, whose
fears had been fatal, interrupted him with fervent thanksgiving, till
she was called back from joy by the following words:

'He's gone away Miss Camilla! gone Lord knows where! given up all his
grand house-keeping, turned off almost all his poor servants, left this
fine place, to have it let to whoever will hire it, and is going to
live, he says, in some poor little lodging, till he can scrape together
wherewithal to pay off every thing for your papa.'

A thunder-bolt that had instantly destroyed her, would gratefully have
been received, in preference to this speech, by Camilla, who, casting up
her hands and eyes, exclaimed: 'Then am I the most detestable, as well
as the most wretched of human beings! My Father I have imprisoned!--my
Uncle I have turned from his house and home! and for thee, O my
Mother!--this is the reception I have prepared!'

Jacob tried to console her; but his account was only added torture.

The very instant he told her, that his master had received the news of
the arrest of Mr. Tyrold, he determined upon this violent plan; and
though the so speedy release, through the generosity of Mr. Westwyn, had
exceedingly calmed his first emotions, he would not change his purpose,
and protested he would never indulge himself in peace nor comfort more,
till he had cleared off their joint debts; of which he attributed the
whole fault to himself, from having lived up to the very verge of his
yearly income, when he ought, he said, considering there were so many
young people, to have always kept a few odd sums at hand for accidents.
'We all did what we could,' continued Jacob, 'to put him off from such a
thing, but all to no purpose; but if you'd been here, Miss Camilla,
you'd have done more with him than all of us put together: but he called
Miss Lavinia and all of us up to him, and said to us, I won't have
nobody tell this to my poor little girl, meaning you, Miss Camilla, till
I've got somewhere settled and comfortable; because of her kind heart,
says he.'

Tenderness so partial, at so suffering an instant, almost killed
Camilla. 'O Jacob,' she cried, 'where is now my dear generous uncle? I
will follow him in this chaise (rushing out as she spoke) I will be his
servant, his nurse, and attend him from morning to night!'

She hurried into the carriage as she spoke, and bade him give directions
to the postillion. But when she heard he was, at present, only at
Etherington, whence he was seeking a new abode, her head drooped, and
she burst into tears.

Jacob remained, he said, alone, to take care of all the things, and to
shew the place to such as might come.

Miss Margland had been at the house about three hours ago; and had met
Sir Hugh, who had come over, to give directions about what he would have
packed up; and he had read a letter from Miss Indy that was, and had
forgiven her; but he was sore vexed Miss Margland had come without Miss
Camilla; only she said Miss Camilla was at Mrs. Bellamy's, and she did
not call, because she thought it would be better to go back again, and
see more about Miss Indy, and so bring Miss Camilla next time; so she
wheedled his master to spare the chaise again, and let her go off
directly to settle every thing to Miss Indy's mind.

Camilla now repented she had not returned to Mrs. Berlinton's, there,
notwithstanding all objections, to have waited her recall; since there
her parents still believed her, and thence, under the protection of
Miss Margland, would in all probability summon her. To present herself,
after this barbarous aggravation of the calamities she had caused,
undemanded and unforgiven at Etherington, she thought impossible. She
enquired if, by passing the night at Cleves, she might have any chance
of seeing her uncle the next day. Jacob answered, no; but that Mr.
Tyrold himself, with a gentleman from Winchester, who thought of hiring
the house, were to be there early in the morning to take a survey of the
premises.

A meeting, thus circumstanced, with her Father, at a moment when he came
upon so direful a business, as parting with a place of which she had
herself occasioned the desertion, seemed to her insupportable: and she
resolved to return immediately to Belfont, to see there if her answer
from Lavinia contained any new directions; and if not, to again go to
London, and await final commands; without listening ever more to any
hopes, projects, or judgments of her own.

Beseeching the worthy Jacob to pardon her non-payment, with every kind
assurance that her uncle should know all his goodness, she told the
postillion to take her to Belfont.

He could go no further, he said, and that but a foot pace, than to
Alresford. Jacob marvelled, but blessed her, and Camilla, ejaculating,
'Adieu, dear happy Cleves!' was driven out of the park.




CHAPTER VIII

_A Last Resource_


To leave thus a spot where she had experienced such felicity; to see it
naked and forlorn, despoiled of its hospitality, bereft of its
master,--all its faithful old servants unrewarded dismissed; in disgrace
to have re-entered its pales, and in terrour to quit them;--to fly even
the indulgent Father, whose tenderness had withstood every evil with
which errour and imprudence could assail him, set her now all at war
with herself, and gave her sensations almost maddening. She reviewed her
own conduct without mercy; and though misery after misery had followed
every failing, all her sufferings appeared light to her repentant sense
of her criminality; for as criminal alone, she could consider what had
inflicted misfortunes upon persons so exemplary.

She arrived at Alresford so late, with the return horses, that she was
forced to order a room there for the night.

Though too much occupied to weigh well her lonely and improper
situation, at an inn, and at such hours, she was too uneasy to go to
bed, and too miserable for sleep. She sat up, without attempting to
read, write, or employ herself, patrolling her chamber in mournful
rumination.

Nearly as soon as it was light, she proceeded, and arrived at the house
of Bellamy as the servants were opening the window-shutters.

Fearfully she asked who was at home; and hearing only their mistress,
sent for Molly Mill, and enquired for the answer from Etherington; but
the lad had not yet brought any. She begged her to run to the inn, to
know what had detained him; and then, ordering the chaise to wait, went
to her sister.

Eugenia was gently rejoiced to see her, though evidently with encreased
personal unhappiness. Camilla would fain have spared her the history of
the desertion of Cleves; but it was an act that in its own nature must
be public; and she had no other way to account for her so speedy return.

Eugenia heard it with the most piercing affliction; and, in the fulness
of her heart, from this new blow, acknowledged the rapacity of Bellamy,
and the barbarity with which he now scrupled not to avow the sordid
motives of his marriage; cruelly lamenting the extreme simplicity with
which she had been beguiled into a belief of the sincerity and violence
of his attachment. 'For myself, however,' she continued, 'I now cease to
murmur. How can misfortune, personally, cut me deeper? But with pity,
indeed, I think of a new victim!'

She then put into her sister's hand a written paper she had picked up
the preceding evening in her room, and which, having no direction, and
being in the handwriting of Mrs. Berlinton, she had thought was a former
note to herself, accidentally dropt: but the first line undeceived her.

'I yield, at length, O Bellamy, to the eloquence of your friendship! on
Friday,--at one o'clock, I will be there--as you appoint.'

Camilla, almost petrified, read the lines. She knew better than her
sister the plan to which this was the consent; which to have been given
after her representations and urgency, appeared so utterly
unjustifiable, that, with equal grief and indignation, she gave up this
unhappy friend as wilfully lost; and her whole heart recoiled from ever
again entering her doors.

Retracing, nevertheless, her many amiable qualities, she knew not how,
without further effort, to leave her to her threatening fate; and
determined, at all risks, to put her into the hands of her brother,
whose timely knowledge of her danger might rescue her from public
exposure. She wrote therefore the following note:

     '_To_ FREDERIC MELMOND, _Esq._

     'Watch and save,--or you will lose your sister.

     C.T.'

His address, from frequently hearing it, was familiar to her; she went
herself into the hall, to give the billet to a footman for the
post-office. She would not let her sister have any share in the
transaction, lest it should afterwards, by any accident, be known;
though, to give force to her warning, she risked without hesitation the
initials of her own name.

The repugnance, nevertheless, to going again to Mrs. Berlinton, pointed
out no new refuge; and she waited, with added impatience, for the answer
from Etherington, in hopes some positive direction might relieve her
cruel perplexity.

The answer, however, came not, and yet greater grew her distress. Molly
Mill brought word that when the messenger, who was a post-boy, returned,
he was immediately employed to drive a chaise to London. The people at
the inn heard him say something of wanting to go to 'Squire Bellamy's
with a letter; but he had not time. He was to come back however at
night.

To wait till he arrived seemed now to them both indispensable; but while
considering at what hour to order the chaise, they heard a horseman
gallop up to the house-door. 'Is it possible it should already be Mr.
Bellamy?' cried Eugenia, changing colour.

His voice, loud and angry, presently confirmed the suggestion. Eugenia,
trembling, said she would let him know whom he would find; and went
into the next room, where, as he entered, he roughly exclaimed, 'What
have you done with what I dropt out of my pocket-book?'

'There, Sir,' she answered, in the tone of firmness given by the
ascendance of innocence over guilt, 'There it is: but how you can
reconcile to yourself the delusions by which you must have obtained it I
know not. I hope only, for her sake, and for yours, such words will
never more meet my eyes.'

He was beginning a violent answer in a raised voice, when Eugenia told
him her sister was in the next room.

He then, in a lowered tone, said, 'I warrant, you have shewn her my
letter?'

The veracious Eugenia was incapable of saying no; and Bellamy, unable to
restrain his rage, though smothering his voice, through his shut teeth,
said, 'I shall remember this, I promise you! However, if she dare ever
speak of it, you may tell her, from me, I shall lock you up upon bread
and water for the rest of your life, and lay it at her door. I have no
great terms to keep with her now. What does she say about Cleves? and
that fool your uncle, who is giving up his house to pay your father's
debts? What has brought her back again?'

'She is returning to Grosvenor-square, to Miss Margland.'

'Miss Margland? There's no Miss Margland in Grosvenor-square; nor any
body else, that desires her company I can tell her. However, go, and get
her off, for I have other business for you.'

Eugenia, then, opening the door, found her sister almost demolished with
terrour and dismay. Silently, for some seconds, they sunk on the breast
of each other; horrour closing all speech, drying up even their tears.

'You have no message to give me!' Camilla at length whispered; 'I have,
perforce, heard all! and I will go;--though whither--'

She stopt, with a look of distress so poignant, that Eugenia, bursting
into tears, while tenderly she clung around her, said, 'My sister! my
Camilla! from me--from my house must you wander in search of an asylum!'

Bellamy here called her back. Camilla entreated she would inquire if he
knew whither Miss Margland was gone.

He now came in himself, bowing civilly, though with constraint, and told
her that Miss Margland was with Mrs. Macdersey, at Macdersey's own
lodgings; but that neither of them would any more be invited to
Grosvenor-square, after such ill-treatment of Mrs. Berlinton's brother.

Can you, thought Camilla, talk of ill-treatment? while, turning to her
sister, she said, 'Which way shall I now travel?'

Bellamy abruptly asked, if she was forced to go before dinner; but not
with an air of inviting any answer.

None could she make; she looked down, to save her eyes the sight of an
object they abhorred, embraced Eugenia, who seemed a picture of death;
and after saying adieu, added, 'If I knew whither you thought I should
go--that should be my guide?'

'Home, my dearest sister!'

'Drive then,' she cried, hurrying to the chaise, 'to Etherington.'

Bellamy advancing, said, with a smile, 'I see you are not much used to
travelling, Miss Camilla!' and gave the man a direction to Bagshot.

She began, now, to feel nearly careless what became of her; her
situation seemed equally desolate and disgraceful, and in gloomy
despondence, when she turned from the high road, and stopt at a small
inn, called the half-way-house, about nine miles from Etherington, she
resolved to remain there till she received her expected answer; ardently
hoping, if it were not yielding and favourable, the spot upon which she
should read it, would be that upon which her existence would close.

Alighting at the inn, which, from being upon a cross road, had little
custom, and was scarce more than a large cottage, she entered a small
parlour, discharged her chaise, and ordered a man and horse to go
immediately to Belfont.

Presently two or three gentle tappings at the door made her, though
fearfully, say, 'Come in!' A little girl then, with incessant low
courtesies, appeared, and looking smilingly in her face, said, 'Pray,
ma'am, a'n't you the Lady that was so good to us?'

'When? my dear? what do you mean?'

'Why, that used to give us cakes and nice things, and gave 'em to Jen,
and Bet, and Jack? and that would not let my dad be took up?'

Camilla now recollected the eldest little Higden, the washerwoman's
niece, and kindly enquired after her father, her aunt, and family.

'O, they all does pure now. My dad's had no more mishaps, and he hopes,
please God, to get on pretty well.'

'Sweet hearing!' cried Camilla, 'all my purposes have not, then, been
frustrated!'

With added satisfaction she learnt also that the little girl had a good
place, and a kind mistress. She begged her to hasten the Belfont
messenger, giving her in charge a short note for Eugenia, with a request
for the Etherington letter. She had spent nothing in London, save in
some small remembrances to one or two of Mrs. Berlinton's servants; and
though her chaise-hire had now almost emptied her purse, she thought
every expence preferable to either lengthening her suspense, or her
residence on the road.

In answer to the demand of what she would be pleased to have, she then
ordered tea. She had taken no regular meal for two days; and for two
nights had not even been in bed. But the wretchedness of her mind seemed
to render her invulnerable to fatigue.

The shaken state of her nerves warped all just consideration of the
impropriety of her present sojourn. Her judgment had no chance, where it
had her feelings to combat, and in the despondence of believing herself
parentally rejected, she was indifferent to appearances, and desperate
upon all other events: nor was she brought to any recollection, till she
was informed that the messenger, [who] she had concluded was half way to
Belfont, could not set out till the next morning: this small and private
inn not being able to furnish a man and horse at shorter warning.

To pass a second night at an inn, seemed, even in the calculations of
her own harassed faculties, utterly improper; and thus, driven to
extremity, she forced herself to order a chaise for home; though with a
repugnance to so compulsatory a meeting, that made her wish to be
carried in it a corpse.

The tardy prudence of the character naturally rash, commonly arrives but
to point repentance that it came not before. The only pair of horses the
little inn afforded, were now out upon other duty, and would not return
till the next day.

Almost to herself incredible seemed now her situation. She was compelled
to order a bed, and to go up stairs to a small chamber: but she could
not even wish to take any rest. 'I am an outcast,' she cried, 'to my
family; my Mother would _rather not see me_; my Father forbears to
demand me; and he--dearer to me than life!--by whom I was once chosen,
has forgotten me!--How may I support my heavy existence? and when will
it end?

Overpowered, nevertheless, by fatigue, in the middle of the night, she
[lay] down in her cloaths: but her slumbers were so broken by visions of
reproach, conveyed through hideous forms, and in menaces the most
terrific, that she gladly got up; preferring certain affliction to wild
and fantastic horrours.

Nearly as soon as it was light, she rang for little Peggy, whose
Southampton anecdotes had secured her the utmost respect from the
mistress of the inn, and heard that the express was set off.

Dreadful and dreary, in slow and lingering misery, passed the long
interval of his absence, though his rapid manner of travelling made it
short for the ground he traversed. She had now, however, bought
sufficient experience to bespeak a chaise against his return. The only
employment in which she could engage herself, was conversing with Peggy
Higden, who, she was glad to find, could not remember her name well
enough to make it known, through her pronunciation.

From the window, at length, she perceived a man and horse gallop up to
the house. She darted forth, exclaiming: 'Have you brought me any
answer?' And seizing the letter he held out, saw the hand-writing of
Lavinia, and shut herself into her room.

She opened it upon her knees, expecting to find within some lines from
her Mother; none, however, appeared, and sad and mortified, she laid
down the letter, and wept. 'So utterly, then,' she cried, 'have I lost
her? Even with her pen will she not speak to me? How early is my life
too long!'

Taking up again, then, the letter, she read what follows.

     '_To Miss_ CAMILLA TYROLD.

     'Alas, my dear sister, why can I not answer you according to our
     mutual wishes? My Father is at Winchester, with a lawyer, upon the
     affairs of Indiana; and my Mother is abroad with my uncle, upon
     business which he has asked her to transact; but even were she
     here ... could I, while the man awaits, intercede? have you
     forgotten your ever fearful Lavinia? All that she dares, shall be
     done,--but that you may neither think she has been hitherto
     neglected, nor let your hopes expect too much speed from her future
     efforts, I am painfully reduced to own to you, what already has
     passed. But let it not depress you; you know when she is hurt, it is
     not lightly; but you know, also, where she loves, her displeasure,
     once passed, is never allowed to rise again.

     'Yesterday I saw her looking at your picture; the moment seemed to
     be happy, and I ventured to say; "Ah, poor Camilla!" but she turned
     to me with quickness, and cried; "Lament rather, Lavinia, your
     Father! Did he merit so little trust from his child, that her
     affairs should be withheld from him till they cast him ... where I
     found him!... Dread, memorable sight--when may I forget it!"

     'Even after this, my dear Camilla, I hazarded another word, "she
     will be miserable," I said, "my dear Mother, till she returns."
     "She will return," she answered, "with Miss Margland. This is no
     season for any expence that may be avoided; and Camilla, most of
     all, must now see the duties of oeconomy. Were her understanding
     less good, I should less heavily weigh her errours; but she sets it
     apart, to abandon herself to her feelings. Alas! poor thing! they
     will now themselves be her punishers! Let her not however despond;
     tell her, when you write, her angelic Father forgives her; and tell
     her she has always had my prayers, and will ever have my
     blessing;--though I am not eager, as yet, to add to her own
     reproaches, those she may experience from my presence."

     'I knew not how to introduce this to my dearest Camilla, but your
     messenger, and his haste, now forces me to say all, and say it
     quick. He brings, I find, the letter from Belfont, where already we
     had heard you were removed through Miss Margland, much to the
     approbation of my Father and my Mother, who hope your sojourn there
     is a solace to you both. Adieu, my dearest sister--your messenger
     cannot wait.

     'LAVINIA TYROLD.'

'She will not see me then!' cried Camilla, 'she cannot bear my sight! O
Death! let me not pray to thee also in vain!'

Weak from inanition, confused from want of sleep, harassed with fatigue,
and exhausted by perturbation, she felt now so ill, that she solemnly
believed her fatal wish quick approaching.

The landlord of the inn entered to say that the chaise she had ordered
was at the door; and put down upon the table the bill of what she had to
pay.

Whither to turn, what course to take, she knew not; though to remain
longer at an inn, while persuaded life was on its wane, was dreadful;
yet how present herself at home, after the letter she had received? what
asylum was any where open to her?

She begged the landlord to wait, and again read the letter of Lavinia,
when, startled by what was said of abandoning herself to her feelings,
she saw that her immediate duty was to state her situation to her
parents. She desired, therefore, the chaise might be put up, and wrote
these lines:

     'I could not, unhappily, stay at Eugenia's; nor can I return to
     Mrs. Berlinton; I am now at the half-way-house where I shall wait
     for commands. My Lavinia will tell me what I may be ordered to do.
     I am ill,--and earnestly I pray with an illness from which I may
     rise no more. When my Father--my Mother, hear this, they will
     perhaps accord me to be blest again with their sight; the brevity
     of my career may, to their kindness, expiate its faults; they may
     pray for me where my own prayers may be too unsanctified to be
     heard; they may forgive me ... though my own forgiveness never more
     will quiet this breast! Heaven bless and preserve them; their
     unoffending daughters; and my ever loved uncle!

     'CAMILLA TYROLD.'

She then rang the bell, and desired this note might go by express to
Etherington.

But this, the waiter answered, was impossible; the horse on which the
messenger had set out to Belfont, though it had only carried him the
first stage, and brought him back the last, had galloped so hard, that
his master would not send it out again the same day; and they had but
that one.

She begged he would see instantly for some other conveyance.

The man who was come back from Belfont, he answered, would be glad to be
discharged, as he wanted to go to rest.

She then took up the bill, and upon examining the sum total, found, with
the express, the chaise in which she came the last stage, that which she
ordered to take her to Etherington, and the expence of her residence, it
amounted to half a crown beyond what she possessed.

She had only, she knew, to make herself known as the niece of Sir Hugh
Tyrold, to be trusted by all the environs; but to expose herself in
this helpless, and even pennyless state, appeared to her to be a
degradation to every part of her family.

To enclose the bill to Etherington was to secure its being paid; but the
sentence, _Camilla most of all must now see the duties of oeconomy_,
made her revolt from such a step.

All she still possessed of pecuniary value she had in her pocket: the
seal of her Father, the ring of her Mother, the watch of her Uncle, and
the locket of Edgar Mandlebert. With one of these she now determined to
part, in preference to any new exposure at Etherington, or to incurring
the smallest debt. She desired to be left alone, and took them from her
pocket, one by one, painfully ruminating upon which she could bear to
lose. 'It may not, she thought, be for long; for quick, I hope, my
course will end!--yet even for an hour,--even for the last final
moment--to give up such dear symbols of all that has made my happiness
in life!----'

She looked at them, kissed and pressed them to her heart; spoke to them
as if living and understanding representatives of their donors, and
bestowed so much time in lamenting caresses and hesitation, that the
waiter came again, while yet she was undetermined.

She desired to speak with the mistress of the house.

Instinctively she now put away the gifts of her parents; but between her
uncle and Edgar she wavered. She blushed, however, at her demur, and the
modesty of duty made her put up the watch. Taking, then, an agitating
last view of a locket which circumstances had rendered inappreciable to
her, 'Ah! not in vain,' she cried, 'even now shall I lose what once was
a token so bewitching.... Dear precious locket! Edgar even yet would be
happy you should do me one last kind office! generously, benevolently,
he would rejoice you should spare me still one last menacing shame!'--

When Mrs. Marl, the landlady, came in, deeply colouring, she put it into
her hand, turning her eyes another way, while she said; 'Mrs. Marl, I
have not quite money enough to pay the bill; but if you will keep this
locket for a security, you will be sure to be paid by and by.'

Mrs. Marl looked at it with great admiration, and then, with yet greater
wonder, at Camilla. ''Tis pretty, indeed, ma'am,' she said; ''twould be
pity to sell it. However, I'll shew it my husband.'

Mr. Marl soon came himself, with looks somewhat less satisfied, 'Tis a
fine bauble, ma'am,' cried he, 'but I don't much understand those
things; and there's nobody here can tell me what it's worth. I'd rather
have my money, if you please.'

Weakened now in body, as well as spirits, she burst into tears. Alas!
she thought, how little do my friends conjecture to what I am reduced!
She offered, however, the watch, and the countenance of Mr. Marl lost
its gloom.

'This,' said he, 'is something like! A gold watch one may be sure to get
one's own for; but such a thing as that may'n't fetch six-pence, fine as
it looks.'

Mrs. Marl objected to keeping both; but her husband said he saw no harm
in it; and Camilla begged her note might be sent without delay.

A labourer, after some search, was found, who undertook, for handsome
pay, to carry it on foot to the rectory.




CHAPTER IX

_A Spectacle_


The messenger returned not till midnight; what, then, was the
consternation of Camilla that he brought no answer! She suspected he had
not found the house; she doubted if the letter had been delivered; but
he affirmed he had put it into the hands of a maid-servant, though, as
it was late, he had come away directly, and not thought of waiting for
any answer.

It is not very early in life we learn how little is performed, for which
no precaution is taken. Care is the offspring of disappointment; and
sorrow and repentance commonly hang upon its first lessons. Unused to
transact any sort of business for herself, she had expected, in sending
a letter, an answer as a thing of course, and had now only herself to
blame for not having ordered him to stay. She consoled herself, however,
that she was known to be but nine miles distant from the rectory, and
that any commands could be conveyed to her nearly in an hour.

What they might be, became now, therefore, her sole anxiety. Would not
her Mother write? After an avowal such as she had made of her desolate,
if not dying condition, would she not pardon and embrace her? Was it
not even possible she might come herself?

This idea mingled emotions of a contrariety scarcely supportable. 'O
how,' she cried, 'shall I see her? Can joy blend with such terrour? Can
I wish her approach, yet not dare to meet her eye?--that eye which never
yet has looked at me, but to beam with bright kindness!--though a
kindness that, even from my childhood, seemed to say, Camilla, be
blameless--or you break your Mother's heart!... my poor unhappy Mother!
she has always seemed to have a presentiment, I was born to bring her to
sorrow!'

Expectation being now, for this night, wholly dead, the excess of her
bodily fatigue urged her to take some repose: but her ever eager
imagination made her apprehensive her friends might find her too well,
and suspect her representation was but to alarm them into returning
kindness. A fourth night, therefore, passed without sleep, or the
refreshment of taking off her cloaths; and by the time the morning sun
shone in upon her apartment, she was too seriously disordered to make
her illness require the aid of fancy. She was full of fever, faint,
pallid, weak, and shaken by nervous tremors. 'I think,' she cried, 'I am
now certainly going; and never was death so welcomed by one so young. It
will end in soft peace my brief, but stormy passage, and I shall owe to
its solemn call the sacred blessing of my offended Mother!'

Tranquillised by this hope, and this idea, she now lost all sufferings
but those of disease: her mind grew calm, her spirits serene: all fears
gave way to the certainty of soothing kindness, all grief was buried in
the solemnity of expected dissolution.

But this composure outlived not the first hours of the morning; as they
vainly advanced, producing no loved presence, no letter, no summons;
solicitude revived, disappointment sunk her heart, and dread preyed
again upon her nerves. She started at every sound; every breath of wind
seemed portentous; she listened upon the stairs; she dragged her feeble
limbs to the parlour, to be nearer at hand; she forced them back again
to her bed-room, to strain her aching eyes out of the window; but still
no voice demanded her, and no person approached.

Peggy, who repeatedly came to tell her the hour, now assured her it was
dinner time: unable to eat, she was heedless of the hint this conveyed,
and it obtained from her no orders, till Peggy gave her innocently to
understand the expectations of her host and hostess; but when, at five
o'clock, the table was served, all force and courage forsook her. To be
left thus to herself, when her situation was known; to be abandoned at
an inn where she had confessed she thought herself dying; 'My Mother,'
she cried, 'cannot forgive me! my Father himself deserts me! O Edgar!
you did well to fly so unhallowed a connexion!'

She left her dinner for Peggy, and crawling up stairs, cast herself upon
the bed, with a desperate supplication she might rise from it no more.
'The time,' cried she, 'is past for consolation, and dead for hope! my
parents' own prayers have been averted, and their prognostics fulfilled.
_May the dread forfeiture_, said my dearest Father, _not extend through
my daughters_!--Alas! Lionel himself has not brought upon him a disgrace
such as I have done!--_May Heaven_, said my honoured Mother, _spare me
evil under your shape at least_!--but under that it has come to her the
most heavily!'

Dissolving, then, in sorrowing regret, recollections of maternal
tenderness bathed her pillow with her tears, and reversing all the
inducements to her sad resignation, abolished every wish but to fall
again at the parental feet. 'To see,' cried she, 'once more, the dear
authors of my being! to receive their forgiveness, their blessing ... to
view again their honoured countenances!--to hear once more their loved
speech.... Alas! was it I that fled the voice of my Mother? That voice
which, till that moment, had been music to my mind! and never reached my
ear, but as the precursor of all kindness! why did I not sooner at once
kneel at her feet, and seek my lost path under my first and best guide?'

Shocked and contrite in this tardy view of the step she ought to have
taken, she now languished to petition for pardon even for an offence
unknown; and rising, took up a pen to relate the whole transaction. But
her head was confused, and the attempt shewed her she was more ill than
she had even herself suspected. She thought all rapidly advancing, and
enthusiastically rejoiced.

Yet a second time she took the pen; but it had not touched the paper,
when a buzzing, confused, stifled sort of noise from without drew her to
the window.

She then perceived an immense crowd of people approaching slowly, and
from a distance, towards the inn.

As they advanced, she was struck to hear no encrease of noise, save from
the nearer trampling of feet. No voice was distinguishable; no one
spoke louder than the rest; they seemed even to tread the ground with
caution. They consisted of labourers, workmen, beggars, women, and
children, joined by some accidental passengers: yet the general 'hum of
many' was all that was heard; they were silent though numerous, solemn
though mixt.

As they came near, she thought she perceived something in the midst of
them like a bier, and caught a glimpse of a gentleman's habit. Startled,
she drew in; but soon, upon another view, discerned clearly a
well-dressed man, stretched out his full length, and apparently dead.

Recoiling, shuddering, she hastily shut the window, 'Yet why,' she
cried, the next moment, 'and whence this emotion? Is not death what I am
meeting?--seeking?--desiring?--what I court? what I pray for?'

She sighed, walked feebly up and down the room, breathed hard and with
effort, and then forced herself again to open the window, determined to
contemplate steadily the anticipating object of her fervent demand.

Yet not without severe self-compulsion she flung up again the sash; but
when she looked out, the crowd alone remained; the bier was gone.

Whether carried on, or brought into the house, she now wished to know,
with some particulars, of whom it might be, and what belonged to so
strange and horrible an appearance.

She rang for little Peggy; but Peggy came not. She rang again, but no
one answered the bell. She opened her door, meaning to descend to her
little parlour for information; but the murmuring buzz she had before
heard upon the road, was now within the house, which seemed filled with
people, all busy and occupied, yet speaking low, and appearing to
partake of a general awe.

She could not venture to encounter so many spectators; she shut her
door, to wait quietly till this first commotion should be passed.

This was not for more than an hour; when observing, from her window,
that the crowd was dispersed, she again listened at the door, and found
that the general disturbance was succeeded by a stillness the most
profound.

She then rang again, and little Peggy appeared, but looking pale and
much frightened.

Camilla asked what had been the matter.

'O ma'am,' she answered, crying, 'here's been murder! A gentleman has
been murdered--and nobody knows who he is, nor who has done it!'

She then related that he had been found dead in a wood hard by, and one
person calling another, and another, he had been brought to the inn to
be owned.

'And is he here now?' with an involuntary shudder asked Camilla.

Yes, she answered, but her mistress had ordered her not to own it, for
fear of frightening the young lady; and said he would soon be carried
away.

The tale was shocking, and, though scarce conscious why, Camilla desired
Peggy to stay with her.

The little girl was most willing; but she was presently called down
stairs; and Camilla, with strong shame of nameless fears and weak
horrour, strove to meditate to some use upon this scene.

But her mind was disturbed, her composure was gone; her thoughts were
broken, abrupt, unfixed, and all upon which she could dwell with any
steadiness, was the desire of one more appeal to her family, that yet
they would consent to see her, if they received it in time; or that they
should know in what frame of mind she expired, should it bring them too
late.

With infinite difficulty, she then wrote the following lines; every
bending down of her head making it ache nearly to distraction.

     'Adieu, my dearest parents, if again it is denied me to see you!
     Adieu, my darling sisters! my tender uncle! I ask not now your
     forgiveness; I know I shall possess it fully; my Father never
     withheld it,--and my Mother, if against herself alone I had sinned,
     would have been equally lenient; would have probed but to heal,
     have corrected, but to pardon. O tenderest of united partners!
     bless, then, the early ashes of your erring, but adoring daughter,
     who, from the moment she inflicted one wound upon your bosoms, has
     found existence intolerable, and prays now but for her earthly
     release!

     'CAMILLA TYROLD.'

This she gave to Peggy, with a charge that, at any expence, it might be
conveyed to the rectory at Etherington immediately.

'And shall I not,' thought she, when she had rested from this exertion,
'and may I not at such a period, with innocence, with propriety, write
one poor word to him who was so near becoming first to me in all
things?'

She again took her pen, but had only written 'O Edgar! in this last
farewell be all displeasure forgotten!--from the first to the final
moment of my short life, dear and sole possessor of my heart!'--when the
shooting anguish of her head stopt her hand, and hastily writing the
direction, lest she could write no more, she, with difficulty added,
'_Not to be delivered till I am dead_;' and was forced to lie down, and
shut all light from her strained and aching eyes.

Peggy presently brought her word that all the horses were out, and every
body was engaged, and that the note could not possibly go till the next
day.

Extremely disappointed, she begged to speak with Mrs. Marl; who sent her
word she was much engaged, but would wait upon her as soon as she was
able.

Vainly, however, she expected her; it grew dusk; she felt herself worse
every moment; flushed with fever, or shivering with cold, and her head
nearly split asunder with agony. She determined to go once more down
stairs, and offer to her host himself any reward he could claim, so he
would undertake the immediate delivery of the letter.

With difficulty she arose; with slow steps, and tottering, she
descended; but as she approached her little parlour, she heard voices in
it, and stopt. They spoke low, and she could not distinguish them. The
door of an adjoining room was open, and by its stillness empty; she
resolved to ring there, to demand to speak with Mr. Marl. But as she
dragged her weak limbs into the apartment, she saw, stretched out upon a
large table, the same form, dress, and figure she had seen upon the
bier.

Starting, almost fainting, but too much awed to call out, she held
trembling by the door.

The bodily feebleness which impeded her immediate retreat, gave force to
a little mental reflexion: Do I shrink thus, thought she, from what so
earnestly I have prayed to become ... and so soon I must represent ... a
picture of death?

She now impelled herself towards the table. A cloth covered the face;
she stood still, hesitating if she had power to remove it: but she
thought it a call to her own self-examination; and though mentally
recoiling, advanced. When close to the table, she stood still, violently
trembling. Yet she would not allow herself to retreat. She now put forth
her hand; but it shook suspended over the linen, without courage to draw
it aside. At length, however, with enthusiastic self-compulsion,
slightly and fearfully, she lifted it up ... but instantly, and with
instinctive horrour, snatched her hand away, and placed it before her
shut eyes.

She felt, now, she had tried herself beyond her courage, and, deeply
moved, was fain to retreat; but in letting down her hand, to see her
way, she found she had already removed the linen from a part of the
face, and the view she unintentionally caught almost petrified her.

For some instants she stood motionless, from want of strength to stir,
but with closed eyes, that feared to confirm their first surmise; but
when, turning from the ghastly visage, she attempted, without another
glance, to glide away, an unavoidable view of the coat, which suddenly
she recognized, put her conjecture beyond all doubt, that she now saw
dead before her the husband of her sister.

Resentment, in gentle minds, however merited and provoked, survives not
the breath of the offender. With the certainty no further evil can be
practised, perishes vengeance against the culprit, though not hatred of
the guilt: and though, with the first movement of sisterly feelings, she
would have said, Is Eugenia then released? the awe was too great, his
own change was too solemn. He was now where no human eye could follow,
no human judgment overtake him.

Again she endeavoured to escape the dreadful scene, but her shaking
limbs were refractory, and would not support her. The mortal being
requires use to be reconciled to its own visible mortality; dismal is
its view; grim, repulsive, terrific its aspect.

But no sooner was her head turned from the dire object, than alarm for
her sister took possession of her soul; and with what recollection she
possessed, she determined to go to Belfont.

An idea of any active service invigorates the body as well as the mind.
She made another effort to depart, but a glance she knew not how to
avoid shewed her, upon the coat of the right arm and right side of this
ghastly figure, large splashes of blood.

With horrour thus accumulate, she now sunk upon the floor, inwardly
exclaiming: He is murdered indeed!... and where may be Eugenia?

A woman who had in charge to watch by the corpse, but who had privately
stolen out for some refreshment, now returning, saw with affright the
new person in the room, and ran to call Mrs. Marl; who, alarmed also at
the sight of the young lady, and at her deplorable condition, assisted
the woman to remove her from the apartment, and convey her to the
chamber, where she was laid down upon the bed, though she resisted being
undressed, and was seized with an aguish shivering fit, while her eyes
seemed emitting sparks of fire.

'It is certainly now,' cried she, 'over, and hence I move no more!'

The joy with which, a few minutes before, she would have welcomed such a
belief, was now converted into an awe unspeakable, undefinable. The wish
of death is commonly but disgust of life, and looks forward to nothing
further than release from worldly care:--but the something yet
beyond ... the something unknown, untried, yet to come, _the bourne
whence no traveller returns_ to prepare succeeding passengers for what
they may expect, now abruptly presented itself to her consideration, ...
but came to scare, not to soothe.

All here, she cried, I have wished to leave ... but ... have I fitted
myself for what I am to meet?

Conscience now suddenly took the reins from the hands of imagination,
and a mist was cleared away that hitherto, obscuring every duty by
despondence, had hidden from her own perceptions the faulty basis of her
desire. Conscience took the reins--and a mist was cleared away that had
concealed from her view the cruelty of this egotism.

Those friends, it cried, which thus impatiently thou seekest to quit,
have they not loved, cherished, reared thee with the most exquisite care
and kindness? If they are offended, who has offended them? If thou art
now abandoned, may it not be from necessity, or from accident? When thou
hast inflicted upon them the severe pain of harbouring anger against
what is so dear to them, wouldst thou load them with regret that they
manifested any sensibility of thy errours? Hast thou plunged thy house
in calamity, and will no worthier wish occur to thee, than to leave it
to its sorrows and distress, with the aggravating pangs of causing thy
afflicting, however blamable self-desertion? of coming to thee ...
perhaps even now!... with mild forgiveness, and finding thee a
self-devoted corpse?--not fallen, indeed, by the profane hand of daring
suicide, but equally self-murdered through wilful self-neglect.

Had the voice been allowed sound which spoke this dire admonition, it
could scarcely with more horrour, or keener repentance have struck her.
'That poor man,' she cried, 'now delivering up his account, by whatever
hand he perished, since less principled, less instructed than myself,
may be criminal, perhaps, with less guilt!'

The thought now of her Father,--the piety he had striven to inculcate
into her mind; his resignation to misfortune, and his trust through
every suffering, all came home to her heart, with religious veneration;
and making prayer succeed to remorse, guided her to what she knew would
be his guidance if present, and she desired to hear the service for the
sick.

Peggy could not read; Mrs. Marl was too much engaged; the whole house
had ample employment, and her request was unattainable.

She then begged they would procure her a prayer-book, that she might try
to read herself; but her eyes, heavy, aching, and dim, glared upon the
paper, without distinguishing the print from the margin.

'I am worse!' she cried faintly, 'my wish comes fast upon me! Ah! not
for my punishment let it finally arrive!'

With terror, however, even more than with malady, she now trembled. The
horrible sight she had witnessed, brought death before her in a new
view. She feared she had been presumptuous; she felt that her
preparations had all been worldly, her impatience wholly selfish. She
called back her wish, with penitence and affright: her agitation became
torture, her regret was aggravated to remorse, her grief to despair.




CHAPTER X

_A Vision_


When the first violence of this paroxysm of sorrow abated, Camilla again
strove to pray, and found that nothing so much stilled her. Yet, her
faculties confused, hurried, and in anguish, permitted little more than
incoherent ejaculations. Again she sighed for her Father; again the
spirit of his instructions recurred, and she enquired who was the
clergyman of the parish, and if he would be humane enough to come and
pray by one who had no claim upon him as a parishioner.

Peggy said he was a very good gentleman, and never refused even the
poorest person, that begged his attendance.

'O go to him, then,' cried she, 'directly! Tell him a sick and helpless
stranger implores that he will read to her the prayers for the dying!...
Should I yet live ... they will compose and make me better;--if not ...
they will give me courage for my quick exit.'

Peggy went forth, and she lay her beating head upon the pillow, and
endeavoured to quiet her nerves for the sacred ceremony she demanded.

It was dark, and she was alone; the corpse she had just quitted seemed
still bleeding in full view. She closed her eyes, but still saw it; she
opened them, but it was always there. She felt nearly stiff with
horrour, chilled, frozen, with speechless apprehension.

A slumber, feverish nearly to delirium, at length surprised her harassed
faculties; but not to afford them rest. Death, in a visible figure,
ghastly, pallid, severe, appeared before her, and with its hand, sharp
and forked, struck abruptly upon her breast. She screamed--but it was
heavy as cold, and she could not remove it. She trembled; she shrunk
from its touch; but it had iced her heart-strings. Every vein was
congealed; every stiffened limb stretched to its full length, was hard
as marble: and when again she made a feeble effort to rid her oppressed
lungs of the dire weight that had fallen upon them, a voice hollow,
deep, and distant, dreadfully pierced her ear, calling out: 'Thou hast
but thy own wish! Rejoice, thou murmurer, for thou diest!' Clearer,
shriller, another voice quick vibrated in the air: 'Whither goest thou,'
it cried, 'and whence comest thou?'

A voice from within, over which she thought she had no controul, though
it seemed issuing from her vitals, low, hoarse, and tremulous, answered,
'Whither I go, let me rest! Whence I come from let me not look back!
Those who gave me birth, I have deserted; my life, my vital powers I
have rejected.' Quick then another voice assailed her, so near, so loud,
so terrible ... she shrieked at its horrible sound. 'Prematurely,' it
cried, 'thou art come, uncalled, unbidden; thy task unfulfilled, thy
peace unearned. Follow, follow me! the Records of Eternity are opened.
Come! write with thy own hand thy claims, thy merits to mercy!' A
repelling self-accusation instantaneously overwhelmed her. 'O, no! no!
no!' she exclaimed, 'let me not sign my own miserable insufficiency!' In
vain was her appeal. A force unseen, yet irresistible, impelled her
forward. She saw the immense volumes of Eternity, and her own hand
involuntarily grasped a pen of iron, and with a velocity uncontroulable
wrote these words: 'Without resignation, I have prayed for death: from
impatience of displeasure, I have desired annihilation: to dry my own
eyes, I have left ... pitiless, selfish, unnatural!... a Father the
most indulgent, a Mother almost idolizing, to weep out their's!' Her
head would have sunk upon the guilty characters; but her eye-lids
refused to close, and kept them glaring before her. They became, then,
illuminated with burning sulphur. She looked another way; but they
partook of the same motion; she cast her eyes upwards, but she saw the
characters still; she turned from side to side; but they were always her
object. Loud again sounded the same direful voice: 'These are thy
deserts; write now thy claims:--and next,--and quick,--turn over the
immortal leaves, and read thy doom....' 'Oh, no!' she cried, 'Oh,
no!... O, let me yet return! O, Earth, with all thy sorrows, take,
take me once again, that better I may learn to work my way to that last
harbour, which rejecting the criminal repiner, opens its soft bosom to
the firm, though supplicating sufferer!' In vain again she
called;--pleaded, knelt, wept in vain. The time, she found, was past;
she had slighted it while in her power; it would return to her no more;
and a thousand voices at once, with awful vibration, answered aloud to
every prayer, 'Death was thy own desire!' Again, unlicensed by her will,
her hand seized the iron instrument. The book was open that demanded her
claims. She wrote with difficulty ... but saw that her pen made no mark!
She looked upon the page, when she thought she had finished, ... but
the paper was blank!... Voices then, by hundreds, by thousands, by
millions, from side to side, above, below, around, called out, echoed
and re-echoed, 'Turn over, turn over ... and read thy eternal doom!' In
the same instant, the leaf, untouched, burst open ... and ... she awoke.
But in a trepidation so violent, the bed shook under her, the cold
sweat, in large drops, fell from her forehead, and her heart still
seemed labouring under the adamantine pressure of the inflexibly cold
grasp of death. So exalted was her imagination, so confused were all her
thinking faculties, that she stared with wild doubt whether then, or
whether now, what she experienced were a dream.

In this suspensive state, fearing to call, to move, or almost to
breathe, she remained, in perfect stillness, and in the dark, till
little Peggy crept softly into the chamber.

Certain then of her situation, 'This has been,' she cried, 'only a
vision--but my conscience has abetted it, and I cannot shake it off.'

When she became calmer, and further recollected herself, she anxiously
enquired if the clergyman would not come.

Peggy, hesitatingly, acknowledged he had not been sent for; her mistress
had imagined the request proceeded from a disturbance of mind, owing to
the sight of the corpse, and said she was sure, after a little sleep, it
would be forgotten.

'Alas!' said Camilla, disappointed, 'it is more necessary than ever! my
senses are wandering; I seem hovering between life and death--Ah! let
not my own fearful fancies absorb this hour of change, which religious
rites should consecrate!'

She then told Peggy to plead for her to her mistress, and assure her
that nothing else, after the dreadful shock she had received, could
still her mind.

Mrs. Marl, not long after came into the room herself; and enquiring how
she did, said, if she was really bent upon such a melancholy thing, the
clergyman had luckily just called, and would read the service to her
directly, if it would give her any comfort.

'O, great and infinite comfort!' she cried, and begged he might come
immediately, and read to her the prayer for those of whom there is but
small hope of recovery. She would have risen, that she might kneel; but
her limbs would not second her desire, and she was obliged to lie still
upon the outside of the bed. Peggy drew the curtains, to shade her
eyes, as a candle was brought into the room; but when she heard Mrs.
Marl say: 'Come in, Sir,'--and 'here's the prayer-book;' overpowered
with tender recollection of her Father, to whom such offices were
frequent, she burst into an agony of tears, and hid her face upon the
pillow.

She soon, however, recovered, and the solemnity of the preparation
overawed her sorrow. Mrs. Marl placed the light as far as possible from
the bed, and when Camilla waved her hand in token of being ready, said,
'Now, Sir, if you please.'

He complied, though not immediately; but no sooner had he begun, no
sooner devoutly, yet tremblingly, pronounced, _O Father of Mercies!_
than a faint scream issued from the bed.--

He stopt; but she did not speak; and after a short pause, he resumed:
but not a second sentence was pronounced when she feebly ejaculated, 'Ah
heaven!' and the book fell from his hands.

She strove to raise her head; but could not; she opened, however, the
side curtain, to look out; he advanced, at the same moment, to the foot
of the bed ... fixed his eyes upon her face, and in a voice that seemed
to come from his soul, exclaimed, 'Camilla!'

With a mental emotion that, for an instant, restored her strength, she
drew again the curtain, covered up her face, and sobbed even audibly,
while the words, 'O Edgar!' vainly sought vent.

He attempted not to unclose the curtain she had drawn, but with a deep
groan, dropping upon his knees on the outside, cried, 'Great God!' but
checking himself, hastily arose, and motioning to Mrs. Marl and to
Peggy, to move out of hearing, said, through the curtain; 'O Camilla!
what dire calamity has brought this about?--speak, I implore!--why are
you here?--why alone? speak! speak!'

He heard she was weeping, but received no answer, and with energy next
to torture exclaimed; 'Refuse not to trust me!--recollect our long
friendship--forgive--forget its alienation!--By all you have ever
valued--by all your wonted generosity--I call--I appeal.... Camilla!
Camilla!--your silence rends my soul!'

Camilla had no utterance, yet could not resist this urgency, and gently
through the opening of the curtain, put forth her feeble hand.

He seemed affected to agony; he held it between each of his own, and
while softly he uttered, 'O ever--unchangeably generous Camilla!' she
felt it moistened with his tears.

Too weak for the new sensation this excited, she drew it away, and the
violence of her emotion menacing an hysteric fit, Mrs. Marl came back to
her, and wringing his hands as he looked around the room, he tore
himself away.




CHAPTER XI

_Means to still Agitation_


Declining all aid, Camilla continued in the same position, wrapt up,
coveting the dark, and stifling sighs that were rising into sobs, till
she heard a gentle tap at her door.

She started, but still hid herself: Mrs. Marl was already gone; Peggy
answered the summons, and returned to the bedside, with a note in her
hand, begging Camilla to take it, as it came from the gentleman who was
to have read the prayers.

'Is he then gone?' cried she, in a voice announcing deep disappointment.

'Yes, he went directly, my dear Lady.'

She threw the covering from her face, and with uplifted hands,
exclaimed; 'O Edgar! could you see me thus ... and leave me?'--Yet
eagerly seizing the letter, called for a candle, and strove to read it.
But the characters seemed double to her weak and dazzled eyes, and she
was forced to relinquish the attempt. She pressed it to her bosom, and
again covered herself up.

Something, nevertheless, like internal revival, once more, to her own
unspeakable amazement, began fluttering at her breast. She had seen the
beloved of her heart--dearer to her far than the life she thought
herself resigning; seen him penetrated to anguish by her situation,
awakened to the tenderest recollections, and upon her hand had dropt a
testimony of his sensibility, that, dead as she had thought herself to
the world, its views, its hopes, its cares, passed straight to her
heart--that wonderful repository of successive emotions, whence the
expulsion of one species of interest but makes way for the entrance of
another; and which vainly, while yet in mortal life, builds, even from
hour to hour, upon any chasm of mortal solicitude.

While wrapt up in this reverie, poignantly agitating, yet undefinably
soothing, upon the return of Edgar to England, and his astonishing
appearance in her room, her attention was again aroused by another
gentle tap at the door.

Peggy opened it, and left the room; but soon came back, to beg an answer
to the note, for which the gentleman was waiting upon the stairs.

'Waiting?' she repeated, in extreme trepidation, 'is he not then gone?'

'No ma'am, only out of the room; he can't go away without the answer, he
says.'

A sensation of pleasure was now so new to Camilla, as almost to be too
potent either for her strength or her intellects. She doubted all around
her, doubted what she heard, doubted even her existence. Edgar, could it
be Edgar who was waiting for an answer?... who was under the same
roof--who had been in the same room--who was now separated from her but
by a thin wainscot?--'O no, no, no!' she cried, 'my senses all delude
me! one vision after another beguiles my deranged imagination!' Yet she
called Peggy to her again, again asked her if it were indeed true; and,
bidding her once more bring the candle, the new spirit with which she
was invigorated, enabled her to persevere in her efforts, till she made
out the following lines; which were sealed, but not directed.

     'The sorrow, the tumult of my soul, I attempt not to
     paint.--Forgive, O Camilla! an intrusion which circumstances made
     resistless. Deign to bury in kind oblivion all remembrance but of
     our early friendship--our intuitive attachment, our confidence,
     esteem, and happy juvenile intercourse; and under such
     auspices--animated as they are innocent--permit me to hasten Mrs.
     Tyrold to this spot, or trust me--I conjure--with the mystery of
     this dreadful desolation--O Camilla!--by all the scenes that have
     passed between us--by the impression indelible they have engraved
     upon my heart, wound not the most faithful of your friends by
     rejecting his services!

     E. M.'

Dissolved in tears of tenderness, relieving, nay delightful, she
immediately sent him word that she accepted his kind office, and should
feel eternal gratitude if he would acquaint her friends with her
situation.

Peggy soon informed her the gentleman was gone; and she then inquired
why he had been brought to her as a clergyman.

The little girl gave the account with the utmost simplicity. Her
mistress, she said, knew the gentleman very well, who was 'Squire
Mandlebert, and lived at a great house not many miles off; and had just
alighted to bait his horses, as she went to ask about sending for the
clergyman. He inquired who was ill; and her Mistress said it was a Lady
who had gone out of her mind, by seeing a dead body, and raved of
nothing but having prayers read to her; which her husband would do, when
his house was clear, if the humour lasted: for they had nobody to send
three miles off; and by drawing the curtains, she would not know if it
was a clergyman or not. The young 'Squire then asked if she was a lodger
or a traveller, and her mistress answered: 'She's a traveller, Sir; and
if it had not been for Peggy's knowing her, we should have been afraid
who she might be; for she stays here, and never pays us; only she has
given us a watch and a locket for pledges.' Then he asked on some more
questions, continued Peggy, and presently desired to see the locket; and
when he had looked at it, he turned as white as a sheet, and said he
must see the lady. Her mistress said she was laid down upon the bed, and
she could not send in a gentleman; unless it was her husband, just to
quiet her poor head by reading her a prayer or too. So then the 'Squire
said he'd take the prayer book and read to her himself, if she'd spare
time to go in the room first, and shut up the curtains. So her mistress
said no, at first; but Peggy said the poor lady fretted on so badly,
that presently up they came together.

Ah! dear darling locket! internally cried Camilla, how from the first
have I loved--how to the last will I prize it! Ah dear darling locket!
how for ever--while I live--will I wear it in my bosom!

A calm now took place of her agonies that made her seem in a renovated
existence, till sleep, by gentle approaches, stole upon her again: not
to bring to her the dread vision which accompanied its first return; nor
yet to allow her tranquil repose. A softer form appeared before her;
more afflictive, though not so horrible; it was the form of her Mother;
all displeasure removed from her penetrating countenance; no longer in
her dying child viewing the child that had offended her; yet while
forgiving and embracing, seeing her expire in her arms.

She awakened, affrighted,--she started, she sat upright; she called
aloud upon her mother, and wildly looking round, thought she saw her at
the foot of the bed.

She crossed her eyes with her hands, to endeavour to clear her sight:
but the object only seemed more distinct. She bent forward, seeking
conviction, yet incredulous, though still meeting the same form.

Sighing, at last, from fruitless fatigue; ''Tis wondrous odd,' she
cried, 'but I now never know when I wake or when I sleep!'

The form glided away; but with motion so palpable, she could no longer
believe herself played upon by imagination. Awe-imprest, and
wonder-struck, she softly opened her side curtain to look after it. It
had stopt by a high chest of drawers, against which, leaning its head
upon its arm, it stood erect, but seemed weeping. She could not discern
the face; but the whole figure had the same sacred resemblance.

The pulses of her head beat now with so much violence, she was forced to
hold her temples. Doubt, dread, and hope seized every faculty at once;
till, at length, the upraised arm of the form before her dropt, and she
distinctly saw the profile: 'It is herself! it is my Mother!' she
screamed, rather than pronounced, and threw herself from the bed to the
floor.

'Yes! it is your Mother!' was repeated, in a tone solemn and
penetrating;--'to what a scene, O Camilla, returned! her house
abandoned ... her son in exile ... her Eugenia lost ... her husband, the
prop of all!... where she dare not name!... and thou, the child of her
bosom!... the constant terrour, yet constant darling of her soul ...
where, and how, does she see, does she meet thee, again--O Camilla!'

Then tenderly, though with anguish, bending over her, she would have
raised, and helped her to return to the bed: but Camilla would not be
aided; she would not lift up her eyes; her face sought the ground, where
leaning it upon her hands, without desiring to speak, without wishing to
stir, torn by self-reproaches that made her deem herself unworthy to
live, she remained speechless, immoveable.

'Repress, repress,' said Mrs. Tyrold, gently, yet firmly, 'these strong
feelings, uselessly torturing to us both. Raise your head, my poor
girl ... raise ... and repose it upon the breast of your Mother.'

'Of my Mother?' repeated Camilla, in a voice hardly audible; 'have I a
Mother--who again will own the blast of her hopes and happiness?--the
disgrace, the shame of the best and most injured of Fathers!'

'Let us pray,' said Mrs. Tyrold, with a sigh, 'that these evils may pass
away, and by salutary exertions, not desponding repinings, earn back our
fugitive peace.'

Again she then would have raised her; but Camilla sunk from all
assistance: 'No,' she cried, 'I am unworthy your lenity--I am unable
even to bear it, ...'

'Camilla,' said Mrs. Tyrold, steadily, 'it is time to conquer this
impetuous sensibility, which already, in its effects, has nearly broken
all our hearts. With what horrour have we missed--with what agony sought
you! Now then, that at length, we find you, excite not new terrour, by
consigning yourself to willing despair.'

Struck with extreme dread of committing yet further wrong, she lifted up
her head, with intention to have risen; but the weak state of her body,
forgotten by herself, and by Mrs. Tyrold unsuspected, took its turn for
demanding attention.

'Alas! my poor Child,' cried she, 'what horrible havock has this short
absence produced! O Camilla!... with a soul of feeling like
yours,--strong, tender, generous, and but too much alive, how is it you
can thus have forgotten the first ties of your duty, and your heart, and
have been wrought upon by your own sorrows to forget the sorrows you
inflict? Why have you thus fled us? thus abandoned yourself to
destruction? Was our anger to be set in competition with our misery? Was
the fear of displeasure, from parents who so tenderly love you, to be
indulged at the risk of never ending regret to the most lenient of
Fathers? and nearly the loss of senses to a Mother who, from your birth,
has idolized you in her inmost soul?'

Bending then over her, she folded her in her arms; where Camilla,
overpowered with the struggles of joy and contrition, sunk nearly
lifeless.

Mrs. Tyrold, seeing now her bodily feebleness, put her to bed, with
words of soothing tenderness, no longer blended with retrospective
investigation; conjuring her to be calm, to remember whose peace and
happiness were encircled in her life and health, and to remit to her
fuller strength all further interesting discourse.

'Ah, my Mother!' cried Camilla, 'tell me first--if the time may ever
come when with truth you can forgive me?'

'Alas, my darling Child!' answered the generous Mother, 'I have myself
now to pardon that I forgave thee not at first!'

Camilla seemed transported to another region; with difficulty Mrs.
Tyrold could hold her in her bed, though hovering over her pillow with
incessant caresses: but to raise her eye only to meet that of her
Mother--not as her fertile terrour had prophesied, darting unrelenting
ire, but softly solicitous, and exquisitely kind; to feel one loved hand
anxiously upon her forehead, and to glue her own lips upon the other; to
find fears that had made existence insupportable, transformed into
security that rendered it delicious;--with a floating, uncertain, yet
irrepressible hope, that to Edgar she owed this restoration, caused a
revulsion in all her feelings, that soon operated upon her frame--not,
indeed, with tranquillity, but with rapture approaching to
delirium:--when suddenly, a heavy, lumbering noise, appalled her. 'Ah,
my Mother!' she faintly cried, 'our beloved Eugenia!... that noise ...
where--and how--is Eugenia?--The wretched Mr. Bellamy is no more!'

Mrs. Tyrold answered, she was acquainted with the whole dreadful
business, and would relate it in a season of more serenity; but
meanwhile, as repose, she well knew, never associated with suspence, she
satisfied immediate anxiety, by assurances that Eugenia was safe, and at
Etherington.

This was a joy scarce inferior to that which so recently had transported
her: but Mrs. Tyrold, gathering from the good Peggy, that she had not
been in bed, nor scarce tasted food, since she had been at the
half-way-house, refused all particulars, till she had been refreshed
with nourishment and rest. The first immediately was ordered, and
immediately taken; and Mrs. Tyrold, to propitiate the second, insisted
upon total silence, and prepared to sit up with her all night.

Long as the extreme agitation of her spirits distanced

    '_Tir'd Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep_',[7]

[Footnote 7: Young]

the change from so much misery to heart-felt peace and joy, with the
judicious nursing and restoratives devised by Mrs. Tyrold, for her weak
and half famished frame, made her slumber, when at length, it arrived,
lasted so long that, though broken by frequent starts, she awoke not
till late the next morning.

Her eyes then opened upon a felicity that again made her think herself
in a new world. Her Mother, leaning over her, was watching her breathe,
with hands uplifted for her preservation, and looks of fondness which
seemed to mark that her happiness depended upon its being granted; but
as she raised herself, to throw her arms around the loved maternal neck,
the shadow of another form, quickly, yet gently receding, struck her
sight; ... 'Ah, Heaven!' she exclaimed, 'who is that?'

'Will you be good,' said Mrs. Tyrold, gently, 'be tranquil, be composed,
and earn that I should tell you who has been watching by you this hour?'

Camilla could not answer; certain, now, who it must be, her emotions
became again uncontrollable; her horrour, her remorse, her
self-abhorrence revived, and agonizingly exclaiming, ''Tis my
Father!--O, where can I hide my head?' She strove again to envelop
herself with the bed-curtain from all view.

'Here--in his own arms--upon his own breast you shall hide it,' said Mr.
Tyrold, returning to the bed-side, 'and all now shall be forgotten, but
thankfulness that our afflictions seem finding their period.'

'O my Father! my Father!' cried Camilla, forgetting her situation, in
her desire to throw herself at his feet, 'can you speak to me thus,
after the woe--the disgrace I have brought upon you?--I deserve your
malediction!... I expected to be shut out from your heart,--I thought
myself abandoned--I looked forward only in death to receiving your
forgiveness!--'

Mrs. Tyrold held her still, while her Father now blessed and embraced
her, each uttering, in the same moment, whatever was softest to console
her: but all her quick feelings were re-awakened beyond their power to
appease them; her penitence tortured, her very gratitude tore her to
pieces: 'O my Mother,' she cried, 'how do you forbear to spurn me? Can
you think of what is passed, and still pronounce your pardon? Will you
not draw it back at the sight of my injured Father? Are you not tempted
to think I deserve eternal banishment from you both?--and to repent that
you have not ordered it?'

'No, my dearest Child, no! I lament only that I took you not at once to
your proper security--to these arms, my Camilla, that now so fondly
infold you! to this bosom--my darling girl!--where my heart beats your
welcome!'

'You make me too--too happy! the change is almost killing! my Mother--my
dearest Mother!--I did not think you would permit me to ever call you so
again! My Father I knew would pardon me, for the chief suffering was his
own; but even he, I never expected could look at me thus benignly again!
and hardly--hardly would he have been tried, if the evil had been
reversed!'

Mr. Tyrold exhorted her to silent composure; but finding her agitation
over-power even her own efforts, he summoned her to join him in solemn
thanks for her restoration.

Awfully, though most gratefully, impressed by such a call, she checked
her emotion, and devoutly obeyed: and the short but pious ceremony
quieted her nerves, and calmed her mind.

The gentlest tranquillity then took place in her breast, of the
tumultuous joy which had first chaced her deadly affliction. The
soothing, however serious turn, given by devotion to her changed
sensations, softened the acute excess of rapture which mounted felicity
nearly to agony. More eloquent, as well as safer than any speech, was
the pause of deep gratitude, the silence of humble praise, which ensued.
Camilla, in each hand held one of each beloved Parent; alternately she
pressed them with grateful reverence to her lips, alternately her eye
sought each revered countenance, and received, in the beaming fondness
they emitted, a benediction that was balm to every woe.




CHAPTER XII

_Means to obtain a Boon_


Mr. Tyrold was soon, by urgent claims, forced to leave them; and
Camilla, with strong secret anxiety to know if Edgar had caused this
blest meeting, led to a general explanation upon past events.

And now, to her utter amazement, she found that her letter sent by the
labourer had never been received.

Mrs. Tyrold related, that she had no sooner read the first letter
addressed to her through Lavinia, than, softened and affected, she wrote
an answer of the utmost kindness to Belfont; desiring Camilla to
continue with her sister till called for by Miss Margland, in her return
home from Mrs. Macdersey. The visit, meanwhile to Cleves, had transpired
through Jacob, and, much touched by, yet much blaming her travelling
thus alone, she wrote to her a second time, charging her to remove no
more from Belfont without Miss Margland. But, on the preceding morning,
the first letter had been returned with a note from Eugenia, that her
sister had set out two days before for Etherington.

The moment of this intelligence, was the most dreadful to Mr. Tyrold and
herself of their lives. Every species of conjecture was horrible. He set
out instantly for Belfont, determining to make enquiries at every inn,
house, and cottage, by the way; but by taking, unfortunately, the road
through Alton, he had missed the half-way-house. In the evening, while,
with apprehensions surpassing all description, she was waiting some
news, a chaise drove up to the door. She flew out, but saw in it ...
alone, cold, trembling, and scarce in her senses, Eugenia. Instantly
imagining she came with tidings of fatal tendency concerning Camilla,
she started back, exclaiming, 'All, then, is over?' The chaise-door had
been opened; but Eugenia, shaking too violently to get out; only, and
faintly, answered, 'Yes! my Mother ... all is over!--' The mistake was
almost instantaneous death to her--though the next words of Eugenia
cleared it up, and led to her own dreadful narrative.

Bellamy, as soon as Camilla had left Belfont, had made a peremptory
demand that his wife should claim, as if for some purpose of her own, a
large sum of Sir Hugh. Her steady resistance sent him from the house in
a rage; and she saw no more of him till that day at noon, when he
returned in deeper, blacker wrath than she had ever yet seen; and vowed
that nothing less than her going in person to her uncle with his
request, should induce him ever to forgive her. When he found her
resolute in refusal, he ordered a chaise, and made her get into it,
without saying for what purpose. She saw they were travelling towards
Cleves, but he did not once speak, except where they changed horses,
till they came upon the cross-road, leading to the half-way-house.
Suddenly then, bidding the postillion stop at the end of a lane, he told
him he was going to look at a little farm, and, ordering him to wait,
made her alight and walk down it till they were out of sight of the man
and the carriage. Fiercely, then stopping short, 'Will you give me,' he
cried, 'your promise, upon oath, that you will ask your Uncle for the
money?' 'Indeed, Mr. Bellamy, I cannot!' she answered. 'Enough!' he
cried, and took from his pocket a pistol. 'Good Heaven,' she said, 'you
will not murder me?'--'I cannot live without the money myself,' he
answered, 'and why should I let you?' He then felt in his waistcoat
pocket, whence he took two bullets, telling her, she should have the
pleasure of seeing him load the pistol; and that when one bullet had
dispatched her, the other should disappoint the executioner. Horrour now
conquered her, and she solemnly promised to ask whatever he dictated. 'I
must hold the pistol to your ear,' cried he, 'while you take your oath.
See! 'tis loaded--This is no child's play.' He then lifted it up; but,
at the same moment, a distant voice exclaimed, 'Hold, villain! or you
are a dead man!' Starting, and meaning to hide it within his waistcoat,
his hand shook--the pistol went off--it shot him through the body, and
he dropt down dead. Without sense or motion, she fell by his side; and,
upon recovering, found herself again in the chaise. The postillion, who
knew her, had carried her thither, and brought her on to Etherington.
She then conjured that proper persons might go back with the driver, and
that her Father would have the benevolence to superintend all that could
be done that would be most respectfully decent.

The postillion acknowledged that it was himself who had cried, 'Hold,
villain! A suspicion of some mischief had occurred to him, from seeing
the end of a pistol jerk from the pocket of the gentleman, as he got out
of the chaise; and begging a man, who accidentally passed while he
waited, to watch his horses, he ran down a field by the side of the
lane, whence he heard the words: 'The pistol is loaded, and for no
child's play!' upon which, seeing it raised, and the young Lady shrink,
he called out. Yet Eugenia protested herself convinced that Bellamy had
no real design against either his own life or her's, though terrour, at
the moment, had conquered her: he had meant but to affright her into
consent, knowing well her word once given, with whatever violence torn
from her, would be held sacred. The rest was dreadful accident, or
Providence in that form playing upon himself his own toils. The pious
young Widow was so miserable at this shocking exit, and the shocking
manner in which the remains were left exposed, that her Mother had set
out herself to give orders in person, from the half-way-house, for
bringing thither the body, till Mr. Tyrold could give his own
directions. She found, however, that business already done. The man
called by the postillion had been joined by a party of labourers, just
leaving off work; those had gathered others; they had procured some
broad planks which served for a bier, and had humanely conveyed the body
to the inn, where the landlord was assured the postillion would come
back with some account of him, though little Peggy had only learnt in
general that he had been found murdered near a wood.

'Eugenia is just now,' said Mrs. Tyrold, in conclusion, 'plunged into an
abyss of ideas, frightful to her humanity, and oppressive to the
tenderness of her heart. Her nature is too noble to rejoice in a release
to herself, worked by means so horrible, and big with notions of
retribution for the wretched culprit, at which even vengeance the most
implacable might shudder. Nevertheless, all will imperceptibly pass
away, save the pity inherent in all good minds for vice and its
penalties. To know his abrupt punishment, and not to be shocked, would
be inhuman; but to grieve with any regard for a man of such principles
and conduct, would be an outrage to all that they have injured and
offended.'

This view of the transaction, by better reconciling Camilla to the
ultimate lot of her sister, brought her back to reflect upon her own.
Still she had not gathered with precision how she had been discovered.
To pronounce the name of Edgar was impossible; but after a long pause,
which Mrs. Tyrold had hoped was given again to repose, she ventured to
say, 'I have not yet heard, my dearest Mother, to what benign chance I
immediately owe my present unspeakable, unmerited happiness?'

Mrs. Tyrold looked at her a moment in silence, as if to read what her
question offered beyond its mere words: but she saw her eye hastily
withdrawn from the examination, and her cheeks suddenly enveloped with
the bed cloaths.

Quietly, and without turning towards her again, she resumed her
narrative.

'I engaged the worthy postillion of my poor Eugenia to drive me,
purposing to send Ambrose on with him, while I waited at the
half-way-house: but, about two miles off, Ambrose, who rode before, was
stopt by a gentleman, whom he met in a post chaise; when I came up to
him, I stopt also. It was Mr. Mandlebert.'

Camilla, who had looked up, now again hastily drew back, and Mrs.
Tyrold, after a short pause, went on.

'His intelligence, of course, finished my search. My first idea was to
convey you instantly home; but the particulars I gathered made me fear
removing you. When I entered your room, you were asleep;--I dreaded to
surprise yet could not refrain taking a view of you, and while I looked,
you suddenly awoke.'

Ah! thought Camilla, 'tis to Edgar, then, that ultimately I owe this
blest moment!

'But my Father,' she cried, 'my dearest Mother,--how came my dear Father
to know where you had found me?'

'At Belfont he learnt the way you had set out, and that Eugenia and
Bellamy were from home; and, without loss of time ... regardless of the
night and of fasting, ... he returned by a route through which he traced
you at every inn where you had changed horses. He, also, entered as you
were sleeping--and we watched together by your side.'

Again filial gratitude silenced all but itself, and sleep, the softest
she had known for many months, soon gave to oblivion every care in
Camilla.

The changeful tide of mental spirits from misery to enjoyment, is not
more rapid than the transition from personal danger to safety, in the
elastic period of youth. 'Tis the epoch of extremes; and moderation, by
which alone we learn the true use of our blessings, is a wisdom we are
frequently only taught to appreciate when redundance no longer requires
its practice.

Camilla, from sorrow the most desolate, bounded to joy that refused a
solicitude; and from an illness that held her suspended between delirium
and dissolution, to ease that had no complaint. The sufferings which had
deprived her of the benefit of rest and nourishment were no sooner
removed, than she appeared to be at once restored to health; though to
repair the wastes of strength some time yet was necessary.

Mrs. Tyrold determined to carry her this afternoon to Etherington. The
remains of the wretched Bellamy, in a coffin and hearse brought from
Winchester, had been sent to Belfont in the morning: and Mr. Tyrold had
followed, to give every direction that he should be buried as the master
of the house; without reference to the conduct which had forfeited all
such respect.

Though the evil committed by the non-deliverance of Camilla's letter was
now past all remedy, Mrs. Tyrold thought it every way right to endeavour
to discover where [lay] the blame: and by the two usual modes of menace
and promises, she learnt that the countryman, when he stopt to drink by
the way, had, in lighting his pipe, let the letter take fire; and
fearing to lose the recompense he had expected, had set his conscience
apart for a crown, and returned with the eventful falsehood, which had
made Camilla think herself abandoned, and her friends deplore her as
lost.

For the benefit of those with whom, in future, he might have to deal,
Mrs. Tyrold took some pains to represent to him the cruel evils his
dishonesty had produced; but, stupid rather than wicked, what he had
done had been without weighing right from wrong, and what he heard was
without understanding it.

Camilla found, with extreme satisfaction, that Mrs. Tyrold,
notwithstanding the strictness of the present family oeconomy, meant
liberally to recompense Mrs. Marl, for the trouble and patience with
which she had attended to a guest so little profitable: while Peggy, to
whose grateful remembrance she owed the consideration she had met with
in her deserted condition, was rewarded by a much larger sum than she
had ever before possessed. Camilla was obliged to confess she had parted
with two pledges for future payment: the watch was reclaimed without
difficulty; but she shewed so much distress in naming the locket, that
Mrs. Tyrold, though she looked anxiously surprised, demanded it without
enquiring into its history.

The excess of delight to Camilla in preparing to return to Etherington,
rendered her insensible to all fatigue, till she was descending the
stairs; when the recollection of the shock she had received from the
corpse of Bellamy, made her tremble so exceedingly, that she could
scarce walk past the door of the room in which it had been laid. 'Ah, my
dearest Mother,' she cried, 'this house must give me always the most
penetrating sensations: I have experienced in it the deepest grief, and
the most heart-soothing enjoyment that ever, perhaps, gave place one to
the other in so short a time!'

       *       *       *       *       *

Ambrose had announced their intended arrival, and at the door of the
house, the timid, but affectionate Lavinia was waiting to receive them;
and as Camilla, in alighting, met her tender embraces, a well-known
voice reached her ears, calling out in hurried accents, 'Where is she?
Is she come indeed? Are you quite sure?' And Sir Hugh, hobbling rather
than walking into the hall, folded her in his feeble arms, sobbing over
her: 'I can't believe it for joy! Poor sinner that I am, and the cause
of all our bad doings! how can I have deserved such a thing as this, to
have my own little Girl come back to me? which could not have made my
heart gladder, if I had had no share in all this bad mischief! which,
God knows I've had enough, owing to my poor head doing always for the
worst, for all my being the oldest of us all; which is a thing I've
often thought remarkable enough, in the point of my knowing no better;
which however, I hope my dear little Darling will excuse for the sake of
my love, which is never happy but in seeing her.'

The heart of Camilla bounded with grateful joy at sight of this dear
Uncle, and at so tender a reception: and while with equal emotion, and
equal weakness, they were unable to support either each other or
themselves, the worthy old Jacob, his eyes running over, came to help
his Master back to the parlour, and Mrs. Tyrold and Lavinia conveyed
thither Camilla: who was but just placed upon a sofa, by the side of her
fond Uncle, when the door of an inner apartment was softly opened, and
pale, wan, and meagre, Eugenia appeared at it, saying, as faintly, yet
with open arms, she advanced to Camilla: 'Let me too--your poor
harassed, and but half-alive Eugenia, make one in this precious scene!
Let me see the joy of my kind Uncle--the revival of my honoured Mother,
the happiness of my dear Lavinia--and feel even my own heart beat once
more with delight in the bosom of its darling Sister!... my so
mourned--but now for ever, I trust, restored to me, most dear Camilla!'

Camilla, thus encircled in her Mother's, Uncle's, Sister's, arms at
once, gasped, sighed, smiled, and shed tears in the same grateful
minute, while fondly she strove to articulate, 'Am I again at
Etherington and at Cleves in one? And thus indulgently received? thus
more than forgiven? My heart wants room for its joy! my Mother! my
Sisters! if you knew what despair has been my portion! I feared even the
sight of my dear Uncle himself, lest the sorrows and the errours of a
creature he so kindly loved, should have demolished his generous heart!'

'Mine, my dearest little Girl?' cried the Baronet, 'why what would that
have signified, in comparison to such a young one as yours, that ought
to know no sorrow yet a while? God knows, it being time enough to begin:
for it is but melancholy at best, the cares of the world; which if you
can't keep off now, will be overtaking you at every turn.'

Mrs. Tyrold entreated Camilla might be spared further conversation.
Eugenia had already glided back to her chamber, and begged, this one
solacing interview over, to be dispensed with from joining the family at
present; Camilla was removed also to her chamber; and the tender Mother
divided her time and her cares between these two recovered treasures of
her fondest affection.




CHAPTER XIII

_Questions and Answers_


Mr. Tyrold did not return till the next day from Belfont, where, through
the account he gave from his Daughter, the violent exit of the miserable
Bellamy was brought in accidental death. Various circumstances had now
acquainted him with the history of that wretched man, who was the
younger son of the master of a great gaming-house. In his first youth,
he had been utterly neglected, and left to run wild whither he chose;
but his father afterwards becoming very rich, had bestowed upon him as
good an education as the late period at which it was begun could allow.
He was intended for a lucrative business; but he had no application, and
could retain no post: he went into the army; but he had no courage, and
was speedily cashiered. Inheriting a passion for the means by which the
parental fortune had been raised, he devoted himself next to its
pursuit, and won very largely. But as extravagance and good luck, by
long custom, go hand in hand, he spent as fast as he acquired; and upon
a tide of fortune in his disfavour, was tempted to reverse the chances
by unfair play, was found out, and as ignominiously chaced from the
field of hazard as from that of patriotism. His father was no more; his
eldest brother would not assist him; he sold therefore his house, and
all he possessed but his wardrobe, and, relying upon a very uncommonly
handsome face and person, determined to seek a fairer lot, by eloping,
if possible, with some heiress. He thought it, however, prudent not only
to retire from London, but to make a little change in his name, which
from Nicholas Gwigg he refined into Alphonso Bellamy. He began his
career by a tour into Wales; where he insinuated himself into the
acquaintance of Mrs. Ecton, just after she had married Miss Melmond to
Mr. Berlinton: and though this was not an intercourse that could travel
to Gretna Green, the beauty and romantic turn of the bride of so
disproportioned a marriage, opened to his unprincipled mind a scheme yet
more flagitious. Fortunately, however, for his fair destined prey, soon
after the connexion was formed, she left Wales; and the search of new
adventures carried him, by various chances, into Hampshire. But he had
established with her, a correspondence, and when he had caught, or
rather forced, an heiress into legal snares, the discovery of who and
what he was, became less important, and he ventured again to town, and
renewed his heinous plan, as well as his inveterate early habits; till
surprised by some unpleasant recollectors, debts of honour, which he had
found it convenient to elude upon leaving the Capital, were claimed, and
he found it impossible to appear without satisfying such demands. Thence
his cruel and inordinate persecution of his unhappy wife for money; and
thence, ultimately, the brief vengeance which had reverberated upon his
own head.

       *       *       *       *       *

Camilla, whose danger was the result of self-neglect, as her sufferings
had all flowed from mental anguish, was already able to go down to the
study upon the arrival of Mr. Tyrold: where she received, with grateful
rapture, the tender blessings which welcomed her to the paternal
arms--to her home--to peace--to safety--and primæval joy.

Mr. Tyrold, sparing to her yet weak nerves any immediate explanations
upon the past, called upon his wife to aid him to communicate, in the
quietest manner, what had been done at Belfont to Eugenia; charging
Camilla to take no part in a scene inevitably shocking.

Once more in the appropriate apartment of her Father, where all her
earliest scenes of gayest felicity had passed, but which, of late, she
had only approached with terrour, only entered to weep, she experienced
a delight almost awful in the renovation of her pristine confidence, and
fearless ease. She took from her pocket--where alone she could ever bear
to keep it--her loved locket, delighting to attribute to it this
restoration to domestic enjoyment; though feeling at the same time, a
renewal of suspence from the return of its donor, and from the affecting
interview into which she had been surprised, that broke in upon even her
filial happiness, with bitter, tyrannical regret. Yet she pressed to her
bosom the cherished symbol of first regard, and was holding it to her
lips, when Mrs. Tyrold, unexpectedly, re-entered the room.

In extreme confusion, she shut it into its shagreen case, and was going
to restore it to her pocket; but infolding it, with her daughter's hand,
between each of her own, Mrs. Tyrold said, 'Shall I ever, my dear girl,
learn the history of this locket?'

'O yes, my dearest Mother,' said the blushing Camilla, 'of that--and of
every--and of all things--you have only--you have merely--'

'If it distresses you, my dear child, we will leave it to another day,'
said Mrs. Tyrold, whose eyes Camilla saw, as she now raised her own,
were swimming in tears.

'My Mother! my dearest Mother!' cried she, with the tenderest alarm,
'has any thing new happened?--Is Eugenia greatly affected?'

'She is all, every way, and in every respect,' said Mrs. Tyrold,
'whatever the fondest, or even the proudest Mother could wish. But I do
not at this instant most think of her. I am not without some fears for
my Camilla's strength, in the immediate demand that may be made upon her
fortitude. Tell me, my child, with that sincerity which so long has been
mutually endearing between us, tell me if you think you can see here,
again, and as usual, without any risk to your health, one long admitted
and welcomed as a part of the family?'

She started, changed colour, looked up, cast her eyes on the floor; but
soon seeing Mrs. Tyrold hold an handkerchief bathed in tears to her
face, lost all dread, and even all consciousness in tender gratitude,
and throwing her arms round her neck, 'O my Mother,' she cried, 'you
who weep not for yourself--scarcely even in the most poignant
sorrow--can you weep for me?--I will see--or I will avoid whoever you
please--I shall want no fortitude, I shall fear nothing--no one--not
even myself--now again under your protection! I will scarcely even
think, my beloved Mother, but by your guidance!'

'Compose yourself, then, my dearest girl: and, if you believe you are
equal to behaving with firmness, I will not refuse his request of
re-admission.'

'His request?' repeated Camilla, with involuntary quickness; but finding
Mrs. Tyrold did not notice it, gently adding, 'That person that--I
believe--you mean--has done nothing, my dear Mother, to merit
expulsion!--'

'I am happy to hear you say so: I have been fearfully, I must own, and
even piercingly displeased with him.'

'Ah, my dear Mother! how kind was the partiality that turned your
displeasure so wrong a way! that made you,--even you, my dear Mother,
listen to your fondness rather than to your justice!--'

She trembled at the temerity of this vindication the moment it had
escaped her, and looking another way, spoke again of Eugenia: but Mrs.
Tyrold now, taking both her hands, and seeking, though vainly, to meet
her eyes, said, 'My dearest child, I grow painfully anxious to end a
thousand doubts; to speak and to hear with no further ambiguity, nor
reserve. If Edgar--'

Camilla again changed colour, and strove to withdraw her hands.

'Take courage, my dear love, and let one final explanation relieve us
both at once. If Edgar has merited well of you, why are you parted?--If
ill--why this solicitude my opinion of him should be unshaken?'

Her head now dropt upon Mrs. Tyrold's shoulder, as she faintly answered,
'He deserves your good opinion, my dearest Mother--for he adores you--I
cannot be unjust to him,--though he has made me--I own--not very happy!'

'Designedly, my Camilla?'

'O, no, my dearest Mother!--he would not do that to an enemy!'

'Speak out, then, and speak clearer, my dearest Camilla. If you think of
him so well, and are so sure of his good intentions, what--in two
words,--what is it that has parted you?'

'Accident, my dearest Mother,--deluding appearances, ... and false
internal reasoning on my part,--and on his, continual misconstruction! O
my dearest Mother! how have I missed your guiding care! I had ever the
semblance, by some cruel circumstance, some inexplicable fatality of
incident, to neglect his counsel, oppose his judgment, deceive his
expectations, and trifle with his regard!--Yet, with a heart faithful,
grateful, devoted,--O my dearest Mother!--with an esteem that defies all
comparison, ... a respect closely meliorating even to veneration!...
Never was heart ... my dearest Mother, so truly impressed with the worth
of another ... with the nobleness....'

A buzzing noise from the adjoining parlour, sounding something between a
struggle and a dispute, suddenly stopt her, ... and as she raised her
head from the bosom of her Mother, in which she had seemed seeking
shelter from the very confidence she was pouring forth, she saw the door
opened, and the object of whom she was speaking appear at it....
Fluttered, colouring, trembling, ... yet with eyes refulgent with joy,
and every feature speaking ecstasy.

Almost fainting with shame and surprise, she gave herself up as
disgraced, if not dishonoured evermore, for a short, but bitter half
moment. It was not longer. Edgar, rushing forward, and seizing the hands
of Mrs. Tyrold, even while they were encircling her drooping, shrinking,
half expiring Camilla, pressed them with ardent respect to his lips,
rapidly exclaiming, 'My more than Mother! my dear, kind, excellent,
inestimable friend!--Forgive this blest intrusion--plead for me where I
dare not now speak--and raise your indeed maternal eyes upon the
happiest--the most devoted of your family!'

'What is it overpowers me thus this morning?' cried Mrs. Tyrold, leaning
her head upon her clinging Camilla, while large drops fell from her
eyes; 'Misfortune, I see, is not the greatest test of our philosophy!...
Joy, twice to-day, has completely demolished mine!'

'What goodness is this! what encouragement to hope some indulgent
intercession here--where the sense that now breaks in upon me of
ungenerous ... ever to be lamented--and I had nearly said, execrated
doubt, fills me with shame and regret--and makes me--even at this soft
reviving, heart-restoring moment, feel undeserving my own hopes!'--

'Shall I ... may I leave him to make his peace?' whispered Mrs. Tyrold
to her daughter, whose head sought concealment even to annihilation; but
whose arms, with what force they possessed, detained her, uttering
faintly but rapidly, 'O no, no, no!'

'My more than Mother!' again cried Edgar, 'I will wait till that
felicity may be accorded me, and put myself wholly under your kind and
powerful influence. One thing alone I must say;--I have too much to
answer for, to take any share of the misdemeanors of another!--I have
not been a treacherous listener, though a wilful obtruder.... See, Mrs.
Tyrold! who placed me in that room--who is the accomplice of my
happiness!'

With a smile that seemed to beam but the more brightly for her
glistening eyes, Mrs. Tyrold looked to the door, and saw there, leaning
against it, the form she most revered; surveying them all with an
expression of satisfaction so perfect, contentment so benign, and
pleasure mingled with so much thankfulness, that her tears now flowed
fast from unrestrained delight; and Mr. Tyrold, approaching to press at
once the two objects of his most exquisite tenderness to his breast,
said, 'This surprise was not planned, but circumstances made it more
than irresistible. It was not, however, quite fair to my Camilla, and if
she is angry, we will be self-exiled till she can pardon us.'

'This is such a dream,'--cried Camilla, as now, first, from the
voice of her Father she believed it reality; 'so incredible ... so
unintelligible ... I find it entirely ... impossible ... impossible
to comprehend any thing I see or hear!'--

'Let the past, ... not the present,' cried Edgar, 'be regarded as the
dream! and generously drive it from your mind as a fever of the brain,
with which reason had no share, and for which memory must find no
place.'

'If I could understand in the least,' said Camilla, 'what this all
means ... what----'

Mr. Tyrold now insisted that Edgar should retreat, while he made some
explanation; and then related to his trembling, doubting, wondering
daughter, the following circumstances.

In returning from Belfont, he had stopt at the half-way-house, where he
had received from Mrs. Marl, a letter that, had it reached him as it was
intended, at Etherington, would have quickened the general meeting, yet
nearly have broken his heart. It was that which, for want of a
messenger, had never been sent, and which Peggy, in cleaning the bed
room, had found under a table, where it had fallen, she supposes, when
the candle was put upon it for reading prayers.

'There was another letter, too!' interrupted Camilla, with quick
blushing recollection;--'but my illness ... and all that has followed,
made me forget them both till this very moment.... Did she say anything
of any ... other?'

'Yes; ... the other had been delivered according to its address.'

'Good Heaven!'

'Be not frightened, my Camilla, ... all has been beautifully directed
for the best. My accomplice had received his early in the morning; he
was at the house, by some fortunate hazard, when it was found, and,
being well known there, Mrs. Marl gave it to him immediately.'

'How terrible!... It was meant only in case ... I had seen no one any
more!...'

'The intent, and the event, have been happily, my child, at war. He came
instantly hither, and enquired for me; I was not returned; he asked my
route, and rode to follow or meet me. About an hour ago, we encountered
upon the road: he gave his horse to his groom, and came into the chaise
to me.'

Camilla now could with difficulty listen; but her Father hastened to
acquaint her, that Edgar, with the most generous apologies, the most
liberal self-blame, had re-demanded his consent for a union, from which
every doubt was wholly, and even miraculously removed, by learning thus
the true feelings of her heart, as depicted at the awful crisis of
expected dissolution. The returning smiles which forced their way now
through the tears and blushes of Camilla, shewed how vainly she strove
to mingle the regret of shame with the felicity of fond security,
produced by this eventful accident. But when she further heard that
Edgar, in Flanders, had met with Lionel, who, in frankly recounting his
difficulties and adventures, had named some circumstances which had so
shaken every opinion that had urged him to quit England, as to induce
him instantly, from the conference, to seek a passage for his return,
she felt all but happiness retire from her heart;--vanish even from her
ideas.

'You are not angry, then,' said Mr. Tyrold, as smilingly he read
her delighted sensations, 'that I waited not to consult you? That
I gave back at once my consent? That I folded him again in my
arms?... again ... called him my son?'

She could but seek the same pressure; and he continued, 'I would not
bring him in with me; I was not aware my dear girl was so rapidly
recovered, and I had a task to fulfil to my poor Eugenia that was still
my first claim. But I promised within an hour, your Mother, at least,
should welcome him. He would walk, he said, for that period. When I met
her, I hinted at what was passing, and she followed me to our Eugenia; I
then briefly communicated my adventure; and your Mother, my Camilla,
lost herself in hearing it! Will you not, ... like me!... withdraw from
her all reverence? Her eyes gushed with tears, ... she wept, as you weep
at this moment; she was sure Edgar Mandlebert could alone preserve you
from danger, yet make you happy--Was she wrong, my dear child? Shall we
attack now her judgment, as well as her fortitude?'

Only at her feet could Camilla shew her gratitude; to action she had
recourse, for words were inadequate, and the tenderest caresses now
spoke best for them all.

Respect for the situation of Eugenia, who had desired, for this week, to
live wholly up stairs and alone, determined Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold to keep
back for some time the knowledge of this event from the family. Camilla
was most happy to pay such an attention to her sister; but when Mr.
Tyrold was leaving her, to consult upon it with Edgar, the ingenuousness
of her nature urged her irresistibly to say, 'Since all this has passed,
my dearest Father--my dearest Mother--does it not seem as if I should
now myself----'

She stopt; but she was understood; they both smiled, and Mr. Tyrold
immediately bringing in Edgar, said, 'I find my pardon, my dear
fellow-culprit, is already accorded; if you have doubts of your own, try
your eloquence for yourself.'

He left the room, and Mrs. Tyrold was gently rising to quietly follow,
but Camilla, with a look of entreaty of which she knew the sincerity,
and would not resist the earnestness, detained her.

'Ah yes, stay, dearest Madam!' cried Edgar, again respectfully taking
her hand, 'and through your unalterable goodness, let me hope to procure
pardon for a distrust which I here for ever renounce; but which had its
origin in my never daring to hope what, at this moment, I have the
felicity to believe. Yet now, even now, without your kind mediation,
this dear convalescent may plan some probationary trial at which my
whole mind, after this long suffering, revolts. Will you be my caution,
my dearest Mrs. Tyrold? Will you venture--and will you deign to promise,
that if a full and generous forgiveness may be pronounced....'

'Forgiveness?' in a soft voice interrupted Camilla: 'Have I any thing to
forgive? I thought all apology--all explanation, rested on my part? and
that my imprudencies--my rashness--my so often-erring judgment ... and
so apparently, almost even culpable conduct....'

'O, my Camilla! my now own Camilla!' cried Edgar, venturing to change
the hand of the Mother for that of the daughter; 'what too, too touching
words and concessions are these! Suffer me, then, to hope a kind amnesty
may take place of retrospection, a clear, liberal, open forgiveness
anticipate explanation and enquiry?'

'Are you sure,' said Camilla, smiling, 'this is your interest, and not
mine?... Does he not make a mistake, my dearest Mother, and turn my
advocate, instead of his own? And can I fairly take advantage of such an
errour.'

The sun-shine of her returning smiles went warm to her Mother's heart,
and gave a glow to the cheeks of Edgar, and a brightness to his eyes
that irradiated his whole countenance. 'Your penetrating judgment,' said
he, to Mrs. Tyrold, 'will take in at once more than any professions, any
protestations can urge for me: ... you see the peace, the pardon which
those eyes do not seek to withhold ... will you then venture, my more
than maternal friend! my Mother, in every meaning which affection and
reverence can give to that revered appellation--will you venture at
once--now--upon this dear and ever after hallowed minute--to seal the
kind consent of my truly paternal guardian, and to give me an example of
that trust and confidence which my whole future life shall look upon as
its lesson?'

'Yes!' answered Mrs. Tyrold, instantly joining their hands, 'and with
every security that the happiness of all our lives--my child's, my
husband's, your's, my valued Edgar's, and my own, will all owe their
felicity to the blessing with which I now lay my hands upon my two
precious children!'

Tears were the only language that could express the fulness of joy which
succeeded to so much sorrow; and when Mr. Tyrold returned, and had
united his tenderest benediction with that of his beloved wife, Edgar
was permitted to remain alone with Camilla; and the close of his long
doubts, and her own long perplexities, was a reciprocal confidence that
left nothing untold, not an action unrelated, not even a thought
unacknowledged.

Edgar confessed that he no sooner had quitted her, than he suspected the
justice of his decision; the turn which of late, he had taken,
doubtfully to watch her every action, and suspiciously to judge her
every motive, though it had impelled him in her presence, ceased to
operate in her absence.--He was too noble to betray the well meant,
though not well applied warnings of Dr. Marchmont, yet he acknowledged,
that when left to cool reflection, a thousand palliations arose for
every step he could not positively vindicate: and when, afterwards, from
the frank communication of Lionel, he learnt what belonged to the
mysterious offer of Sir Sedley Clarendel, that she would superintend the
disposal of his fortune, and the deep obligation in which she had been
innocently involved, his heart smote him for having judged ere he had
investigated that transaction; and in a perturbation unspeakable of
quick repentance, and tenderness, he set out for England. But when, at
the half-way-house, he stopt as usual to rest his horses in his way to
Beech Park,--what were his emotions at the sight of the locket, which
the landlady told him had been pledged by a lady in distress! He
besought her pardon for the manner in which he had made way to her; but
the almost frantic anxiety which seized him to know if or not it was
[she], and to save her, if so, from the intended intrusion of the
landlord, made him irresistibly prefer it to the plainer mode which he
should have adopted with any one else, of sending in his name, and some
message. His shock at her view in such a state, he would not now revive;
but the impropriety of bidding the landlady quit the chamber, and the
impossibility of entering into an explanation in her hearing, alone
repressed, at that agitated moment, the avowal of every sensation with
which his heart was labouring. 'But when,' he added, 'shall I cease to
rejoice that I had listened to the good landlady's history of a sick
guest, while all conjecture was so remote from whom it might be! when I
am tempted to turn aside from a tale of distress, I will recollect what
I owe to having given [ear to one]!' Lost in wonder at what could have
brought her to such a situation, and disturbed how to present himself at
the rectory, till fixed in his plans, he had ridden to the
half-way-house that morning, to enquire concerning the corpse that Mrs.
Marl had mentioned--and there--while he was speaking with her, the
little maid brought down two letters--one of them directed to himself.--

'What a rapid transition,' cried he, 'was then mine, from regrets that
robbed life of all charms, to prospects which paint it in its most vivid
colours of happiness! from wavering the most deplorable, to resolutions
of expiating by a whole life of devoted fondness, the barbarous
waywardness that could deprive me, for one wilful moment, of the
exquisite felicity of my lot!...'

'But still,' said Camilla, 'I do not quite understand how you came in
that room this morning? and how you authorized yourself to overhear my
confessions to my Mother?'

'Recollect my acknowledged accomplice before you hazard any blame! When
I came hither ... somewhat, I confess, within my given hour, Mr. Tyrold
received me himself at the door. He told me I was too soon, and took me
into the front parlour. The partition is thin. I heard my name spoken by
Mrs. Tyrold, and the gentle voice of my Camilla, in accents yet more
gentle than even that voice ever spoke before, answering some question;
I was not myself, at first, aware of its tenour ... but when,
unavoidably, I gathered it ... when I heard words so beautifully
harmonizing with what I had so lately perused--I would instantly have
ventured into the room; but Mr. Tyrold feared surprising you--you went
on--my fascinated soul divested me of obedience--of caution--of all but
joy and gratitude ... and he could no longer restrain me. And now with
which of her offenders will my Camilla quarrel?'

'With neither, I believe, just at present. The conspiracy is so complex,
and even my Mother so nearly a party concerned, that I dare not risk the
unequal contest. I must only, in future,' added she smiling, 'speak ill
of you ... and then you will find less pleasure in the thinness of a
partition!'

Faithfully she returned his communication, by the fullest, most candid,
and unsparing account of every transaction of her short life, from the
still shorter period of its being put into voluntary motion. With nearly
breathless interest, he listened to the detail of her transactions with
Sir Sedley Clarendel, with pity to her debts, and with horrour to her
difficulties. But when, through the whole ingenuous narration, he found
himself the constant object of every view, the ultimate motive to every
action, even where least it appeared, his happiness, and his gratitude,
made Camilla soon forget that sorrow had ever been known to her.

They then spoke of her two favourites, Mrs. Arlbery, and Mrs. Berlinton;
and though she was animated in her praise of the good qualities of the
first, and the sweet attraction of the last, she confessed the danger,
for one so new in the world, of chusing friends distinct from those of
her family; and voluntarily promised, during her present season of
inexperience, to repose the future choice of her connections, where she
could never be happy without their approvance.

The two hundred pounds to Sir Sedley Clarendel, he determined, on the
very day that Camilla should be his, to return to the Baronet, under the
privilege, and in the name of paying it for a brother.

In conference thus softly balsamic to every past wound, and thus
deliciously opening to that summit of earthly felicity ... confidence
unlimited entwined around affection unbounded ... hours might have
passed, unnumbered and unawares, had not prudence forced a separation,
for the repose of Camilla.




CHAPTER XIV

_The last Touches of the Picture_


Late as Edgar quitted the rectory, he went not straight to Beech Park;
every tie both of friendship and propriety carried him first to Dr.
Marchmont; who had too much feeling to wonder at the power of his late
incitements, and too much goodness of heart not to felicitate him upon
their issue, though he sighed at the recollection of the disappointments
whence his own doubting counsel originated. Twice betrayed in his
dearest expectations, he had formed two criterions from his peculiar
experience, by which he had settled his opinion of the whole female sex;
and where opinion may humour systematic prepossession, who shall build
upon his virtue or wisdom to guard the transparency of his impartiality?

The following day, the Westwyns presented themselves at Etherington;
hurried from a tour they were taking through Devonshire and Cornwall, by
intelligence which had reached them that Sir Hugh Tyrold was ruined, and
Cleves was to be let. They met, by chance, with Edgar alone in the
parlour; and the joy of the old gentleman in hearing how small a part of
the rumour was founded in fact, made him shake hands with him as
cordially for setting him right, as Edgar welcomed his kindness, from
the pleasure afforded by the sight of such primitive regard. But when,
presuming upon his peculiar intimacy in the family, as ward of Mr.
Tyrold, though without yet daring to avow his approaching nearer
affinity, Edgar insisted upon his superior claim for supplanting them in
taking charge of the debt of his guardian; Mr. Westwyn, almost angrily,
protested he would let no man upon earth, let him be whose ward he
pleased, shew more respect than himself for the brother of Sir Hugh
Tyrold; 'And Hal thinks the same too,' he added, 'or he's no son of
mine. And so he'll soon shew you, in a way you can't guess, I give you
my word. At least that's my opinion.'

He then took his son apart, and abruptly whispered to him, 'As that
pretty girl you and I took such a fancy to, at Southton, served us in
that shabby manner, because of meeting with that old Lord, it's my
opinion you'd do the right thing to take her sister; who's pretty near
as pretty, and gives herself no airs; and that will be shewing respect
for my worthy old friend, now he's down in the world; which is exactly
that he did for me when I was down myself. For if he had not lent me
that thousand pounds I told you of, when not a relation I had would lend
me a hundred, I might have been ruined before ever you were born. Come,
tell me your mind Hal! off or on? don't stand shilly shally; it's what I
can't bear; speak honestly; I won't have your choice controlled; only
this one thing I must tell you without ceremony, I shall never think
well of you again as long as ever I live, if you demur so much as a
moment. It's what I can't bear; it i'n't doing a thing handsomely. I
can't say I like it.'

The appearance of Lavinia relieved the immediate embarrassment of Henry,
while the modest pleasure with which she received them confirmed the
partiality of both. The eagerness, however, of the father, admitted of
no delay, and when Sir Hugh entered the room, the son's assent being
obtained, he warmly demanded the fair Lavinia for his daughter-in-law.

Sir Hugh received the proposition with the most copious satisfaction;
Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold with equal, though more anxious delight; and Lavinia
herself with blushing but unaffected hopes of happiness.

Whatever was known to Sir Hugh, no cautions, nor even his own best
designs, could save from being known to the whole house. Eugenia,
therefore, was unavoidably informed of this transaction; and the
generous pleasure with which she revived from the almost settled
melancholy left upon her, by continual misfortunes, justified the
impatience of Edgar to accelerate the allowed period for publishing his
own happy history.

Eugenia wept with joy at tidings so precious of her beloved sister,
through whom, and her other dear friends, she was alone, she said,
susceptible of joy, though to all sorrow she henceforth bid adieu, 'For
henceforth,' she cried, 'I mean to regard myself as if already I had
passed the busy period of youth and of life, and were only a spectatress
of others. For this purpose, I have begun writing my memoirs, which will
amuse my solitude, and confirm my--I hope, philosophical idea.'

She then produced the opening of her intended book.

     SECTION I.

     'No blooming coquette, elated with adulation and triumphant with
     conquest, here counts the glories of her eyes, or enumerates the
     train of her adorers: no beauteous prude, repines at the fatigue of
     admiration, nor bewails the necessity of tyranny: O gentle reader!
     you have the story of one from whom fate has withheld all the
     delicacy of vanity, all the regale of cruelty--!'

'Here,' interrupted the young biographer, 'will follow my portrait, and
then this further address to my readers.'

     'O ye, who, young and fair, revel in the attractions of beauty, and
     exult in the pride of admiration, say, where is your envy of the
     heiress to whom fortune comes with such alloys? And which, however
     distressed or impoverished, would accept my income with my personal
     defects?

     'Ye, too, O lords of the creation, mighty men! impute not to native
     vanity the repining spirit with which I lament the loss of beauty;
     attribute not to the innate weakness of my sex, the concern I
     confess for my deformity; nor to feminine littleness of soul, a
     regret of which the true source is to be traced to your own bosoms,
     and springs from your own tastes: for the value you yourselves set
     upon external attractions, your own neglect has taught me to know;
     and the indifferency with which you consider all else, your own
     duplicity has instructed me to feel.'

Camilla sought to dissuade her from reflexions so afflictive, and
retrospections so poignant; but they aided her, she said, in her task of
acquiring composure for the regulation of her future life.

Edgar now received permission to make his communication to the Baronet.

The joy with which Sir Hugh heard it, was for some time over-clouded by
doubt. 'My dear Mr. young Edgar,' he said, 'in case you don't know your
own mind yet, in the point of its not changing again, as it did before,
I'd as leave you would not tell me of it till you've taken the proper
time to be at a certainty; frettings about these ups and downs, being
what do no good to me, in point of the gout.'

But when thoroughly re-assured, 'Well,' he cried, 'this is just the
thing I should have chose out of all our misfortunes, being what makes
me happier than ever I was in my life; except once before on the very
same account, which all turned out to end in nothing: which, I hope,
won't happen any more: for now I've only to pay off all our debts, and
then I may go back again to Cleves, which I shall be glad enough to do,
it being but an awkward thing to a man, after he's past boyhood, having
no home of his own.'

A sigh at the recollection of the change in his situation, since his
plan was last agitated, checked his felicity, and depressed even that of
Edgar, who, with the most tender earnestness, besought his leave to
advance the sum requisite to return him tranquilly to his mansion; but
who could not prevail, till Camilla joined in the petition, and
permitted Edgar, in both their names to entreat, as their dearest wish,
that they might be united, according to the first arrangement, from
Cleves.

This the Baronet could not resist, and preparations were rapidly made
for re-instating him in his dwelling, and for the double marriages
destined to take place upon his return.

'Well, then, this,' cried he, as he poured upon them his tenderest
blessings and caresses, 'is the oddest of all! My dear little Camilla,
that I took all my fortune from, is the very person to give me hers as
soon as ever she gets it! as well as my own house over my old head
again, after my turning her, as one may say, out of it! which is a thing
as curious, in point of us poor ignorant mortals, as if my brother had
put it in a sermon.'

'Such turns in the tide of fortune,' said Mr. Tyrold, 'are amongst the
happiest lessons of humanity, where those who have served the humble and
helpless from motives of pure disinterestedness, find they have made
useful friends for themselves, in the perpetual vicissitudes of our
unstable condition.'

'Why, then, there's but one thing more, by what I can make out,' said
the Baronet, 'that need be much upon my mind, and that I've been
thinking some time about, in point of forming a scheme to get rid of,
which I think I've got a pretty good one: for here's Lavinia going to be
married to the very oldest friend I have in the world; that is, to his
son, which is the same thing in point of bringing us all together; and
my own dear little girl, to the best gentleman in the county, except for
that one thing of going off at the first, which I dare say he did not
mean, for which reason I shall mention it no more: and Indiana, to one
of those young captains, that I can't pretend I know much of; but that's
very excusable in so young a person, not having had much head from the
beginning; which I always make allowance for; my own not being over
extraordinary: and Eugenia, poor thing, being a widow already; for which
God be praised; which I hope is no sin, in point of the poor lad that's
gone not belonging to any of us, by what I can make out, except by his
own doing whether we would or not; which, however, is neither here nor
there, now he's gone; for Eugenia being no beauty, and Clermont having
as good as said so, I suppose she thought she must not be too difficult;
which is a thing young girls are apt to fall into; and boys too, for the
matter of that; for, by what I can make out of life, I don't see but
what a scholar thinks a girl had better be pretty than not, as much as
another man.'

'But what, my dear brother,' said Mr. Tyrold, 'is your new distress and
new scheme?'

'Why I can't say but what I'm a little put out, that Indiana should
forget poor Mrs. Margland, in the particular of asking her to go to live
with her; which, however, I dare say she can't help, those young
captains commonly not over liking having elderly persons about them; not
that I mean to guess her age, which I take to be fifty, and upwards;
which is no point of ours. But the thing I'm thinking of is Dr.
Orkborne, in the case of their marrying one another.'

'My dear brother!... has any such idea occurred to them?'

'Not as I know of; but Indiana having done with one, and Eugenia with
the other, and me, Lord help me! not wanting either of them, why what
can I do if they won't? the Doctor's asked to go to town, for the sake
of printing his papers, which I begged him not to hurry, for I'm but
little fit for learned conversation just now; though when he's here, he
commonly says nothing; only taking out his tablets to write down
something that comes into his head, as I suppose: which I can't say is
very entertaining in the light of a companion. However, as to his having
called me a blockhead, it's not what I take umbrage at, not being a wit
being a fault of no man's, except of nature, which nobody has a right to
be angry at. Besides, as to his having a little pride, it's what I owe
him no ill-will for; a scholar having nothing else but his learning, is
excusable for making the most of it. However, if they would marry one
another, I can't but say I should take it very well of them. The only
thing I know against it, is the mortal dislike they have to one another:
and that, my dear brother, is the point I want to consult you about; for
then we shall be got off all round: which would be a great thing off my
mind.'

When the happy day arrived for returning to Cleves, Sir Hugh re-took
possession of his hospitable mansion, amidst the tenderest felicitations
of his fond family, and the almost clamorous rejoicings of the assembled
poor of the neighbourhood: and the following morning, Mr. Tyrold gave
the hand of Lavinia to Harry Westwyn, and Dr. Marchmont united them; and
Edgar, glowing with happiness, now purified from any alloy, received
from the same revered hand, and owed to the same honoured voice, the
final and lasting possession of the tearful, but happy Camilla.

       *       *       *       *       *

What further remains to finish this small sketch of a Picture of Youth,
may be comprised in a few pages.

Indiana was more fortunate in her northern expedition, than experiments
of that nature commonly prove. Macdersey was a man of honour, and
possessed better claims to her than he had either language or skill to
explain: but the good Lord O'Lerney, who, to benevolence the most
cheerful, and keenness the least severe, joined judgment and
generosity, acted as the guardian of his kinsman, and placed the young
couple in competence and comfort.

The profession of Macdersey obliging him to sojourn frequently in
country quarters, Indiana, when the first novelty of _tête-à-têtes_ was
over, wished again for the constant adulatress of her charms and
endowments, and, to the inexpressible rapture of Sir Hugh, solicited
Miss Margland to be her companion: and the influence of constant
flattery was so seductive to her weak mind, that, though insensible to
the higher motive of cherishing her in remembrance of her long cares,
she was so spoilt by her blandishments, and so accustomed to her
management, that she parted from her no more.

Lavinia, with her deserving partner, spent a month between Cleves and
Etherington, and then accompanied him and his fond father to their
Yorkshire estate and residence. Like all characters of radical worth,
she grew daily upon the esteem and affection of her new family, and
found in her husband as marked a contrast with Clermont Lynmere, to
annul all Hypothesis of Education, as Lord O'Lerney, cool, rational, and
penetrating, opposed to Macdersey, wild, eccentric, and vehement,
offered against all that is National. Brought up under the same tutor,
the same masters, and at the same university, with equal care, equal
expence, equal opportunities of every kind, Clermont turned out
conceited, voluptuous, and shallow; Henry modest, full of feeling, and
stored with intelligence.

Lionel, first enraged, but next tamed, by the disinheritance which he
had drawn upon himself, had ample subject in his disappointment to keep
alive his repentance. And though enabled to return from banishment, by
the ignominious condemnation, with another culprit, of the late partner
in his guilt, he felt so lowered from his fallen prospects, and so
gloomy from his altered spirits, that when his parents, satisfied with
his punishment, held out the olive-branch to invite him home, he came
forth again rather as if condemned, than forgiven; and, wholly wanting
fortitude either to see or to avoid his former associates, he procured
an appointment that carried him abroad, where his friends induced him to
remain, till his bad habits, as well as bad connections, were forgotten,
and time aided adversity in forming him a new character.

Clermont, for whom his uncle bought a commission, fixed himself in the
army; though with no greater love of his country, than was appendant to
the opportunity it afforded of shewing his fine person to regimental
advantage.

Mrs. Arlbery was amongst the first to hasten with congratulations to
Camilla. With too much understanding to betray her pique upon the errour
of her judgment, as to the means of attaching Mandlebert, she had too
much goodness of heart not to rejoice in the happiness of her young
friend.

Mrs. Lissin, who accompanied her in the wedding visit, confessed herself
the most disappointed and distressed of human beings. She had not, she
said, half so much liberty as when she lived with her Papa, and heartily
repented marrying, and wished she had never thought of it. The servants
were always teazing her for orders and directions; every thing that went
wrong, it was always she who was asked why it was not right; when she
wanted to be driving about all day, the coachman always said it was too
much for the horses; when she travelled, the maids always asked her what
must be packed up; if she happened to be out at dinner time, Mr. Lissin
found fault with every thing's being cold: if she wanted to do something
she liked, he said she had better let it alone; and, in fine, her
violent desire for this state of freedom, ended in conceiving it a state
of bondage; she found _her own house_ the house of which she must take
the charge; being _her own mistress_, having the burthen of
superintending a whole family, and being _married_, becoming the
property of another, to whom she made over a legal right to treat her
just as he pleased. And as she had chosen neither for character, nor for
disposition, neither from sympathy nor respect, she found it hard to
submit where she meant to become independent, and difficult to take the
cares where she had made no provision for the solaces of domestic life.

The notable Mrs. Mittin contrived soon to so usefully ingratiate herself
in the favour of Mr. Dennel, that, in the full persuasion she would save
him half his annual expences, he married her: but her friend, Mr.
Clykes, was robbed in his journey home of the cash which he had so
dishonourably gained.

The first care of Edgar was to clear every debt in which Camilla had
borne any share, and then to make over to Lavinia the little portion
intended to be parted between the sisters. Henry would have resisted;
but Mr. Tyrold knew the fortune of Edgar to be fully adequate to his
generosity, and sustained the proposition. Sir Sedley Clarendel received
his two hundred pounds without opposition, though with surprise; and was
dubious whether to rejoice in the shackles he had escaped, or to lament
the charmer he had lost.

Sir Hugh would suffer no one but himself to clear the debts of his two
nephews, or refund what had been advanced by his excellent old friend
Mr. Westwyn. He called back all his servants, liberally recompensed
their marked attachment, provided particularly for good old Jacob; and
took upon himself the most ample reward for the postillion who meant to
rescue Eugenia.

The prisoner and his wife, now worthy established cottagers, were the
first, at the entrance of Beech Park, to welcome the bride and
bridegroom; and little Peggy Higden was sent for immediately, and
placed, with extremest kindness, where she might rise in use and in
profit.

Lord O'Lerney was sedulously sought by Edgar, who had the infinite
happiness to see Camilla a selected friend of Lady Isabella Irby, whose
benevolent care of her in the season of her utter distress, had softly
enchained her tenderest gratitude, and had excited in himself an almost
adoring respect.

Melmond had received in time the caution of Camilla, to prevent the
meeting to which the baseness of Bellamy was deluding his misguided
sister, through her own wild theories. He forbore to blast her fame by
calling him publicly to account; and ere further arts could be
practised, Bellamy was no more.

Mrs. Berlinton, in the shock of sudden sorrow, shut herself up from the
world. Claims of debts of honour, which she had no means to answer,
pursued her in her retreat; she became at once the prey of grief,
repentance, and shame; and her mind was yet young enough in wrong, to be
penetrated by the early chastisement of calamity. Removed from the whirl
of pleasure, which takes reflexion from action, and feeling from
thought, she reviewed, with poignant contrition, her graceless
misconduct with regard to Eugenia, detested her infatuation, and humbled
herself to implore forgiveness. Her aunt seized the agitating moment of
self-upbraiding and worldly disgust, to impress upon her fears the
lessons of her opening life: and thus, repulsed from passion, and
sickened of dissipation, though too illiberally instructed for cheerful
and rational piety, she was happily snatched from utter ruin by
protecting, though eccentric enthusiasm.

Eugenia, for some time, continued in voluntary seclusion, happily
reaping from the fruits of her education and her virtues, resources and
reflexions for retirement, that robbed it of weariness. The name, the
recollection of Bellamy, always made her shudder, but the peace of
perfect innocence was soon restored to her mind. The sufferings of Mrs.
Berlinton from self-reproach, taught her yet more fully to value the
felicity of blamelessness; and the generous liberality of her character,
made the first inducement she felt for exertion, the benevolence of
giving solace to a penitent who had injured her.

Melmond, long conscious of her worth, and disgusted with all that had
rivalled it in his mind, with the fervour of sincerity, yet diffidence
of shame and regret, now fearfully sought the favour he before had
reluctantly received. But Eugenia retreated. She had no courage for a
new engagement, no faith for new vows, no hope for new happiness: till
his really exemplary character, with the sympathy of his feelings, and
the similarity of his taste and turn of mind with her own, made the
Tyrolds, when they perceived his ascendance, second his wishes.
Approbation so sacred, joined to a prepossession so tender, soon
conquered every timid difficulty in the ingenuous Eugenia; who in his
well-earnt esteem, and grateful affection, received, at length, the
recompence of every exerted virtue, and the solace of every past
suffering. Melmond, in a companion delighting in all his favourite
pursuits, and capable of joining even in his severer studies, found a
charm to beguile from him all former regret, while reason and experience
endeared his ultimate choice. Eugenia once loved, was loved for ever.
Where her countenance was looked at, her complexion was forgotten; while
her voice was heard, her figure was unobserved; where her virtues were
known, they seemed but to be enhanced by her personal misfortunes.

The Baronet was enchanted to see her thus unexpectedly happy, and soon
transferred to Melmond the classical respect which Clermont had
forfeited, when he concurred with Eugenia in a petition, that Dr.
Orkborne, without further delay, might be enabled to retire to his own
plans and pursuits, with such just and honourable consideration for
labours he well knew how to appreciate, as his friend Mr. Tyrold should
judge to be worthy of his acceptance.

With joy expanding to that thankfulness which may be called the _beauty
of piety_, the virtuous Tyrolds, as their first blessings, received
these blessings of their children: and the beneficent Sir Hugh felt
every wish so satisfied, he could scarcely occupy himself again with a
project ... save a maxim of prudence, drawn from his own experience,
which he daily planned teaching to the little generation rising around
him; To avoid, from the disasters of their Uncle, the Dangers and
Temptations, to their Descendants, of Unsettled Collateral Expectations.

Thus ended the long conflicts, doubts, suspences, and sufferings of
Edgar and Camilla; who, without one inevitable calamity, one unavoidable
distress, so nearly fell the sacrifice to the two extremes of
Imprudence, and Suspicion, to the natural heedlessness of youth
unguided, or to the acquired distrust of experience that had been
wounded. Edgar, by generous confidence, became the repository of her
every thought; and her friends read her exquisite lot in a gaiety no
longer to be feared: while, faithful to his word, making Etherington,
Cleves, and Beech Park, his alternate dwellings, he rarely parted her
from her fond Parents and enraptured Uncle. And Dr. Marchmont, as he saw
the pure innocence, open frankness, and spotless honour of her heart,
found her virtues, her errours, her facility, or her desperation, but A
PICTURE OF YOUTH; and regretting the false light given by the spirit of
comparison, in the hypothesis which he had formed from individual
experience, acknowledged its injustice, its narrowness, and its
arrogance. What, at last, so diversified as man? what so little to be
judged by his fellow?


FINIS

       *       *       *       *       *

[Transcriber's Note: Hyphen and spelling variations left as printed.]





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