CHAP. I.

HENRIETTA, being now left to her own reflections, beheld her late conduct in a light in which it had never appeared to her before; the ſenſe of blame ſo juſtly in⯑curred, filled her with remorſe and ſhame. Hitherto ſhe had induſtriouſly aggravated the cauſe of her fears, that ſhe might not ſtand ſelf-condemned; which to an ingenuous mind is of all others the greateſt evil: but Mrs. Willis had ſtated her caſe too juſtly.

What force could give her unwilling hand to the old baronet? How could ſhe be cheated into [2] a convent, when ſhe was forewarned of the de⯑ſign? From her obſtinate oppoſition to her aunt's will, nothing worſe could have hap⯑pened than the loſs of her favour and protec⯑tion, which by her flight ſhe had anticipated. She now wondered at the unreaſona [...]neſs of her fears, and looked back with the deepeſt re⯑gret upon the errors they had occaſioned

Theſe melancholy thoughts, and her anxiety about the reception her aunt would give her, kept her waking almoſt the whole night. As ſoon as it was light, ſhe roſe, and dreſſed her⯑ſelf, impatient to be gone; Mrs. Willis at her ſummons made haſte to join her, and, when they had breakfaſted, ſet out immediately upon their journey; Henrietta full of perturbation and enquietude, Mrs. Willis with that [...]ity which attends the conſciouſneſs of doing what is right.

The young lady, as ſhe drew nearer her aunt's dwelling, found her emotions increaſe; one while her imagination repreſented lady Meadows as kind and indulgent, ready to forgive her error, and to reſtore her to her affection; and, imme⯑diately after, ſhe would tremble with the ap⯑prehenſion of her ſevere reproaches.

Mrs. Willis perceived her unea [...]neſs, and uſed her utmoſt endeavours to compoſe [...] [3] but when the chaiſe ſtopped at the door, ſhe was near falling into a fainting fit; and her friend was obliged to aſk if lady Meadows was at home, for Henrietta was not able to ſpeak.

The ſervant-maid who opened the door, hav⯑ing got a glympſe of the young lady as ſhe ſat in the chaiſe, eagerly flew to the ſide of it— "O my dear miſs!" ſaid ſhe, in a tranſport of joy, "is it you?"

"How do you do, Jenny?" ſaid miſs Cour⯑teney; and trembling, added, "is my aunt at home?"

"My lady," ſaid the girl, ‘ſet out two days ago for her ſeat in Devonſhire. Oh! miſs, here has been ſad doings, poor Mrs. White is turned away; there came an ugly miſchief-making lady from London, and told my lady a heap of ſtories about you, and ſo Mrs. White was turned away: but won't you pleaſe to alight, miſs?’

Henrietta looked at Mrs. Willis, for ſhe knew not herſelf what to reſolve on, the news ſhe had heard having thrown her into the utmoſt per⯑plexity — "I wiſh we could ſee Mrs. White," ſaid Mrs. Willis to her in a whiſper.

Miſs Courteney immediately enquired of the maid, how long Mrs. White had left her aunt, and where ſhe was to be found? The girl told [4] her ſhe had been gone above a week, and that ſhe believed ſhe was at her ſiſter's in Windſor, Henrietta had often heard her mention her ſiſter, who was married to a tradeſman in Windſor; and, after ſhe had taken leave of the poor affec⯑tionate girl, who wept to ſee her depart again, ſhe gave the poſt-boy directions where to drive.

Mrs. White, when the chaiſe ſtopped at the door, heard from a little parlour where ſhe was ſitting, the voice of miſs Courteney, enquiring for her, and flew with trembling eagerneſs to meet her.

"Oh! miſs," ſaid ſhe, taking her hand, and leading her into the room, ‘I am rejoiced to ſee you: where have you been all this time —What an unfortunate creature was I to be the means of your taking ſuch a raſh reſolu⯑tion — Oh! that I had kept what I knew to myſelf— But ſurely, it was very unkind in you not to acquaint me with your deſign, not to aſk my advice. I might have prevented all this trouble; but thank Heaven you are ſafe and well—well I ſee you are.’

Henrietta then interrupting the good woman, who, between chiding and fondneſs, had taken no notice of Mrs. Willis: ‘That I am ſafe (ſaid ſhe) I am obliged to this gentlewoman; [5] for ſome ſtrange treachery was preparing for me, I believe, but her care has prevented it.’

"Treachery!" interrupted Mrs. White— ‘Aye, you have met with enough of that, I ſuppoſe: there was your new-found friend and acquaintance, miſs—I forget her name, whom you told all your ſecrets to; you made no ſcruple to truſt her, miſs, though you was ſo reſerved to me; ſhe was the occaſion of my loſing my place. Ah! miſs, but I will not upbraid you; I ſee you are concerned: God forbid I ſhould add to your uneaſineſs; I have ſuffered greatly upon your account. It was very unkind in you to put it in the power of a ſtranger to do me ſo much miſchief: ſurely I did not deſerve ſuch a return from you. But God knows my heart, I would not upbraid you for the world; no, I ſcorn it; but I have been the greateſt ſufferer, I am ſure, and yet I meant well.’

"Was not the lady's name Woodby?" in⯑terrupted Henrietta, impatient to hear the par⯑ticulars of this new act of treachery and baſe⯑neſs.

"Aye, Woodby," replied Mrs. White, ‘a diſagreeable creature as ever my eyes beheld. I ſhall never forget how ſhe ſidled into my lady's dreſſing-room, and, half out of breath, [6] told her, ſhe had taken the liberty to wait on her to bring her ſome news of her niece. I could not hear diſtinctly all ſhe ſaid, for my lady ordered me to withdraw; but I put my ear to the key-hole, as I had done once be⯑fore for your ſervice miſs, which I have rea⯑ſon to repent, Heaven knows— but what is paſt cannot be helped— it is not my way to rip up things that are paſt.’

"Well," ſaid Henrietta, ‘but what did you hear?’

"Nay, for that matter," reſumed Mrs. White, ‘I may draw myſelf into another prem [...]e per⯑haps: after what I have ſuffered I ought to be cautious; but I love you, miſs, and muſt tell you every thing, whatever it coſt me, and that you have experienced already. Well, ſhe made up a horrible ſtory, that you had gone away ſuddenly from lodgings where ſhe viſited you, and notwithſtanding the friendſhip there was between you, and a great clutter ſhe made with that word, you went away without giv⯑ing her any notice of your intention; and this ſhe ſaid had a ſtrange appearance.’

Miſs Courteney lifted up her eyes here, in aſtoniſhment at what ſhe heard.

"As for me," continued Mrs. White, ‘ſhe did my buſineſs in an inſtant; for as ſoon as ſhe [7] was gone, my lady ſent for me, and, in a violent rage, told me I ſhould not ſtay another night in her houſe. She was informed, ſhe ſaid, that I had been the cauſe of your running away, by filling your head with notions of her deſigning to confine you in a convent. She would hear nothing that I could ſay in my own defence; and diſmiſſed me that very evening.’

"I am exceſſively ſorry," ſaid Henrietta, ‘that you ſhould ſuffer ſo much on my account —It was indeed very imprudent in me to be ſo communicative to miſs Woodby, but I could not imagine ſhe was capable of ſo much treachery.’

‘But how have you been able to conceal yourſelf ſo well, miſs, from the enquiries of all your friends?’ ſaid Mrs. White. ‘Mr. Bale, it ſeems, your guardian's ſon, knew not where to find you.’

‘Did Mr. Bale ſay he knew not where I was?’ cried miſs Courteney, in aſtoniſhment.

"He told Mr. Danvers ſo," replied Mrs. White, ‘who went ſeveral times by my lady's orders to enquire for you.’

‘Was there ever ſuch complicated trea⯑chery!’ ſaid Henrietta, looking at Mrs. Willis with tears in her eyes. ‘Well, my [8] dear,’ ſaid the good woman, ‘there is at leaſt this advantage in misfortunes, that they bring us at laſt to wiſdom. You will for the future be more cautious how you engage in ſuch perilous enterprizes.’

"Ay, miſs" ſaid Mrs. White, ‘and how you truſt falſe friends to the prejudice of your true ones—You ſee what it has coſt me— but no more of that— I can forget and for⯑give.’

"Well, and what is now to be done?" ſaid miſs Courteney, folding her hands with a me⯑lancholy air.

"It is eaſy to anſwer that queſtion," ſaid Mrs. Willis; ‘you muſt write to your aunt, my dear, and give her an account of all that has happened to you. There is certainly ſomething to condemn in what you have done; but in what you have ſuffered, there is much to be pitied. I am perſuaded her ten⯑derneſs will ſilence her reſentment. I hoped to have left you with your aunt, miſs,’ con⯑tinued Mrs. Willis; ‘but ſince that cannot be, you will return with me, I ſuppoſe.’

"To be ſure I will," ſaid miſs Courteney, ‘with whom in my preſent ſituation can I be ſo happy as with you?’

[9]Mrs. White deſired ſhe might be permitted to come and ſee her, to which Henrietta readily conſented; promiſing, if ſhe was reconciled to her aunt, to uſe her utmoſt endeavours to rein⯑ſtate her in her place.

CHAP. II.

THE two ladies being again ſeated in their poſt-chaiſe, Mrs. Willis kindly applied herſelf to comfort her fair companion, whoſe affecting ſilence, ſhewed a deeper ſenſe of her new diſappointment than any words could ex⯑preſs. However, miſs Courteney felt in reality lower perturbations and leſs anxiety in her re⯑turn, than when ſhe began her journey. So true it is, that when we hope little, we fear little likewiſe.

She now looked upon her aunt's affection as irrecoverable; miſs Woodby's vile inſinuations had ſtrengthened her ſuſpicions: Mr. Bale, when he found himſelf detected, would doubt⯑leſs account for his behaviour in a manner un⯑ [...]vourable to her; her unhappy flight had given ſuch a colour to her ſucceeding actions, as ren⯑dered [10] any juſtification of herſelf hopeleſs; and the inſidious chaplain might now with caſe con⯑firm thoſe prejudices he had raiſed.

In this manner ſhe reaſoned herſelf into a be⯑lief that her misfortune was irremediable: deſpair, as an ingenious writer^† obſerves, being that eaſe to the mind which mortification is to the fleſh, Henrietta found ſome relief in being freed from that viciſſitude of hopes and fears which had ſo long held her mind in the moſt racking ſuſpence; and, with a kind of gloomy ſatisfaction, reſigned herſelf to all the bitterneſs of her fate.

Mrs. Willis, who knew not the peculiarities of lady Meadows's temper, or if ſhe had, would not perhaps have conſidered, that obſtinate people are ever moſt obſtinate in error, thought all things might be ſet right again, by miſs Cour⯑teney's giving a candid narrative of what had happened to her ſince her leaving her; ſhe there⯑fore preſſed the young lady to delay writing to her aunt no longer than the next day.

"There are ſome caſes," ſaid Mrs. Willis to her, when ſhe ſaw her ſitting down to write, ‘in which ſimplicity is the greateſt refinement of art; yours is one of them: be as ſimple and [11] ingenuous as you can in the account you give your aunt, and let the facts ſpeak for them⯑ſelves.’

Henrietta followed her advice, and related every part of her conduct ſince ſhe had left her, and the treachery and deceit that had been uſed towards her, with the utmoſt plainneſs and ſin⯑cerity, and ſaw that ſhe had made her letter more affecting by its ſimplicity, than ſhe could have done by the niceſt touches of art. Mrs. Willis read it, and approved of it; and it was immediately diſpatched to the poſt.

Scarce was this little affair over, when Mr. Bale ſent in his name.

"I like this piece of ceremony," ſaid Mrs. Willis; ‘it looks as if the man was aſhamed of what he has done: do you chuſe to ſee him, miſs?’

"Oh! no," replied Henrietta; ‘it would be ſtrange indeed if I was willing to ſee a man whom you ſuſpect of having ſuch ſhocking deſigns, and who I am ſure has not acted honeſtly.’

"Well then," ſaid Mrs. Willis, ‘I will go down to him, and hear what he has to ſay.’

She returned again in leſs than an hour, ſmil⯑ing. "This young man," ſaid ſhe, ‘does not want ſenſe: what would you ſay, miſs, [12] if I was to tell you that he has perſuaded me he has acted very right, and with the beſt in⯑tentions in the world.’

‘I ſhould ſay that I am leſs unhappy than I thought I was,’ replied miſs Courteney; ‘for ſurely it is a great misfortune to meet with perſons who abuſe our confidence and the good opinion we have of them.’

"That misfortune," ſaid Mrs. Willis, ‘will in time become ſo common, that you will feel it leſs ſenſibly than you do now. The only way to avoid being deceived, is to be always upon your guard againſt deceit.’

"That is to ſay I muſt be always ſuſpicious," ſaid Henrietta; ‘that may be a very prudent maxim, but my heart diſavows it.’

"Alas! my dear," replied Mrs. Willis, ‘we all enter upon the world with high notions of diſintereſtedneſs, friendſhip, ſincerity, and candor: but experience ſhows us, that theſe qualities exiſt not, or among ſo very few, that it does not fall to the lot of one mortal in a thouſand to meet with them in thoſe we con⯑tract friendſhips with. The frequent diſap⯑pointments we ſuffer in the ſearch of them, make ſuſpicion grow into a habit of think⯑ing, which if it leſſens our enjoyments leſſens our inconveniencies likewiſe.’

[13]"Then I," ſaid miſs Courteney, ‘ſhall be always expoſed to inconveniencies; for I am ſure I can never bring myſelf to ſuſpect perſons who appear deſerving of my good opinion: and indeed I think it is more honourable to be often deceived, than to be always doubting.’

"But it is not ſo ſafe," replied Mrs. Willis, ſmiling: ‘however, my dear, in unexperienced youth like yours this way of thinking is meri⯑torious; the faults of the world can only be learned by a long acquaintance with it, and by ſuffering from that acquaintance. Thoſe who derive this kind of knowledge from the heart rather than the head, are indeed ſafe themſelves, but dangerous to all others.’

‘But I will keep you no longer in ſuſpenſe, with regard to Mr. Bale. He has gloſſed over his behaviour ſo as to make me appear ſatisfied with it, which indeed it is neceſſary I ſhould, if I would not wiſh to make an enemy of him; and a very powerful one he might be to my huſband.’

‘He aſked for you as ſoon as he ſaw me, and did not ſeem ſurpriſed at the very ſlight excuſe I made for your not ſeeing him. He expreſſed great concern for the treatment you had re⯑ceived from his wife; for in her frantic rage it [14] ſeems ſhe told him all that had paſſed between you.’

"You find," ſaid he, ‘I did not exaggerate my wife's failing.’

"It is a great misfortune," replied I; ‘but, ſir, I think if you had not made a ſecret of your connections with miſs Courteney, Mrs. Bale's jealouſy would not have had ſo plauſible an excuſe, nor would the young lady have had any reaſon to complain of you.’

"I ſhould have found it abſolutely impoſſible," ſaid he, ‘to have concerned myſelf in miſs Cour⯑teney's affairs, or been of the leaſt uſe to her, had my wife known any thing of the matter; the very fight of miſs Courteney would have rouſed her ſuſpicions, and have put it out of my power to act either as a friend or guardian by her; and, in her unhappy ſituation, ſhe had great need of my care and attention.’

"However, ſir," replied I, ‘it was cer⯑tainly ill judged to conceal from miſs Cour⯑teney, that you was married: what muſt ſhe think of ſuch a ſtrange conduct?’

"Why, Mrs. Willis," reſumed he, ‘I have already told you, that I could not own my mar⯑riage to miſs Courteney, without letting her into my reaſons for not being able to offer her an aſylum in my houſe, during her aunt's diſ⯑pleaſure, [15] an offer ſhe had great reaſon to ex⯑pect. I was unwilling to expoſe my wife's foible, and to raiſe ſcruples in the young lady's mind, which might prevent her from receiving thoſe little ſervices from me which ſhe had ſo much need of: I hope you will re⯑preſent all this to her, and let her know how greatly I am afflicted at what ſhe has ſuf⯑fered.’

‘To be ſure I will, replied I; but miſs Cour⯑teney tells me you have received letters from Mr. Bale, in which he acquaints you that there are ſome foreign merchants coming to re⯑ſide in my houſe; and that ſhe was to be re⯑moved for that reaſon. I ſurpriſed her greatly, by ſaying I had heard nothing of it; and, in⯑deed I am a good deal ſurpriſed myſelf at it.’

"Why, to be plain with you, Mrs. Willis," ſaid the young gentleman, ‘this was only an invention.’

"Indeed!" ſaid I, looking very grave: ‘to be ſure you had ſome good reaſon for it.’

"Doubtleſs I had," purſued he, ‘and you yourſelf ſhall be judge of my reaſon.—This is a bad world, Mrs. Willis, a very bad world: nothing but ſtratagems and deſigns, fraud and cunning. Our ſex, Mrs. Willis, is in a ſtate of war with yours, our arms are ſighs and [16] vows, and flattery and proteſtation, and (as in all other warfares) we fight to deſtroy.’

"Bleſs us," interrupted Henrietta, half ſmil⯑ing, "what could this fine preface lead to?"

"I proteſt," reſumed Mrs. Willis laughing, ‘it was with the utmoſt difficulty I compoſed my countenance to a look of grave attention; while he uttered all this with a ſolemn accent, and an air of infinite importance.’

‘Truly ſir, replied I, for ſo young a gentle⯑man you think very gravely of theſe matters: it is highly commendable in one of your years.’

"Heaven forbid, Mrs. Willis," ſaid he, ‘that all men ſhould be libertines; but in ſhort it was to preſerve miſs Courteney from falling into the ſnares of one, that I formed an ex⯑cuſe for ſending her into the country.’

"Vile diſſembler!" exclaimed miſs Courteney again, glowing with indignation; ‘preſerve me from falling into the ſnares of a libertine! I hope my own diſcretion, without any aid from him, was ſufficient to guard me againſt any ſnares that a libertine could lay for me.’

"I hope ſo too," ſaid Mrs. Willis.

Henrietta bluſhed a little at this expreſſion, which ſeemed, ſhe thought, to imply a doubt, but would not interrupt Mrs. Willis again.

[17] ‘I told you that this gentleman was very art⯑ful,’ continued the good woman, ‘as you will be convinced by the ſtory he told.’

"You muſt know," ſaid he to me, looking extremely wiſe, and lowering his voice, ‘that when I waited upon miſs Courteney at the lodgings ſhe had taken after ſhe left her aunt, I obſerved a fine gay young man there, who followed me when I went out, and looked at me in a manner that ſhewed great curioſity and attention. It came into my head that this might be the ſpark of whom miſs Cour⯑teney's aunt was apprehenſive: I diſcovered that he lodged in the houſe with the young lady; and this circumſtance I liked by no means. I reſolved to remove her immedi⯑ately, and place her with you: ſhe ſo readily conſented to my propoſal that I doubted whe⯑ther I had not been extremely miſtaken in my conjectures concerning this young gentle⯑man; but a day or two after ſhe was ſettled with you, my ſpark came to enquire for her at my houſe: now it was plain that miſs Courteney held ſome correſpondence with him, otherwiſe he could not have known where to come after her.’

‘I happened not to be at home, and the ſervants told him, that no ſuch perſon was [18] there. He came ſeveral times, and was al⯑ways anſwered in the ſame manner. His enquiries at length reached the ears of my wife; ſhe deſired he might be ſhewn up to her apartment when he came next; and it was from him that ſhe learned miſs Courteney was under my care.’

‘To one of her temper it was enough to know that I had the management of a lady's affairs, to make her ſuſpect that I had a more than ordinary intereſt in the lady herſelf. But ſhe concealed her thoughts from me: and I, who was wholly ignorant that this gentle⯑man had ſeen my wife, was only concerned at the connexion there ſeemed to be between miſs Courteney and him; and therefore fixed upon that ſtratagem, to remove her out of his reach without giving her any ſuſpicions of the cauſe.’

‘I have ſince enquired about the gentleman; and I hear that he is a man of quality, and that he is ſhortly to be married to a great for⯑tune. Judge now whether his deſigns on miſs Courteney could be honourable▪ and whe⯑ther I had not reaſon to act as I did with re⯑gard to ſending her away?’

[19]"And now, my dear," added Mrs. Willis, ſmiling, ‘did you ever hear a more plauſible tale?’

"I have ſomewhere read it obſerved," re⯑plied Henrietta, ‘that we are better deceived by having ſome truth told us than none. Mr. Bale has put this maxim in practice; his tale is plauſible, becauſe part of it is true: but his inferences are all falſe; and their cauſe lies too deep for me to diſcover it.’

She then related ſuccinctly all that had paſſed in the houſe of Mrs. Eccles, and that ſhe had earneſtly intreated Mr. Bale to diſpoſe of her elſewhere, being reſolved, after the affront that had been offered to her, to remain there no longer. She added, that the young lord hav⯑ing hinted his ſuſpicions that Mr. Bale was her lover, ſhe thought herſelf obliged to tell him his name, and explain the nature of his con⯑nexions with her, that ſhe might not, by going away with a perſon unknown, leave room for calumny to ſlander her.

Mrs. Willis was charmed with this candid account of her conduct, which overthrew all Mr. Bale's inſinuations. She embraced her with great tenderneſs. ‘All will ſoon be ſet right (ſaid ſhe) your aunt will receive you [20] with redoubled affection.’ Miſs Courteney ſighed; but having already taken her reſolution, ſhe was prepared for whatever events might happen.

CHAP. III.

TWO days afterwards a letter was brought by the poſt for miſs Courteney; the direc⯑tion was in her aunt's hand: ſhe opened it with ſome trepidation, and found it as follows:

[22]Although ſeveral parts of this letter were ex⯑tremely ſhocking both to the delicacy and pride of Henrietta, yet the ſhining bribe that was of⯑fered her to procure her apoſtaſy, made a large compenſation. She had now an opportunity given her of making a worthy ſacrifice to the religion ſhe believed and profeſſed; a circum⯑ſtance that exalted her in her own opinion: for her ſelf-love had been deeply wounded by the humiliations ſhe had undergone; and as great delicacy always ſuffers moſt, ſo it enjoys moſt from its own reflection.

She was not free from a little enthuſiaſm that told her it was glorious to ſuffer in the cauſe of religion, nor ſo diſintereſted as not to feel great pleaſure in the thought of being able to free her moral character from injurious ſuſpicions, by ſo firm an attachment to her religious prin⯑ciples.

Her impatience to anſwer her aunt's letter would not allow her time to communicate to Mrs. Willis the contents of it: but as ſoon a [...] ſhe had done writing, ſhe ſent for the goo [...] woman, and put lady Meadows's letter into he [...] hands, with ſuch an air of conſcious ſatisfa [...] ⯑tion, as perſuaded her the ſo much deſired [...] ⯑conciliation was effected; but when upon rea [...] ⯑ing the letter, ſhe found her miſtake, ſhe thr [...] [23] it down, and, in a melancholy accent, and a look that expreſſed the moſt anxious curioſity, aſked her how ſhe had reſolved?

"Read this," ſaid Henrietta, giving her the letter ſhe had written; I am ſure you will not "diſapprove of what I have done." Mrs. Willis read it eagerly, and found it as follows:

‘I muſt approve, nay admire your reſolu⯑tion, miſs,’ ſaid Mrs. Willis, returning the letter; ‘and if you perſiſt in it, you will ap⯑pear to me a wonder.’

"Do you doubt my perſiſting in it?" replied Henrietta.

"When I conſider," ſaid Mrs. Willis, ‘your birth, your youth, your beauty, and the ex⯑pectations you have been encouraged to enter⯑tain, I know it muſt coſt you a great deal to throw away the advantages that are offered you, and which poſſibly you might ſecure by temporiſing at leaſt.’

"Diſſimulation," interrupted Henrietta, ‘on any occaſion, is mean and ſcandalous; but in matters of religion it is ſurely a heinous crime; and I hope I am far enough from committing it; but I own I have many mo⯑tives to ſtimulate my reſolution.’

‘My own imprudence, and the treachery of others, have given a wound to my reputa⯑tion, which a voluntary poverty can only re⯑pair. [25] In this licentious age, ſhe, who with youth and even the ſlighteſt advantages of perſon, dares to be poor, deſerves ſurely to be thought virtuous; and I ſhall ever acknowledge the bounty of Providence, that, amidſt the un⯑juſt cenſures which have been caſt on me, has made an humble lot my choice.’

"I am ſatisfied," interrupted Mrs. Willis: ‘reaſon, I ſee, has a greater ſhare in your ſo lately formed reſolution, than the zeal of en⯑thuſiaſm, or the ſuggeſtions of vanity; and you may believe me a true friend to your fame, when I heartily congratulate you on your pre⯑ſent ſituation. And now, my dear miſs, ſuffer me to aſſure you of my tendereſt friend⯑ſhip; a friendſhip which cannot be contented with bare profeſſions, and inſiſts upon your putting it to ſome trial.’

‘Tell me how I can ſerve you? O! that you would honour me ſo far as to let this houſe be your aſylum till fortune does juſtice to your merit. Condeſcend to live with me, my dear miſs, and ſhare my little income.’

"You are very kind, dear Mrs. Willis," re⯑plied Henrietta; ‘but my circumſtances will not permit me to continue your boarder, and no diſtreſs ſhall oblige me to be burthenſome to a friend. I have already reſolved how to [26] diſpoſe of myſelf, and, in the ſcheme I have formed, I ſhall need your aſſiſtance.’

"Tell me, my dear," cried Mrs. Willis, eagerly, "how I can be of any uſe to you?"

"You muſt," replied Henrietta, bluſhing a little: ‘you muſt get me a ſervice, my dear Mrs. Willis.’

"A ſervice!" exclaimed the good woman.

"I am very well qualified," reſumed Hen⯑rietta, recovering from her firſt confuſion, and ſmiling, ‘to wait upon a woman of faſhion: for my mother gave me a uſeful as well as genteel education; and this ſtation will be at once private enough to ſecure me from diſ⯑agreeable accidents, and publick enough to make my conduct acquit or condemn me.’

"I will not," added ſhe, obſerving Mrs. Willis continued ſilent, ‘offer myſelf to any place by my own name; that would look like an inſult upon my great relations, and be perhaps an obſtruction to my ſucceſs. It is ſufficient for me, that whenever I am diſco⯑vered, it may be in circumſtances at which they, not I, need be aſhamed.’

‘When I firſt heard you mention this ſcheme,’ ſaid Mrs. Willis, ‘I thought I could never be brought to approve it; but a little reflection has convinced me that it may [27] have good conſequences. You cannot be long concealed; that graceful form will ſoon draw notice upon you. Whenever you are known to be in a ſtation ſo unworthy your birth and merit, the pride of your relations will be rouzed. How glorious then will this humiliation be for you! Methinks I ſee their confuſion for their neglect of you, and their eagerneſs to repair it, by reſtoring you to the rank you was born in— Oh! my dear, you will certainly be happy yet, I am ſure you will.’

Henrietta ſmiled a little at the good woman's ſanguine expectations; but in reality, the ſame thoughts had made a great impreſſion upon her, and contributed, more than ſhe imagined, to allay the uneaſineſs ſhe felt at being reduced to take ſuch a ſtep. By degrees ſhe formed in her own mind ſo romantick a ſcene, that ſhe grew impatient to enter upon it, and again intreated the aſſiſtance of Mrs. Willis.

The good woman telling her that a couſin of her huſband's was a ſack-maker, and in great vogue at the court end of the town, it was agreed that ſhe ſhould go to her, and en⯑gage her good offices towards recommending the young lady to a place; it being very likely that [28] among her cuſtomers, who were moſtly women of quality, ſhe might hear of one that would ſuit her.

CHAP. IV.

MRS. Willis ſucceeded beyond her hopes; the mantua-maker had been deſired by a lady ſhe worked for, to look out for a genteel young perſon to ſerve her in the quality of her woman; and promiſed her couſin, that ſhe would mention her friend to the lady the next day, being to wait on her with ſome cloaths that were to be tried on. She added, that the lady was a citizen, but had an immenſe for⯑tune, and that her place was certainly a very good one.

Henrietta ſeemed very well pleaſed with her landlady's ſucceſs, though ſhe was not free from ſome uneaſy perturbations at the thoughts of the condition ſhe was ſo ſoon to enter upon.

Mrs. Meaſure did not fail to viſit her couſin the next day. ‘Well (ſaid ſhe) I have done the young gentlewoman's buſineſs: ſhe has [29] nothing to do but to wait upon miſs Cord⯑wain; and, if ſhe likes her figure, ſhe will hire her directly.’

"Why, pray," replied Mrs. Willis, ‘what kind of figure will beſt pleaſe this lady?’

"Oh!" cried Mrs. Meaſure, ‘miſs Cord⯑wain's woman muſt be very genteel, and look like a gentlewoman; the richer ſhe is dreſſed too, when ſhe goes to wait on her, the better. Every thing about miſs Cordwain muſt be magnificent. Well,’ purſued ſhe, laughing, and taking a pinch of ſnuff, which produced ſeveral little pauſes in her diſcourſe, ‘it is really ſurpriſing to ſee theſe little cits, how they mimick people of quality—They muſt be ſo extravagantly in the faſhion—I vow and proteſt the negligee I tried on miſs Cordwain to-day, had a train three yards and a half long.’

Henrietta that moment entering the room, Mrs. Willis, ſeeing her couſin was ſurpriſed at her appearance, ſaid, this is the young gentle⯑woman who wants a place.

The mantua-maker, upon this information, reſumed her familiar look and manner; and, throwing herſelf again upon her chair, took a full ſurvey of the young lady, who thanked her, with ſome heſitation, and a bluſh that crim⯑ſoned [30] over her face, for the ſervice ſhe had done her.

"I have juſt been telling my couſin," ſaid Mrs. Meaſure, ‘that miſs Cordwain, the lady I have recommended you to, ma'am, is very hard to be pleaſed. Her woman muſt look like a lady forſooth: ſhe has refuſed three that went to ſee her place; one, becauſe ſhe had a red hand; it looked, ſhe ſaid, as if the creature had ſtood at a waſh-tub; another, becauſe ſhe went to be hired in a linen gown; and the third, becauſe ſhe had lived with no⯑body of higher rank than a baronet's wife— But I am ſure ſhe can have no objection to you, ma'am, unleſs perhaps ſhe may think you too handſome. Do you take ſnuff, ma'am?’ offering her box, which Henrietta civilly declined.

"But dear ma'am," purſued the mantua-maker, ‘who makes your cloaths? I never ſaw any thing ſo frightful as the ſlope of that ruffle, then ſuch a horrid ſleeve: it is well, you are naturally genteel.’

Henrietta ſlightly bowed in return for this compliment; and aſked her, at what hour it would be proper to wait upon miſs Cord⯑wain?

[31]"About one o'clock in the forenoon," re⯑plied Mrs. Meaſure, ‘that's her breakfaſt time. Her father, honeſt man, is in his warehouſe before ſix. But this is his only daughter; and he expects ſhe will be a ducheſs, or counteſs at leaſt— She has fifty thouſand pounds.’

"Where does the lady live?" aſked Henrietta.

"Here in one of your filthy lanes," replied the mantua-maker; ‘I forget the name of it, but every body knows Mr. Cordwain the packer.’

She then roſe up, made one of her beſt cour⯑teſies, and hurried into a chair that was waiting for her; for this polite mantua-maker was above viſiting her cuſtomers in a hackney coach: and this inſolence was ſuch a proof of her excellence in her buſineſs, that few ever ſcrupled to pay for it.

CHAP. V.

HEnrietta having ſummoned all her reſolu⯑tion, that ſhe might acquit herſelf with propriety of the taſk ſhe had undertaken, pre⯑pared the next day to wait upon miſs Cordwain. She remembered the mantua-maker's hint, and therefore avoided any ſtudied ſimplicity in her dreſs; but no apparel, however mean, could have hid that noble air, or diſguiſed that na⯑tive elegance, ſo conſpicuous throughout her whole perſon.

As ſoon as ſhe was ready, ſhe ſtepped in to Mrs. Willis's parlour, and, while a coach was ſent for, aſſumed a more than ordinary chear⯑fulneſs in her diſcourſe with the good woman; for ſhe was extremely deſirous of concealing the emotions ſhe felt upon this mortifying occaſion, and affected a moſt heroick indifference, while inly ſhe ſuffered all that a mind, de [...]cate and ſenſible as her's, could feel.

Mrs. Willis followed her to the door with tears in her eyes. The young lady ſtepped into the coach, ſmiled a farewel, and ordered [33] the coachman to drive to Mr. Cordwain's. A few minutes brought her to the houſe; and the ſervant, of whom ſhe enquired if miſs Cordwain was at home, having ſhewn her into a parlour, bowed and withdrew.

Miſs Cordwain being informed that a lady enquired for her, ordered her admittance; and the ſame ſervant returning, conducted Henrietta to her dreſſing-room.

Miſs Cordwain, who was ſtill lingering over her tea-table with a female acquaintance, roſe up at Henrietta's graceful entrance, and, re⯑ceiving her with a low courteſy, offered her an arm-chair at the upper-end of the room.

Henrietta, conſcious of the error ſhe had committed in not making uſe of the mantua-maker's name before, bluſhed a little at this reception, which was not ſuitable to the cha⯑racter ſhe was to appear in, and, declining the chair; "Mrs. Meaſure, madam," ſaid ſhe. She could utter no more than thoſe two words; but they were ſufficient to give miſs Cordwain to underſtand her buſineſs.

The haughty citizen was exceſſively ſhocked to find ſhe had been betrayed by the figure of Henrietta into ſo improper an inſtance of reſpect; and that the perſon ſhe took for a lady of diſ⯑tinction was the young woman who had been [34] recommended to her ſervice, thought to recover the dignity which ſhe conceived ſhe had loſt from this miſtake, by aſſuming an imperious air and an inſolent accent.

"Who did you live with laſt?" ſaid ſhe to Henrietta, throwing herſelf again into her chair, and glancing her over with a ſupercilious eye; ‘I hope it was with a woman of quality: you will not do for me, I can tell you, if you have not been uſed to attend upon perſons of rank.’

Henrietta, notwithſtanding the confuſion ſhe was under at acting ſo ſtrange a part, could not help being diverted with the pride of this daugh⯑ter of trade.

"I am afraid, madam," ſaid ſhe, ‘I ſhall not be worthy of your place; for I never lived in the ſervice of any woman of quality, nor indeed in any other.’

"What you are a gentlewoman, I ſuppoſe," interrupted miſs Cordwain, drawling out the word gentlewoman; ‘and now I remember Meaſure told me you had never been in ſer⯑vice. Well, that does not ſignify: I have no objection to your having been a gentlewoman; you may be the better ſervant for what I know. For to ſay the truth,’ ſaid ſhe, addreſſing herſelf to her companion, ‘thoſe ſort of poor [35] gentlewomen, when they are reduced, as they call it, to wait upon us, who could buy their whole generation, often know their diſtance better, and are more humble than ſuch as have been bred to ſervice.’

Oh!" ſaid the other lady, with an applauding ſmile, ‘ever while you live, madam, chuſe a gentlewoman for your maid. There is alder⯑man Fig the grocer's lady: I have heard He often declare ſhe never was ſo well ſerved as when colonel Noble's daughter waited on her. The colonel was killed in the laſt war; and, as thoſe folks you know have ſeldom any thing to leave their families, his fine gay daughters were obliged to go to ſervice after his death, and did very well; but ſome body left them ten thouſand pounds a piece, and ſpoiled two excellent ſervants, by making them gentle⯑women again.’

"Nay, if they had fortunes left them," re⯑plied miſs Cordwain, "why you know, then, "they had a right to be called gentlewomen.

"Well, child," purſued ſhe, turning to Henrietta, ‘as I told you before I have no ob⯑jection to your having been a gentlewoman; for I am reſolved never to have any other to wait on me: I ſhall take you upon Meaſure's [36] recommendation, and the ſooner you come the better.’

Henrietta, who had really enjoyed the con⯑verſation that had paſſed between theſe two la⯑dies, told her that ſhe would come whenever ſhe pleaſed; and it being agreed ſhe ſhould come the following day, that ſhe might dreſs her new lady for a city-feaſt, ſhe courteſied profoundly low, and withdrew.

Henrietta, whoſe imagination was naturally lively, and not wholly free from thoſe romantic notions which perſons of her age readily admit, began to conſider her transformation from the niece of lady Meadows, and a preſumptive heireſs, into the waiting-maid of a cit, as one of thoſe caprices of fate which never fail to pro⯑duce ſurpriſing effects. She could not help fan⯑cying herſelf the future heroine of ſome affect⯑ing tale, whoſe life would be varied with ſur⯑priſing viciſſitudes of fortune; and that ſhe would at laſt be raiſed to a rank as much above her hopes, as the ſtation ſhe was now entering upon was below all that her fears had ever ſuggeſted.

But theſe reflections were ſucceeded by others more reaſonable, and which indeed afforded her a more ſolid ſatisfaction: ſhe was going to re⯑fute the cenſures of an injurious world; to make that innocence which had been ſo vilely tra⯑duced [37] manifeſt, in her chearful ſubmiſſion to poverty and ſervitude, at a time when a ſhining fortune was offered to purchaſe a change in her religious principles, and when perhaps a little diſſimulation, or a temporary compliance with her aunt's propoſals, might reſtore her to a rank in life ſuitable to her birth.

The ſatisfaction ſhe felt from theſe pleaſing ideas, diffuſed ſuch a ſerenity over her fair face, as agreeably ſurpriſed Mrs. Willis, who had waited her return with impatience.

Henrietta repeated to her the dialogue that had paſſed between the two ladies with ſo much humour, and marked the pride of wealth, and aukward affectation of grandeur and diſtinction, in theſe opulent heireſſes to the laborious gains of ſordid thrift, and perhaps ſucceſsful knavery, with ſuch delicate ſtrokes of ſatire as convinced Mrs. Willis ſhe would not be an injudicious ob⯑ſerver of the manners of thoſe whom it might be her lot to aſſociate with, nor paſs through this new ſcene of life, without drawing improve⯑ment from it.

The good woman was grieved to find that ſhe muſt loſe her ſo ſoon; but, being fully per⯑ſuaded that this humiliating ſtep would termi⯑nate in ſomething happy for her fair friend, ſhe diſpoſed herſelf to part with her chearfully.

[38]It was agreed between them, that the elder Mr. Bale ſhould not be made acquainted with any part of his ſon's behaviour with regard to Henrietta, till his return from Holland, when the whole affair might be laid candidly before him; and that the younger ſhould be told, that ſhe was gone into ſervice; but where, he was not to be informed.

The next day Henrietta, after taking a tender farewel of Mrs. Willis, repaired to her new dwelling. Miſs Cordwain was juſt gone out to make ſome little purchaſes for the evening; and Henrietta, being directed to go into her lady's dreſſing-room, was met by her predeceſſor, who had lingered in the houſe to have an opportunity of ſpeaking to her, that, according to the ge⯑neral cuſtom of ſervants, ſhe might prejudice her againſt her new miſtreſs.

From this girl, who was not ſparing in her invectives, ſhe learned that miſs Cordwain's temper, which was not naturally good, was ex⯑tremely ſowered of late by a diſappointment in love; that the packer, her father, had been treating with a certain nobleman for a ma [...]h be⯑tween her and the nobleman's eldeſt ſon; but that it had been broke off, becauſe the citizen had refuſed to lay down more than thirty thou⯑ſand [39] pounds with his daughter, and the noble⯑man inſiſted upon forty.

This little piece of hiſtory was followed by a thouſand other family anecdotes; to all which Henrietta liſtened in ſilence, and was not ſorry that the cenſorious waiting-woman, whoſe tongue had, during a whole hour, run with ſur⯑priſing volubility, was at length ſilenced by the arrival of miſs Cordwain; whoſe voice when ſhe heard on the ſtairs, ſhe took a haſty leave, and retreated thro' a different door from that which the lady entered.

Miſs Cordwain, as ſoon as ſhe ſaw Hen⯑rietta, ſlightly inclined her head, in return to her reſpectful courteſy; and throwing ſome mil⯑lenary trifles upon her toilet, ſhe ſat down to her glaſs, and ordered her new woman to comb her hair, ſhewing a fretful impatience at her hair⯑dreſſer's long delay; for ſhe was to meet her company at nine o'clock, and it was now almoſt four: ſo that ſhe had good reaſon to fear ſhe ſhould hardly have time enough to dreſs.

While Henrietta was acquitting herſelf han⯑dily enough of this task, her lady took up a col⯑ [...]ection of ſongs that lay upon her table, that ſhe might improve her mind while her body was [...]dorning; and after reading intently a few mo⯑ments [40] to herſelf, ſhe haſtily turned over the leaves to a place that was doubled down, and began to read aloud a moſt piteous complaint of a deſpairing nymph, whoſe lover had forſaken her for another: ſhe concluded this doleful ditty with a deep ſigh; and repeating the burden of it, for men are as falſe as the changeable wind, "Henrietta," ſaid ſhe, ‘was you ever in love?’

Our fair heroine, who underſtood this queſ⯑tion as a prelude to a confidence from her miſtreſs, was at ſome loſs how to anſwer it, when ſhe was relieved from her perplexity by the ar⯑rival of monſieur Fineſſe, the French hair-cutter.

Miſs Cordwain, immediately dropping her tender languiſhments, aſſumed a ſupercilious air; and, after haughtily interrogating the inge⯑nious artiſt for not coming ſooner, ſubmitted her treſſes to his forming hands, a ſettled gloom all the time clouding her face: for whether it was that her glaſs, on which her eyes were intently fixed, told her ſome unpleaſing truths, or that her gentle boſom heaved with ſome ſecret diſ⯑content, but it is certain that every thing diſ⯑pleaſed her; nor could all Henrietta's obliging attention to the adorning her perſon draw a ſmile of approbation from her.

[41]After five hours labour, however, the lady was completely dreſſed. Her father, who had not ſeen her ſince dinner, which ſhe had ſwallowed in haſte, having ſo much buſineſs on her hands, now entered the room; and liking the ſhewy appearance ſhe made, "Why, Jenny," ſaid he, "you are as fine as a ducheſs."

"As fine as a ducheſs," repeated ſhe, pout⯑ing; "and why not?"

"Very true, girl," replied the father, ‘thou haſt that which can make ducheſſes: but, Jenny, I have ſomething to ſay to thee in pri⯑vate; ſo ſend your waiting-maid away.’

Henrietta immediately retired into her miſ⯑treſs's bedchamber; which being only ſeparated from the dreſſing-room by a ſlight partition of wainſcot, ſhe could not avoid hearing every thing that paſſed.

‘I have had a propoſal made me this after⯑noon,’ reſumed the father, ‘and I came to acquaint you with it. Mr. Traffick has aſked you in marriage; there's immenſe riches for you, girl: what ſay you?’

"Sure, papa," cried miſs Cordwain haſtily, ‘you have not given him any encouragement, have you? A fine match, indeed! ſo I muſt be called plain Mrs. Traffick all my days, and there's miſs Fig married to a viſcount, [42] and has coronets upon her coach: three weeks ago, miſs Haggle, the broker's daughter, became a counteſs; and but this very morn⯑ing I heard that the duke of Hazard is court⯑ing miſs Steam, our neighbour the ſoapboiler's niece, and ſhe has but twenty thouſand pounds.—I can't bear it; ſo, I can't,’ pur⯑ſued miſs Cordwain, burſting into tears, ‘to ſee all my comrades at Hackney boarding-ſchool married to right honourables, and I am not likely to be even a paltry baronet's wife.’

Here her tears and ſobs ſuppreſſed any far⯑ther utterance, and had ſuch an effect upon the fond father, that he alſo was ready to cry.

"Don't break my heart, Jenny," ſaid he, half ſobbing; ‘you know it is death to me to ſee you fret and grieve yourſelf: are you not my only child? is it not for you that I have been toiling and labouring for theſe forty years, up early and down late, ſcraping all I can to⯑gether, gaining much and ſpending little, and all to make you a peereſs of Great Britain, and a peereſs you ſhall be; ſo don't cry, my girl, and ſpoil your complexion; neither neigh⯑bour Fig, nor neighbour Haggle's daughter, ſhall be greater than you. You ſhall be a counteſs, Jenny, will that content you? I [43] will lay down the odd ten thouſand, that the earl of — and I quarrelled about, and you ſhall have his ſon.’

"I am obliged to you, papa," ſaid miſs Cord⯑wain; "but—"

"Nay," interrupted the father, ‘I find nothing will pleaſe you: you were crying juſt now, becauſe you were not a counteſs; and when I tell you you that I will part with an⯑other ten thouſand pounds, to make you eaſy, you come with your buts.’

"Why, ſuppoſe I am a counteſs," replied miſs Cordwain, ‘will not miſs Steam be a ducheſs, and take place of me? I can never endure that.’

"What ſignifies her taking place of you," ſaid her father, ‘the duke's eſtate is not half ſo good as the earl of —; beſides, you refuſed a duke, you know, and you have often told me that you like lord B— better than any man in the world, and how have you pined ſince the match was broke off!’

"Well, I confeſs," replied miſs, ‘that I do like my lord B—, and would rather marry him than any duke in the land, pro⯑vided that little odious thing, miſs Steam, did not marry above me: ſhe to be called her [44] grace at every word, while I am only lady B—; I ſhould die with vexation.’

"Since it is ſo," ſaid the father, ‘I ſhall lay aſide my deſign, and make no advances to the earl.’

‘And then his ſon will marry ſome body elſe,’ cried miſs Cordwain.

"What would the girl be at?" interrupted the good man, with ſome heat; ‘if you won't have him, need you care who has.’

Miſs Cordwain now burſt into a flood of tears: ſhe liked lord B—, but ſhe could not bear the thoughts of miſs Steam's being in a rank above her; and love and envy raiſed ſuch tumults in her breaſt, as made her ſeek a relief in tears.

"I wiſh you knew your own mind, girl," ſaid the father half angry, and half concerned at her grief.

"I know my own mind well enough," re⯑plied miſs ſullenly: ‘I would marry lord B—, and I would not have that proud [...] be a ducheſs.’

"Take my word for it," ſaid the father, ‘ſhe will never be ducheſs of Hazard; I know her fortune is not ſufficient to ch [...]r the duke's eſtate of two mortgages that have almoſt ſwal⯑lowed it up.’

[45]"Nay, then," interrupted miſs Cordwain, who eagerly admitted an argument that ſet her mind at eaſe, ‘I am ſure the duke will not have her; for ſhe is ſo ugly you know, papa, that nothing could charm him but her riches.’

"Well," ſaid the father, ſmiling with plea⯑ſure, to ſee her in good humour again, ‘I am to meet a friend of the earl's to-night; ſhall this affair be brought on again?’

"As you pleaſe, papa," ſaid miſs Cordwain, courteſying; ‘you know it is my duty to be obedient.’

"Aye," ſaid the good man, kiſſing her, ‘you have always been one of the moſt dutiful chil⯑dren in the world; and I will make thee a lady, though I don't leave myſelf a ſhilling.’ With this wiſe declaration he quitted the room, leaving his daughter in high ſpirits; who, after ſhe had called her maid to adjuſt whatever might be amiſs in her dreſs, and taken a full ſurvey of herſelf in the glaſs, ſtepped into her coach, with the air of a citizen who had a fortune of forty thouſand pounds.

CHAP. VI.

HEnrietta, when ſhe was left alone, found ſufficient matter for reflection in the ſenti⯑ments and behaviour of this wealthy tradeſman and his daughter; and as it was now become neceſſary for her own peace of mind to reconcile herſelf to the ſituation that fortune had placed her in, ſhe endeavoured to extract uſeful leſſons from every ſcene that paſſed under her obſerva⯑tion.

Why have I lamented my poverty? ſaid ſhe to herſelf; riches neither give underſtanding to the mind, nor elegance to the perſon. How mean is miſs Cordwain with forty thouſand pounds! what narrow notions! what ſelfiſh paſſions! how ignorant, how contemptible!— All the advantages her large fortune procures her, is a title and a coronet: honours how deſpicable, when ſuch as miſs Cordwain wear them!

Let me thank Heaven then, that made my father a younger brother; that he inherited the [47] virtues and elevated ſentiments of his noble an⯑ceſtors, and wanted that allurement to upſtart wealth, which might have given me a miſs Cordwain for a mother, and have deprived me of thoſe generous precepts, and thoſe bright examples, by which I have been taught to think poverty a leſs evil than diſhonour; and that a peaceful conſcience is cheaply purchaſed with the loſs of every worldly advantage.

Theſe were her reflections, as ſhe afterwards declared to her friend. It is not therefore ſur⯑priſing that with ſuch ſentiments, our fair heroine found herſelf tranquil in her humble ſtation, and dignified misfortune by her graceful reſignation to it.

If the woman ſhe ſerved had had judgment enough to diſtinguiſh merit, and goodneſs e⯑nough to love it, Henrietta muſt have en⯑gaged her attention and her kindneſs: but little minds like nothing but what reſembles them⯑ſelves.

Miſs Cordwain ſometimes condeſcended to enter into a converſation with her woman, but was quickly diſguſted with the difference of their notions; and what ſhe could not compre⯑hend, ſhe either deſpiſed as folly, or ſuſpected as artifice.

[48]They were upon theſe terms when Mr. Cord⯑wain acquainted his daughter, that they were invited to ſpend a week at the earl of —'s country-ſeat; for the conteſted ten thouſand pounds being granted by the citizen, the treaty of marriage was renewed; and this viſit was propoſed in order to bring the young people to⯑gether again with ſome kind of decorum.

Miſs Cordwain, in high ſpirits, gave her wo⯑man notice to make preparations for this little journey; which done, Henrietta went to take leave of her faithful Mrs. Willis.

"What a triumph would mine be," ſaid ſhe to her friend, ‘if any of my relations ſhould happen to be at this nobleman's ſeat▪ and be⯑hold me in the character of miſs Cordwain's ſervant!’

"You have done right, my dear," replied Mrs. Willis, ‘to call it a triumph; for ſo in⯑deed it would be, the triumph of virtue over pride and prejudice.’

The good woman informed her, that her guardian was in a very ill ſtate of health, and was gone to Montpelier, in conſequence of his phyſician's advice: that the young man had been there to wait upon her; and that when he heard of the reſolution ſhe had taken, he af⯑fected to think himſelf extremely injured by her [49] conduct, as it ſhewed the utmoſt contempt of his advice and friendſhip; but it was eaſy to perceive, added Mrs. Willis, that there was more grief than anger in the reproaches he threw out againſt you upon this occaſion. He ſeemed much mortified at my refuſing to tell him where you was, but owned that his wife made him very uneaſy upon your account; and when I urged that as an argument againſt the propriety of your ſeeing him, his ſilence acknow⯑ledged me in the right.

Henrietta was ſenſibly affected with the news of her guardian's illneſs; and, ſince his return was now uncertain, ſhe reſolved to write to him immediately, and give him an account of all that had happened to her ſince he went abroad, fearing that unleſs ſhe explained the reaſons of her conduct, he might be prejudiced againſt her by her aunt's repreſentations of it. She would not give him any diſquiet, by mentioning his ſon's behaviour, but left that to be unravell'd by time.

Mrs. Willis having promiſed to get this letter ſafely tranſmitted to Mr. Bale, Henrietta took a tender leave of her, and returned home.

The next morning very early, the coach and ſix was at the door; miſs Cordwain impatiently ſtepped in, for ſhe thought every moment an [50] age till ſhe ſaw her noble lover again. Her face dreſſed in ſmiles of pleaſing expectation, and her heart exulting with the conſciouſneſs of her own worth, which, by her father's conceſſion of the diſputed thouſands, had received ſuch a con⯑ſiderable addition: but being, as I have before obſerved, not very happy in the frame of her temper, this ſun-ſhine of ſatisfaction was ſoon clouded at being obliged to wait a few minutes for her father, whoſe ſlowneſs but ill ſuited with her eager impatience.

Indeed the wary citizen, having wiſely con⯑ſidered that they had a journey to perform of at leaſt twenty miles, was buſied in packing up ſome neceſſary refreſhments, that they might not be famiſhed by the way. For this purpoſe he had cauſed a neat's tongue, a cake of gin⯑ger-bread, two or three pounds of almonds and raiſins, and a bottle of ſack, to be provided; and he himſelf brought the baſket in which they were depoſited to the coach, directing Hen⯑rietta to get in firſt, that he might place it ſafely in her lap; which done, he took his ſeat next his daughter, and ordered the coachman to drive.

Miſs Cordwain's ill humour inſenſibly wear⯑ing off, they purſued their journey with great [51] ſatisfaction, not having baited above three or four times on the road.

At length the young lady's eyes were de⯑lighted with the proſpect of the magnificent villa, which ſhe expected one day to be miſtreſs of; but her attention was ſoon called off that object by the preſence of her lover, who, being juſt returned from a little excurſion on horſe⯑back, alighted as ſoon as he ſaw the coach ſtop, and advanced to hand his miſtreſs out.

The young lord preſented his hand to miſs Cordwain with an air of forced gallantry; but happening to glance his eyes towards Henrietta, he ſtarted back in great ſurpriſe.

Miſs Cordwain, vexed at the attention with which he gazed upon her woman, jumped out of the coach, before he had ſufficiently reco⯑vered himſelf to be able to offer her again the hand, which, in his confuſion, he had with⯑drawn.

The lady having on a capuchin, which ſhe had wore during the journey, untied it, and, toſſing it into the coach to Henrietta, bid her, in an imperious tone, to take care of it.

This action and theſe words gave the young nobleman to underſtand that our beauteous he⯑roine was actually the ſervant of miſs Cordwain: [52] a circumſtance which furniſhed him with new matter for wonder; and indeed this encounter gave him ſo much perplexity, and ſo entirely engroſſed his thoughts, that the old tradeſman (who enquired after my good lord and my good lady's health, with as many bows and ſcrapes as would have ſerved any trader to expreſs his acknowledgment to a cuſtomer whom he had juſt impoſed upon) was obliged to repeat his queſtions ſeveral times before he could procure an anſwer.

As for Henrietta, ſhe had, upon the firſt fight of this young nobleman, whom ſhe im⯑mediately knew to be the ſame perſon who lodged at Mrs. Eccles's, been under ſome con⯑fuſion, left he ſhould accoſt her as an acquaint⯑ance before the lady on whom ſhe attended; but obſerving that from miſs Cordwain's be⯑haviour, he underſtood her ſituation, and took no further notice of her than by a ſide glance, which he gave her, full of paſſionate concern, ſhe was relieved from her fears, and, far from being diſcompoſed at the character ſhe appeared in, ſhe acquitted herſelf of the little duties of her ſtation with the moſt graceful eaſe; gave her lady her fan, received her commands, and, with a little French trunk in her hand that con⯑tained [53] ſome laces and linen, followed her to the houſe at a reſpectful diſtance.

Lord B—'s emotions at this unexpected meeting with Henrietta, having now in ſome degree ſubſided, he entertained his miſtreſs as they walked with his uſual vivacity and polite⯑neſs, but could not help often turning to ſnatch a look of her fair attendant, whoſe charms in that humble ſtation, a ſtation ſo unworthy of her birth and ſhining merit, acquired a pathe⯑tick power that melted him to a tenderneſs he had never known before.

He conducted the lady and her father to the apartment of the counteſs his mother; and, taking the firſt opportunity to leave them, re⯑tired to his own, that he might be at liberty to reflect upon his adventure.

To know that the woman, whom all his moſt diligent enquiries for ſo many weeks could never diſcover, was in the ſame houſe with him, was a circumſtance that afforded him infinite ſatisfaction; but he ſaw no probabi⯑lity of turning this circumſtance to the ad⯑vantage of his deſigns upon her. For, with what face could he plead his paſſion to one of her delicacy, while he was publickly addreſſing another?

[54]The ſervile condition he ſaw her in was a bar to his hopes. She who, with ſuch un⯑common attractions, could reſolve to be poor, muſt needs be incorruptible. What allure⯑ment could riches throw out for a woman, who knew no other pride but the pride of virtue?

He could not hope to make an impreſſion upon her heart by the diſguiſe of honourable love. She muſt needs know the terms he was upon with miſs Cordwain; and was afraid that ſhe already deſpiſed him for the meanneſs of ſuch a choice.

It was indeed ſtill in his power to throw ſuch obſtacles in the way of this match, as to defer, if not break it entirely, but he could not reſolve to make ſuch a ſacrifice to love; he would have married Henrietta with [...] miſs Cordwain's fortune, and was amazed at the violence of his paſſion, when he conſidered the prodigious diſproportion between twenty and forty thouſand pounds— Yet moſt ſincerely did he wiſh his generoſity could have been put to this trial; and, in the violence of his gri [...] at the apparent impoſſibility that this ſhould ever happen, a thouſand times did he curſe the male⯑volence of fate, that united ſo many virtues and [55] graces in one lovely woman, and denied her wealth; which however, by his preference of miſs Cordwain, he tacitly acknowledged was worth them all.

A whole hour's labour of thought and reflec⯑tion, left lord B—'s mind in the ſame ſtate of anxious doubt and ſolicitude it was in when he firſt entered upon this examination of his own heart; and all he could be certain of, in this confuſion of ideas and oppoſing ſentiments, was, that the unexpected ſight of miſs Courteney had charmed him more than ever; and following the impulſe of his paſſion, without knowing whither it would conduct him, or what it would terminate in, he anxiouſly lay in wait for ſome opportunity of ſpeaking to her in private, which he found when he leaſt expected it.

CHAP. VII.

MEAN time our lovely heroine, who had been received by the counteſs's woman with prodigious ceremony, and had, during a whole hour, liſtened with ſmiling attention to all the impertinences ſhe uttered, was at length relieved from the fatigue of ſuch a converſation, and, with a profuſion of compliments, con⯑ducted to a chamber contiguous to that of her miſtreſs. As ſoon as ſhe was left alone, ſhe began to conſider how ſhe ſhould extricate her⯑ſelf from the difficulties her unexpected meeting with lord B— had involved her in.

Her delicacy was ſhocked at the thoughts of remaining in the houſe with a man who had made an attempt upon her honour, eſpecially in the ſituation ſhe now was; a ſituation that would ſeem to invite his future attacks: and, though he might well impute their meeting to the fantaſtick effects of chance, yet he would not fail to conſtrue her ſtay into a tacit encou⯑ragement of that paſſion he had profeſſed for [57] her at parting, the diſhonourable purport of which was evident from the engagements he had entered into with miſs Cordwain.

She reflected alſo on the cenſures under which her character laboured at preſent, and was juſtly apprehenſive, that when this part of her ſtory was known, the malicious world would not fail to inſinuate that ſhe threw herſelf into lord B—'s way, and the inferences that would be drawn from ſuch a ſuppoſed conduct, muſt needs be highly diſadvantageous to her.

But, on the other hand, how could ſhe quit miſs Cordwain's ſervice ſo abruptly, without giving occaſion for ſtrange conjectures, and ſet⯑ting the tongue of malice looſe to aſſign rea⯑ſons for her behaviour, very different from the truth?

However, the inconveniencies, which might attend this ſtep, were light, compared with thoſe ſhe foreſaw from expoſing herſelf volun⯑tarily to the purſuits of a young libertine, whoſe eyes in this laſt interview had ſpoke too plainly to leave her in doubt of his ſentiments.

She therefore reſolved to go away the next day; and, as ſoon as ſhe was ſummoned to the toilet, acquainted miſs Cordwain with her in⯑tention.

[58]Henrietta was a ſcrupulous obſerver of truth, and would not on this occaſion violate it, by forming any plauſible excuſe for her ſudden de⯑termination; ſo that miſs Cordwain, in whoſe breaſt the ſtings of jealouſy had been rouzed by the paſſionate glances lord B— had darted at her maid, began to entertain ſtrange ſuſpicions from ſo unexpected an overture; and, in a per⯑emptory tone, demanded to know her reaſons for quitting her ſervice in ſuch a manner.

Henrietta, with great ſweetneſs, aſſured her that ſhe did not deſire to be diſmiſſed in conſe⯑quence of any diſcontent, but that the neceſſity of her affairs obliged her to return immediately to town.

"Your affairs!" ſaid miſs Cordwain, with a haughty ſneer; ‘I vow it is mighty pretty to hear ſervants talk of their affairs, as if they really had any concerns of more conſequence than the duty they owe their principals. I wonder you don't tell me you have half a dozen engagements in town,’ purſued ſhe, laughing aloud; ‘ſuch a ſpeech would become you mightily: but prithee, go, creature; pack up your rags in a ſheet of brown paper, and take yourſelf away. I ſuppoſe you have found out a new method of living, leſs mor⯑tifying to your pride of beggarly gentility tha [...] [59] waiting upon a woman of fortune; and I doubt not but you will be ſhortly ſeen flaunt⯑ing it in publick places with a flimſy ſack, a painted face, and all the trappings of your trade.’

To this coarſe abuſe Henrietta liſtened in ſilence, beholding her imperious miſtreſs all the time with ſuch a calm, but ſteady eye, as called up a bluſh in thoſe cheeks which had been before overſpread with a livid paleneſs.

Not that ſhe felt any remorſe for the re⯑proaches ſhe had uttered, or was aſhamed of her indecent tranſports, but Henrietta's ſoft compo⯑ſure, the dignity of her ſilence, and the ener⯑getick expreſſion in her eyes, ſtruck a kind of awe into her mean-ſoul'd adverſary; and, inly raging at the inferiority ſhe was conſcious of, ſhe commanded her to be gone from her pre⯑ſence.

Henrietta inſtantly obeyed, and, meeting the counteſs's woman as ſhe went out of the room, ſhe begged her to ſend a ſervant to the neareſt inn to hire a poſt-chaiſe for her, being reſolved to return to London that very day.

This well-bred Abigail expreſſed great con⯑cern that ſhe was ſo ſoon to loſe the honour of her company; and aſked, with an appearance of anxiety, if ſhe was not to return again?

[60]Henrietta replied in the negative, at which the other ſeemed wonderfully ſurpriſed, though ſhe was not ignorant of all that had paſſed be⯑tween Henrietta and her lady; for, hearing miſs Cordwain's voice very loud, ſhe had applied her ear to the key-hole, and needed no further information.

Our fair heroine having evaded the artful queſtions of this prying woman, and diſcou⯑raged her reflections on her own lady, whom, in her general invective againſt the pride and ca⯑price of miſtreſſes, ſhe did not ſp [...]re, told her, ſhe would have the pleaſure of viewing the fine gardens that belonged to the houſe, before ſhe went away; and Mrs. Supple promiſed to join her, as ſoon as ſhe had executed the commiſſion ſhe was charged with.

Henrietta accordingly repaired to the gardens, full of reflections upon the ſcene that had lately paſſed. She entered a little covered alley that led to a grotto, which ſhe had an inclination to take a view of; when, hearing the ſound of ſteps behind her, ſhe looked back, ſuppoſing it was Mrs. Supple; but was not a little ſurpriſed to find it was lord B—, who, ſeeing her croſs the terrace from his chamber-window, had followed her thither.

[61]Henrietta, rightly judging that this encounter was not meerly accidental, turned her ſteps from the grotto, and ſtruck into a leſs private walk. Lord B—, perceiving her intention, croſſed immediately and met her, bowing pro⯑foundly low, and, with an air as reſpectful as if he was accoſting a ducheſs, enquired after her health.

Henrietta, not at all flattered by this inſtance of reſpect, which he, by whom it was paid, con⯑ſidered as an act of ſupererogation, and that it would affect her accordingly, returned his com⯑pliment with the moſt graceful eaſe; and, ſmiling, told him, he muſt not now conſider her as miſs Courteney, but the ſervant of miſs Cord⯑wain.

"O that horrid appellation!" cried he; ‘What violence did I not do myſelf to behave to you as I did this morning! But tell me, for Heaven's ſake, madam, what has occa⯑ſioned this transformation?’

"My aunt's continued diſpleaſure," replied Henrietta; ‘your lordſhip has perhaps heard what circumſtances my father died in: the ſtation therefore in which you ſee me, ought not to be called a transformation; it is what I was born to, ſince I was born in in⯑digence.’

[62]"I cannot bear to hear you talk thus," inter⯑rupted lord B—; ‘how could you think of ſubjecting yourſelf to a condition ſo unworthy of you, when you knew there was a man in the world that would have died to ſerve you!’

"I am not of a temper," ſaid Henrietta, ‘to be eaſy under great obligations; and ſervitude is, in my opinion, leſs ſhocking than depen⯑dence.’

"Why, do you talk of obligations," ſaid lord B—: ‘love knows no property; could you doubt that my fortune would be at your com⯑mand. Suffer me, I conjure you,’ purſued he, ‘to ſnatch you from this unworthy ſitua⯑tion; can riches be better employed, than in ſupporting her I love?’

"My lord," interrupted Henrietta, her face glowing with indignation, ‘this is an inſult I could not have expected from one of your rank and politeneſs: I am fallen very low, indeed, when a man, who is upon the point of marriage with another, d [...]es [...]lk to me of love.’

"There are certain engagements," replied lord B—, a little confuſed at the air with which ſhe uttered theſe words, "in which the "heart has no part.

[63]"Very likely," interrupted Henrietta; ‘but it is ſufficient for me to know, that the en⯑gagements your lordſhip has entered into, leaves you not the liberty of addreſſing me in this manner: and I look upon the profeſſions you make me as the higheſt inſult upon my diſtreſs.’

Lord B—, notwithſtanding he found in this juſtifiable haughtineſs the ruin of his hopes, could not help admiring a mind ſo rightly turned; humble with ſuch propriety, and proud only, when condeſcenſion would be meanneſs.

"This is not a time," ſaid he, ‘to tell you how far I am bound by thoſe engagements you ſpeak of; but, whatever they are, they ought not to deprive me of the happineſs of doing you ſervice.’

"I am obliged to you, my lord," ſaid Hen⯑rietta; ‘but, at preſent, the greateſt ſervice you can do me is to take no notice of me.’

In ſpeaking theſe words, ſhe courteſied, and would have left him; but he, not able to part with her thus, ſnatched her hand.

"You muſt not leave me," ſaid he, ‘till you promiſe to give me an opportunity of ſpeaking to you more fully—Ah, how I love you!’ cried he, gazing on her paſſionately.

[64]"Again, this inſulting declaration!" inter⯑rupted Henrietta, pulling her hand from him, and giving him a look full of ſcorn and anger, as ſhe turned away.

"Hear me, madam," cried he, purſuing her: ‘ſuffer me, in the character of your friend, to offer you my ſervices. My mother was for⯑merly acquainted with lady Meadows: if it will be of any uſe to you, I will engage her to renew it, and offer her mediation betwixt your aunt and you. You muſt not, b [...] heaven you muſt not, continue longer in ſo ſhocking a ſituation.’

This propoſal, and the earneſt manner in which it was made, drew Henrietta's attention: angry as ſhe was, ſhe thought it merited a civil return.

"Doubt not my lord," ſaid ſhe, her charm⯑ing eyes recovering their uſual ſweetneſs, ‘that I ſhould be glad to conſider you in the cha⯑racter of a friend; and the offer you now make me is ſo obliging, that I cannot diſpenſe with myſelf from telling you my reaſons for declin⯑ing it.’

She then, in a few words, acquainted him with the purport of her aunt's letter to her "Such are the terms," added ſhe, ‘upo [...] which a reconciliation with my aunt ca [...] [65] be only effected; therefore the counteſs's in⯑terpoſition in my favour, were ſhe diſpoſed to grant it, would be of no uſe.’

Lord B—, having before fully informed himſelf of every thing relating to miſs Courteney, no ſooner heard that for ſo trifling a compliance as the change of her religion it was in her power to ſecure lady Meadows' eſtate to herſelf, which he knew to be very conſiderable, than he thought fit to alter his ſtyle, and declared that the affair between miſs Cordwain and him was not carried ſo far to take from him the liberty of following his inclinations, and of offering her his hand; be begged her therefore to favour him with another [...]nterview in the morning, when he would ex⯑ [...]ain himſelf further.

Henrietta perceiving the counteſs's woman approaching, and unwilling to leave him in [...]oubt with regard to her ſentiments upon this [...]ew propoſal, thus anſwered haſtily:

‘My lord, this can never be: there are many obſtacles againſt it; you will find it very difficult to ſurmount thoſe your own family will throw in your way; but, ſuppoſe that could be done, my ſcruples will raiſe others leſs eaſy perhaps to be overcome.’

She left him when ſhe had ſaid theſe few [...]ords, and went to meet Mrs. Supple, who [66] told her ſhe had procured a vehicle for her, and that it would be at the back-gate in leſs than an hour; but, continued ſhe, there is a ſtrange confuſion within, have you ſeen your lady?

Henrietta told her ſhe had not.

"God knows what is the matter," ſaid Mrs. Supple; ‘ſhe went into the garden to look for you as I imagined, and returned [...] mi⯑nutes ago with a moſt wrathful countenance: her father and ſhe confabulated together, and then went into my lord's dreſſing-room; and Mr. Harris, my lord's gentleman, told me that the old man ſeemed to be very [...]aſy.’

Henrietta had no time to make any reflections upon what ſhe heard; for a ſervant that moment came to tell Mrs. Supple, that her lady had ſent him to look for her, and deſired that ſhe would bring miſs Cordwain's woman to her apart⯑ment.

Henrietta, though a little ſurpriſed, followed Mrs. Supple with great chearfulneſs, who de⯑ſired her to wait in the anti-chamber, while ſhe went to acquaint her lady with her being there; where we will leave her for a few moments till the reader is informed of the accident that occaſioned this ſummons.

CHAP. VIII.

MISS Cordwain, who in the notice lord B— took of Henrietta, found matter ſufficient for jealouſy and uneaſineſs, entertained the moſt injurious ſuſpicions, when ſhe heard her woman's ſudden reſolution to return to Lon⯑don; and having driven her from her preſence with a torrent of abuſive language, vented her rage in tears as ſoon as ſhe was gone.

She reproached herſelf with her folly, in diſ⯑miſſing her ſo readily; when, by obliging her to ſtay, ſhe might have gueſſed her deſigns, or at leaſt have obtained a more certain knowledge of them.

Her miſchievous imagination being now upon the ſtretch to find ſome expedient for pro⯑tracting her departure, at laſt preſented her with one which ſhe reſolved to make uſe of.

She hid a diamond bracelet; and then rung her bell for Henrietta, with an intention to tell her, that ſhe could not find it, and inſiſt upon her producing it before ſhe left the earl's.

[68]Mrs. Supple, who was that moment paſſing by her apartment, and knew that Henrietta was not in the way, ſtepped in to know what ſhe wanted. Miſs Cordwain aſked for her woman, and, being told that ſhe was walking in the garden, haſtened thither immediately, not more delighted with the opportunity ſhe now had of putting a ſtop to her journey, than of affronting her with the ſuſpicion of theft.

As ſhe deſcended the terrace, her eyes were blaſted with the ſight of her woman at a diſtance in earneſt diſcourſe with her lover.

At this confirmation of her ſuſpicions, ſhe ran back like a fury into the houſe, and meet⯑ing her father, who had juſt left the earl in his dreſſing-room, told him, that they were invited only to be affronted: that Henrietta was lord B—'s miſtreſs; that he had taken her out of her ſervice; and that ſhe was going back to London that very night at his requeſt.

The old man, without ſtaying to enquire farther, or reflecting upon the extreme impro⯑bability of this ſtory, ſwore that never a lord in the land ſhould uſe his daughter ill, and ſtrode back to the earl's apartment, while miſs Cordwain retired to her own, meditating ven⯑geance on thoſe that had ſo cruelly injured her.

[69]Mr. Cordwain, who had promiſed himſelf to ſpeak to the earl in very high terms, was no ſooner in his preſence than he ſunk into that li [...]leneſs, which meer monied men are ſo con⯑ſcious of, with perſons of birth and politeneſs. However, he aſſumed courage enough to tell his lordſhip, that he had ſomething to ſay to him in private.

The earl, obſerving that his features were ruffled, was a little ſurpriſed; but diſmiſſed his gentleman immediately, though he was not quite dreſſed, and then, with a complaiſant ſmile, deſired the citizen to let him know his commands.

"I am a plain man, my lord," ſaid Mr. Cordwain, ‘I don't underſtand fine compli⯑ments and breeding, though I don't want for manners neither; and I am ſure I have always been very civil to your lordſhip; and I did not expect that your lordſhip would have in⯑vited my girl and I here to ſcoff at us. My lord, I can give my girl forty thouſand pounds, which is what few lords can ſay, let me tell you that; and withal I am an honeſt man, tho' I have forty thouſand pounds more in my pocket perhaps: but no matter for that I am not proud of my riches.’

[70]"Mr. Cordwain," ſaid his lordſhip (wonder⯑ing to what this eloquent harrangue tended) ‘I hope nothing has happened to give you any diſguſt; upon my honour, I have the higheſt eſteem for you, and I think I give a proof of it, by being ſo deſirous of your alliance; but I am at a loſs to comprehend your meaning, when you talk of my having invited you and your daughter here to affront you. Miſs Cordwain is a moſt accompliſhed young lady, and my ſon has too much judgment not to be as ſenſible as he ought of her merits.’

"Indeed," interrupted Mr. Cordwain, ‘my daughter is in my eye a very comely young woman; and I will never give her to any man, though he were a duke or a prince, that would keep a miſtreſs under her noſe, a [...] one may ſay.’

"You aſtoniſh me, Mr. Cordwain," replied his lordſhip; ‘have you any reaſon to ſuſpect that my ſon is a libertine?’

"My lord," returned Mr. Cordwain, ‘I am no ſcholar, I don't underſtand hard wor [...]; I have had learning enough to ſcrape a few thou⯑ſands together, and that is ſufficient for me▪ Your lordſhip's ſon may be a libertine for what I can tell, that's neither here nor there [71] but I am ſure he is a terrible rake: and what tender father,’ purſued he, almoſt in tears, ‘would marry his child to a rake, to have all the fruits of his toil and labour, for thirty years and upwards, ſquandered away upon leud women?’

"Sure! Mr. Cordwain," interrupted his lordſhip, with a ſterner accent, ‘you do not imagine my ſon capable of acting ſo diſhonour⯑ably, his principles, Mr. Cordwain —’

"Nay, nay, my lord," reſumed the citizen, ‘I have nothing to ſay againſt his principles; he is no Jacobite, I dare engage: but he is a rake, my lord, that is my objection to him, and rakes are very bad huſbands.’

"My ſon," ſaid the peer, ‘may have had ſome youthful follies; but I am ſure miſs Cordwain's beauty and good ſenſe will fix his heart.’

‘And does your lordſhip really think my girl a beauty?’ ſaid the fond father, his eyes gliſten⯑ing with pleaſure. ‘Indeed I always thought ſo; but fathers, my lord, are apt to be partial.’

"She is both beautiful and witty," replied his lordſhip, who found every excellence in fifty thouſand pounds.

"Nay, as for her wit," ſaid Mr. Cordwain, ‘I am the beſt judge of that, who have ſeen [72] her growing up under my eye. She took her learning ſurpriſingly, my lord, and by that time ſhe was ten years old, ſhe and read her Pſalter quite through. Would it not grieve one then (continued he) to part with ſuch a girl as this to one that will ſlight her, and keep miſtreſſes?’

"Do me the favour, Mr. Cordwain." ſaid his lordſhip, ‘to acquaint me with your rea⯑ſons for ſuſpecting that my ſon will keep a miſtreſs, though he ſhould be ſo happy as to have miſs Cordwain for a wife?’

"Why, you muſt know, my lord" replied the citizen, looking extremely wiſe▪ ‘that I have made a diſcovery; and yo [...] ſon is ac⯑tually carrying on an intrigue with my daugh⯑ter's maid.’

"Sure this muſt be ſome miſtake," cried the peer.

"No, no, my lord," anſwered Cordwain, "it is no miſtake, I am very ſure of it."

‘And you have diſcovered this intrigue, you ſay,’ reſumed his lordſhip: "pray when, "and by what means, did you diſcover it?

"About half an hour ago," replied Mr. Cord⯑wain; "my daughter told me of it."

[73] ‘Oh! then it was your daughter that diſco⯑vered it,’ ſaid his lordſhip, ſmiling a little at the old man's abſurdity.

"Ay, ay, my lord," cried he, conſtruing that ſmile into an acknowledgment of his daughter's ſagacity. ‘I told your lordſhip ſhe did not want for wit.’

‘But miſs Cordwain is certainly miſtaken now,’ ſaid the peer; ‘this is ſome pretty frowardneſs, a love-quarrel; depend upon it we ſhall find it ſo: however, I will talk to my ſon, and I'll engage the counteſs to diſ⯑courſe your daughter upon this matter. Come, Mr. Cordwain, we who are the parents of theſe young people know their true intereſt better than they do, and muſt endeavour to make up this little breach between them. I will make an end of dreſſing,’ purſued his lordſhip, bowing low to the cit, ‘and join you in the garden a quarter of an hour hence, when I hope to clear up this affair to your ſa⯑tisfaction.’

Mr. Cordwain immediately withdrew; and the peer having ſtepped to his lady's apartment to acquaint her with this ſtrange ſtory, left it to her to manage miſs Cordwain, and went in queſt of his ſon, who, when Henrietta left him, had retired to his ſtudy, and was revolving in [74] his mind a ſcheme, which, by reconciling his intereſt to his love, would gratify all his wiſhes.

CHAP. IX.

THE counteſs, like a diſcreet matron, was reſolved to ſee the young woman, of whom miſs Cordwain entertained a jealouſy, that ſhe might by wholeſome counſels fortify her againſt ſeduction; for ſhe ſuppoſed that this ſuſpicion took its riſe from the girl's being pretty, and perhaps ſome little unmeaning gallantry of her ſon's, who, like all other young men, admired beauty whenever he found it.

She was willing alſo to know certainly whe⯑ther miſs Cordwain's fears were only imaginary, that ſhe might the better effect a reconciliation between the lovers; for ſhe paſſionately deſired the completion of a match that would put her ſon into poſſeſſion of forty thouſand pounds.

When Mrs. Supple appeared in conſequence of her ſummons, and told her that Mrs. Hen⯑rietta waited her ladyſhip's commands, the coun⯑teſs [75] aſked her what ſort of a young woman ſhe was?

Mrs. Supple replied, that ſhe was an aukward ſort of a body, mightily conceited of her beauty ſhe believed; and Heaven knows, added ſhe, ſhe has not much to boaſt of.

"Well; tell her to come in," ſaid the coun⯑teſs, beginning to believe, from this account of her, that miſs Cordwain's fears were not without foundation; for vanity, ſhe well knew, was the great underminer of chaſtity, from the ducheſs down to the chamber-maid.

When Henrietta entered the room, the coun⯑teſs, who expected to ſee a very different perſon, was ſo ſtruck with her beauty and the dignity of her air, that ſhe roſe from her ſeat, and returned the graceful courteſy ſhe made her with a com⯑plaiſance that ſurpriſed her own woman, who, being ordered by her lady to leave the room, in⯑ſtantly obeyed, but went no farther than the door, where ſhe ſtood liſtening, and heard all that paſſed.

"You appear to me," ſaid the counteſs to Henrietta, with an engaging ſmile, ‘to deſerve ſo little the ſuſpicions that are entertained of you, that I really know not how to mention them to you, though it was for that purpoſe I ſent for you hither.’

[76]Henrietta was a little ſurpriſed at this begin⯑ning; but conſcious of the integrity of all her actions, ſhe was wholly free from any appre⯑henſions that could diſcompoſe her.

‘I know not, madam (ſaid ſhe) the nature of thoſe ſuſpicions which I have incurred, but I am very ſure I have no guilt to reproach my⯑ſelf with, which ſhould make me fear to ſtand the ſtricteſt ſcrutiny.’

"Upon my word I believe you," ſaid the counteſs, charmed with the noble confidence of her anſwer, and the graceful manner in which it was delivered; ‘and it muſt be my ſon's im⯑prudence that has given occaſion for Mr. Cordwain's ſuſpicions.’

The counteſs was too delicate to make uſe of miſs Cordwain's name upon this occaſion; but Henrietta in an inſtant comprehended the whole myſtery, and was now able to account for the injurious language that lady had given her.

"Own freely to me," purſued the counteſs, ſmiling, ‘has not my ſon been a little trouble⯑ſome to you, and talked to you of love and ſuch idle ſtuff?’

"It is ſome mortification to me, madam," replied Henrietta, bluſhing, ‘to own that I have been affronted in the manner your lady⯑ſhip mentions: however it is certainly true, [77] lord B— has thought me weak enough to be dazzled with his profeſſions.’

"Then you have ſeen my ſon often," ſaid the counteſs.

Henrietta, who thought it behoved her to be very explicit on this occaſion, related to the counteſs the manner of her becoming acquainted with lord B—, his concealing himſelf in her chamber, and his behaviour afterwards.

"I did not know his lordſhip's name," pur⯑ſued ſhe; ‘and though I often heard him men⯑tioned at Mr. Cordwain's, yet as I had no reaſon to ſuſpect that he was the ſame young nobleman, whom I had ſuch reaſon to avoid, I made no ſcruple to attend miſs Cordwain hither.’

"I am very much concerned," ſaid the coun⯑teſs, ‘to hear this account of my ſon; it was a very ſhocking attempt. So you have acquainted your miſtreſs with what happened?’

"No, madam," anſwered Henrietta, ‘that was not neceſſary; but when I diſcovered that lord B— was the perſon who had treated me ſo freely, I deſired miſs Cordwain to diſmiſs me, becauſe I did not chuſe to throw myſelf in his way.’

[78]"That was very prudently reſolved," ſaid the counteſs; ‘and when are you to leave miſs Cordwain?’

"Immediately, madam," replied Henrietta; ‘I have provided myſelf with a poſt-chaiſe to return to London, and I believe it is now waiting for me.’

"Certainly!" ſaid the counteſs (after a little pauſe) ‘this ſudden reſolution of your's muſt ſurpriſe miſs Cordwain. What did ſhe ſay when you acquainted her with it?’

"She was extremely angry, madam," replied Henrietta, ‘and ſaid many ſevere things to me, at which I was then aſtoniſhed; but it [...] Cordwain entertained any unfavourable ſuſ⯑picions of me, her behaviour may be ac⯑counted for.’

"Since you have not acquainted her," ſaid the counteſs, ‘with my ſon's rude attempt upon you, what reaſon could ſhe have to ſuſ⯑pect you?’

"I know of none, madam," anſwered Hen⯑rietta, ‘except his lordſhip's ſpeaking to me in the garden a little time ago, may have come to her knowledge.’

‘You have ſhewn ſo much candor in your anſwers to my queſtions,’ reſumed the coun⯑teſs, ‘that I am perſuaded you will tell me [79] frankly the ſubject of my ſon's diſcourſe to you in the garden.’

"I was born to ſuffer indignities, madam," ſaid Henrietta, her cheeks glowing with indigna⯑tion: ‘My lord B—, though he muſt know that I was not ignorant of his honourable paſ⯑ſion for miſs Cordwain, yet dared to affront me with the mention of his love.’

The counteſs was a little ſurpriſed at this ſally, which eſcaped Henrietta in the warmth of her reſentment, when ſhe recalled to her re⯑membrance a declaration, which ſhe looked on as the higheſt inſult, ſince lord B— was ac⯑quainted with her birth. Had the counteſs known that it was the niece of the earl of—, who expreſſed herſelf in ſuch lofty terms, ſhe would have admired that becoming pride, which ſuggeſted them; but in the waiting-maid of miſs Cordwain, it appeared abſurd and ridiculous, and ſhe was ready to ſuſpect her of artifice and diſſimulation.

But when ſhe caſt her eyes upon Henrietta, and ſaw the emotion with which ſhe was agi⯑tated, the deep bluſh that glowed on her cheeks, and the tears that trembled in her eyes, ſhe re⯑proached herſelf with the injuſtice ſhe was guilty of, in ſo ſoon admitting doubts of her inno⯑cence.

[80]Henrietta, ſuppoſing from the ſilence of the counteſs, that ſhe had no more to ſay to her, courtiſied to her reſpectfully, and was about to withdraw.

"You muſt not go," ſaid that lady, in an obliging accent, ‘till I know whether it is in my power to ſerve you. You have thrown up miſs Cordwain's ſervice upon my ſon's ac⯑count, it is but juſt therefore that I ſhould procure you another; if you are not provided for, I will recommend you to my ſiſter, ſhe will either take you herſelf, or ſettle you with another lady.’

The counteſs, in making this offer, had an⯑other view beſides ſerving Henrietta. She was not willing to loſe ſight of her, for ſhe rightly judged that with ſo many charms in her perſon, and an underſtanding far above what we gene⯑rally found in perſons of her rank, this young woman was very likely to inſpire a ſolid paſ⯑ſion; and ſhe dreaded leſt her ſon ſhould be ſo far captivated by her as to neglect the advanta⯑geous match that was now offered him.

If ſhe placed her with her ſiſter, or with any of her friends, it would not be eaſy, ſhe thought, for her ſon to get acceſs to her; or if he reſolved to continue his purſuit, his deſigns, whatever [81] they were, would be known ſoon enough to be prevented.

Henrietta penetrated no further into the coun⯑teſs's ſentiments, than what ſerved to give her a high idea of her benevolence. She accepted her offer with expreſſions of the deepeſt gratitude; and this the lady conſidering as a proof of her ſincerity and right intentions, ſhe, in the billet which ſhe gave her for her ſiſter, recommended her in very obliging terms to her favour.

Henrietta again politely thanked her, and, receiving the billet, upon which there was a full direction, ſhe went out of the counteſs's chamber, with an intention to depart immediately.

Mrs. Supple, whom ſhe found in the anti-chamber, informed, her, that her chaiſe was waiting for her at the gate; upon which Hen⯑rietta took leave of her, and deſcended the back⯑ſtairs, but was ſuddenly ſtopped by Mr. Cord⯑wain, who had followed her, and, ſeizing her rudely by the arm, charged her with having robbed his daughter.

CHAP. X.

"GOOD Heaven!" exclaimed Henrietta, in the utmoſt aſtoniſhment, ‘what can this mean?’

"Look you child," ſaid the citizen, ‘my daughter tells me you have ſtole her diamond bracelet: any body but myſelf would ſend you to priſon directly; but I am tender-hearted, and conſider, that though I could hang you for this robbery, yet that would be poor ſatiſ⯑faction for ſuch a loſs: therefore in compaſ⯑ſion I will ſpare your life, provided you imme⯑diately reſtore the bracelet.’

Henrietta had by this time collected her ſcat⯑tered ſpirits, and comprehended the motive of this malicious accuſation.

"May I not ſee miſs Cordwain, ſir?" ſaid ſhe, in a compoſed accent; ‘I am [...] that I can convince her ſhe wrongs are greatly by this ſtrange ſuſpicion.’

"See her! what ſhould you ſee her for?" re⯑plied the old man, ‘unleſs you will give me [83] back the bracelet: you muſt not think to move her with your whining; her intreaties ſhall not ſave you if you are obſtinate; ſo look to it: but come, perhaps you will have the grace to repent, and return the bracelet; come along.’

Saying this, he pulled her up ſtairs, and led her, with no great complaiſance, into his daugh⯑ter's chamber, who ſat exulting in her ſucceſsful miſchief, and the diſgrace ſhe had fixed upon the creature that preſumed to rival her: a bluſh how⯑ever dyed her cheeks at the ſight of Henrietta, who, with a look that at once expreſſed the higheſt contempt of her mean accuſer, and calm confidence in her own untainted innocence, aſked her how ſhe had ſo far offended her as to make her ſeek her life?

"Offended me, creature!" ſaid miſs Cord⯑wain; ‘have you the aſſurance to imagine that I am uneaſy becauſe—becauſe—You vain ſaucy flirt—who told you that I could be jealous of you? And ſo you ſuppoſe—but you ſhall produce my bracelet.’

"Ay, that ſhe ſhall," cried the citizen; ‘I wiſh we were in town, I would carry her be⯑fore alderman Grey-gooſe immediately. Come, girl, don't be a fool, but deliver up the bracelet, for this is a hanging matter, let me tell you.’

[84]"Do you really propoſe, madam?" ſaid Hen⯑rietta, looking on miſs Cordwain with a moſt contemptuous ſmile, ‘to go through with this malicious accuſation? and are you reſolved to perjure yourſelf, and ſwear that I have got your bracelet?’

"What does the creature mean!" interrupted miſs Cordwain, colouring.

"My meaning is," ſaid Henrietta, ‘that your bracelet is certainly in your own poſſeſ⯑ſion; and that you pretend to have loſt it only to fix a ſcandal upon me.’

"O my God!" cried miſs Cordwain, putting her hand to her head; ‘the exceſſive inſolence of this wench affects me ſo, I believe I ſhall faint—Dear papa, let her go about her buſi⯑neſs, I had rather loſe ten bracelets than ſuffer ſo much uneaſineſs. Dear ſir, let her go, one time or other ſhe will meet with her de⯑ſerts. She will not ſtop at this theft, but ſomebody elſe may bring her to juſtice; I will have nothing more to do with her.’

"Baſe woman!" cried Henrietta, almoſt choaked with rage. ‘No, I will not take the liberty you offer me: has our laws, think you, no puniſhment for a calumny like this, that ſtrikes at life as well as reputation? You ſhall be forced to prove your charge, and [85] my fame ſhall be cleared to your everlaſting confuſion.’

Miſs Cordwain, conſcious of her guilt, and apprehenſive of the conſequences of what ſhe had done, knew not what anſwer to make to this menace. As for the citizen, he ſtared with ſtupid wonder upon the injured fair one: for the extraordinary emotion ſhe was in, gave ſuch ve⯑hemence to her utterance, and ſuch fire to her eyes, that he even trembled, as if in the preſence of ſome ſuperior being. But poor Henrietta, after this ſudden ſally of rage, found her heart ſo oppreſſed with the indignity ſhe had ſuffered, that ſhe burſt into a violent paſſion of tears.

Miſs Cordwain was ready to renew her inſults; when ſhe found her ſo mortified, and her father being recovered from his pannick, again urged her to reſtore the bracelet; when a ſervant came in, and informed them, that dinner was going to be ſerved, and that his lord and lady expected them in the dining-room.

Miſs Cordwain immediately obeyed the ſum⯑mons, for ſhe dreaded the concluſion of this affair. When ſhe entered the room, the coun⯑teſs, who knew nothing of what had happened, ſeeing her look very pale, aſked her, if ſhe was well? and lord B—, who had pro⯑miſed his father to cure her jealouſy by redoubled [86] aſſiduity for the future, approached, and, with a well counterfeited tenderneſs, expreſſed his con⯑cern for her indiſpoſition.

Miſs Cordwain, who had been aſſured by her father that the earl earneſtly deſired the match between his ſon and her ſhould go forward, re⯑ſolved not to protract it by any ſhew of reſent⯑ment at what was paſt, and therefore received his little aſſiduities with all the complaiſance ſhe was miſtreſs of; but deſirous of mortifying him in the perſon of her who had ſo greatly attracted his notice, as well as to give him an opinion of the ſoftneſs of her diſpoſition, ſhe told him, that indeed ſhe was prodigiouſly diſcompoſed▪ that her maid had robbed her; "and my father," added ſhe, ‘threatens the poor wretch with a proſecu⯑tion, and I was weak enough to be exceſſively ſhocked with her blubbering.’

"Has your maid robbed you, miſs?" ſaid the counteſs, extremely ſurpriſed.

‘She has ſtolen a diamond bracelet from me this very morning, madam,’ replied miſs Cord⯑wain.

"Impoſſible!" cried lord B—, in a tran⯑ſport that deprived him of all conſideration; ‘miſs Courteney could not be guilty of any thing mean or ſcandalous.’

[87]Theſe words were ſcarce uttered, when he diſcovered and repented of his indiſcretion; but it was now too late to repair it.

"Miſs Courteney!" repeated miſs Cordwain, recovering from her ſurpriſe; ‘who is miſs Courteney, my lord?’

The counteſs, perceiving her ſon was embar⯑raſſed, endeavoured to relieve him, by asking miſs Cordwain ſome queſtions concerning her loſs; but that young lady would not be diverted from her queſtion.

‘This creature has a variety of names, I ſuppoſe (ſaid ſhe): ſhe hired herſelf to me by the name of Benſon, and Courteney it ſeems is that ſhe has been formerly known by. Sure I have been very unfortunate to get ſuch a wretch to attend me.’

"Madam," ſaid lord B—, again thrown off his guard by his indignation at hearing a wo⯑man of Henrietta's merit ſo groſly abuſed, ‘you don't know who you are ſpeaking of?’

"Why, do you know?" ſaid the earl to his ſon, in an accent that ſhewed how extremely he was diſpleaſed with his imprudence.

‘Yes, my lord (replied he) I do; and ma⯑dam,’ purſued he, addreſſing himſelf to miſs Cordwain, ‘I am ſure you will have candor enough to excuſe my engaging with ſome [88] warmth in the defence of the unfortunate young lady, who is now your ſervant▪ when you ſhall know that ſhe is the niece of the earl of—; and that it is her firm attach⯑ment to the religion ſhe was brought up in, which hinders her from ſucceeding to a very large eſtate, and makes it neceſſary for her to go to ſervice for a ſubſiſtence.’

This account brought tears into the eyes of the counteſs, who inly applauded herſelf for her diſcernment in the favourable ſentiments ſhe con⯑ceived for Henrietta before ſhe knew who ſhe was.

The earl appeared moved, and was begin⯑ning to ask his ſon ſome queſtions concern⯑ing this fair unfortunate, when miſs Cord⯑wain fetched a deep ſigh, and fell back in her chair.

Rage at this diſcovery of her rival's birth and extraordinary merit, and terror, left the ſcan⯑dalous accuſation ſhe had forged againſt her, ſhould end in her own diſgrace, operated ſo powerfully upon her ſpirits, that ſhe fainted away.

While the counteſs ſupported her, lord B— rang the bell very deliberately for aſſiſtance; and the earl, not much concerned at an accident, which he imputed to a jealouſy that proved her [89] paſſion for his ſon, took that opportunity to re⯑mind him that it was his intereſt to improve the affection this young woman had for him.

The counteſs, who had in vain ſearched her pockets for a ſmelling-bottle, ordered a ſervant, who appeared at the ſummons of the bell, to bring one off her toilet; when Mr. Cordwain entered the room, and, ſeeing his daughter in that condition, made but one ſtep from the door to the place where ſhe ſat, exclaiming, ‘Oh! my child, what ails my child? is ſhe dead?’

"Don't be alarmed," ſaid the counteſs, ‘it is only a fainting fit, ſhe will recover pre⯑ſently.’

Lord B—, who was aſhamed to appear wholly inactive upon this occaſion before his deſigned father-in-law, had preſence of mind enough to take a decanter of water from the ſide-board, and ſprinkle ſome of it on miſs Cord⯑wain's face.

This remedy was applied ſo ſucceſsfully, that ſhe immediately opened her eyes, but the firſt object they met had like to have cloſed them again: for her father, hearing a ſmelling-bottle called for, remembered that ſhe always carried one or two about her, and, ſearching her pockets with trembling haſte, pulled out, with a ſmell⯑ing-bottle, the bracelet which ſhe had concealed [90] there, as a place where it was likely to be moſt ſecure, being ſubject to no ſearch but her own.

The old man made none of thoſe reflections upon this accident, which were obvious enough to every one elſe; but, perceiving his daughter was beginning to recover, preſented the brace⯑let, inſtead of the ſmelling-bottle to her, con⯑ceiving the former to be the beſt reſtorative.

"See, child!" cried he, in a tranſport, ‘I have found your bracelet—come, you muſt be well now—I don't wonder you was grieved: truly it would have been a great loſs.’

Miſs Cordwain flattered herſelf from the words I have found your bracelet, that her father had had wit enough to ſave her from any reproach, by giving ſome favourable turn to the diſcovery; but in this ſhe greatly over-rated his abilities.

"And where doſt think I found it, child:" purſued the old man: ‘even in thy own pocket, as all the company can witneſs.’

"Very true;" ſaid lord B—, malici⯑ouſly.

"Was it found in my pocket?" ſaid miſs Cordwain. ‘Why then, to be ſure, I pulled it off with my glove this morning, and forgot it: I proteſt I am ſorry there has been ſo much noiſe made about it.’

[91]"It is a pity indeed," ſaid the counteſs, ‘con⯑ſidering who the perſon is that was ſuppoſed to have ſtolen it.’

"O la! papa," cried miſs Cordwain, ‘you don't know that my maid Henrietta is diſco⯑vered to be a great lady. Upon my word it is true,’ purſued ſhe, ſeeing him look ſur⯑priſed.

"I am ſorry to hear that," ſaid the citizen, rubbing his forehead; ‘for if ſhe has friends who will ſupport her, ſhe may commence a ſuit againſt me for Scandalum Magnatum, and what a power of money may I loſe—See what comes of your heedleſſneſs, girl. I pro⯑teſt I don't know what to do.’

The counteſs, though ſhe was vexed at the vulgar ſarcaſm of the daughter, was nevertheleſs deſirous of freeing the old man from his uneaſi⯑neſs, as well as to have an excuſe for viſiting the injured young lady.

‘I am perſuaded (ſaid ſhe) that miſs Cour⯑teney's delicacy will prevent her from ſeeking any publick reparation for the affront ſhe has ſuffered; but I will ſee her myſelf, and, if ne⯑ceſſary, diſſuade her from taking any reſolution to your prejudice.’

Lord B—, who was talking to his father at diſtant window, hearing this propoſal, ap⯑proached, [92] and, by a look which he gave the counteſs his mother, ſeemed to beſpeak her ut⯑moſt tenderneſs and complaiſance to the afflicted fair one.

Mr. Cordwain thanked her [...] for her kindneſs. "But, Odſo! madam." [...], ſtopping her as ſhe was [...] ‘I [...] your ladyſhip's pardon, you muſt take the key up with you,’ continued he, [...]eling in his pockets, and at laſt pulling it out; ‘for when I came down, I locked the door for fear the bird ſhould fly away.’ With theſe words, he gave the counteſs the key, ſmiling and nod⯑ding his head in applauſe of his own ſagacity.

The counteſs was extremely ſhocked to hear of this new indignity which the poor young lady had ſuffered, but ſhe diſſembled her concern, and ſilently withdrew.

Lord B— again ſtole to a window to hide his emotions; and the earl, though greatly diſ⯑guſted with the behaviour of both father and daughter, yet approached them with a complai⯑ſant air, and congratulated the [...] on the re⯑covery of her jewel.

Thus did theſe noble perſons accommodate themſelves to the manners of thoſe whom they in ſecret deſpiſed; and, for the ſake of a few paltry [93] thouſands, ſhewed the utmoſt ſolicitude to aſſo⯑ciate plebean meanneſs in the honours of a noble anceſtry, and to give title, rank, precedence, to one who would diſgrace them all.

CHAP. XI.

THE counteſs, who was greatly affected with the cruel uſage Henrietta had re⯑ceived, could with difficulty reſtrain her tears when ſhe entered the room where the fair pri⯑ [...]oner was confined: that air of diſtinction which he had obſerved in her before ſhe knew her [...]rth, ſeemed now more remarkable, and made [...]e humiliating condition to which ſhe was re⯑ [...]uced, a ſubject of painful reflection to lady —, [...]ho approached her with a look of tenderneſs and pity, and, taking her hand,

‘I ſcarce know how to ſpeak to you (ſaid ſhe) about an affair that miſs Cordwain has much more reaſon to be aſhamed of than you. She has found her bracelet.’

Henrietta was a little ſurpriſed at the kind and [...]miliar manner in which the counteſs accoſted [94] her; but ſtill preſerving that diſtant reſpect, which was due from the character ſhe had aſ⯑ſumed to a lady of her rank, ſhe courteſied pro⯑foundly low, and thanked her for the honour ſhe did her in condeſcending to bring this grateful piece of news herſelf.

"I muſt tell you alſo," ſaid the counteſs ‘that I am not ignorant of your name and fa⯑mily, nor of your motives for ſubmitting to go to ſervice; forwhich you deſerve to be eſteemed and admired by all the world. It was my ſo [...] that betrayed your ſecret,’ purſued the lady obſerving that Henrietta looked ſurpriſed; ‘ [...] will not aſk you now how you came to intru [...] him with it, ſome other time you ſhall, if you pleaſe, tell me all your ſtory. I have now on leiſure to aſſure you, that I am your ſince friend, and that I will ſerve you with all th [...] intereſt I have in any way you ſhall deſire.’

Henrietta, after making a proper acknowledg⯑ment for this kind declaration, told the counte [...] that being determined to continue the way life ſhe had entered into, till her relations themſelves thought proper to alter it, the recom⯑mendation her ladyſhip had given her to [...] ſiſter, was the greateſt ſervice ſhe could poſſ [...] deſire, and would be ever moſt gratefully remem [...]bered.

[95]"I admire your reſolution," ſaid the counteſs; ‘but I am grieved to think you ſhould be in a ſituation ſo unworthy of you; ſomething muſt be done to extricate you from it.’

"I beg, madam," ſaid Henrietta, ‘that your ladyſhip's kind concern for me may not lead you to take any ſteps in my favour with my relations. No;’ purſued ſhe, with ſome warmth, ‘their unnatural behaviour to me de⯑ſerves the neglect I ſhew them, in not ſolicit⯑ing their aſſiſtance. I have already got over all thoſe little paſſions and prejudices which might hinder me from being eaſy with my humble lot; and I freely confeſs to you, madam, that I find a ſecret pleaſure in the thoughts of mortifying the pride of my lord —, when ſome accident (for an accident it muſt be) ſhall ſhew him his niece in the quality of a ſervant.’

"Conſent at leaſt," ſaid the counteſs, ‘to my acquainting my ſiſter with your birth, that ſhe may endeavour to place you in ſuch a manner as will be moſt agreeable to you.’

‘I do not wiſh, madam, to be known to the perſon I ſerve,’ replied Henrietta; ‘and I deſire to have no other conſideration ſhewn me than what my behaviour in the ſtation I am placed in ſhall merit.’

[96]"Well," ſaid the counteſs, ‘it ſhall be as you would have it; but I cannot expreſs to you how much I eſteem and admire you— You may judge of my good opinion of you, when I tell you, that as to what regards my ſon's paſſion for you, I depend entirely upon your candor and generoſity. You know our views for him; and this is all I ſhall ſay.’

"I am obliged to you, madam," ſaid Hen⯑rietta, ‘for the confidence you repoſe in me; I will endeavour to deſerve it. And now, madam,’ purſued ſhe, ſmiling, ‘ſince my impriſonment is at an end, I will, with your ladyſhip's permiſſion, ſet out immediately for London; the chaiſe I had hired is, I ſuppoſe, ſtill waiting for me. I hope to have the ho⯑nour of preſenting your letter to lady C— to-morrow or next day at fartheſt.’

"Take my kindeſt wiſhes along with you," ſaid the counteſs, kiſſing her, and taking a dia⯑mond ring from her finger: ‘wear this for my ſake,’ ſaid ſhe, giving it to Henrietta; ‘the intrinſick value of it is but ſmall, but I hope you will conſider it as a mark of my eſteem for you.’

The counteſs went out of the room as ſoon as ſhe had ſpoke theſe words, leave [...] Henrietta extremely affected with her kindneſs: and all [97] obſtacles to her journey being now removed, ſhe haſtened to the gate, placed herſelf in her poſt⯑chaiſe which ſhe found waiting, and in a few moments was out of ſight.

Mean time, the counteſs returned to her com⯑pany, and told Mr. Cordwain, ſmiling, that he had nothing to fear from Henrietta's vindictive reſolutions. Upon which, miſs Cordwain ſaid, ſhe would go up to her, and make her an apo⯑logy for what had happened; but dinner was that moment ſerved, which made it not neceſſary for the counteſs to tell her that Henrietta was gone, in order to prevent her intended civility: but as ſoon as a proper opportunity offered, ſhe took care to let the young lady know, that her ſuſpi⯑cions of Henrietta were very ill grounded; that ſhe was perfectly, virtuous; and likely to remain in the obſcure condition of a ſervant, unleſs her relations, who were perſons of rank and fortune, thought proper to do ſomething for her.

She added, in order to remove all her uneaſi⯑neſs that ſhe had recommended her to a lady who would procure her a place, which was the leaſt ſhe could do for a young woman of her birth, in ſuch unhappy circumſtances.

Miſs Cordwain was very well ſatisfied with what the counteſs had done; being perſuaded, [98] that ſince ſhe was ſo deſirous the treaty between lord B— and her ſhould go forward, that ſhe would take care to hinder any thing from hap⯑pening on the part of Henrietta, that might give her cauſe for diſguſt.

But poor lord B— was in a truly pitiable ſituation: he was in love with the perſon of Henrietta, and the fortune of miſs Cordwain; and theſe different paſſions by turns equally poſ⯑ſeſſed him, ſo that it was impoſſible for him to form any fixed reſolution.

When he reflected on the ſolid advantages that would accrue to him from a marriage with the packer's daughter, ſuch as being enabled to play as high at Arthur's as my lord—, to bring as many race-horſes to New-Market as —, to have as ſplendid equipages as the earl of —, and ſeveral others, which make the envy and emulation of many of our preſent race of nobles, he was ready to ſacrifice his inclina⯑tions to motives ſo juſt, ſo reaſonable, ſo meri⯑torious.

But when the image of Henrietta roſe to h [...] thoughts; her perſon ſo lovely, her manners [...] elegant, her birth not beneath his own, her virtu [...] ſo eminent; how could he think of putting ſu [...] a treaſure out of his reach, by marrying her de [...]picable rival! And indeed, ſo juſt were his notio [...] [99] of this treaſure, and ſo high his value of it, that, provided any method could be found to reconcile her to her aunt, and ſecure to her the ſucceſſion of her eſtate, he would willingly have renounced his pretenſions to miſs Cordwain, and have mar⯑ried Henrietta; though her fortune, as heireſs of lady Meadows's eſtate, would be ſome thouſands leſs than miſs Cordwain's.

Such a proof of diſintereſtedneſs, he thought, muſt needs be very grateful to a young woman of Henrietta's fine underſtanding and enlarged ſen⯑timents; and, having brought himſelf to this point, his next care was to procure a private in⯑terview with her, that he might acquaint her with his deſigns, and engage her concurrence with them.

But this ſcheme being defeated by her ſudden departure, which he learned from his mother, he was plunged into new perplexity and uneaſi⯑neſs. He asked the counteſs, with an air of in⯑difference and unconcern, where ſhe was gone, and how ſhe intended to diſpoſe of herſelf? But that diſcerning lady, who obſerved his ſudden e⯑motion at the news of Henrietta's departure, would give him no other ſatisfaction than telling him, that ſhe ſuppoſed ſhe would again go to ſervice; for ſhe ſeemed to have no expec⯑tations of any ſavour from her relations.

[100]Lord B—, after a little reflection, com⯑forted himſelf with a hope, that ſome accident or other would again throw her in his way; and that the diſguſt ſhe muſt neceſſarily entertain, to a way of life ſo unworthy of her, would induce her to embrace his honourable propoſals: for ſuch he conceived them to be, ſince all the ſacri⯑fice he ſhould expect from her, was a tempo⯑rary compliance with her aunt's inclinations with regard to religion: but however, he thought it would be prudent not to break, off with miſs Cord⯑wain, becauſe in her fortune he would always find wherewithal to comfort himſelf, if he was diſappointed in his love.

In purſuance of this wiſe reſolution, he be⯑haved in ſuch a manner to that young lady, as gave her no cauſe to be diſpleaſed with him; ſo that every thing in this noble family, and their deſigned allies, was upon the ſame footing as be⯑fore Henrietta, with miſchief-making beauty, came in the way.

CHAP. I.

MEAN time our fair heroine, having per⯑formed her little journey without any un⯑fortunate accident, arrived late in the evening at the houſe of her friend Mrs. Willis, who, in her aſtoniſhment at her ſudden return, aſked her a hundred queſtions in a breath.

Henrietta ſatisfied her eager curioſity with a ſuccinct detail of all that had happened to [102] her that day, which had indeed been a very buſy one.

The honeſt heart of Mrs. Willis was variouſly affected with the different parts of her ſtory▪ She wept for her ſufferings: ſhe execrated the malicious miſs Cordwain; ſhe praiſed the coun⯑teſs; and was exceedingly ſolicitous about the purport of lord B—'s deſigns, which, from what ſhe had heard of his behaviour, appeared to her very myſterious. But Henrietta, who had a thorough contempt for that young lord, declared, that although he ſhould break with miſs Cordwain, and addreſs her upon honoura⯑ble terms, yet ſhe could not bring her [...] to approve of him.

‘He is mean (ſaid ſhe) and ſordid in his temper. His principles are bad: he is a lord, but he is not a gentleman; and I am ſure I could never eſteem him. Beſides the coun⯑teſs, who is more alarmed about the ſenti⯑ments he has for me than I think ſhe has rea⯑ſon, depends upon my honour not to encou⯑rage any overtures from him, and I will not abuſe her confidence.’

‘It is eaſy (purſued ſhe, ſmiling) to be juſt when our own inclinations do not oppoſe it. I ſhall pretend to no merit in making this ſa⯑crifice, if ever it be in my power to make it; [103] becauſe in reality it will not be a great one. If riches and ſplendor could have made me happy, I would have married ſir Iſaac Darby; for it was not his age that I objected to moſt, but thoſe qualities and manners which made his age contemptible.’

"But, ſurely, my dear," ſaid Mrs. Willis, ‘your gratitude would be engaged, ſhould lord B—, in the preſent inequality of your cir⯑cumſtances, make you an offer of his hand.’

"Not at all," replied Henrietta, with ſome warmth: ‘no man has a right to the love or eſteem of a woman on whom he has enter⯑tained diſhonourable deſigns, and, failing in them, offers marriage at laſt. The lover, who marries his miſtreſs only becauſe he can⯑not gain her upon eaſier terms, has juſt as much generoſity as the highwayman who leaves a traveller in poſſeſſion of his money, becauſe he is not able to take it from him.’

"Well, well, my dear miſs," ſaid Mrs. Willis, ſmiling, ‘I can collect this at leaſt from the nice diſtinctions you make, that your heart is abſolutely free; you would not reaſon ſo well, were there any ſecret paſſion in the caſe.’

[104]"Surely," replied Henrietta, ‘you do not imagine that I ſhould become leſs delicate in my notions for being in love: that paſſion, like ſome plants, derives its qualities from the ſoil it grows in; for inſtance, in lord B—, it is mean, ſelfiſh, wavering.’

"And what would it be in you?" interrupted Mrs. Willis.

"Ah! no matter," cried Henrietta: ‘I am not in love yet, and never will by with a man who has ſuch ſentiments as lord B—; he had beſt be conſtant to miſs Cordwain. Ple⯑bean lords and the nobility of the ſhop and warehouſe are equal matches.’

To this remark Mrs. Willis, who was pleaſed with the vivacity of her fair friend▪ aſſented only with a ſmile: for ſupper was now placed upon the table; and, as ſhe knew Henrietta had not dined, ſhe was extremely ſolicitous to make her eat, and with the ſame maternal fondneſs hur⯑ried her ſoon to bed, that ſhe might recover the fatigue ſhe had ſuffered during the day.

The next morning at eleven o clock, our fair heroine ſet out in an hackney- [...]ach for — ſquare, where lady D— h [...]d, to whom ſhe was to deliver the recommendatory letter which the counteſs had given her.

[105]The lady was at her toilet when ſhe read her ſiſter's letter, which Henrietta had ſent in to her, and immediately ordered her admittance. Surpriſed at the elegant figure which met her eyes in the glaſs upon our fair heroine's entering the room, ſhe haſtily turned her head, and gazed on Henrietta ſo intently, that ſhe bluſhed; which lady D— obſerving, obligingly deſired her to ſit down, and ſaid, ſhe would talk to her preſently.

Henrietta modeſtly placed herſelf at a diſtance, but ſo luckily for the lady's curioſity, that ſhe could have a full view of her in her glaſs, with⯑out renewing her confuſion.

"My ſiſter," ſaid lady D—, breaking ſi⯑lence at laſt, ‘has mentioned you very advan⯑tageouſly, Mrs. Benſon, I wiſh it may be in my power to ſerve you.’

Henrietta bowed reſpectfully.

"You are very young," purſued the lady; ‘I ſuppoſe miſs Cordwain's was the firſt ſervice you ever lived in?’

At the word Service Henrietta bluſhed again; and indeed the lady did not pronounce it with⯑out ſome heſitation, for having a ſenſible and ingenuous mind, ſhe felt the impropriety of the term when uſed towards a perſon, who, not⯑withſtanding [106] the humility of her deportment, had a dignity in her looks and air, which com⯑manded reſpect. She took notice of this emo⯑tion, and the more becauſe ſhe ſaw it endea⯑voured to be ſuppreſſed; and being deſirous of gaining ſome further knowledge of her, ſhe aſked her a hundred little queſtions, which ſhe thought would lead her to an explanation of her circum⯑ſtances.

Henrietta avoided making a diſcovery of her⯑ſelf, but anſwered in ſuch a manner, as, with⯑out ſatisfying the lady's curioſity, gave her a very good opinion of her candor and her ſenſe: but ſhe was particularly ſtruck with the graceful eaſe with which ſhe talked; and obſerved ſuch a perfect politeneſs in her manners, as perſuaded her ſhe was born in a much higher rank than her preſent ſituation allowed the probability of.

Lady D—'s daughter now entered the room, and aſked her mamma, if ſhe deſired to hear her take a leſſon from her ſinging-maſter that morning?

The lady ordered the maſter to be admitted, upon which Henrietta roſe up to go away; but the lady told her, with a benevolent ſmile, that ſhe ſhould ſtay and hear miſs D—perform, and deſired her to reſume her ſeat.

[107]While the young lady was ſinging, lady D— kept her eyes fixed on Henrietta's face, and, from the ſweet expreſſion in it, collecting that ſhe had a taſte for muſick, aſked her, if ſhe had ever been taught?

Henrietta, though not willing to make a diſ⯑play of talents which were not neceſſary to her preſent condition, yet owned, that ſhe had a little knowledge of muſick.

Lady D— immediately deſired to hear her ſing, and the young lady at the ſame time pre⯑ſenting her guitar to her, ſhe was obliged to comply. Her air, her attitude, the exquiſite grace with which ſhe touched the little inſtru⯑ment, the ſweetneſs of her voice, and the ſen⯑ſibility in her fine eyes, charmed lady D—, who was an enthuſiaſtick admirer of the art, ſo that ſhe cried out in a kind of tranſport, ‘Mr. Minime! would you not be proud of ſuch a ſcholar?’

"Madam," ſaid the maſter, bowing, ‘the young gentlewoman has a very pretty voice and manner, to be ſure: but if miſs D— applies cloſely to muſick for ſeven or eight years longer, and does not ſuffer her mind to be diſtracted with the ſtudy of other ſciences, I ſhall have more reaſon to be proud of my ſcholar than any maſter in the world.’

[108]This ſpeech forced a ſmile from Henrietta, who the third time roſe up to be gone, upon hearing a female viſiter announced; but lady D—, conceiving that ſhe was not obliged to a ſtrict obſervation of ceremony with the per⯑ſon that was now entering, again inſiſted upon Henrietta's ſtaying, telling her, ſhe had thought of ſomething for her; and that ſhe would ac⯑quaint her with it as ſoon as the lady was gone.

Henrietta had but juſt time to expreſs a grate⯑ful acknowledgment of her kindneſs, when the viſiter was introduced. She was a woman or a mean aſpect, but had a great deal of ſelf⯑ſufficiency in her air. After the uſual compli⯑ments were over, ſhe threw herſelf into an eaſy chair, and examined Henrietta with ſuch extreme attention, that ſhe bluſhed.

The lady, who took conſequence to herſelf from the power of throwing on ingenuous mind into confuſion, finding that Henrietta was op⯑preſſed by her looks, gazed at her the more ear⯑neſtly: and having indulged herſelf ſeveral mi⯑nutes in this exertion of her ſuperiority, thought it was now time to make the poor baſhful girl ſtare in her turn, and began to diſplay her wit and learning; the former in an inundation of [109] words that ſwallowed up her meaning, and the latter in French words and phraſes, brought in to ſupply the deficiencies of her own native tongue.

Lady D—, who was uſed to divert herſelf with the ſingularity of this woman's character, liſtened to her with complaiſance. But Hen⯑rietta, who began to conceive a very mean opi⯑nion of a lady who ſeemed to value herſelf ſo highly upon the knowledge of a language, which was now become a part of every cobler's daugh⯑ter's education, beheld her with an indifference that ſenſibly wounded her pride, and made her have recourſe to other methods to impreſs her prodigious conſequence upon her; and ſince ſhe could not make her ſtare at her learning, ſhe was reſolved to make her wonder at her principles.

‘You know, lady D— (ſaid ſhe abruptly) I do not often go to church.’

"I know it, and I am ſorry for it," replied her ladyſhip.

‘Upon my word (ſaid ſhe) I have too much reverence for the Deity to go to a place where it is ten to one but I ſhall hear him blaſ⯑phemed.’

[110]Henrietta now began to ſtare indeed. The wonderful lady proceeded,

‘I never pretend to deny that I am a deiſt.’

"You muſt pardon me, Mrs. —," in⯑terrupted lady D—, ‘if I tell you that I really think you often declare that very impro⯑perly; I have heard you ſay ſo before your children and ſervants.’

"Madam," replied Mrs. — ‘I take care that my ſervants ſhall not think me an atheiſt. They know my principles better: they know I am a deiſt; they have heard me declare that I believe there is an Intelligent cauſe which governs the world by phyſical rules. As for moral attributes, there is no ſuch thing; it is impious and abſurd to ſup⯑poſe it. The arbitrary conſtitution of things in the human ſyſtem produces happineſs and miſery; that is to ſay, miſery and happineſs is productive of—Or rather, as I ſaid before, the arbitrary conſtitution of things, vice and virtue, is neceſſarily produced by—that is, neceſſarily brings on happineſs or miſery.— Prayer, and ſuch like artifices of religion, is fooliſh: for whatever is, is right. To talk of imitating God, is blaſphemy. His Provi⯑dence is extended to collective bodies only; [111] he has no regard to individuals: nor is the ſoul a diſtinct ſubſtance from the body. There is no future ſtate; it is all a fiction. To argue from unequal diſtributions is abſurd and blaſ⯑phemous. Whatever is, is beſt. The law of nature is ſufficiently clear; and there is no need of any ſupernatural revelation.’

"I muſt intreat you, madam," interrupted lady D—, ſeeing her eldeſt daughter that moment enter the room, ‘to change the diſ⯑courſe now, miſs has not been uſed to ſuch deep reaſoning on theſe aweful ſubjects, and may perhaps miſtake what you are ſaying for blaſphemy.’

‘More abſurd miſtakes than that may be made, madam,’ replied Mrs. —, ‘when perſons are not allowed to exerciſe their men⯑tal faculties— but your ladyſhip is going to dreſs—I interrupt you.’ Saying this, ſhe roſe "up, and lady D— making no efforts to de⯑tain her, took her leave.

"I have always hated that woman," ſaid miſs D—, as ſoon as ſhe was gone, ‘ever ſince I heard her ridicule parental affection, and call it brutual inſtinct.’

"Oh," ſaid lady D—, laughing, ‘it would ill become one of her elevated under⯑ſtanding, to have natural affections: thoſe ſhe [112] treats as vulgar prejudices. Her own ſex are the objects of her ſcorn, becauſe they are ſub⯑ject to ſuch weakneſſes as tenderneſs and pity. She reads Seneca on friendſhip in the morn⯑ing; and exclaims, O the exalted paſſion! how divinely he treats it! what noble ſenti⯑ments! In the afternoon ſhe over-reaches her friend, and applauds her own wiſdom. Epic⯑tetus is ſtudied with great care. She will preach a moral ſermon out of Epictetus that will laſt two hours. Epictetus teaches her to regulate her paſſions. She reads him in⯑tently while her maid is combing her hair, and cloſes her book to ſtorm at the poor trembling creature for accidentally hurting her with the comb.’

CHAP. II.

HEnrietta could not help ſmiling at lady D—'s ſatirical manner of expoſing the follies of the lady who had juſt left the room: but a female free-thinker was, in her opinion, ſo ſhocking a character, that ſhe would much rather have ſeen it the object of abhorrence than mirth.

Lady D— put an end to her reflections: for, turning towards her, ‘Mrs. Benſon (ſaid ſhe) it is time to think of you now.’ Hen⯑rietta immediately roſe from her ſeat.

"There is a lady of my acquaintance," pur⯑ſued lady D—, ‘to whom your accompliſh⯑ments of ſinging and playing will make you a very acceptable companion: and indeed I think it is a pity a young woman of your ap⯑pearance and genteel education ſhould remain in the condition of a ſervant, which I am per⯑ſuaded you was not born to.’

[114]Henrietta bluſhed; which lady D— ob⯑ſerving, "come," ſaid ſhe, ſmiling, ‘be in⯑genuous, and confeſs that the propoſal I have made you will ſuit you better than being a ſervant.’

"Indeed, madam, it does not," replied Hen⯑rietta; ‘I am extremely obliged to your lady⯑ſhip for your kind intentions, but I had rather be recommended to the lady as a ſervant than in any other character.’

"You ſurpriſe me," ſaid lady D—, after a little pauſe; ‘what objections can you have to a ſituation ſo much to be preferred to ſervitude?’

"I am very ſure, madam," ſaid Henrietta, ‘that I have not too much pride to be a ſer⯑vant, ſince it is neceſſary I ſhould be one: but I am afraid I cannot ſo eaſily [...] a dependent.’

Lady D—, a little diſappointed to find herſelf ſo far below this obſcure young perſon in delicacy of ſentiment, anſwered gravely,

‘Well, ſince it muſt be ſo, I will ſerve you in your own way; let me ſee you again a few days hence, by that time I may poſſibly have heard of ſomething for you.’

[115]Henrietta again politely thanked her ladyſhip, and withdrew, leaving lady D— and her daughter differently affected with her behaviour in this laſt inſtance: for young minds are apt to be ſtruck with uncommon ſentiments, and to admire ſuch as ſeem to poſſeſs them; while perſons advanced in years, either from experi⯑ence of the world, or the natural depravity of the human heart, aſcribe every thing to affecta⯑tion and deſign, that contradicts certain received maxims in life.

However, Henrietta's peculiarity made lady D— extremely deſirous to know who ſhe was, and whether there was any thing extraor⯑dinary in her circumſtances. She wrote to the counteſs her ſiſter, expreſſing her curioſity: but that lady was reſolved to keep Henrietta's ſecret, as well in regard to the promiſe ſhe had given her, as becauſe ſhe really thought an unſeaſon⯑able diſcovery of her true name and family would be diſadvantageous to the plan ſhe had laid.

She therefore contented herſelf with telling her ſiſter, in her anſwer, that Mrs. Benſon was a very deſerving young woman, who had been well brought up, but, by misfortunes in her fa⯑mily, reduced to go to ſervice.

[116]Lady D— was ſatisfied with this account; and when Henrietta, in obedience to her com⯑mands, waited on her again, ſhe received her with great benevolence; told her, ſhe had re⯑commended her to a lady of great fortune, whoſe place ſhe believed would be an advan⯑tageous one; and ordered her own woman to go with a meſſage to the lady, and introduce her.

Henrietta having a hackney-coach waiting, lady D—'s woman and her, after ſome cere⯑monies which our fair heroine would gladly have diſpenſed with, ſeated themſelves in it; and, as ſoon as it drove from the door, the Abi⯑gail began,

‘Well, madam, you are certainly very for⯑tunate, Mrs. Autumn's place is one of the beſt in Chriſtendom: you have nothing to do but to flatter her, and you will gain her heart for ever.’

"Is the lady fond of flattery then?" ſaid Henrietta.

"Oh! immenſely," cried the other; ‘but for fear you ſhould miſtake, and compliment her in the wrong place, you muſt know (and I think it is very lucky that I had an oppor⯑tunity of inſtructing you) you muſt know that though ſhe is between forty and fifty years of [117] age, ſhe affects to be thought extremely young; and having been handſome in her youth, as my lady ſays, ſhe forgets ſhe is no longer ſo now ſhe is old.’

‘Now, dear madam, this is your cue. Be ſure to praiſe her bloomy complexion, and the brightneſs of her eyes; and, if ſhe bids you gueſs how old ſhe is, as 'tis ten to one but ſhe will ſome time hence, don't exceed twenty years, I charge you.’

‘The poor ſimple girl that lived with her laſt, loſt her place, by ſaying, when ſhe aſked her how old ſhe believed her to be, that ſhe took her ladyſhip to be about the ſame age as her mother. She was a vulgar creature, to be ſure. You, madam, are in no danger of ſpeaking ſo improperly. But on certain occaſions you may contradict her rudely, and ſhe will be the more pleaſed; as for inſtance, when ſhe ſays ſhe looks horridly! tell her in a ſurly way, as if you were vexed at her perverſeneſs, that you never ſaw her look ſo handſome.’

"Mighty well," ſaid Henrietta, ſmiling, ‘I perceive you are excellent in this art; I am—’

[118]"Oh! no thanks, dear madam," interrupted lady D—'s woman, ‘I am fond of doing good offices.’

"I was going to ſay," replied Henrietta, ‘that I am afraid theſe wiſe documents will be thrown away upon me.’

"I hope not," ſaid the other, gravely. ‘Come, take courage, you are but a young be⯑ginner; theſe things come of [...] I ſhould be ſorry you were not capable of taking good counſel.’

They were now arrived at Mrs. Autumn's houſe: lady D—'s woman ſent up word, that ſhe was come with the perſon her lady had re⯑commended to her ladyſhip; upon which both were ordered to go up ſtairs.

They found the lady giving audience to millener, a mantua-maker, and a mercer. Se⯑veral pieces of ſilk lay unrolled before he and a vaſt variety of ribbons, lappets, egret [...] and other faſhionable trifles, were ſpread upo [...] a table, on which ſhe leaned, in a thoughtful poſture, as unable to determine her choice.

When Henrietta and her companion entere [...] ſhe raiſed her eyes, and nodding familiarly lady D—'s woman, who approached he [...] courtſying; ‘you find me exceſſively buſy, M [...] Echo (ſaid ſhe) well, what has lady D— [119] ſent me—Oh! a good-likely body,’ purſued ſhe, looking at Henrietta; ‘my compliments, Mrs. Echo, and thanks—You ſee I have hardly time to ſpeak to you—The young woman may ſtay, I'll talk to her preſently.’

Mrs. Echo withdrew; and the lady reſuming her contemplative poſture, gave Henrietta an opportunity of conſidering her at leiſure.

If lady D—'s woman had not fixed her age at ſomewhat more than forty, ſhe would have con⯑cluded her to have been older, by the deep furrows in her face, her fallen cheeks, and the poor ſhri⯑vell'd hand that ſupported her head: but her dreſs ſpoke her ſcarce fifteen; a French fillet ſupplied the place of a cap, and ſerved to bind the few ſtraggling hairs that graced her tem⯑ples, to a tète, which was ſo loaded with hair, that her head ſeemed to be of an enormous ſize. The reſt of her dreſs was ſuited exactly to the childiſh ornaments of her head; and though no object could be more ridiculous, yet Henrietta beheld her with a ſerious concern; for, true benevolence compaſſionates thoſe follies which unfeeling hearts ſacrifice to mirth.

Mrs. Autumn at length roſe up; ‘that muſt be the thing,’ ſaid ſhe, pointing to a pink and ſilver. She then gave ſome directions to her millener; and, ſuddenly interrupting herſelf, [120] turned with a lively air to the mercer, and aſked him, why he had not cut off the ſilk?

‘Your ladyſhip did not tell me how much you wanted,’ replied the tradeſman.

"Lord! I am the giddieſt creature," ex⯑claimed Mrs. Autumn. This matter however was ſoon ſettled, and the important buſineſs with the millener diſpatched, ſhe diſmiſſed her trades-people, and, throwing herſelf with an af⯑fected air upon a ſettee, ordered Henrietta to come forward.

‘I was afraid (ſaid ſhe) that lady D—, who is very fond of ſeeing grave ſolemn faces about her, had ſent me ſome antiquated crea⯑ture that would have frightened me; but you ſeem to be a ſprightly young body: we ſhall agree very well, I hope.’

Henrietta courteſied.

"I hate old people," purſued the lady; ‘they are generally obſtinate and ſurly. God help us, we ſhall all be old if we live—but when one is in years one's ſelf it is time enough to be plagued with the humours of thoſe that are [...] you will ſuit me extremely well.’

Henrietta courteſied again.

"You are no talker, I find," ſaid Mrs. Au⯑tumn, a little chagrined that the hints ſhe had thrown out, had produced nothing which could [121] flatter her extreme deſire of being thought young. ‘Well, there is no great harm in that; I ſhall take you upon lady D—'s recommendation. As for terms—’

"Madam," ſaid Henrietta, who now for the firſt time opened her mouth; ‘they ſhall be whatever you think proper.’

"Very well," ſaid the lady, ‘we will talk no more about them then; if you can find out how to pleaſe me, which will be no dif⯑ficult matter I aſſure you, my place may prove a very advantageous one, and the ſooner you come the better.’

Henrietta told her, ſhe was ready to come whenever ſhe pleaſed. Upon which, Mrs. Au⯑tumn, with the pretty impatience of youth, asked her, if it would be any inconvenience to her to come that very night?

Henrietta, who was naturally obliging, aſ⯑ſured her it would not; and was diſmiſſed with a gracious ſmile for her ready compliance.

Mrs, Willis, who had flattered herſelf that ſhe ſhould enjoy the company of her amiable friend for a few weeks at leaſt, was greatly diſ⯑appointed when ſhe found ſhe was to loſe her [...]o ſoon; and gently blamed her for being ſo pre⯑ [...]pitate.

[122]Henrietta gave her the character of the lady ſhe was going to live with, and repeated what ſhe had ſaid to her. ‘You may be ſure (added ſhe) that I ſhall never pleaſe Mrs. Autumn in the way ſhe expects to be pleaſed. Flattery is always mean; but to flatter ſolly, is, in my opinion, criminal. However, I gladly em⯑braced the firſt opportunity that offered to ſhew my willingneſs to oblige, though I would not flatter her. You will hardly believe me, perhaps (ſaid ſhe, ſmiling) when I tell you, that one of the greateſt bars to my happineſs in my preſent humble ſituation is, the dif⯑ficulty of pleaſing without wounding my own delicacy and candor. It is not eaſy to live well with our ſuperiors, and preſerve our in⯑tegrity, but it is not impoſſible; and, if fail in that attempt, I ſhall at leaſt have this ſatisfaction, that I ſuffer in the cauſe [...] virtue.’

‘It requires all that ſweetneſs of temp [...] which you poſſeſs,’ ſaid Mrs. Willis, ‘ [...] live with a woman of Mrs. Autumn's fanta [...] ⯑tick turn, without being diſguſted with [...] What an abſurdity! at fifty years to expect [...] be thought young; and to imagine that, [...] affecting the follies of youth, ſhe ſhall ha [...] the bloom of it alſo. Our ſex have been [...] [123] preached with never cultivating our minds till we can no longer pleaſe by our perſons; but here is a woman who has not judgment e⯑nough to know when ſhe ought to reſign the hope of pleaſing by her perſon. Take my word for it, you will be very unhappy with her, unleſs you reſolve to accommodate your⯑ſelf to her humour, and ſooth her in her ridi⯑culous folly.’

"That I will not do," replied Henrietta; ‘and ſince I have learned not to fear poverty, my happineſs will never depend upon others.’

Mrs. Willis, finding ſhe could not prevail with her fair friend to alter her reſolution, ac⯑quieſced in it at length; and Henrietta, taking an affectionate leave of her, repaired to her new habitation.

CHAP. III.

THE lady being engaged with company when Henrietta arrived, ſhe did not ſee her till late at night, when ſhe was ſummoned to undreſs her.

"Come hither, Henrietta," ſaid ſhe, as ſoon as ſhe entered the room; ‘I have ſeen lady D— ſince you was here—She has given me ſuch an advantageous account of your under⯑ſtanding, that I am reſolved to make you my confidant.’

At the word Confidant Henrietta looked a little confuſed; but the lady, who did not ob⯑ſerve her emotion, reclined her head upon her hand, and, fixing her eyes on her glaſs to ſee how this penſive attitude became her.

‘I am certainly (purſued ſhe, ſighing) the moſt unfortunate woman in the world—Ben⯑ſon, if you would be happy, never marry.’

‘I have no thought of marriage at preſent, madam,’ ſaid Henrietta.

[125]"Ah, how I envy your freedom," ſaid the antiquated fair; ‘you are plagued with no un⯑reaſonable jealouſy. Benſon, you will not be here long before you are a witneſs to my per⯑ſecutions. I wiſh I could conceal them, but that is impoſſible.’

"I am ſorry, madam," ſaid Henrietta, who was under a neceſſity of ſaying ſomething in an⯑ſwer to this ſtrange ſtuff, ‘to hear that you have any thing to make you uneaſy.’

"It does not ſignify," exclaimed the lady, with an emotion which ſhe herſelf took to be real; ‘I ſhall be choaked if I don't ſpeak; may I depend upon your prudence, Benſon!—But I know I may. Well then, you muſt know there is a poor young fellow who pretends— But why do I ſay pretends—who is deſpe⯑rately —what ſhall I call it—who has an un⯑conquerable, invincible, hopeleſs, fatal, dying paſſion for—for me, in ſhort. Is not this a ſhocking thing?’

"Indeed! madam," replied Henrietta, with great truth, "I pity you extremely."

"Ay, am I not greatly to be pitied, child?" ſaid the lady. ‘Then the poor wretch cannot conceal his ſolly; and it makes Mr. Autumn ſo uneaſy, that really his temper is intolera⯑ble.’

[126]"Pardon me, madam," ſaid Henrietta; ‘but I am not ſurpriſed that Mr. Autumn is uneaſy at ſuch folly as you juſtly call it.’

"Why, to be ſure it is folly," ſaid Mrs. Au⯑tum: ‘but then, if one reflects a little— It is not folly neither— for love, you know, is an involuntary paſſion. So that— but you have a very unfeeling heart, Benſon; and yet, to judge by your looks, you ſhould have great ſenſibility. Pray, have you never felt the tender paſſion?’

"If you mean love, madam," replied Hen⯑rietta; "indeed I cannot ſay I have."

"Well, you will be a happy creature," ſaid the lady, ſighing, ‘if you can always main⯑tain this indifference: but poor Languiſh muſt not expect to meet with much compaſſion from you. Poor wretch! (continued ſhe, laughing) I cannot help triumphing a little. I have nick-named him Languiſh from his eternal ſighing, and the melancholy roll of his eyes. Mr. Autumn cannot endure to hear me call him by this name; but I love to plague him a little now and then: what ſig⯑nifies power, if one does not ſhew one has it. Yet he ought to be ſatisfied with me for what I did this evening, when Languiſh indiſcreetly betrayed the violence of his paſſion, by ea⯑gerly [127] running (though there were two gen⯑tlemen nearer) to take up my glove which I had dropped: I took no notice of the dying air with which he preſented it to me; but, as if his touch had polluted it, I received it haughtily from him, and threw it aſide. Sure this inſtance of diſdain was enough to ſatisfy a jealous huſband; yet mine, inſtead of looking pleaſed, coloured with jealouſy and rage, and gave me ſuch furious glances: however, this will always be the caſe, where there is ſo great a diſproportion in age; Mr. Autumn is not leſs than forty. But hey day! is the girl aſleep?’ continued ſhe, looking at Henrietta, who ſtood fixed in thought; for the abſurd affectation of her miſtreſs gave her matter enough for reflection. ‘Come, un⯑dreſs me; Mr. Autumn will wonder at my long ſtay, and as he is ingenious in torment⯑ing himſelf, he will poſſibly ſuſpect that I have been reading a letter from this rival of his; but there he over-rates his preſumption, he has not ventured to write to me yet, his paſſion is only expreſſed in ſighs and looks.’

Henrietta made haſte to obey her, her patience being almoſt exhauſted; for Mrs. Autumn had got on a ſubject which ſhe knew not how to quit, and her women being the only perſons to whom ſhe [128] could utter theſe extravagancies, without any danger of being mortified with ſarcaſtick hints of age, and ſuch envious and unjuſt reflections, ſhe made herſelf amends with them, for the reſerve ſhe was much againſt her will obliged to maintain with others.

Henrietta was at length ordered to wait on her to her chamber, and ſoon after retired to her own, greatly out of humour with her miſtreſs, and not a little diſpleaſed at herſelf, to find that her philoſophy, by which ſhe was enabled to bear the change of her fortune with patience and reſignation, could not guard her againſt [...]ful⯑neſs and diſguſt at the follies ſhe was [...]eed to be witneſs to.

Mrs. Autumn, like other modern [...], lay in bed always till it was very late this being one of thoſe happy expedients for killing time (as the faſhionable phraſe is) which, to diſcover, employs the inventions of perſons of rank and fortune. Henrietta had attended three whole hours in her lady's dreſſing-room, in expectation every moment of being ſummoned to aſſiſt her to riſe, when Mr. Autumn at length entered the room.

His ſervant, while he was dreſſing him, had told him, that his lady's new woman, whom he had a glympſe of as he paſſed by her on the ſtairs, [129] was the greateſt beauty he ever beheld; ſo that being curious to ſee her, he came to breakfaſt with his wife that morning.

Henrietta roſe up at his entrance; Mr. Autumn bowed, looked at her attentively, and thought his man had taſte. But he was ſtill more ſtruck with her noble air than the charms of her face, and felt an uneaſy emotion when he ſaw her continue ſtanding, with that humble reſpect, which, although it became her ſituation, ſeemed little ſuited to the dignity of her appearance. ‘Is not Mrs. Autumn up, madam?’ ſaid he, not being able to forbear uſing that reſpectful ſtyle. Henrietta, ſuppo⯑ſing he did not know her rank in his family, re⯑plied,

‘I expect my lady will ring every moment, ſir.’

‘Pray let her know that I am come to break⯑faſt with her,’ ſaid Mr. Autumn.

Henrietta went immediately into her lady's chamber, and, finding her awake, delivered her meſſage.

"Lord bleſs me!" ſaid Mrs. Autumn, ‘what new whim is this? He does not uſe to invade my apartment in a morning: I ſuppoſe he is come to teaze me with ſome of his jealous fancies. Well, ſince it muſt be ſo, order [130] breakfaſt to be ſent in, and come to me di⯑rectly.’

What a ridiculous woman is this, thought Henrietta,, as ſhe went out of the room, to tor⯑ment, herſelf at her age with the notion of her huſband being jealous of her.

The good lady, when ſhe returned, charged her not to leave the room while they were at breakfaſt. ‘Your preſence (ſaid ſhe) may per⯑haps be ſome reſtraint upon him.’

She then ſlipped on a night-gown, and went in a frightful diſhabille to attend her complaiſant ſpouſe; for ſhe was one of thoſe ladies who dreſs for every body but their huſbands.

Henrietta was not ſorry that ſhe was directed to wait, for ſhe was extremely deſirous of know⯑ing whether her lady had any reaſon for the uneaſineſs ſhe expreſſed. Mr. Autumn's good humour and complaiſance ſoon put that matter out of doubt; but Mrs. Autumn was reſolved to perſuade her maid that her huſband was jealous, and laughing affectedly, cried,

‘Well, don't be chagrined, Mr. Autumn, but I proteſt I dreamt of poor Languiſh laſt night.’

The huſband ſhook his head, winked at his wiſe, and pointed to Henrietta, as if he had [131] ſaid, don't expoſe yourſelf before your new ſer⯑vant.

"Why, how you frown now!" purſued Mrs. Autumn; ‘I knew you would be angry. Lord! what does it ſignify of whom one dreams: one does not always think of the perſons one dreams of. I wiſh I had not told you.’

"I wiſh you had not," ſaid Mr. Autumn, biting his lip with vexation at her folly. The lady then lowering her voice, as if ſhe was not willing to be heard by Henrietta, tho' ſhe took care not to make it impoſſible, repeated,

"You are well read in Shakeſpear, madam," ſaid Mr. Autumn, who was willing to give an⯑other turn to the diſcourſe.

"Oh!" exclaimed ſhe, ‘he has touched the paſſion of jealouſy finely in his character of Othello; I think the Moor was uneaſy about a dream too.’

Juſt then ſomebody tapped at the door, Hen⯑rietta opened it; one of the footmen delivered a meſſage from one lady, enquiring how Mrs. Au⯑tumn did, and a ſealed-up card from another.

[132]While the ſervant was ſpeaking, Mrs. Au⯑tumn called out, what makes the fellow whiſper in that manner, as if the meſſage he brings was a ſecret? Henrietta delivered her the card, which ſhe threw upon the table without open⯑ing it. ‘I am reſolved (ſaid ſhe) to turn that blockhead away; his myſterious manner is enough to put ſtrange fancies into people's heads.’

"The ſtrange fancies are all your own," ſaid Mr. Autumn, peeviſhly.

"I thought it would be ſo," cried the lady, ‘you are out of humour. What is this ſealed up card the grievance? come, we will open it, and you ſhall know the contents.’

"Indeed I will not," ſaid Mr. Autumn riſing; ‘I have not the leaſt curioſity about the con⯑tents—Good morning to you, my dear, I am going out.’

"Well, Benſon," ſaid Mrs. Autumn, as ſoon as her huſband had left the room; ‘is not this a comfortable life I live? what a paſſion that poor man is in!’

"Was Mr. Autumn angry, madam?" ſaid Henrietta.

"To be ſure he was," ſaid the lady; ‘did you not obſerve it?’

[133]"Indeed, madam," replied Henrietta, ‘Mr. Autumn did not ſeem to me to be angry.’

"No, really!" ſaid Mrs. Autumn; ‘you have a great deal of penetration, it muſt be confeſſed— You think you are very diſcreet now, but you are miſtaken. However, I charge you, don't goſſip among your companions about Mr. Autumn's unhappy jealouſy; I don't want the world to know what I ſuffer upon that account.’

‘I never will mention it, madam, to any body,’ replied Henrietta.

"Nay, for that matter," ſaid Mrs. Autumn, ‘you might mention it without any bad inten⯑tion, by way of pitying me, or ſo; and per⯑haps I ſhould not think the worſe of you. But if you can be ſilent, Benſon, you will oblige me; reports of this kind, you know, ſhould not be circulated.’

"They never ſhall by me, madam," ſaid Hen⯑rietta.

"Enough, enough," cried Mrs. Autumn, haſtily; "I hate long ſpeeches."

Henrietta was pleaſed with a declaration which enjoined her ſilence; for if it be tireſome to liſten to the ſallies of affectation and impertinence, it [...]e much more ſo to be obliged to anſwer them.

CHAP. IV.

HEnrietta had exerciſed her patience for ſome weeks in the ſervice of Mrs. Au⯑tumn; but every day producing new inſtances of her folly, ſhe reſolved to quit her as ſoon as the counteſs came to town. She conceived ſhe was in ſome degree accountable to that lady for her actions, ſince it was through her recom⯑mendation, that ſhe had been introduced to Mrs. Autumn; and ſhe thought it necceſſary for the juſtification of her conduct, to have ſo conſiderable a witneſs of its being irreproach⯑able.

Her lady, though ſhe found herſelf always diſappointed in that complaiſance to her whims which ſhe endeavoured to exact from her, yet ventured to make her a propoſal, which her own want of delicacy hindered her from ſeeing the impropriety of.

She had taken it into her head to try her ſup⯑poſed lover's conſtancy, and therefore wrote a letter to him, in the character of a lady un⯑known, [135] on whoſe heart he had made a deep im⯑preſſion, but who was reſolved not to diſcover herſelf till ſhe knew whether his was wholly diſengaged.

This letter, ſhe doubted not, would produce a declaration that would afford matter of great triumph to herſelf, who ſhe ſuſpected was the ſecret object of his adoration.

She acquainted her woman with her ſcheme, and gravely deſired her to copy the letter, for Languiſh, ſhe ſaid, knew her hand.

Henrietta bluſhed with ſurpriſe and ſhame at this improper requeſt, and very frankly begged to be excuſed from complying with it.

"What!" ſaid Mrs. Autumn, a little con⯑fuſed; "you diſpute my commands then!"

‘I never refuſed to obey any of your com⯑mands before, madam,’ replied Henrietta; ‘but this, pardon me, madam, appears ſo ſtrange.’

‘You do not dare to ſuſpect my virtue, I hope,’ ſaid Mrs. Autumn, in a lofty ac⯑cent.

"It does not become me, madam," ſaid Hen⯑rietta, "to cenſure your actions."

"No, certainly," replied the lady, ‘nor to refuſe to do any thing that I order you to do: but I would fain know if you, in your great [136] wiſdom, think there is anything improper in this little piece of gallantry.’

"My opinion is of no conſequence, madam," replied Henrietta; ‘I only beg to be excuſed from copying it.’

"Well, no more of the letter." cried Mrs. Autumn, haſtily: ‘perhaps I had only a mind to try your diſcretion; perhaps too I ſhall like you the better for your ſteadineſs— Be modeſt and reſerved, and you will be ſure of my approbation. Were you the beſt ſervant in the world, you would not do for me, un⯑leſs you were extremely modeſt. And now you know my mind, be cautious how you be⯑have: modeſty is a ſure recommendation to my favour; I can pardon any fault in my ſer⯑vant but want of modeſty.’

Henrietta, from this declaration, had reaſon to think herſelf pretty ſure of her lady's favour: for the ſevereſt prude that ever declaimed againſt the monſtrous levity of her own ſex, could not have objected to the propriety of her behaviour; but, unhappily for her, ſhe was that very day guilty of a fault by which ſhe incurred very ſhocking ſuſpicions: for having neglected to [...]ill her lady's ſmelling-bottle with ſome freſh Eau de Luce, Mrs. Autumn declared that ſuch heed⯑leſſneſs muſt neceſſarily proceed from her hav⯑ing [137] her thoughts continually employed upon fel⯑lows; and telling her, that ſhe could not endure ſuch a creature in her ſight, ordered her to be gone immediately.

Henrietta did not think proper to offer any anſwer to this ſtrange charge; but quitting her preſence immediately, and her houſe a few mo⯑ments afterwards, ſhe returned to Mrs. Willis, who, ſeeing her alight at her door, eagerly flew to receive her.

"I have great news for you, my dear miſs," ſaid ſhe, ‘I was this moment preparing to ſet out in a coach to bring you a letter, which was left here by one of your uncle's ſervants. It is very true,’ purſued ſhe, ſeeing Henrietta looked ſurpriſed. ‘I aſked the young man, who he came from? and he ſaid, the earl of —. You may believe I am impatient to know the contents of this letter. Come, my dear, and read it; I hope all your troubles are over now.’

Henrietta receiving the letter from her, which ſhe took out of her pocket, followed her into the parlour, and breaking the ſeal,

‘It is my uncle's hand, indeed (ſaid ſhe) and this is what he writes.’

‘Mrs. Courteney is deſired to call at the earl of—, to-morrow morning at twelve o'clock, [138] he has ſomething to propoſe to her for her ad⯑vantage.’

"Did I not tell you, miſs," ſaid Mrs. Willis, exultingly, ‘that the ſtep you had taken would produce a favourable change in your fortune?’

‘Don't be too ſanguine in your expectations, my dear Mrs. Willis,’ ſaid miſs Courteney; ‘who knows but my uncle may have another ſir Iſaac Darby to propoſe to me: however, I will certainly wait upon him, and, if poſſible, will be punctual to the hour he has preſcribed me; but if nothing ſhould come of this over⯑ture of his lordſhip's, I ſhall be your gueſt again for ſome time. I have left Mrs. Autumn.’

She then related to her ſome circumſtances of that lady's extravagant folly, and the cauſe and manner of their parting, which, together with their comments on lord—'s meſſage, furniſhed them with matter ſufficient for diſcourſe during the remainder of that day: what happened to our fair heroine the next, will be found in the fol⯑lowing chapter.

CHAP. V.

HEnrietta was at her uncle's houſe exactly at the hour preſcribed her; and, upon ſending in her name, was deſired to walk into his lordſhip's library.

The earl was there to receive her: he had with him two of his daughters; but theſe young ladies withdrew immediately, after ſaluting her in a very diſtant manner, which ſhe returned with equal reſerve and coldneſs.

"Miſs Courteney," ſaid his lordſhip, as ſoon as they were alone, ‘I have been extremely angry with you for leaving your aunt in the ſtrange manner you did.’

"I am extremely obliged to your lordſhip," replied Henrietta, ‘for taking ſo much intereſt in any thing that concerns me.’

"You certainly acted very indiſcreetly," ſaid the earl; ‘but what is paſt, cannot be helped. You have had the good luck to make your⯑ſelf friends, notwithſtanding this wrong ſtep. [140] You have been at the counteſs of—'s ſeat, I hear.’

"Yes, my lord," anſwered Henrietta: ‘I was there with—’

"The counteſs is very much your friend," interrupted his lordſhip, haſtily, ‘but her ſon is more ſo.’

Henrietta bluſhed, and was ſilent.

"I will not," purſued his lordſhip, ‘exa⯑mine into your motives for leaving lady Mea⯑dows; but I will, if poſſible, accommodate matters between you, provided you will con⯑cur with me in my endeavours for that pur⯑poſe.’

‘I deſire nothing more earneſtly than to be reconciled to my aunt,’ replied Henrietta.

‘I believe it will be your own fault if you are not,’ reſumed his lordſhip; ‘and if you reco⯑ver her ſavour, your good fortune will not ſtop there—To keep you no longer in ſuſpence then, lord B— has declared a paſſion for you, and has ſolicited my intereſt towards ef⯑fecting a reconciliation between your aunt and you, that he may pay his addreſſes to you in a proper manner.’

‘I am ſurpriſed that lord B— ſhould make ſuch a propoſal,’ ſaid Henrietta, ‘he is en⯑gaged to the daughter of a rich citizen.’

[141]"No, not engaged," replied the earl; ‘the match has been propoſed, and he has viſited the young woman.’

"Indeed, my lord," replied Henrietta, ‘the affair is much further advanced.’

"Well, well," interrupted his lordſhip, ‘we will ſuppoſe that the writings are drawn and every thing ſettled; but they are not married, nor engaged neither.’

‘His inclinations, you find, have taken an⯑other turn: you have no reaſon to blame him for this, I am ſure; and it would be ſtrange indeed if a man of his rank and fortune was to mind the cenſures of the vulgar.’

Henrietta was ſilent. His lordſhip pro⯑ceeded,

‘Lord B— will find it difficult, no doubt, to prevail upon the earl to break off this treaty, and conſent to his marrying you, though lady Meadows ſhould offer to make you her heir; becauſe in that caſe your fortune would be greatly below that of this citizen, whom he has choſe for him. Nevertheleſs, he does not deſpair of effecting this, provided your aunt will do for you what it was expected ſhe would before you was ſo unhappy as to diſoblige her. In this lord B— ſufficiently [142] ſhews the ſincerity and ardor of his paſſion, it is your part now to convince him that you are not ungrateful.’

"What would your lordſhip have me to do?" ſaid Henrietta.

"I would have you ſubmit to your aunt," ſaid the earl, ‘and regain her affection, if poſſible▪ Lord B— has reaſon to expect this com⯑pliance from you.’

"I will do every thing I ought to do," re⯑plied Henrietta, ‘to recover my aunt's fa⯑vour, and this without any view to lord B— offers.’

‘Well, we ſhall not examine too nicely into that matter,’ interrupted his lordſhip ſmiling. ‘All that remains to be done, is this I will ſee lady Meadows myſelf, ſhe will [...] in town ſoon, I ſuppoſe; lord B—'s pro⯑poſal, which I will acquaint her with, w [...] captivate her attention, and be your beſt juſ⯑tification. As for what little conceſſions ſ [...] may expect from you, I ſhall leave them [...] be ſettled by yourſelves.’

"There are certain conceſſions, however ſaid Henrietta, ‘which it is impoſſible for [...] to make, and which, if my aunt inſiſts up as the neceſſary conditions of a reconciliation between us, I muſt ſtill continue under [...] [143] diſpleaſure, and hazard all the conſequences of it.’

‘I am afraid you are going to ſay ſome ſilly thing or other,’ interrupted his lordſhip, riſing from his ſeat; which motion Henrietta underſtanding as a hint for her to haſten her de⯑parture, roſe alſo.

"I will detain your lordſhip no longer," ſaid ſhe, ‘than juſt to tell you that ſome time ago my aunt propoſed to me to ſettle all her fortune upon me, provided I would embrace the Ro⯑man catholick religion.’

"A noble offer, upon my honour!" ſaid his lordſhip, "and did you refuſe it?"

‘Would your lordſhip have had me accept of it?’ ſaid Henrietta.

‘What ſignifies what I would have had you do,’ replied the earl, peeviſhly. ‘What did the conſideration of your own intereſt ſug⯑geſt to you?’

"To refuſe it, my lord," anſwered Henrietta, "and I did ſo."

"I find you are a very romantick girl," ſaid his lordſhip; ‘I am reſolved to trouble myſelf no more about your affairs.’

‘I hope it will not be imputed to me as a crime,’ ſaid Henrietta, ‘that I could not be bribed to change my religion.’

[144]"Change your religion!" repeated the earl, ‘what neceſſity was there for your changing your religion: you might have humoured the old woman, have gone with her to maſs, and conformed to ſome of her ſuper⯑ſtitious ceremonies, and be a good proteſtant in your heart notwithſtanding; the world, knowing your motives, would have com⯑mended you for ſuch a prudent conduct—I ſee there is nothing to be done with you,’ purſued he, after a little pauſe. ‘For the ſake of the unfortunate man, who was your fa⯑ther, I would have been glad to have ſeen you well married; but lord B— is not ſuch a fool as to take you without a fortune; and as you cannot reaſonably have any expec⯑tations but from lady Meadows, who has no children, and may leave her fortune to whom ſhe pleaſes, without doing any body injuſtice, you know beſt whether it is worth your while to make a proper ſubmiſſion to her or not.’

"I will never make an improper one," ſaid Henrietta.

"To be ſure," ſaid his lordſhip, ‘your own wiſdom is to be judge of that.’

[145]"No, my lord," replied Henrietta; ‘you ſhall if you pleaſe be judge— if my con⯑ſcience—’

‘Pray, let me hear nothing about your con⯑ſcience,’ interrupted the earl; ‘it is not my buſineſs to let matters even between you and your conſcience: your aunt's popiſh confeſſor, who is likely to be her heir, is ſkilful in thoſe things; yet I would not adviſe you to conſult him neither, for he is an intereſted perſon: but remember, that you may either ſecure to yourſelf a good eſtate, and marry a very de⯑ſerving young nobleman, or continue in the obſcurity and want your father left you in, which is all the legacy he bequeathed you. Think well of this, and then let your con⯑ſcience determine, I do not adviſe you to do any thing againſt it.’

"My reſolution is already fixed," ſaid Hen⯑rietta; ‘my conſcience will neither permit me to change my religion, nor to counterfeit a change of it.’

"Do you inſinuate by that," ſaid his lord⯑ſhip, haſtily, ‘that I adviſed you to do either the one or the other?’

"My aunt already knows my mind," ſaid Henrietta, evading a queſtion which ſhe could [146] not anſwer truly without offending him; ‘I have nothing to hope for from your lordſhip's interpoſition, unleſs ſhe has been pleaſed to give up this point; and I ſhall chearfully re⯑turn to that poverty my father bequeathed me, ſince with it he bequeathed me piety and virtue.’

‘It is a pity he did not leave you prudence alſo,’ ſaid the earl, who found ſomething very provoking in this laſt ſpeech, ‘you would not then have diſobliged your aunt by you [...] ſcandalous elopement from her, which ha [...] reduced you to the miſerable condition you are now in, ſo that your friends know no [...] how to take notice of you.’

"Friends! my lord," replied Henrietta, riſing in her temper; ‘I have no friends, I have only relations.’

"That is likely to be their miſfortune," ſai [...] his lordſhip, who was very angry at this ſarcaſm ‘your undutifulneſs to your aunt makes you unworthy of the notice of your relations and I declare to you plainly, that from the moment I will never concern myſelf abo [...] you.’

Henrietta diſdained to make any anſwer this unjuſt and cruel ſpeech; but courtefied [147] ſilence, and withdrew? leaving the earl very well ſatisfied with himſelf for the tender and pa⯑rental part he had acted towards his brother's daughter, and furniſhed with excellent reaſons for never ſeeing her more.

"I had provided a match for her," ſaid he, that very evening, to an humble friend, who he knew would not fail to ſpread the report, ‘not unworthy of a daughter of my own. She rejected my propoſal. She refuſed to make any ſubmiſſion to her aunt, whom I would have prevailed upon to be reconciled to her. Let her ſuffer the conſequences of her obſti⯑nacy and folly; I have done all that I ought to do, and am juſtified to the world.’

His lordſhip forgot to add, that the ſubmiſſion which was expected from her was nothing more than the change of her religion, and the match ſhe ſo obſtinately refuſed, could not be effected without ſhe purchaſed a fortune by an impious hypocriſy. Nevertheleſs the omiſſion of theſe trifling circumſtances gave ſuch a colour to Hen⯑rietta's behaviour, that ſhe was conſidered by all, who heard her uncle's account of it, as an unhappy young creature, who would ruin her⯑ſelf, and be the blot of a noble family.

[148]As for our fair heroine, ſhe foreſaw that her uncle would juſtify his neglect of her at her expence. She had every thing againſt her; rank, fortune, power; that general prejudice which prevails againſt the unfortunate, and that as general ſervility which adopts the paſſions of the great. But theſe reflections filled her with no uneaſy apprehenſions; for there is this ad⯑vantage in virtue, that it is ſufficient for it⯑ſelf, and needs not the applauſe or ſupport of others, its own conſciouſneſs is its beſt re⯑ward.

CHAP. VI.

HEnrietta, before ſhe went home, waited upon lady D—, to acquaint her that ſhe had left Mrs. Autumn. She avoided mention⯑ing that lady's peculiarities which had made it impoſſible to pleaſe her; but with great ſimpli⯑city related the error ſhe had been guilty of, and the ſuſpicions ſhe had incurred by it, which oc⯑caſioned her diſmiſſion.

[149]Lady D— diverted herſelf for ſome time with the extreme delicacy of her whimſical friend, and then told Henrietta, that having ſtill a good opinion of her prudence and mo⯑deſty, notwithſtanding the reaſons Mrs. Au⯑tumn had to ſuſpect her, ſhe would place her about a young lady, a relation of her own.

Henrietta thanked her in very reſpectful terms, and took her leave, after ſhe had, at lady D—'s deſire, left her a direction to her lodgings, that ſhe might know where to ſend for her when it was neceſſary.

At her return, ſhe found the faithful Mrs. Willis full of anxious impatience to hear the ſucceſs of her viſit to the earl. Henrietta, thro' reſpect to her uncle, concealed the greateſt part of his diſcourſe to her, but owned that ſhe had no expectations from him.

Mrs. Willis ſhrugged up her ſhoulders: ‘Then it was as you ſuſpected (ſaid ſhe) your uncle has propoſed ſome abſurd match to you, and you have forfeited his future fa⯑vour by not complying with it.’

‘You will be ſurpriſed to hear that lord B— has made an application to my uncle,’ ſaid Henrietta.

"Surpriſed!" repeated Mrs. Willis; ‘why, to be ſure, conſidering how your affairs are [150] circumſtanced, this is a generous way of proceeding. Well, I hope you begin now to have a favourable opinion both of his love and honour.’

"I am ſure I think highly of his prudence," replied Henrietta, ſmiling: ‘only mark the caution with which he acts in this affair; my poverty gave him hopes that I ſhould be an eaſy conqueſt, and that paſſion which firſt manifeſted itſelf in an open attempt upon my honour, ſought afterwards to allure me with bribes. It is not ſtrange that perſons who hold money to be the greateſt good, ſhould think it more than an equivalent for virtue. Here, however, he was diſappointed again, to his great aſtoniſhment, no doubt, and mar⯑riage is this honourable lover's laſt reſource; but this he does not offer till he is ſure I ſhall have a fortune, if not equal to that of my rival the packer's daughter, yet at leaſt ſuf⯑ficient to juſtify his choice in [...] opinion of the prudential part of the world: and per⯑haps he expects I ſhould purchaſe the mighty bleſſing of his hand by the ſacrifice, the tem⯑porary ſacrifice at leaſt of thoſe principles, for which I have already ſuffered ſo much.’

[151] ‘Have you any reaſon for this ſhocking ſuſ⯑picion?’ interrupted Mrs. Willis.

"I think I have," replied Henrietta: ‘a reconciliation with my aunt is, it ſeems, a neceſſary preliminary to his addreſſes; and yet he heard from myſelf upon what condi⯑tion that reconciliation could only be effect⯑ed.’ Henrietta, ſuddenly interrupting her⯑ſelf, cried out, ‘There he is; there is lord B—.’

"Where? where?" ſaid Mrs. Willis, run⯑ning to the window. "It is certainly he," ſaid Henrietta, "he paſſed by in a chair.

That inſtant they heard a loud rap at the door.

"As I live," cried Mrs. Willis (in a violent flutter) ‘he is come to viſit you. I hope you will ſee him, miſs Courteney; hear what he has to ſay, pray do; there can be no harm in that, I am ſure.’

"Well, well," ſaid Henrietta, ſmiling at her ſolicitude; ‘I will ſee him; let him be ſhewn into the other parlour, if you pleaſe.’

Mrs. Willis, curious to ſee this young lord, went herſelf to open the door. He bolted out of the chair; and, with a look and accent full of impatience, aſked her, if the young lady that lodged there was at home?"

[152]"Miſs Courteney, ſir?" ſaid Mrs. Willis.

"Yes," replied he, haſtily; ‘is ſhe at home, can I ſee her? Pray tell her a gentleman from —, enquires for her.’

Mrs. Willis deſired him to walk into the par⯑lour, ſaid ſhe would acquaint the young lady with his being there; and a few moments after⯑wards Henrietta appeared.

Lord B— flew to meet her, with the air of a lover conſcious of the right he had to be well received; and, taking her hand, which he reſpectfully kiſſed,

"Now," cried he, exultingly, ‘can you doubt the ardor of my paſſion for you? and will you not at length confeſs that it is poſſible for a man to deſerve you?’

"Certainly; my lord," replied Henrietta, "it is very poſſible."

‘May I periſh if I think ſo (ſaid he) but how poorly would words expreſs my adora⯑tion of you. Judge of the purity, the ardor of my love, by what I have done to make you mine—Have you not ſeen your uncle, miſs Courteney?’

"I have, my lord," replied Henrietta.

"You have!" repeated his lordſhip; ‘and in that grave cold accent too. Surely my ſentiments and deſigns are ſtill unknown to [153] you: it is impoſſible elſe that you ſhould be thus inſenſible, nay ungrateful, I will ſay— for I have given no common proofs of love, I think.’

"Indeed, my lord," replied Henrietta, who had a mind to teaze this generous lover a little, ‘you ſhall not ſuffer for your noble diſintereſt⯑edneſs— you ſhall not relinquiſh miſs Cord⯑wain and her immenſe fortune for me.’

"Name not her fortune," cried lord B—; "were it millions I would refuſe it for you."

‘Nay, now your lordſhip is quite roman⯑tick,’ ſaid Henrietta, ‘to prefer to a rich heireſs an unhappy young woman, deſerted by her relations, and reduced to ſeek a ſub⯑ſiſtence by her labour.’

"Call not my paſſion romantick," inter⯑rupted lord B—, ‘becauſe it ſoars above common conceptions: a mind ſo elevated as your's might give it a juſter epithet.’

"Were my aunt," purſued Henrietta, ‘to leave me her whole eſtate, you would ſtill make no inconſiderable ſacrifice by quitting miſs Cordwain for me, ſince my fortune would then be greatly inferior to her's. But you know, my lord, I have no expectations from lady Meadows: I have declared to my [154] uncle the hard conditions upon which ſhe offers to make me her heir, conditions that I never will accept of; and therefore I may well call your paſſion romantick, when, under ſuch circumſtances, you could think of mak⯑ing an application to my uncle.’

"To be ſure, madam," ſaid lord B—, whoſe countenance expreſſed at once ſurpriſe, confuſion, and diſappointment— ‘I did apply to the earl, not perſonally indeed. I con⯑trived it ſo that a friend of mine, who is very intimate with his lordſhip, ſhould give him a hint of your ſituation, and the ſentiments I entertained for you: and, from the ac⯑count my friend gave me of his ſucceſs in his negotiation, I conceived that you might be prevailed upon—that is, that you would con⯑ſider— For might I not hope, my dear miſs Courteney, that you would not be inſenſible of my affection.’

Here his lordſhip pauſed, and looked on Hen⯑rietta with a languiſhing air, ſeeming to wiſh and expect that her tenderneſs would ſpare him a further explanation; but our fair heroine who did not chuſe to collect his meaning from the abrupt and inconnected ſentences he had uttered, continued maliciouſly ſilent, as if ſhe waited for the end of his diſcourſe.

[155] ‘I ſee (reſumed he) that I have not been happy enough to inſpire you with any tender ſentiments for me. Pardon me, miſs Cour⯑teney, but I muſt be ſo free as to tell you that if you were not prepoſſeſſed in favour of another perſon, the proofs I have given you of my affection would not be received with ſuch indifference.’

"There needs not any ſuch prepoſſeſſion," replied Henrietta, vexed at this hint, ‘to make me receive with indifference the proofs you have hitherto given me of that affection your lordſhip boaſts of. Am I to reckon among theſe proofs, my lord, the inſult you offered me at Mrs. Eccles's, and the ſtrange declara⯑tion you made me in the country?’

"Ah, how cruel is this recapitulation now!" cried lord B—: ‘do I not do juſtice to your birth, your beauty and virtue, by my preſent honourable intentions?’

"It is not enough for me, my lord," ſaid Henrietta, ‘that your intentions are honour⯑able now; to have merited my eſteem, they ſhould always have been ſo: but, to ſpeak plainly, I am ſtill doubtful of your inten⯑tions.’

[156]"Doubtful ſtill of my intentions!" repeated lord B—: ‘have I not declared them to your uncle, madam? have I not ſolicited his in⯑tereſt with you?’

"Suppoſe that obtained my lord," ſaid Hen⯑rietta, ‘and that it has all the weight with me you could wiſh.’

"Why then we ſhall be happy, my angel," cried he, taking her hand, and preſſing it to his lips. ‘You will be reconciled to your aunt, and I may hope for my father's conſent to our union.’

‘A reconciliation with my aunt is impoſ⯑ſible,’ ſaid Henrietta, withdrawing her hand.

"Say not that it is impoſſible," replied lord B—, ‘but that you have not complaiſance enough for me, to attempt it.’

"Did I not know it to be impoſſible," re⯑ſumed Henrietta, ‘I would attempt it for my own ſake; but nothing leſs than the ſacri⯑fice of my religion will ſatiſfy my aunt: on this condition indeed ſhe promiſes to ſettle her whole eſtate upon me; I think I once told your lordſhip ſo.’

"You did, my dear miſs Courteney," inter⯑rupted lord B—; ‘and I adore you for your ſteady adherence to your principles.’

[157]Henrietta was a little ſtartled at ſo unexpected a declaration; but lord B—did not ſuffer her to remain long in the error his laſt words had occaſioned.

"If lady Meadows was not ſuch a bigot," purſued he, ‘excuſe my freedom, miſs, we might expect that ſhe would receive my pro⯑poſals with pleaſure, and make ſuch conceſ⯑ſions in favour of her niece, as might en⯑gage my father's conſent to our marriage: but ſince this is hopeleſs, is it reaſonable that you ſhould be the victim of her obſtinacy? by ſeeming only to comply with your aunt's de⯑ſires, all obſtacles to our union will be re⯑moved; a temporary compliance is all that is neceſſary to ſecure to you a fortune, and a rank in life ſuitable to your birth. Do not imagine that I wiſh to ſee you a proſelyte to the religion ſhe profeſſes: no, if any thing could weaken my paſſion, your being capable of ſuch a change, upon intereſted motives, would do it. I love you; I repeat it again, I love you for your piety.’

"Then, to be ſure, my lord," replied Hen⯑rietta, ‘you think that a little diſſimulation in this caſe would be a virtue.’

[158]"In your circumſtances," reſumed lord B—, ‘it certainly would; for while your principles are unchanged, what do you ſacrifice, in yielding to your aunt, but externals only? this ſacrifice your intereſt, your happineſs de⯑mands of you; let me add alſo that you owe it to a man who loves you with the ardor I do. And ſurely, to induſtriouſly ſeek occa⯑ſions of ſuffering for a religion, which, if you could be contented with ſecretly profeſſing, you would be happy yourſelf, and make o⯑thers happy alſo, is to give the world reaſon to ſuſpect that oſtentation has a greater ſhare in your reſolves than piety. Therefore, my dear miſs Courteney, you ſee it is not the ſacrifice of your religion that I require of you, but of the reputation of ſuffering for it.’

"Well, my lord," replied Henrietta, who had liſtened to him with great calmneſs, ‘if ever I was in doubt of your intentions, you have clearly explained them now; of them, and of the ſentiments you have avowed, you may collect my opinion, when I declare to you, that if you had worlds to beſtow on me, I would not be your wife.’

"Is this your reſolution, miſs Courteney?" ſaid his lordſhip.

[159] ‘It is, my lord (ſhe replied). A reſolution juſtifiable upon your own great principle in⯑tereſt. It is my intereſt I conſult, when I prefer poverty and ſervitude to the fortune my aunt can give me; becauſe the ſilent teſti⯑mony of a quiet conſcience is, in my opinion, of infinitely more value than riches. It is in⯑tereſt by which I am influenced, when I re⯑fuſe your offered alliance, becauſe I am ſure I could not be happy with a man whom I can⯑not eſteem.’

"Hold, madam, hold," interrupted lord B—, ‘this is too much: I have not deſerved this treatment, but I thank you for it; yes, from my ſoul I thank you for it: it has helped to reſtore my ſenſes; I have been fooliſh, very fooliſh, I confeſs.’

His lordſhip indeed looked fooliſh enough when he pronounced theſe words, which were ſucceeded by a pauſe of ſeveral minutes: then ſuddenly ſtarting from his ſeat, and bowing with an affected negligence,

‘The beſt apology I can make, madam (ſaid he) for the importunate viſit I have paid you, is to aſſure you I never will repeat it.’

Henrietta courtefied gravely without anſwer⯑ing him; and having rung the bell for a ſervant to attend him to the door, went into the room [160] where her friend was ſitting. Lord B— ſtopped, looked back, and, finding ſhe had withdrawn, he ruſhed out haſtily, and flung himſelf into his chair, glad of his eſcape, and congratulating himſelf upon the victory he had gained over his paſſion; for, in the firſt emo⯑tions of his grief at parting, he had almoſt re⯑ſolved to declare he would marry her without any fortune: but her diſappearing ſo ſuddenly, gave him time for a moment's reflection, and that was ſufficient to hinder him from being guilty of an imprudence which he now trembled at the thoughts of.

It is ſo difficult for mean and ſelfiſh perſons to conceive that any thing but private advantage can influence the reſolutions of others, that not⯑withſtanding the proof Henrietta had given of her attachment to her religion, and her invio⯑lable regard to truth, yet ſtill lord B— ſup⯑poſed there muſt be ſome other latent motive for a conduct, in his opinion, highly ridiculous, and very inconſiſtent with that good ſenſe which it was apparent ſhe poſſeſſed.

Sometimes he fancied he had a rival; and then, to clear a doubt ſo tormenting, he was upon the point of returning to her to offer her his hand upon her own conditions: but his avarice reſtrained him from making ſo dan⯑gerous [161] a trial: ſhe might accept his offer; and with all the paſſion he felt for her, he could not reſolve to marry her without a fortune.

To ſtifle a thought which ſuggeſted to him deſigns ſo deſtructive to his intereſt, he endea⯑voured to perſuade himſelf that her obſtinacy, in refuſing to temporize a little when ſuch mighty advantages were in view, was the effect of female vanity, which ſought diſtinction at the expence of ſolid happineſs. In this opinion he was confirmed by his friend, whom he had employed to ſound the earl her uncle with re⯑gard to his propoſals, and to whom he now communicated the reſult of his interview with Henrietta.

"Depend upon it," ſaid this ſagacious per⯑ſon, ‘your goddeſs will deſcend from her ro⯑mantick flights, when ſhe finds ſhe has almoſt ſoared out of human ken; and is much more likely to be laughed at for her extravagant folly, than admired and applauded for her ex⯑traordinary piety. Follow my advice (pur⯑ſued he) ſuffer your miſtreſs to believe you have broke her chains; if intereſt does not make her wiſh to recall you, vanity will. Few women can endure that a lover ſhould eſcape them; and, to recover their influence, they often make conceſſions, which, in the [162] zenith of their power, they would have thought impoſſible.’

Lord B—improved a little upon his friend's ſcheme, and reſolved to continue his addreſſes to miſs Cordwain, to pique Henrietta, he ſaid; but in reality, he was as much in love with the fortune of that young lady, as with the perſon of our fair heroine; and was not willing to ha⯑zard the loſs of the one, while it was yet doubt⯑ful whether he ſhould ever poſſeſs the other.

CHAP. VII.

HEnrietta having acquainted Mrs. Willis with what had paſſed in her interview with lord B—, the good woman, who ha [...] flattered herſelf that the affair would have end [...] more happily (tho' more honourably it could not) for her fair friend, conjured her, with tears of anxious tenderneſs, not to think [...] going to ſervice again, but to allow the coun⯑teſs, whom her conduct with regard to her ſo muſt neceſſarily oblige very highly, to empl [...] her good offices with lady Meadows in her [...]vour, [163] that a reconciliation might be effected, without thoſe ſhocking conditions which had at firſt been propoſed to her.

‘If I thought ſuch an application would be ſucceſsful,’ replied Henrietta, ‘I would rea⯑dily conſent to it. For you may eaſily ima⯑gine, my dear Mrs. Willis, that this low condition is not my choice: but I know my aunt's temper; whatever ſhe deſires, ſhe de⯑ſires with ardor; and makes a merit at per⯑ſiſting obſtinately in a reſolution ſhe has once formed. Her pride will be a more powerful advocate for me, than any thing the coun⯑teſs can urge; to that I formerly owed my deliverance from dependence, more mortify⯑ing than ſervitude. This pride will no doubt be ſenſibly wounded, when ſhe finds that I am determined in my choice; if any thing can make her recede from her purpoſe, it will be the ſhame of ſeeing her niece reduced ſo low. But ſurely it is not the way to con⯑vince her I am really determined, if I allow my friends to teaze her with ſolicitations, when ſhe has already declared her reſolution in ſuch ſtrong terms: ſhe will believe that I have engaged them to make this trial; ſhe will be offended with their interpoſition, and [164] perhaps be the leſs inclined to raiſe me from this obſcure condition, as ſhe will not have the merit of doing it from her own generoſity and tenderneſs, but at the inſtances of others: time only, my dear Mrs. Willis, can produce any favourable change in my circumſtances; it will either ſoften the hearts of my relations, or it will blunt my ſenſe of the meanneſs of my condition, by familiarizing me to it. This I am ſure of at leaſt, that, in the conſciouſ⯑neſs of doing right, I ſhall always find an un⯑failing ſource of happineſs, however Provi⯑dence may think fit to diſpoſe of me.’

‘Ah, never doubt but you are the care of Providence, my dear miſs,’ cried Mrs. Willis, ‘ſuch virtue and piety muſt ſooner or later be happy: Heaven and your own prudence di⯑rect you.’

"I have not always been prudent," ſaid Hen⯑rietta, ſighing; ‘but misfortunes, as you once told me, teach us wiſdom.’

Mrs. Willis, obſerving an unuſual penſiveneſs ſtealing over the ſweet features of Henrietta or this reflection, changed the diſcourſe to a leſs intereſting ſubject, and employed her utmoſt aſ⯑ſiduity and tenderneſs to make the time ſhe ſtayed with her paſs agreeably.

[165]A week being elapſed, and no meſſage com⯑ing from lady D—, Henrietta began to apprehend that ſhe ſhould be diſappointed of a place, in which ſhe expected more ſatisfaction than ſhe had found in thoſe ſhe had hitherto been in, when ſhe was ſurpriſed with a viſit from the counteſs of—.

She flew to receive her with a reſpectful joy. The lady tenderly preſſed her hand—

‘I had buſineſs in the city (ſaid ſhe) and I took this opportunity to call on you—and how do you do, my dear good girl? (purſued ſhe) have you any agreeable news to tell me? has your family relented yet?’

‘I have no reaſon to think they have, ma⯑dam, replied Henrietta.’

"Shocking inſenſibility!" exclaimed the counteſs, lifting up her eyes; ‘you have been very ill uſed too by Mrs. Autumn, my ſiſter tells me.’

Henrietta ſmiled, but was ſilent.

"Well, miſs Courteney," reſumed the coun⯑teſs, ‘will you come and live with me as my friend and companion. I know your generous ſcorn of dependence; but it is the unworthi⯑neſs of the donor only, that can make benefits ſit heavy on a mind like your's: there is often as much greatneſs of ſoul in receiving [166] as in conferring benefits; and when true friendſhip is the motive for giving, it is pride, not generoſity, to refuſe.’

"Do me the juſtice to believe▪ madam," replied Henrietta, ‘that I receive this inſtance of your goodneſs with the deepeſt gratitude, but there is—’

"I underſtand you," interrupted the coun⯑teſs— ‘my ſon; but I hope, when he is mar⯑ried, you will have no objection to living with me as my friend.’

The counteſs, in ſpeaking theſe words, looked earneſtly on Henrietta.

‘No, certainly, madam (cried ſhe, eagerly I ſhall think myſelf happy in living with you in any ſituation.’

‘I know not what to think of my ſon's con⯑duct in this affair,’ reſumed the counteſs ‘every thing is ſettled between my lord and the young lady's father; but he ſtill finds pre [...]tences to delay the match.’ Her eyes, as ſh [...] pronounced theſe words, ſeemed to demand a explanation of Henrietta.

‘I am afraid, madam (replied ſhe) that have been partly the cauſe of theſe delays.’

"That is candidly ſaid," interrupted t [...] counteſs; "have you ſeen my ſon lately?"

[167]"I have madam," anſwered Henrietta; ‘but your ladyſhip may be entirely eaſy.’

"Eaſy!" repeated the counteſs; ‘why do you imagine that I am ſo inſenſible of your merit—but you know, my good girl, lord B— is in honour engaged to miſs Cord⯑wain.’

"His lordſhip's partiality for me," ſaid Hen⯑rietta, ‘has induced him to carry this matter further than (as he is circumſtanced) I think he ſhould have done. He has cauſed my uncle to be applied to; but this has produced nothing, madam. I told lord B— upon what conditions my aunt had offered to ſettle her eſtate upon me; and his lordſhip is con⯑vinced that I cannot comply with them. My reſolution is fixed, my lord B— knows it is ſo, and you have nothing to fear, madam, from any imprudence on his ſide, or any un⯑generoſity on mine. I ventured to promiſe that I would deſerve the confidence you was pleaſed to place in me on this occaſion, and I hope I have and ſhall continue to deſerve it.’

Notwithſtanding the delicate manner in which Henrietta ſtated the affair between her and lord B—, yet the counteſs diſcovered that her ſon had ſhewn more prudence than generoſity, or [168] even love in his behaviour; and, by a ſtrange contradiction in the human heart, ſhe at once approved and condemned, was pleaſed with, yet aſhamed of his conduct; but charmed with Henrietta's noble diſintereſtedneſs, her candour and ſincerity, ſhe embraced her with the ten⯑derneſs of a mother, and perhaps with the more tenderneſs, becauſe ſhe was not likely ſhe ſhould not be her mother.

‘I am impatient (ſaid ſhe) till I can have you with me, that I may have it in my power to ſhew you how greatly I both love and eſteem you.’

Henrietta thanked her with great politeneſs; and then told her of lady D—'s intentions to recommend her to a young lady, a relation of her's.

"Oh! miſs Belmour, you mean," ſaid the counteſs; ‘my ſiſter mentioned it to me: ſhe is an agreeable young woman, has a very good fortune, and is entirely miſtreſs of herſelf She will be much better pleaſed to receive you in the character of a companion that a ſervant, when ſhe knows your birth and merit.’

‘I will owe obligations of that kind to non but yourſelf, madam,’ replied Henrietta ‘and I beg this young lady may know no mor [...] [169] of me than what is juſt neceſſary to recom⯑mend me to her good opinion as a ſervant.’

The counteſs conteſted this point with her for ſome time; but finding her not to be diſſuaded from her deſign, "Well!" ſaid ſhe, kindly, ‘you ſhall be indulged this once, but remember I claim your promiſe to come to me when a certain objection is removed; in the mean time we will ſettle you with miſs Belmour in the way you chuſe. She will be with my ſiſter to-morrow morning; and if you come like⯑wiſe, lady D— will introduce you to her.’

Henrietta ſaid ſhe would not fail to attend lady D— Upon which the counteſs roſe up, kiſſed her at parting, and deſired ſhe would look upon her as one of her moſt faithful friends.

Our fair heroine had reaſon to be ſatisfied with the kind manner in which lady D— recom⯑mended her to miſs Belmour, as well as with the reception that young lady gave her. She carried her home with her in her coach, and behaved to her with an affability that Henrietta could no otherwiſe account for, than by ſuppoſ⯑ſing the counteſs had diſcovered her true name and circumſtances to her.— In this, however, ſhe was miſtaken: her young miſtreſs was in love; ſhe had occaſion for a confidant. Hen⯑rietta's youth and gentleneſs promiſed her ſhe [170] would be an indulgent one: beſides, her good ſenſe and the elegance of her perſon and behaviour ſo leſſened the diſtance between the miſtreſs and ſervant, that her pride was not wounded by the familiarity with which ſhe condeſcended to treat her, as the neceſſary prelude to the confidence ſhe was reſolved to repoſe in her.

Henrietta liſtened with complaiſance to the overflowings of a heart tender by nature, and wholly poſſeſſed, as ſhe thought, by a deſerving object; but when miſs Belmour, in the courſe of frequent converſations on this exhauſtleſs theme, gave her to underſtand that this lover of whom ſhe boaſted was the huſband of another lady, from whom he had been parted ſeveral years, ſurpriſe, horror, grief, were ſo ſtrongly impreſſed on her countenance, that her lady be [...]gan to repent of a confeſſion ſhe had made, it full confidence that her ſentiments, whatever they were, muſt needs be approved by her ſer [...]vant.

But it being now uſeleſs as well as dangerou [...] to retract what ſhe had ſaid, ſhe was under [...] neceſſity of ſubmitting to the mortifying [...]a [...] of defending her conduct to one whole duty well as intereſt ſhe had a moment before co [...]ceived it to be, to acquieſce in, or rather appla [...] all ſhe did.

[171]She began with telling Henrietta, that Mr. Campley had when very young, been forced, by an avaricious father to marry a woman whom he could not love, and with whom he had been ſo miſerable, that a ſeparation was agreed to by the relations on both ſides.

Henrietta ſighed ſympathetically at this ac⯑count. Miſs Belmour, encouraged by this mark of her ſenſibility, proceeded with great fluency of language, to expatiate on the reſiſtleſs power of love: her lover's ſophiſtry had furniſhed her with arguments to prove, that the marriage he had been forced into was not binding in the ſight of heaven, and that he was at liberty to beſtow his affections elſewhere. She treated marriage as a mere human inſtitution, adopted the ſenti⯑ments of Eloiſa, talked of a union of hearts, eternal conſtancy, generous confidence—Hen⯑rietta heard her with patience; but being out of breath at laſt, ſhe ſtopped, and ſeemed to expect a reply.

Our fair heroine, with all the humility becom⯑ing her ſtation, but at the ſame time with all the [...]neſs of virtue, oppoſed the ſpecious argu⯑ments ſhe had urged with others which reaſon, religion, and the purity of her own ſentiments ſuggeſted to her: theſe, however, made very little impreſſion on miſs Belmour. She yawned, [172] ſmiled contemptuouſly, and was ſeveral times ready to interrupt her with an authoritative air, but refrained, from the conſideration that her woman was now, by the participation of her ſe⯑cret, become her companion, if not ſomething more.

Henrietta, deſpairing to reſcue her unhappy miſtreſs, by motives of piety, from the ſnares that were laid for her, ſought even to intereſt her paſſions in the cauſe of virtue.

‘You depend, madam (purſued ſhe) upon your lover's conſtancy; but what ſecurity can you have that he will be conſtant?’

"What ſecurity!" interrupted miſs Belmour, rouſed to attention by ſo intereſting a queſtion; "his vows."

‘Theſe vows, madam (ſaid Henrietta) will expire with the paſſion that cauſed them: he will be conſtant as long as he loves, but how long he will love, is the doubt.’

"I am really vain enough to imagine," re⯑plied miſs Belmour, bridling, ‘that thoſe few attractions I have received from nature, ſince, they have gained, will fix his heart: I am quite free from any apprehenſions of that ſort, I can aſſure you.’

"You have charms, madam," ſaid Henri⯑etta, ‘that entitle you to a worthier conqueſt [173] than of a man, who, not having it in his power to marry you, yet diſhonourably ſeeks to enſnare your affections.’

‘It is natural to wiſh to be beloved by thoſe we love,’ replied miſs Belmour: ‘I am convinced Mr. Campley loves me.’

"If he loved you ſincerely, madam," ſaid Henrietta, ‘he would not make you unhappy; true love never ſeeks the ruin of its object: diſintereſtedneſs is the teſt of love; try Mr. Campley's by that.’

‘Mr. Campley has no mean, ſelfiſh deſigns upon my fortune,’ cried miſs Belmour.

‘His deſigns are mean and ſelfiſh in the high⯑eſt degree,’ replied Henrietta, ‘ſince he ex⯑pects that to make him happy you ſhould ſa⯑crifice your peace, your honour, and your re⯑putation; and ſhould he ſucceed in theſe de⯑ſigns, which heaven forbid, the neglect he will ſoon treat you with will convince you, that love, when not founded on eſteem, cannot be laſting: for the contempt which even li⯑bertines feel for thoſe whom they have ſe⯑duced, is a proof of that ſecret homage which all men pay to virtue.’

‘If I thought Mr. Campley would ever fail in the reſpect and adoration he pays me now,’ ſaid miſs Belmour, "I ſhould hate him."

[174] ‘The only way to preſerve that reſpect, madam,’ replied Henrietta, ‘is not to al⯑low him to encourage any preſumptuous hopes: if you wiſh to keep his heart, engage his eſteem; he may one time or other, per⯑haps, be at liberty to offer you his hand.’

"Ah, Henrietta!" interrupted miſs Bel⯑mour, ſighing, ‘that time is very diſtant, I fear: but you have put ſtrange thoughts into my head; I have been to blame to ſuffer Mr. Campley to talk to me ſo freely of his paſſion: indeed I think he has been leſs reſpectful, ſince I ſuffered him to perceive that I preſer⯑ed him to all the men I ever ſaw. I own to you freely that it was my apprehenſions of loſing him that made me liſten to his argu⯑ments; for I thought, if I reduced him to deſpair, he would conquer his paſſion for me: but what if the very means I have uſed to keep his heart ſhould prove the cauſe of his ſlighting me!—Oh! you do not know what anxious, uneaſy doubts you have raiſed in my mind!—However, I am reſolved to behave with more reſerve to him for the future. I will try whether his paſſion is ſtrong enough to ſubſiſt of itſelf; for you have convinced me that the hopes with which I have hitherto fed it, have been leſs likely to nouriſh than to cloy.’

[175]Henrietta would have been better pleaſed if ſentiments more pure had ſuggeſted this deſign; but it was a great point gained to prevail with her on any terms to diſcourage the addreſſes of a man whoſe love was a crime. She flattered herſelf likewiſe that this unexpected ſeverity in miſs Belmour would produce an alteration in her unworthy lover's behaviour, which might favour her views of exciting her reſentment againſt him; and in this ſhe was not miſtaken.

Mr. Campley thought fit to be offended at the new plan of conduct miſs Belmour had laid down for herſelf, and complained of it at firſt with that mixture of haughtineſs and ſubmiſſion which a man, who is ſure he is beloved, thinks he has a right to uſe; but, finding this had not the effect he deſired, he had recourſe to a per⯑ſonated indifference, in order to alarm her with the fear of loſing him.

Henrietta, whom ſhe acquainted with every change in his behaviour, told her that this was the time to humble her imperious lover. ‘You muſt either give him laws, madam (ſaid ſhe) or be contented to receive them of him: his aim was to degrade you to a miſtreſs; he will love you, you ſee, upon no other condition.’

"I ſee it! I ſee it plainly!" interrupted miſs Belmour, burſting into tears; ‘where is now [176] that aweful love he profeſſed for me, when a look, a ſmile, was a ſufficient reward for all his ſufferings!—Dear Henrietta tell me what I ſhall do to ſhew him how much I hate and deſpiſe him.’

"Avoid him, madam, as much as poſſible," replied Henrietta. ‘When you happen to meet him in company, ſuffer him not to ſpeak to you apart, and receive no letters from him; perſiſt in this conduct, and you will convince him that you are reſolved not to purchaſe the continuance of his affection by the ſacrifice of your honour. If he is capable of a ſincere and generous paſſion, he will eſteem and re⯑verence that virtue which oppoſes his deſires; and his eſteem will ſtrengthen his love.’

"Yes," cried miſs Belmour, ‘he ſhall find that he is not ſo ſure of me as he has the pre⯑ſumption to imagine. I will tell him ſo my⯑ſelf, and ſee him again, but it ſhall be only to declare that I will never ſee him more—Give me pen and ink, my dear Henrietta: I will appoint him a meeting at lady D—'s this evening; and while the company is engaged at cards, I ſhall have an opportunity to tell him the reſolution I have formed, and doubt no but I will ſpeak to him in the ſevereſt term [177] my reſentment can ſuggeſt: he ſhall know, to his confuſion, that I am in earneſt.’

"Indeed, madam," ſaid Henrietta, ‘that is not the way to perſuade him that you are in earneſt; let your actions ſpeak for you; ſhun him carefully, and then he muſt be convinced that you do not feign.’

"I have thought of a way to torment him," ſaid miſs Belmour, after a little pauſe; ‘I will go to Paris. Laſt year ſome ladies of my acquaintance propoſed to me to go there with them, and I had almoſt conſented; but the wretch, who braves me ſo inſolently now, declared then that he could not ſupport my abſence, and ſeemed ſo overwhelmed with grief that I put off my journey for that time: but now were he to offer to ſtab himſelf at my feet, it ſhould not alter my purpoſe. I will write to him this moment, and let him know my deſign.’

"Let me intreat you, madam," ſaid Hen⯑rietta, ‘not to do that; go firſt, and write to him afterwards—And yet I could recom⯑mend a better way of puniſhing this inſolent lover.’

"Tell me what better way," cried miſs Bel⯑mour, eagerly.

[178]"It is to marry, madam," replied Hen⯑rietta; ‘chuſe out of that crowd of lovers who addreſs you, him whom you think moſt deſerving. Marriage will ſecure your peace, your honour, and reputation, and effectually puniſh, the man who made the ſacrifice of all theſe, the neceſſary condition of his love for you.’

This expedient was not at all approved of by miſs Belmour. She declared ſhe hated the whole ſex for Mr. Campley's ſake; and Hen⯑rietta had no difficulty to believe her: however, ſhe prevailed with her to promiſe that ſhe would keep her intended journey ſecret till ſhe was juſt ready to depart, that it might not ſeem as if ſhe meant only to alarm her deſigning lover. This promiſe ſhe obſerved ſo ill, that ſhe de⯑clared that very day at lady D—'s her inten⯑tion to ſpend a few months in Paris. Mr. Campley, who was there, and who ſtill kept up his aſſumed indifference, inſtead of endeavour⯑ing to alter her purpoſe, as ſhe expected, coldly congratulated her on the pleaſures ſhe would enjoy in that enchanting metropolis. Miſs Bel⯑mour came home ready to burſt with rage and diſappointment.

"I knew how it would be, madam," ſaid Henrietta, ‘if you talked of your deſign. Mr. [179] Campley thinks he ſees through the artifice of it: all you can do now is to haſten your de⯑parture.’

‘I am reſolved I'll ſet out to-morrow morn⯑ing,’ ſaid miſs Belmour. ‘No matter for preparations; pack up a few neceſſaries to take with us in the coach, and leave direc⯑tions for my trunks to be ſent after. When we come to Dover, if there is not a packet⯑boat ready to ſail, I'll hire one at any price: I ſhall not be at reſt till I have convinced this man I am really determined to avoid him.’

Henrietta kept up this ſpirit; and after ſhe had given proper directions to the houſekeeper, and ſent orders for the coach to be ready early in the morning, ſhe buſied herſelf in packing up, her lady aſſiſting, in a violent flutter of ſpirits, and wiſhing impatiently for the hour of departure.

Our fair heroine had ſome objections to taking this journey herſelf, but her concern for miſ's Belmour over-ruled them all. She was not willing to leave unfiniſhed the good work ſhe had begun; and ſhe was apprehenſive that, if the young lady was left to the guidance of her own paſſions, this ſudden ſally of reſent⯑ment [180] would end in a reconciliation fatal to her virtue.

She would have been glad to ſee the counteſs before ſhe went, but there was no time for this viſit; therefore ſhe contented herſelf with writing to that lady, and to her friend Mrs. Willis. The counteſs received the news of this journey with great pleaſure, becauſe ſhe hoped that abſence would effectually cure her ſon's paſſion for Henrietta, the conſequences of which ſhe was ſtill apprehenſive of, notwithſtand⯑ing he had ſhewn an extraordinary prudence in the conduct of it.

But Mrs. Willis was very uneaſy, leſt any thing ſhould happen that might make her re⯑pent the removing herſelf thus from all her friends, and putting herſelf entirely in the power of a ſtranger. Had there been time for it, ſhe would have endeavoured to diſſuade Henrietta from going; but, recollecting that Mr. Bale was in France, and that they might poſſibly meet, ſhe reſolved to write to the old gentleman, and give him a full account of every thing relating to the ſituation of his fair perſecuted ward, not even omitting his ſon's doubtful behaviour with regard to her; for ſhe knew, that if they met, Henrietta would be [181] ſilent upon that article, and yet it was neceſſary he ſhould know it, that he might be convinced her misfortunes were chiefly owing to his ſon's treachery; and this conſideration ſhe hoped would produce ſomething to her advantage.

CHAP. I.

IN the mean time, our fair travelle [...] hav⯑ing regulated their affairs in the [...] man⯑ner the extreme hurry they were in world admit, ſet out for Dover in miſs Belmour's coach. That young lady, ſtill agitated with the violence of her reſentment, which Henrietta took care ſhould not abate, and elated with the hope of reducing her lover to deſpair, by thu [...] leaving him, thought the horſes went too ſlow for her impatience. She wiſhed for wings to convey her at once far from him, and declare that ſhe never deſired to ſee him more; y [...] Henrietta obſerved that ſhe frequently looked out of the windows with an air of anxious ex⯑pectation, [183] and would ſigh when ſhe drew in her head again, as if ſhe had been diſappointed— Doubtleſs ſhe had conceived hopes that her lover would follow her; and, conſidering this neglect as a new proof of his indifference, it re⯑doubled her rage, and ſtrengthened a reſolu⯑tion which reaſon and virtue had very little ſhare in.

This thought gave Henrietta great concern: her converſion promiſed no great permanency, ſince it was founded on ſuch motives; but all ſhe could now do was to manage her paſſions, for the time was not yet come, to touch her heart by ſentiments of piety and virtue.

On their arrival at Dover, they found the Ca⯑lais packet-boat ready to ſail. Miſs Belmour, who would fain have lingered at Dover a day, was not much pleaſed with this circumſtance, but her pride was concerned not to betray any irre⯑ſolution; accordingly ſhe embarked with a to⯑lerable good grace; and the wind continuing fair, they ſoon landed at Calais.

Miſs Belmour having made the journey be⯑fore, was under no embaraſſment how to con⯑duct herſelf. The cuſtomary ceremonies at landing being over, ſhe proceeded to the inn ſhe had formerly been at; and having hired a poſt-chaiſe for herſelf and Henrietta, and a horſe [184] for her ſervant, ſhe ſet out immediately after dinner, and reached Boulogne that [...]ing.

As the chaiſe ſtopped at the inn they put up at, two gentlemen alighted from their horſes at the ſame time; one of whom hearing they were Engliſh ladies advanced, and reſpectfully offered them his hand to help them out. Miſs Belmour, pleaſed with the graceful appearance of this ſtranger, politely accepted his aſſiſtance, which he likewiſe tendered to Henrietta, whoſe charms, at the firſt glance, made a powerful impreſſion on his heart.

His eyes told her this ſo intelligibly, that ſhe was under ſome confuſion; yet ſhe found in herſelf a kind of ſatisfaction at the attention with which he gazed on her, and was now for the firſt time ſenſible to the pleaſure of cha [...]ing but, accuſtomed to watch carefully over the motions of her own mind, ſhe checked this [...] ⯑ing vanity; and a little aſhamed of the folly ſhe diſcovered in herſelf, ſhe haſtily withdrew he [...] hand, which he ſtill held, as not [...] maſte [...] enough of himſelf to part with it, though ſhe was already out of the chaiſe; and think [...] him by a graceful courteſy for his civility. ſhe followed miſs Belmour into the room the land lady had conducted her to.

[185]The young gentleman ſtood gazing after her as long as ſhe was in ſight; then turning to his friend, who was giving ſome orders to their footmen,

"Oh, Charles!" cried he, with a look half ſerious, half gay, "my fatal hour is come."

"What! I'll warrant you," ſaid the other, ‘you are ſhot through the heart with the glances of the younger of thoſe ladies; I ob⯑ſerved how you gazed on her.’

"Is ſhe not a charming creature?" exclaimed the firſt; ‘what features! what a complex⯑ion! what elegance in her whole form!—I am ſure ſhe has wit; I ſaw her ſoul in her eyes.’

"Faith! I am half concerned for you," in⯑terrupted Charles, with an affected ſeriouſneſs: ‘this will be an unfortunate encounter, I am afraid.’

‘Can we not think of ſome method to in⯑troduce ourſelves to them?’ cried the other, without minding what he had ſaid: ‘I ſhall not reſt till I find out who they are.’

"What will it ſignify to you to know," replied Charles: ‘they are going to Paris, and we to London.’

"Why aye, that is true," ſaid the other, ‘we ſhall go different ways in the morning; [186] and yet—what think you, my dear Charles, of going back to Paris for a few days, and we ſhall have an opportunity of eſcorting theſe fair travellers?—Come, it will be but a frolick, and I know you are no enemy to them.’

"I don't like this frolick," replied Charles; ‘it has too ſerious an air: ſure you are ſtrangly charmed with this girl—Juſt upon the point of ſeeing your father and your family, after a long abſence, and ſo ſuddenly to reſolve upon protracting your ſtay from them—I don't half like it I confeſs, and this once, my lord, I muſt oppoſe your inclinations.’

"Oh, ſir, you are grave!" replied his lord⯑ſhip, a little ſullenly, ‘you have a mind to exert the governor too; but let me tell you, that, conſidering the equality of our years and the terms we have hitheto lived upon, this wiſdom is very unſeaſonable.’

The young lord, having ſaid this with ſome emotion, haſtily entered the houſe; and calling to the inn-keeper to ſhew him a room, went away, without taking any farther notice of his governor, who ſtood muſing for ſome time after he was gone, and then followed him with an intention to bring him, if poſſible to reaſon.

[187]Upon his entering the room, he found his pupil leaning on a table, with a diſcontented air. He juſt raiſed his head to ſee who it was that came in; and immediately reſumed his former poſture, without ſpeaking a word.

The governor looked at him a moment in ſi⯑lence; at laſt,

‘This penſiveneſs (ſaid he) and this cauſe⯑leſs reſentment; are they not ſtrong argu⯑ments againſt my complying with your pro⯑poſal? The impreſſion this girl has made on your heart muſt needs be very great, ſince it can make you already forget that friendſhip you have vowed for me, and in which I placed ſo much happineſs.’

‘It is you, not I, who ſeems to have forgot our mutual friendſhip,’ replied the young noble⯑man, melted at thoſe laſt words: ‘Why did you, my dear Charles, loſe the beloved friend and companion in the auſtere governor? is not this ſtrange affectation!’

"Indeed, my lord," replied the governor, ‘I ſhould be unworthy the title of your friend, if I was not attentive to your intereſt.’

"Was there ever any thing ſo abſurd," inter⯑rupted his lordſhip, ‘to make a ſerious affair of a little idle curioſity!’

[188]"Don't you make a ſerious affair of it," re⯑plied the governor, ‘and I ſhall be con⯑tented.’

‘Well, then, you conſent to go back to Paris with me,’ ſaid the pupil.

"If you are reſolved to go," anſwered the governor, "to be ſure I will go with you."

"Now you are my friend again," ſaid the young lord, hugging him: ‘I promiſe you, I will not ſtay long in Paris; but we muſt be Freeman and Melvil again, my dear Charle [...] —Ah, how many pleaſant adventures have we had under thoſe names!’

"If this proves of no greater conſequence," reſumed the young governor, ‘I ſhall not re⯑gret coming into your ſcheme; but I confeſs I am alarmed at your eagerneſs to follow th [...] young woman. She ſeems to have made n [...] ſlight impreſſion on your heart: there is danger in theſe ſort of attachments; how do you know how far this may lead you?’

‘What ſtrange notions have entered you [...] head!’ ſaid the young nobleman; ‘it [...] hardly worth while to make a ſerious anſwer to them: but this you may depend upon, th [...] I never will follow my inclinations in oppo [...] ⯑tion to the duty I owe my father. And not what do you think will become of th [...] [189] dangerous attachment? but (added he, ſmiling) we muſt make our fellow-travellers a viſit; theſe inns are charming places for ſhortening the ceremonies of a firſt introduction.’ He rang the bell, without waiting for his friend's anſwer, and, one of his ſervants appearing, he ordered him to preſent Mr. Freeman's and his compliments to the two Engliſh ladies, with a requeſt that they would permit them to wait upon them.

Henrietta felt her heart flutter at this meſſage; [...]et her natural reſerve made her wiſh miſs Bel⯑mour would decline the viſit of theſe young gentlemen. However, that lady returned a civil anſwer, and permiſſion for them to come.

Henrietta, ſenſible of an agitation which ſhe had never known before, would have choſe not to have ſhared this viſit; but it was not poſ⯑ſible to avoid it: miſs Belmour had obliged her [...] throw off the character of a ſervant, and to [...]ve with her upon the footing of a friend and companion; to which Henrietta was in⯑ [...]uced to conſent, by the hope ſhe had, that his familiarity would furniſh her with oppor⯑tunities to guard her unhappy miſtreſs againſt the evils into which her blind paſſion was hurry⯑ing her.

[190]To this mark of conſideration and eſteem miſs Belmour added a moſt affectionate beha⯑viour, which entirely won the heart of the tender and grateful Henrietta: for nothing ſo much re⯑ſembles true friendſhip, as thoſe connexions which lovers form with perſons whom they make the confidants of their paſſion.

Thus circumſtanced, Henrietta was obliged to receive the compliments of Mr. Melvil and his friend, as well as her lady, who, ſoon after, fell into a fit of muſing, that made it neceſſary for our fair heroine to keep up the converſa⯑tion with the two gentlemen, which ſhe did with that ſprightlineſs and vivacity ſo natural to her.

The graces of her wit, the eaſy elegance of her manners, and the modeſt dignity of her de⯑portment, formed new chains for the heart of Melvil. He looked on his friend with an ex⯑ulting air: his eyes challenged his admiration of the woman, whoſe merit juſtified the ſenti⯑ments he entertained for her.

At parting, he told the ladies, that, ſin [...] he was going to Paris, as well as they, h [...] hoped they would allow him the pleaſure of [...] ſcorting them; and that he would regulate h [...] journey entirely by their's.

[191]Henrietta, who well remembered to have ſeen theſe travellers taking the very contrary route, was a little ſurpriſed at this declaration; but miſs Belmour, abſorbed in her own reflec⯑tions, was wholly ignorant of that circum⯑ſtance; and, conſidering this offer in no other light than that of general politeneſs, ſhe re⯑ceived it with her uſual complaiſance.

The youth and beauty of the two ladies made their apparent independent ſituation a matter of curioſity to Mr. Freeman, as well as the profound melancholy in which one of them ſeemed buried.

Melvil was little concerned in theſe enqui⯑ [...]ies; all his thoughts were taken up with the perfections he found in her who had charmed him; and he was much leſs ſolicitous to diſcover who ſhe was, than how to make himſelf agreeable to her. He found ſhe was not married, by the other lady's giving her the title of miſs when ſhe ſpoke to her; and he was perfectly ſatisfied with this knowledge. Conſcious of the ardor with which he already loved this fair ſtranger, he was apprehenſive of awakening the fears of his friend, by dwell⯑ing too long on her praiſes; but he received the teſtimony, which Freeman could not help giving to her merit, with ſuch an undiſguiſed [192] tranſport, as drew from him ſome ſerious ad⯑monitions, which he rallied off with a ſprightly air, and then changed the diſcourſe to a leſs in⯑tereſting ſubject.

CHAP. II.

THO' miſs Belmour's melancholy ha [...] hindered her from taking any great ſha [...] in the converſation during this viſit, yet he mind was ſtill free enough to obſerve, tha [...] Henrietta had made an impreſſion upon the heart of Mr. Melvil. She congratulated he [...] ſmiling, upon her conqueſt; nor did her rai⯑lery even ſpare her: for Henrietta, who, fo [...] a full hour, had appeared animated with a extraordinary vivacity, became all on a ſudd [...] penſive and ſilent. This change exactly com⯑menced at the time Mr. Melvil went away but ſhe did not perceive it herſelf, and ſtarted as from a dream, when miſs Belmour reproach her with it.

Concerned that ſhe had given room for ſuſpicion of this nature, ſhe began, as ſoon [193] ſhe was alone, to examine her own heart: miſs Belmour had praiſed the perſonal graces of Mr. Melvil, and it was but juſtice to own, that he was eminently handſome; but was ſhe weak enough to be dazzled with the beauty of a man? No, certainly; his countenance pleaſed her, becauſe it was a picture of his mind; candor, ſweetneſs, benevolence, ſhined in every feature: the politeneſs of his addreſs, his gentle manners, that air ſo noble, yet ſo peculiarly ſoft and engaging, his good ſenſe, and, above all, the juſtneſs and purity of his ſentiments, which ſhe had time enough to diſ⯑cover during their converſation; were not theſe qualities which a modeſt young woman might eſteem? and is love a neceſſary conſequence of eſteeming one of that ſex? Muſt ſhe deny herſelf the pleaſure of approving virtue and merit, for fear of loving it too much? It was thus ſhe argued, and ſoon diſpelled thoſe doubts which miſs Belmour's raillery had raiſed in her mind.

While Henrietta, under the notion of barely eſteeming what was indeed truly worthy of eſteem, was inſenſibly giving way to more tender ſentments, Mr. Melvil, who loved with all the tenderneſs and ardor of a firſt paſſion, as his really was, burned with impatience [194] for the hour when they were to join the fair travellers: Freeman directed his attention to miſs Belmour, which gave the young lover an opportunity of employing his whole care and aſſiduity about his miſtreſs, who aſcribed all to his natural politeneſs, and remained in a per⯑fect tranquility, as well with regard to his ſen⯑timents as her own. Miſs Belmour's experi⯑ence, however, ſoon let her into the ſecret of their hearts. Melvil's paſſion was indeed ap⯑parent enough, notwithſtanding the pains he was at to conceal it, thro' fear of his friend's troubleſome remonſtrances; but Henrietta's, tho' hid from herſelf, was open to miſs Bel⯑mour's diſcerning eyes, and ſhe exulted in the diſcovery.

This rigid cenſurer of her conduct; this in⯑flexibly virtuous maid, was entangled in the ſnares of love. She perceived that ſhe herſelf was ignorant of her own danger, and ſhe was reſolved not to draw her out of this falſe ſecu⯑rity by any unſeaſonable railleries: for, how⯑ever uſeful the ſtrict principles of Henrietta had been to her, yet ſhe could not [...] the ſupe⯑riority they gave her; and ſhe rejo [...]d in the hope, that a paſſion, perhaps as unfortunate placed as her own, would reduce [...] to a equality with her.

[195]Their journey now drew near a period: Melvil trembled at the thoughts of parting; he had indeed laid the foundation of an intimacy with the two ladies, which would give him a right to viſit them in Paris; but he had been uſed to ſee the object of his paſſion continually, from the firſt moment of his acquaintance with her: and altho' they never ſeparated till the evening, yet he thought the time amazingly long till they met again. How then would he be able to ſupport an abſence of two or three days, which decorum would oblige him to make the interval of his viſits? beſides, ſhe was ſtill ignorant of the ſentiments ſhe had in⯑ſpired him with. Hitherto he had never found an opportunity of ſpeaking to her alone; but if one ſhould offer, how could he declare himſelf to a woman, for whom he felt as much reſpect as love? yet one, whoſe birth he was igno⯑rant of, who ſeemed to be in a dependent ſitua⯑tion, whom he could not think of marrying, and whom he durſt not wiſh to ſeduce.

The difficulties he could not remove he endeavoured to baniſh from his thoughts; and, without conſidering what muſt be the event of the paſſion he was thus indulging, he for the preſent confined all his wiſhes to the pleaſure of ſeeing her.

[196]Miſs Belmour had often wondered that this young lover ſhewed ſo little ſolicitude to make opportunities of ſpeaking to his miſtreſs in pri⯑vate. She could not impute this behaviour to want of ardor; every look he gave her was expreſſive of the tenderneſs his ſoul was filled with: it was then reſpect, it was awe, it was fear of offending, that laid him under this re⯑ſtraint. How glorious this for Henrietta how humiliating for her, who had ſcarce eſcaped falling a ſacrifice to the diſhonourable attempts of her lover! Was ſhe then leſs capable of in⯑ſpiring a reſpectful paſſion than her woman? or did her charms act more powerfully on the heart ſhe had ſubdued, than thoſe of Henrietta? This queſtion her ſelf-love eaſily decided; and, from the ſame ſentiment, ſhe was perſuaded that Henrietta, with all her boaſted virtue, would defend herſelf as weakly againſt the lover her inclinations declared for, as the had done. Her preſent triumph, ſhe thought, was [...] owe⯑ing to her own ſtrength than her lover's weak⯑neſs, who had not yet made a formal attack upon her heart: curioſity to know what effect the declaration of his paſſion would have, made her reſolve to give him an opportunity of ſpeak⯑ing to her in private. They were now within a day's journey of Paris. On their arrival at [197] the houſe where they were to dine, Mr. Free⯑man, as uſual, went to give orders for their en⯑tertainment, and left Melvil with the two la⯑dies. Miſs Belmour, pretending that ſhe had a mind for ſome particular diſh, ran after him, and kept him in converſation, that he might not interrupt the lovers, who being now for the firſt time alone together, were both equally embar⯑raſſed.

Henrietta caſt down her eyes, ſurpriſed at the confuſion in which ſhe found herſelf, and ſhocked at the intelligence this new emotion gave her of the true ſtate of her heart. Mr. Melvil approached her trembling; he could not reſolve to loſe ſo favourable an opportunity of declaring his ſentiments to her: but the natural goodneſs and rectitude of his mind ſuggeſting to him, that it was a kind of fraud to ſeek en⯑couragement of a paſſion, the deſign of which he was not himſelf able to anſwer for, he re⯑mained a few moments in ſuſpence.

This ſilence increaſed Henrietta's embarraſſ⯑ment, but ſuddenly reflecting upon the advan⯑tage it gave Mr. Melvil over her, ſhe turned her eyes towards him, with a look, in which ſhe endeavoured to throw as much indifference as poſſible, but which, nevertheleſs, had an unuſual coldneſs in it; ſo that Melvil, partly [198] with-held by his extreme delicacy, and partly by the awe which this ſevere glance inſpired him with, dropped, for that time, all thoughts of declaring his paſſion, and immediately entered into an indifferent converſation.

Henrietta ſeemed as if relieved from a pain⯑ful load; her countenance reſumed its former ſweetneſs, and ſhe talked to him with her uſual vivacity; yet miſs Belmour, at her return, ſaw ſome remains of her late uneaſineſs in her eyes: ſhe obſerved too, that ſhe ſpoke leſs to Mr. Melvil, and more to his friend than ſhe did be⯑fore; that ſhe ſtudiouſly avoided the looks of the former; and that her behaviour to him was leſs free and obliging than it uſed to be. All this ſhe looked upon as the play of coquetry; and in Mr. Melvil's apparent melancholy ſhe ſaw its purpoſe and effect.

But Henrietta taught by what paſſed in her own heart, during the few moments ſhe was alone with Mr. Melvil, that ſhe not only con⯑ſidered him as a lover, but a [...] by his engaging qualities, [...] to ſtrengthen her prepoſſeſſion in [...], by continuing to ſee and converſe [...] Lord B—'s behaviour had given [...] of the diſintereſtedneſs of men. [...] at her own imprudence, in ſo [...] the [199] humble ſtation that Providence had placed her in, as to entertain ſentiments of tenderneſs for a man, who, from the inequality there was be⯑tween them, might think himſelf authoriſed to form expectations injurious to her honour: tho' her weakneſs was ſo lately known to herſelf, yet ſhe fancied it had been perceived by others before, and that even Mr. Melvil had diſcovered the preference with which ſhe regarded him. It was this thought which made her ſo ſuddenly alter her behaviour; but as indifference is, of all diſpoſitions of the mind, the hardeſt to feign, Melvil imputed the apparent conſtraint in her manner to ſome diſguſt he had unhap⯑pily given her, and miſs Belmour to the artifice of a coquet.

Henrietta, who was far from imagining ſhe over-acted her part, continued, during the whole time they were at dinner, to avoid her lover's looks, ſo carefully that he had no oppor⯑tunity to make her comprehend by them, how much he was concerned at her extraordinary coldneſs. However, ſhe could not, without affectation, refuſe him her hand when they left the inn; but they followed Mr. Freeman and miſs Belmour ſo cloſe, that it was not poſſible for him to ſpeak to her without being over⯑heard; and he in vain ſought her eyes: they [200] were always directed another way. He ſighed when he helped her into the chaiſe; and if ſhe had not turned her face from him that moment, the bluſh with which it was overſpread, would have ſhewn him that ſhe took but too much no⯑tice of that ſigh.

"You are melancholy, Henrietta," ſaid miſs Belmour, after looking at her in ſilence for a long time, attentive to the motions of her mind, which might be eaſily read in her counte⯑nance.

"Am I, madam?" replied ſhe, with a ſigh half ſuppreſſed, and a gentle ſmile.

"Yes, indeed, are you," reſumed miſs Bel⯑mour, mimicking the languid accent in which ſhe ſpoke; ‘and I don't remember that I ever ſaw you ſo before.’

‘And yet I have many cauſes for melan⯑choly, madam,’ replied Henrietta, whoſe heart was full, and ſhe eagerly graſped at this opportunity to relieve herſelf by tears; tears, which ſhe ſuppoſed ſhe gave to the remembrance of her misfortunes, without aſking herſelf, why that remembrance was more poignant now than before.

"Ah! Henrietta," ſaid miſs Belmour, ſhaking her head, ‘your heart has undergone a great change within theſe few days— You are [...] [201] love, my dear.’ "Is it poſſible, madam," cried Henrietta, haſtily, her fair face all crim⯑ſoned over, ‘that you have diſcovered?— Do you think that— Then, to be ſure, Mr. Melvil.’— She ſtopped abruptly, and caſt down her eyes: the mention of that name ſeemed to lead her to a conſciouſneſs, that ſhe had be⯑trayed herſelf.

Miſs Belmour was affected with her beauti⯑ful ſimplicity. ‘Don't be aſhamed, my dear Henrietta,’ ſaid ſhe, taking her hand, ‘to ſpeak freely to me. From me (added ſhe, ſighing) you may be ſure of indulgence.’

"No, madam, no," interrupted Henrietta, with great earneſtneſs, ‘I would not ſeek in⯑dulgence for my weakneſſes: but I conjure you, madam,’ purſued ſhe, with tears that in ſpite of her endeavours would force their way, ‘ſuffer me to return to that humble ſta⯑tion, from which your partial kindneſs raiſed me— You have made me forget I was a ſer⯑vant— It does not become me to view with ſenſibility the merit of perſons ſo greatly above me, But you ſhall find, madam, that I will repair this error, and that my conduct ſhall be ſuch as may render me not unworthy your eſteem.’

[202]Notwithſtanding the delicate turn which Hen⯑rietta gave to a declaration, which ſhewed ſhe was determined early to conquer her paſſion, yet miſs Belmour conſidered it as a triumph over her, who had not been capable of acting with equal prudence.

‘It is happy for you (ſaid ſhe, coldly) that you need no aſſiſtance to help you to keep your paſſions in ſubjection; but I owe you too many obligations for the good counſel you have given me, to permit you to appear in any other character than that of my friend.’

Henrietta's mind was in ſo much agitation, that ſhe did not take in the full ſenſe of this an⯑ſwer, but ſtruck with the obliging purport of the laſt words of it, ſhe expreſſed her gratitude in terms full of tenderneſs and reſpect.

The ſight of Paris drew them both out of a long ſilence, which had ſucceeded a converſa⯑tion with which neither had been pleaſed: Hen⯑rietta, becauſe it had diſcovered ſo much weak⯑neſs on her ſide; miſs Belmour, becauſe it had ſhewn ſo little.

Their chaiſe, as miſs Belmour h [...] directed ſtopped at the houſe of her banker in P [...]is. Th [...] two gentlemen were already at the ſide of it Mr. Melvil, as if he was afraid Henrietta would [203] refuſe him her hand, ſeized it with trembling haſte; and, as he led her into the houſe, ven⯑tured to preſs it with his lips, unperceived by any one elſe. Henrietta, imputing this bold⯑neſ's to the diſcovery he had made of her ſen⯑timents, pulled her hand away haſtily, giving him a look at the ſame time that expreſſed her reſentment; but all her anger could not pre⯑vent her from being affected with the ſoft lan⯑guor that appeared in his face, and the ſubmiſ⯑ſive manner in which he had yielded to the effort ſhe made to withdraw her hand.

Miſs Belmour, at parting, told them, ſhe hoped to ſee them again in a day or two, when ſhe ſhould be ſettled. Her Pariſian friend ſoon procured her convenient lodgings, and, at her deſire, recommended to her a Femme de Cham⯑bre, among the other ſervants he provided her, which Henrietta in vain oppoſed; but fixed in her deſign to avoid Mr. Melvil, ſhe took care to be ſeldom in the way when he came.

Miſs Belmour blamed her for this conduct. ‘You will make the man think you love him, and are afraid of him (ſaid ſhe) by flying him.’

If I loved him, madam," replied Hen⯑rietta, bluſhing, ‘is it not prudence to avoid him?’

[204]"Why, I don't know," ſaid miſs Belmour, ‘Mr. Melvil certainly loves you; and, what⯑ever inequality there may be in your condi⯑tions, yet love is a great leveller: he may poſſibly intend to marry you.’

‘It is not fit I ſhould ſuppoſe he has any ſuch deſign, madam,’ reſumed Henrietta, ‘ſince it is highly improbable; and I will not expoſe myſelf to the danger of being de⯑ceived. I have ſome-where read (added ſhe, ſmiling) that in love flight is victory; and this way at leaſt I ſhall be ſure to conquer.’

Miſs Belmour, who knew how difficult it was to be in love and be wiſe, laughed at a re⯑ſolution, which ſhe did not think it would be always in her power to maintain. Poor Hen⯑rietta, who had ſo artleſsly laid open her heart, was often expoſed to the moſt poignant raillery from her; but at length ſhe was delivered from this kind of perſecution by a ſurpriſing alteration in miſs Belmour herſelf.

This young lady, who had fled from her lover, rather with a hope of ſtimulating his paſ⯑ſion than of ſubduing her own, though ſhe en⯑deavoured to impoſe upon herſelf in believing the latter to be the true motive of her conduct, fell into a moſt violent deſpair, when ſhe found [205] that, far from following her, he did not even ſeek a reconciliation by writing to her. Sick of herſelf, the world, and tired of her exiſt⯑ence, ſhe miſtook the agitations of a heart tortured by jealouſy, diſappointment, and the pangs of ſlighted love, for the motions of grace and the genuine marks of repentance. She neglected her dreſs, took no pleaſure in any amuſement, avoided company, and ſpent whole hours in her cloſet, where ſhe wept and prayed by turns.

She told Henrietta, that the world and all its pleaſures were grown inſipid to her; that her whole ſoul was filled with divine love; and that the thoughts and exerciſes of religion made up all her happineſs. She then paſſionately re⯑gretted that there were no religious communi⯑ties among the proteſtants, where a mind that was weaned from this ſublunary world, and all its vanities, might freely indulge its pious con⯑templations, and devote itſelf entirely to Hea⯑ven. "Oh, how happy are the nuns!" ſhe exclaimed; ‘how I envy them! Sure nothing can be more delightful, when perſons are truly pious, than to live in a religious ſociety excluded from all commerce with a world they muſt certainly deſpiſe. I think I ſhould be perfectly happy if I was in a cloiſter.’

[206]Henrietta congratulated her upon her new ſentiments, but endeavoured to prove that there was more merit in paſſing through life with in⯑nocence, and in rightly performing [...], than in flying to the gloomy ſolitude [...] [...]i⯑ſter, where virtue is ſecured by bolts and [...]rs, and the exerciſes of religion performed as a penance. She recommended to her the ſtudy of the ſcriptures, and put ſome practical trea⯑tiſes of religion, written by the beſt authors on that ſubject, into her hands: but the zeal of this new convert was ſo flaming, that nothing would ſerve her but a total retirement from the world; and ſhe made ſuch frequent viſits to a convent, where a friend of her's had lately taken the veil, that Henrietta was apprehenſive the nuns would diſcover the true ſtate of her mind and take advantage of her paſſions to pervert he [...] principles, and ſecure her to themſelves.

While theſe whims poſſeſſed her, ſhe was ſo inacceſſible to all viſiters, that Mr. Melvil could with difficulty get admittance. Freeman ſaw the progreſs of his paſſion with great uneaſineſs and, finding that he could not be prevailed upon to leave Paris, reſolved to write to his father and give him a hint of the dangerous attach [...]ment his ſon had formed, that he might ſe [...] [207] him a peremptory command to return to Eng⯑land; but before he could execute this deſign, Melvil, to his great ſurpriſe, told him, that he would leave Paris in two days. The poor youth expected his friend would have expreſſed ſome joy at this news; and, being diſappointed at his receiving with indifference what had coſt him ſo many pangs to reſolve upon,

"You make me no compliments," ſaid he, with a tender ſmile, ‘upon the conqueſt I have gained over my inclinations: do you think I can baniſh myſelf from miſs Benſon without concern?’

‘I am ſure I cannot hear you ſpeak in this manner without concern,’ replied Freeman. ‘Is it fit for a young man of your rank to entertain a ſerious liking for a woman, to whoſe birth and character you are an abſolute ſtranger.’

"There is not a man in the world," reſumed Melvil, eagerly, ‘who need to bluſh for lov⯑ing miſs Benſon; her perſon, beautiful as it is, is the leaſt of her charms; that mingled ſweetneſs and dignity in her manners, that graceful modeſty which diſtinguiſhes every word and action of her's, exalt her above all the women I have ever ſeen. You have [208] heard her talk, and you could not help own⯑ing that you thought her very ſenſible.’

"Well, but what is all this to the purpoſe?" interrupted Freeman; ‘what ſignifies attri⯑buting ſuch goddeſs-like perfections to an ob⯑ſcure girl, whom, if you were at liberty to diſpoſe of yourſelf, you would not, I ſuppoſe, be ſo mad as to marry: your fortune would enable you to make other propoſals, leſs un⯑worthy of yourſelf, though advantageous e⯑nough for a young woman in her dependent ſituation.’

"May I periſh," replied Melvil, with ſome emotion, ‘if I would degrade ſuch excellence to a miſtreſs; but if I were capable of ſuch a deſign, her virtue, I am ſure, is incorruptible. Have you not obſerved with what care ſhe ſhuns me? She knows I love her, but ſhe knows not with what purity I love her; and, conſcious of her ſituation, ſhe is afraid I ſhould take advantage of it to declare myſelf in a manner that would wound her delicacy.— Charming creature, how I love her!— In⯑deed, my dear Freeman, it is time to be gone.’

"I ſee it plainly," replied Freeman, ‘you are grown quite romantick— We will ſet ou [...] to-morrow, if you pleaſe; for, with the ſtrang [...] [209] notions you have entertained, I think you ought not to truſt yourſelf here any longer.’

The lover conſented with a ſigh, but at the ſame time put his friend in mind, that civility obliged them to go and take leave of the ladies. Freeman could not reaſonably oppoſe his mak⯑ing this viſit; and, after he had given proper directions to the ſervants for their journey the next day, he accompanied him to miſs Belmour's lodgings.

CHAP. III.

THEY found the two ladies together: Henrietta could not, without affectation, avoid her lover that day, as ſhe was in the room when he came in; and he, who had not been ſo fortunate for ſeveral days before, found ſo much delight in looking at her and hearing her ſpeak, that he forgot he came to pay a farewel viſit, which Mr. Freeman obſerving, took care to mention their deſign of leaving Paris the next day.

[210]Melvil's gaiety was immediately over-caſt, Henrietta turned pale, Freeman was attentive to his friend's emotions, and only miſs Belmour had freedom of mind enough leſt to ſpeak. She ſaid ſome civil things upon the occaſion, which Freeman anſwered; for Melvil continued ſilent, with his eyes fixed upon Henrietta, who had bent her's towards the ground: conſcious of the emotion with which ſhe had heard the news of their intended departure, ſhe durſt no [...] look up, leſt the perſon, from whom ſhe was moſt ſolici⯑tous to hide her concern, ſhould read it [...] plainly in her countenance.

Recovering herſelf at length, upon miſs Bel⯑mour's taking occaſion to thank them anew fo [...] the civilities ſhe had received from them during their journey from Calais, ſhe added a few word [...] to her compliment; but, in doing ſo, her eye ſlightly glanced over Mr. Melvil, and directed their looks full upon his friend.

The converſation was dull enough during tw [...] hours that they ſtayed; and Freem [...] [...] the young gentleman wanted reſolution to [...] an end to the viſit, roſe up firſt, Mr. Melvil di [...] ſo likewiſe, though with apparent reluctance [...] and having ſaluted miſs Belmour, approache [...] Henrietta, trembling. She turned pale and [...] ſucceſſively; a ſoft ſigh ſtole from her. Melv [...] [211] was in too much emotion to obſerve her's: he ſaluted her with an air of ſolemn reſpect; but, as ſhe retired a ſtep back, a ſudden impulſe, which he could not reſiſt, made him take her hand; he preſſed it to his lips with paſſionate tenderneſs, and, ſighing, quitted the room with the utmoſt precipitation.

Henrietta's eyes overflowed; ſhe made haſte to wipe them before miſs Belmour, who attended the gentlemen as far as the door of her anti-chamber, returned.

"Ah! my poor Henrietta," ſaid that young lady, who perceived ſhe had been weeping, ‘I pity you—What ſordid wretches are theſe men! Melvil loves you, and yet he is able to leave you; nay, I am perſuaded he has diſcovered your tenderneſs for him—What monſtrous in⯑gratitude! you ought to hate him, my dear.’

"You bid me hate him, madam," replied Henrietta, ſmiling, ‘yet ſay every thing that can confirm me in a favourable opinion of him. If he loves me, and has ſeen any weakneſs in me , he gives the beſt proof of his love in not ſeeking to take advantage of that weakneſs.’

Miſs Belmour, who thought this a ſtrange way [...]f reaſoning, anſwered no otherwiſe than by a [...]ignificant ſmile, which ſeemed to ſay ſhe was re⯑ [...]olved to juſtify him at any rate; while Hen⯑rietta, [212] finding in her lover's behaviour a delicac [...] which agreeably flattered her eſteem of him, che [...]riſhed his remembrance with a tender grief an perhaps, for the firſt rime, repined at her un [...]happy fortune, which had placed ſuch a d [...] between them.

As ſoon as the two gentlemen and left the lodgings, Melvil, who found h [...]ſelf ver [...] low-ſpirited, propoſed to his friend to ſpen [...] the evening at a noted Hotel, with ſom [...] young Engliſhmen of faſhion, who were newl [...] arrived: Freeman conſented; but obſerved wit [...] uneaſineſs, that his pupil, who till then ha [...] been remarkably abſtemious, puſhed about th [...] bottle with great velocity, and could not be per [...]ſuaded to go home till the night was far ad [...]vanced.

Mr. Freeman ſaw him in bed, and then retire to his own chamber, full of apprehenſions le [...] this ſudden intemperance ſhould have any [...] effect on his health. As ſoon as it was light, I went to his bed-ſide, and found him with all th [...] ſymptoms of a feveriſh diſorder upon him, which the agitations of his mind had contribute more perhaps than the liquor of which he [...] drank ſo freely.

All thoughts of their journey were now lai [...] aſide; phyſicians were ſent for, who pronounc [...] [213] [...]at he was dangerouſly ill: Freeman, full of [...]nxiety, ſat cloſe to his bed, holding one of his [...]ning hands tenderly preſſed between his. He [...]eard him ſigh frequently, and from thence took [...]ccaſion to aſk him, if any ſecret uneaſineſs oc⯑ [...]ſioned his indiſpoſition?

The young gentleman attributed his illneſs [...]tirely to the debauch he had made the night [...]fore; but his fever increaſing, he grew deli⯑ [...]ous, and then the name of miſs Benſon was [...]ontinually in his mouth.

Freeman, judging by theſe ravings of the deep [...]preſſion this young woman had made on the [...]eart of his pupil, blamed himſelf for ſo obſti⯑ [...]tely oppoſing his paſſion, and, judging from [...]enrietta's ſituation that ſhe would not refuſe to [...]en to ſuch propoſals as his fortune enabled him [...] make her, he reſolved to attempt ſomething [...] his friend's favour.

His curioſity having led him to make ſome en⯑ [...]ries concerning miſs Belmour of ſeveral per⯑ [...] that had lately arrived from England, he [...]nd ſhe had but a doubtful character; her con⯑ [...]cions with Mr. Campley having expoſed her to [...]at cenſure: of her companion he could learn [...]thing; but, concluding from the friendſhip [...]re appeared to be between them, that ſhe was [...] confidant in this amour, he flattered him⯑ſelf [214] that ſhe would not be a very difficult con⯑queſt.

He ſhut his eyes upon all that was wrong in this proceeding; and, conſidering nothing but the intereſt of his friend, he thought it leſs dan⯑gerous to give him a miſtreſs, than to truſt him to the fantaſtic power of his paſſion, which might hurry him on to a clandeſtine marriage.

The young gentleman was in a few days en⯑tirely out of danger from the fever; but his ſighs and the penſive air of his countenance, ſhewe [...] that his mind was not at eaſe.

"If you were able to go abroad," ſaid Free⯑man to him, ‘we would viſit our Engliſh ladi [...] once more before we leave Paris. They ima⯑gine we are in London by this time, and w [...] be ſtrangely ſurpriſed to ſee us again.’

"Then, they do not know I have been ill [...] replied Mr. Melvil.

"Not yet," ſaid Freeman; but if you w [...] ‘they ſhould know, I will wait on them this a [...] ⯑ternoon, and tell them what has kept us [...] Paris ſo much longer than we intended.’

Melvil affected to receive this propoſal w [...] indifference; but his friend obſerved, that [...] was more chearful than before, and doubted [...] but he expected the news of his illneſs w [...] have ſome effect on Henrietta.

[215]He went at the uſual hour, and was immedi⯑ately admitted: "you are in Paris ſtill, then!" exclaimed miſs Belmour, in a joyful accent, as ſoon as Freeman entered her apartment, ‘I am exceſſively glad of it, I hope your agreeable friend is with you.’

Freeman, a little diſappointed at not ſeeing Henrietta with her, anſwered coldly, that Mr. Melvil had been indiſpoſed, which obliged them to delay their journey.

"I fancy," ſaid miſs Belmour, with an arch [...]et, ‘that the air of Paris is mighty neceſſary for your friend at this time, you are in the wrong to hurry him away.’

‘You have a great deal of penetration, ma⯑dam,’ replied Mr. Freeman, ſmiling, ‘you have gueſſed the cauſe of his illneſs, I believe.’

"I believe I have," reſumed miſs Belmour, ‘and perhaps I could tell him ſomething that might contribute to forward his recovery.’

Freeman began now to think his ſcheme was [...] a hopeful way. ‘To be ſincere with you, madam,’ ſaid he, with a graver look and [...]cent, ‘Mr. Melvil is deſperately in love with miſs Benſon.’

"Poor man!" cried miſs Belmour, laughing, ‘ [...]he is to be pitied truly, for miſs Benſon is moſt deſperately in love with him likewiſe.’

[216]"How happy would this news make him!" exclaimed Freeman. ‘Am I, madam, at liberty to tell him?’

"Certainly," replied miſs Belmour, ‘I told you for that purpoſe; and now what do you think of my frankneſs?’

"I adore you for it, madam," ſaid Freeman, taking her hand, which (encouraged by her be⯑haviour) he kiſſed with great liberty. "Ah!" purſued he, looking at her tenderly, ‘what additional charms does kindneſs give to beauty!’

"I hear miſs Benſon on the ſtairs," ſaid miſ [...] Belmour, withdrawing her hand; ‘I will give you an opportunity to plead your friend's cauſe: remember what I have told you, and don't be diſcouraged by a little affectation.’

She ſtopped upon Henrietta's entrance, wh [...] ſtarted at the ſight of Mr. Freeman, and im⯑mediately after her fair face was covered wit [...] bluſhes.

‘You ſee we have not loſt our good friend yet,’ ſaid miſs Belmour. Henrietta on [...] ſmiled. "I muſt deſire you, my dear," purſu [...] that young lady, ‘to entertain Mr. Freeman▪ I ordered ſome trades-people to attend [...] about this time.’

[217]She hurried out of the room when ſhe had ſaid this, not without ſome confuſion for the part ſhe had acted; to account for which, it is neceſſary the reader ſhould know that the mind of this young lady had undergone another re⯑volution, within the few days of Mr. Melvil's illneſs.

A letter from her lover, filled with tender complaints, and new aſſurances of everlaſting fidelity, had baniſhed all thoughts of devotion and a convent. She had anſwered it immedi⯑ately without communicating it to Henrietta; her tranſport at finding herſelf ſtill beloved, and the fear of diſguſting him by any new coldneſs, hurried her on to the moſt fatal reſolutions. She invited him to come to Paris to her; and, not doubting but he would inſtantly obey her ſum⯑mons, ſhe was now only ſolicitous how to re⯑concile Henrietta to her conduct, and oblige her to keep her ſecret.

The unexpected news of Mr. Melvil's being ſtill in Paris, and Mr. Freeman's acknowledg⯑ment of his friend's paſſion for Henrietta, an⯑ſwered all her views. She imputed the reſerve Henrietta had been enabled to maintain, leſs to her own virtue than to the unenterpriſing temper of her lover; and was perſuaded that the diſco⯑very ſhe had made of her tenderneſs for him, [218] would put the affair upon ſuch a footing, as to make her leſs rigid in her remonſtrances with re⯑ſpect to Mr. Campley.

CHAP. IV.

FREEMAN, though perſuaded that miſs Bel⯑mour was a woman of intrigue, and by con⯑ſequence entertaining no elevated idea of her companion, yet found himſelf ſo awed by the modeſty that ſhone in her countenance, and the dignity of her perſon and manner, that he was at ſome loſs how to introduce the ſubject which had brought him thither. Henrietta, however, innocently led him to it, by expreſſing her ſur⯑priſe to ſee him ſtill in Paris.

"You ſay nothing of my friend, madam," ſaid Freeman; ‘and this indifference with re⯑gard to him is a very bad omen.’

"I hope Mr. Melvil is well," ſaid Henrietta gravely, without ſeeming to take any notice o [...] the ſtrange ſpeech he had made.

‘He is better than he was three or four day [...] ago,’ replied Freeman, ‘when his phyſ [...] ⯑cians deſpaired of his life.’

[219]"Bleſs me!" cried Henrietta, with an emo⯑tion ſhe could not ſuppreſs, ‘has Mr. Melvil been ſo ill then? I am extremely concerned to hear it.’

"You would, no doubt," ſaid Freeman, ‘be more concerned if you knew you were the cauſe.’

"This kind of raillery, Mr. Freeman," re⯑plied Henrietta, a little confuſed, ‘is not at all agreeable to me, I aſſure you.’

"By Heaven I am ſerious," reſumed Free⯑man; ‘my friend loves you with the utmoſt ardor: I am a witneſs to the birth and pro⯑greſs of his paſſion, and to his fruitleſs endea⯑vours to conquer it. The effort he made to leave Paris, has almoſt coſt him his life; he was taken ill the evening before our intended departure. Oh, miſs Benſon! had you heard with what tenderneſs he called upon your name, when the violence of his fever had de⯑prived him of his ſenſes, I am ſure you muſt have pitied him.’

Freeman perceived by the changes in Hen⯑rietta's countenance, that ſhe did not hear him without emotion. He pauſed, in expectation of ſome pretty affected anſwer, that would give hope while it ſeemed to deſtroy it; but Hen⯑rietta, [220] with a compoſed look and accent, re⯑plied,

‘If I am to believe this account of your friend's illneſs not exaggerated, permit me to ask you, ſir, what is your deſign by making me acquainted with his ſentiments, and what you expect from me upon this occaſion?’

Freeman was a little diſconcerted by this ſpeech, and at the manner in which ſhe delivered it; but, relying on the intelligence he had re⯑ceived from miſs Belmour,

‘I expect you will have compaſſion on my friend (ſaid he) and give him an opportunity to declare to you himſelf the paſſion you have inſpired him with.’

‘I will be very free with you, Mr. Free⯑man,’ replied Henrietta; ‘your ready con⯑currence with your friend in the liking you ſay he has entertained for me, is not conſiſtent with your good ſenſe and prudence. Mr. Melvil is a young man of rank and fortune; I am poor and dependent; my birth perhaps greatly inferior to his. Will his parents, think you, approve of ſuch a choice?’

‘What has parents to do with a tender en⯑gagement?’ interrupted Freeman; ‘an en⯑gagement in which the heart only [...] con⯑ſulted.’

[221] ‘Were my heart ever ſo well diſpoſed in fa⯑vour of your friend,’ reſumed Henrietta, not willing to underſtand him, ‘I would not re⯑ceive his addreſſes without the ſanction of his parents' conſent.’

Freeman could hardly help ſmiling at this formal declaration; and, ſuppoſing that the beſt way to drive theſe ſtrange notions out of her head, was to acquaint her with Melvil's quality, which he likewiſe expected would have no ſmall influence over her,

‘It is not fit (ſaid he) that you ſhould be any longer ignorant of the rank of him whom your charms have ſubjected. Melvil is not the name of my friend; he is the heir of an illuſtrious title and a great eſtate: he loves you, he will make your fortune; do not throw away this opportunity of freeing yourſelf from poverty and dependance, nor let a romantic notion of virtue deprive you of the advantages that are offered you.’

"Hold, ſir," interrupted Henrietta, riſing from her chair, ‘this inſult is too plain; I ought not to have liſtened to you ſo long.’ She ſpoke this with tolerable compoſure; but, finding her tears begin to flow, ſhe turned aſide to conceal them, and haſtily wiping her eyes, [222] ſhe looked on him again with a kind of calm diſdain.

‘I know not (ſaid ſhe) what weakneſs you have diſcovered in my behaviour to encourage you to make me ſuch ſhocking propoſal; but I may venture to tell you, though I am not the miſtreſs of this apartment, that the doors of it ſhall never be open to you again.’

She was hurrying out of the room when ſhe had ſpoke this, leaving Freeman in ſo much confuſion, that he knew not what to ſay to her, when miſs Belmour entered with a letter in her hand.

‘Do you know a gentleman of the name of Bale (ſaid ſhe to Henrietta) who is at preſent at Montpelier?’

"I do, madam," replied ſhe, looking eagerly at the letter.

"Then this letter is for you, I ſuppoſe, ſaid miſs Belmour, ‘it was incloſed in anothe [...] to me, and directed to my banker's: [...] your name Courteney? you ſee the ſuperſcrip⯑tion is for miſs Courteney.’

"The letter is certainly for me, madam▪ ſaid Henrietta, bluſhing.

[223]"Oh! then," replied miſs Belmour, ſmiling, and giving it to her, ‘I have diſcovered a ſecret, I find.’

Henrietta retired immediately; and miſs Bel⯑mour approached Mr. Freeman, who ſtood leaning over his chair, with his eyes fixed on the ground,

‘What is the matter with you? (ſaid ſhe) you look exceſſively pale.’

"Where is miſs Benſon, madam?" ſaid he, ſtarting out of his revery at the ſound of her voice.

"She is in her own chamber, I believe," re⯑plied miſs Belmour; ‘but did you take notice of what paſſed about the letter, I delivered it to her before you on purpoſe: you ſee ſhe in a manner owned that Courteney is her true name; is not this ſtrange?’

"I muſt beg leave to ſpeak to her again," ſaid he, interrupting her, and making towards the door, "which way, pray madam?"

Miſs Belmour followed him, ſurpriſed at the agitation he appeared to be in; and, pointing to a room juſt oppoſite, "you will find her there," ſaid ſhe.

Freeman opened the door without any cere⯑mony; Henrietta, who was reading her letter, [224] looked up at the noiſe he made in entering: ‘this is extremely rude, ſir (ſaid ſhe) I deſire you will inſtantly be gone, and trouble me no more.’ But, apprehenſive that he would not quit her ſo eaſily, ſhe ruſhed by him, and was running to the room in which ſhe had left miſs Belmour: he took hold of her hand, to prevent her leaving him; and ſhe was upon the point of expreſſing her reſentment at the inſo⯑lence of this treatment, in harſher terms than any ſhe had yet uſed, when ſhe ſaw tears guſh in great abundance from his eyes. Me [...] at this ſight, ſhe ſtood ſtill, but endeavoured to diſengage her hand, looking at him earneſtly, and in the utmoſt aſtoniſhment.

"O my ſiſter!" cried he at laſt, burſting into a freſh flood of tears; ‘my dear, dear ſiſter’—He was not able to utter a word more, but led her gently back to her chamber, which ſhe permitted, trembling, confuſed, and full of anxious expectation.

"How ſtrangely you look upon me!" ſaid he, ‘do you doubt whether I am your bro⯑ther?’

"I know not what to think," replied ſhe, ſhrinking from his embrace; for he had folded his arms about her.

[225]"Dear girl!" cried he, ‘how amiable is this ſweet reſerve—theſe modeſt doubts— but it is certain I am your brother, my Hen⯑rietta: is it poſſible your memory retains no traces of my features? in your's, methinks I ſee a lively reſemblance of my dear mother. How dull was I that I did not diſcover it be⯑fore! but how could I expect to meet you in France, in ſuch a ſituation, and under a diſ⯑guiſed name! Oh! my dear ſiſter, theſe circumſtances diſtract me— Good Heaven! what a part have I acted— I perceive you are ſtill perplexed,’ purſued he, after a little pauſe; and, taking a miniature picture out of his pocket, ‘You will certainly be able to re⯑collect your mother's picture (ſaid he) which ſhe gave me at parting.’

Henrietta looked at the picture, kiſſed it, and then threw herſelf in tears upon her brother's neck— ‘Forgive my doubts (ſaid ſhe) it is many years ſince I have ſeen you, we were children when we parted, but now I am con⯑vinced you are my brother: my heart tells me ſo without this dear teſtimony,’ purſued ſhe, kiſſing again the picture of her mother, which ſhe ſtill held; then ſuddenly claſping her hands together, and lifting up her fine eyes, which were ſwimming in tears, ‘I thank thee, [226] my God! (ſaid ſhe) for reſtoring to me my brother:’ and, turning again to him with an affectionate look, ‘a few moments ago (ſaid ſhe) I thought myſelf very unhappy, but now you will be a friend and protector to me.’

He tenderly kiſſed her cheek— ‘What a wretch have I been!’ ſaid he, ſighing— ‘Indeed, my dear ſiſter, I never ſhall forgive myſelf for having ignorantly practiſed on your virtue.’

"Oh! that my brother," replied Henrietta, ‘would be taught by this accident never more to form deſigns againſt innocence; and, in caſes like mine, to conſider every virtuous young woman as a ſiſter.’

Mr. Courteney, for ſo we ſhall now call him, was extremely moved at theſe words. He gazed at her ſome moments with mingled tenderneſs and delight; but all on a ſudden, as if ſtruck with ſome painful reflection,

"Henrietta," ſaid he, with a look and accent greatly altered from his former ſweetneſs, ‘why came you to France? and how has it happened that you are ſo intimately connected with thi [...] woman, this miſs Belmour?’

‘Why, do you know any harm of miſ [...] Belmour?’ ſaid Henrietta, frighted at h [...] ſternneſs.

[227]"You don't anſwer my queſtion," replied he, peeviſhly.

"Alas! my dear brother," ſaid Henrietta, ‘I have a long and melancholy ſtory to tell you: I have been reduced to great diſtreſs; my aunt, with whom you ſuppoſed me ſo hap⯑pily ſettled, has treated me unkindly: I muſt confeſs, indeed, I have not been wholly free from blame; but you ſhall know all ſome other time. As for miſs Belmour, I was re⯑commended to her— I would not ſhock you, brother; but I have been obliged to go to ſervice, and I was recommended to miſs Belmour by two ladies of quality, her near relations.’

Mr. Courteney ſighed deeply at this account, and remained for ſeveral moments ſilent; at length recovering himſelf,

‘Miſs Belmour, it ſeems (ſaid he) did not always know your real name—You appear to be on the footing of a companion.’

‘Miſs Belmour was pleaſed to take a liking to me,’ ſaid Henrietta; ‘and, though ig⯑norant of my birth, would not ſuffer me to continue with her in the character of a ſervant —I have been greatly obliged to her.’

"Yes, you are obliged to her," interrupted Mr. Courteney, kindling into rage at the re⯑membrance [228] of what had parted between them; ‘infamous wretch! ſhe has done her part to⯑wards betraying you to ruin. You have been very imprudent, Henrietta; you have talked to her of Mr. Melvil too freely: ſhe believes you are in love with him, and told me ſo, to encourage my attempts upon you.’

Henrietta bluſhed at the mention of Mr. Melvil, and preſently after burſt into tears at this diſcovery of miſs Belmours baſeneſs and in⯑gratitude, but uttered not a word of complaint or reſentment.

‘I will not ſuffer you to remain any longer with her,’ reſumed Mr. Courteney; ‘I will go directly and provide you lodgings in the houſe of a worthy Engliſh family: I ſup⯑poſe you can have no objection to this pro⯑poſal.’

‘Why do you look and ſpeak ſo coldly, my dear brother?’ ſaid Henrietta: ‘to be ſure I can have no objection; diſpoſe of me as you pleaſe, you are in the place of my father, I will obey you as ſuch.’

"Forgive me, my dear," ſaid he, tenderly preſſing her hand, ‘my temper is warm; I have ſpoke to you harſhly: indeed I am greatly alarmed at the diſagreeable circum⯑ſtances I find you in, you have been to blame, [229] you own. Alas! my dear ſiſter, what have you done to be thus abandoned by your aunt. I ſhall be on the rack till I have heard all your ſtory; but this is not a proper place— Take a civil leave of miſs Belmour, but do not acquaint her that you have diſcovered your brother, for I know not yet what meaſures I ſhall take; I will call for you in leſs than an hour in a coach.’

Henrietta promiſed to be ready; he took a tender leave of her, and departed.

CHAP. V.

OUR fair heroine continued ſome time alone in her chamber, ſo tranſported at this un⯑expected meeting with her brother, that ſhe ſometimes doubted whether her happineſs was real, and whether all that had part was not an illuſion of her fancy. When her ſpirits were a little compoſed, ſhe began to conſider what rea⯑ſon ſhe ſhould give miſs Belmour for quitting her ſo ſuddenly: ſhe rightly judged that the ſe⯑crecy her brother had recommended to her, pro⯑ceeded [230] from his embarraſſment with regard to Mr. Melvil; and ſhe reſolved, however ſtrange her going away might appear to miſs Belmour, to follow his directions punctually.

The treachery this young lady had been guilty of towards her, excited leſs reſentment than grief for the conviction it brought her, that her principles were not changed. Several circum⯑ſtances now ruſhed upon her memory, which ſerved to convince her ſhe was relapſing into her former indiſcretions; and ſhe doubted not but miſs Belmour would be rejoiced to be delivered from her preſence. This thought gave her cou⯑rage to go to her immediately, and acquaint her with her intention.

‘A ſtrange alteration has happened in my af⯑fairs, madam,’ ſaid ſhe, entering her apart⯑ment, "within this hour."

‘That letter has brought you ſome good news, I ſuppoſe,’ ſaid miſs Belmour, coldly.

‘It came from a dear and worthy friend madam,’ replied Henrietta; ‘and I have in⯑deed heard ſome good news, which I little expected: but I am obliged to leave you and ſo ſuddenly, that I am afraid you will thin [...] me ungrateful for your kindneſs, in ſubmitting to this neceſſity.’

[231]"Pray make no apologies," interrupted miſs Belmour, with great indifference, ‘you are en⯑tirely at your own liberty.’

Henrietta, who thought ſhe had reaſon for this behaviour, was ſtudying for ſome anſwer, which, without revealing the ſecret motive of her conduct, might tend in ſome meaſure to excuſe it; when a ſervant introduced a gentle⯑man into the room, who, though ſhe had ſeen but once, ſhe knew immediately to be Mr. Campley. She turned eagerly to obſerve how miſs Belmour was affected by this viſit; and diſ⯑covering no ſigns of ſurpriſe or anger in her countenance, but an exceſs of joy and ſatisfac⯑tion, ſhe concluded this meeting was concerted, and retired immediately, in great concern, to her own room.

Here, while ſhe waited her brother's return, ſhe employed herſelf in writing to miſs Belmour. In this letter ſhe repeated what ſhe had often urged before, to guard her againſt the baſe de⯑ſigns of her lover: ſhe recalled to her remem⯑brance the reſolution ſhe had made, and the vows with which ſhe had ſealed it, never more to liſten to his deſtructive addreſſes; and conjured her, by every motive of religion, honour, and virtue, to baniſh from her ſight a man whoſe only aim was to ruin her.

[232]She had ſcarce finiſhed her letter, when a ſervant came to tell her, that ſome company waited for her in a coach. She made haſte to ſeal it, and gave it to miſs Belmour's maid, with orders to deliver it to her lady. At the door ſhe found her brother, who helped her into the coach, and came in after her. He aſked her, ſmiling, how ſhe had parted with miſs Bel⯑mour?

Henrietta told him, ſhe had left her with company. ‘It is indifferent to me what company ſhe ſees now you are not with her,’ ſaid he: ‘but my heart will not be at reſt till I hear all your ſtory, ſiſter.’

Henrietta promiſed to ſatisfy him when they were arrived at her new lodgings. ‘I am alſo impatient (ſaid ſhe) to know your adventures; why you called yourſelf Freeman, and what was the cauſe of your not writing to me for ſo many months paſt.’

‘To ſay the truth, my dear ſiſter (ſaid he) I have been guilty of a little neglect in no [...] writing to you oftener: however, ſome of my letters muſt certainly have miſcarried; for wrote to you both from Bruſſels and Genoa and I don't remember I had any anſwer, Th [...] account you gave me of Mr. Bal [...]'s kindne [...] in taking upon him the office of your guar⯑dian, [233] and your happy ſettlement with lady Mea⯑dows, made me perfectly eaſy with regard to you. I had informed you that I was appointed governor to the marquis of —: this young nobleman had contracted a friendſhip with me during his ſtay at Leyden, where his governor dying, he wrote to his father the duke of—, in ſuch preſſing terms in my favour, which, joined to the knowledge of my birth, and very high recommendations from the univerſity, had ſo much weight with him, that his grace, notwithſtanding my youth, appointed me go⯑vernor to his ſon, with a ſalary of five hun⯑dred pounds a year. I have endeavoured to acquit myſelf faithfully of this truſt; my pupil and I have always lived together like brothers; and I flatter myſelf his father will have no cauſe to repent his having conſigned him to my care.’

‘But why did you take the names of Melvil and Freeman?’ interrupted Henrietta.

"The marquis," replied Mr. Courteney, ‘had an inclination to travel without the pa⯑rade of quality, that he might, as he wrote to his father, make nearer and more uſeful obſervations upon men and manners; and, being indulged in this ſcheme, we have tra⯑velled thro' France and Italy under thoſe [234] names, and with a very ſmall equipage, And now, Henrietta, that you know the quality of my friend, I expect you will not entertain any ridiculous hopes from the liking he has expreſſed for you. I will do him the juſtice to own that he never formed any diſhonoura⯑ble deſigns upon you. The character of the woman you lived with, encouraged me to make you ſome ſhocking propoſals. You be⯑haved very properly; but, my dear ſiſter, no words can expreſs my anguiſh and confuſion, when I heard you own the name of Courte⯑ney, and your connexions with Mr. Bale— Good Heaven! what did I not ſuffer at that moment— What a wretch did I ſeem in my own eyes!’

‘Let not this cruel remembrance diſturb you now, my dear brother,’ ſaid Henrietta; ‘I am ſo happy in finding you, that I forget all my paſt uneaſineſſes.’

Her looks bore delightful witneſs to the truth of what ſhe ſaid. Joy ſparkled in her charm [...] ⯑ing eyes, heightened the roſy bloom of he [...] complexion, and animated her whole air: but clearly as ſhe loved her brother, the aſſurance he gave her, that her lover had no part in th [...] diſhonourable propoſals he had made her, was [235] circumſtance that greatly increaſed her ſatisfac⯑tion in this meeting.

Mr. Courteney looked at her with admiration and delight, while a tender ſenſe of the miſ⯑fortunes ſhe had been expoſed to, almoſt melted him into tears. As ſoon as the coach ſtopped, he told her, that the maſter of the houſe they were going into was a very worthy man, with whom he was intimately acquainted, and whoſe prudence he could depend upon. ‘His wife (purſued he) is a virtuous, ſenſible wo⯑man: I know no family ſo proper to place you in as this; and it was extremely lucky that I thought of them upon this occaſion, for it was not fit you ſhould ſtay with miſs Belmour, and in ſo ſhort a time it was diffi⯑cult to diſpoſe of you properly.’

As ſoon as they alighted, Mrs. Knight came to receive Henrietta, and preſented her husband to her. Both ſeemed greatly charmed with her appearance, and politely thanked Mr. Cour⯑teney for bringing them ſo agreeable a gueſt.

After a few compliments they withdrew, ſuppoſing the brother and ſiſter would be glad of an opportunity to converſe together in pri⯑vate. Mr. Courteney immediately drew his chair near his ſiſter's, and, with a look of impatience, demanded the account ſhe had promiſed him.

[236]Henrietta bluſhed, and begged him not to judge her errors too ſeverely. She then gave him a candid relation of all that had happened to her, from her mother's death till the time ſhe met him at the inn, concealing nothing from him but miſs Belmour's paſſion for Mr. Campley.

Mr. Courteney was variouſly affected during the courſe of her little ſtory. He often changed countenance, but would not interrupt her. He obſerved with pleaſure, that ſhe laid no ſtreſs upon any part of her conduct, which might with juſtice challenge eſteem and admiration, but appeared nicely conſcious of every little im⯑prudence; and, when ſhe had ended, waited for his reply, with an anxiety that ſhewed ſhe rather expected cenſure than praiſe.

"My dear Henrietta," ſaid Mr. Courteney, at length, with tears in his eyes, ‘you have acted nobly; you cannot imagine how much your ſufferings endear you to me, ſince you have behaved under them with ſuch becom⯑ing fortitude.’

"How happy you make me," cried Hen⯑rietta, ‘by your approbation— Indeed I wa [...] afraid you would have chidden me ſever [...]l [...] for leaving my aunt in the manner I did.’

[237]"It was a raſh ſtep," replied Mr. Courteney, ‘but your ſubſequent conduct has effaced it; and I ſee not how you could have otherwiſe avoided being in the power of that viliain-prieſt.’

After ſome farther converſation on different parts of her ſtory, he looked at his watch: "how faſt the minutes fly!" ſaid he, ſmiling. ‘My dear Henrietta, I muſt leave you now, yet I have a thouſand things to ſay to you; but I will ſee you to-morrow morning. You will be very happy (continued he) with Mrs. Knight, and I ſhall have no ſcruple to truſt you to her care, till I have conducted the marquis to London: we ſhall go in a day or two; and, after I have delivered my charge ſafe to his father, I will come back to Paris, and fetch you.’

Henrietta turned pale at theſe words: ‘then we are to part again ſoon!’ ſaid ſhe, in a melancholy accent.

‘It would be highly improper for you (re⯑plied he) to take this journey with us, on ſe⯑veral accounts: I ſhall be concerned to leave you, but it muſt be ſo.’

"Could you not ſtay till Mr. Bale comes?" interrupted Henrietta; and, taking his letter out [...]f her pocket, ‘ſee here how affectionately he [238] writes to me (added ſhe) he propoſes to be in Paris in three weeks, and inſiſts upon my going to England with him.’

Mr. Courteney read the letter with great plea⯑ſure. Mr. Bale addreſſed her in it by the tender name of daughter; and aſſured her, that he would in every reſpect act like a father towards her. He praiſed her conduct in terms of the higheſt admiration, and begged her not to be uneaſy at her aunt's deſertion of her; ſince it was in his power to make her eaſy, and he was reſolved to do ſo.

"This letter," ſaid Mr. Courteney, after a pauſe, ‘will make ſome little alteration in my plan: I had reſolved not to take any notice to the marquis, that I had diſcovered you to be my ſiſter, but to make ſome excuſe for your diſappearing; however I ſee it will be neceſſary to wait for Mr. Bale. I congratulate you, my dear Henrietta, on the friendſhip o [...] ſo worthy a man.’

"But will you ſtay till he comes to Paris? [...] interrupted the tender, anxious Henrietta.

"May I depend upon your prudence, ſiſter? [...] ſaid Mr. Courteney. ‘It is poſſible the ma [...] ⯑quis may talk to you of love: if you give hi [...] the leaſt encouragement, you will forfeit [...] eſteem for ever; it ſhall never be ſaid, th [...] [239] I took advantage of his youth to draw him into a marriage with my ſiſter.’

"Oh! do not ſuſpect me of ſuch meanneſs," ſaid Henrietta, bluſhing: ‘if the marquis was a thouſand times more amiable than he is, and were I ever ſo much prejudiced in his favour, I have too juſt a ſenſe of what I owe to my birth, to your honour, and my own, to admit of a clandeſtine addreſs— You may be entirely eaſy upon this article.’

"I am ſatisfied," replied Mr. Courteney, tenderly preſſing her hand; ‘and now, my dear Henrietta, adieu for this evening.’

"Don't fail to come to-morrow," ſaid ſhe, following him to the door. He ſmiled aſſent⯑ingly; and having taken leave of Mrs. Knight, who met him as he was going in ſearch of her, he hurried home to his pupil, by whom he was expected with extreme impatience.

CHAP. VI.

THE marquis, as ſoon as he entered his chamber, perceived that ſomething ex⯑traordinary had happened to him.

‘Sure (ſaid he, ſmiling) you have met with ſome ſtrange adventure, Freeman; you look pleaſed, and yet there is a thoughtful air in your countenance.’

"I have had an adventure indeed," replie [...] Mr. Courteney (entering abruptly into an affai [...] which could not be concealed from him) ‘ [...] have met with my ſiſter here in Paris.’

"Your ſiſter!" repeated the marquis; ‘yo [...] did not expect her, did you?’

"No, faith," replied Mr. Courteney; ‘n [...] did I know her when I ſaw her.’

"That is not ſurpriſing," ſaid the marquis ‘ſhe was very young when you parted, I ha [...] heard you ſay: I hope you will allow me [...] pay my reſpects to her; but (added he, i [...] patiently) how does miſs Belmour and [...] fair friend?’

[241] ‘Her fair friend, as you are pleaſed to call her (replied Mr. Courteney) is my ſiſter, whom for ſo many weeks I have ſeen almoſt every day without knowing her.’

‘Is it poſſible! (cried the marquis, ſurpriſed) miſs Benſon your ſiſter! Sure you are not in earneſt.’

‘Indeed I am (ſaid Mr. Courteney) I diſ⯑covered her by the oddeſt accident: miſs Bel⯑mour herſelf did not know who ſhe was; but while I was there, ſhe brought her a letter, which had been incloſed to her; it was di⯑rected for miſs Courteney, and came from Mr. Bale, my ſiſter's guardian: ſhe owned the name, and by that means I found out my ſiſter. I ſee you are aſtoniſhed (added Mr. Courteney) poor Henrietta has told me all her ſtory; the repetition would be tedious, but—’

"How can you think ſo?" interrupted the marquis, eagerly: ‘can you doubt that I am extremely intereſted in every thing that con⯑cerns you.’

‘Excuſe me, my dear marquis (ſaid Mr. Courteney) I really cannot enter into parti⯑culars juſt now— Fortune ſtill perſecutes my dear father in his children. I thought my ſiſter was happily ſettled with her aunt lady [242] Meadows, who has no child, and adopted her; but the old lady, being a rigid Roman catholic, preſſed her very much to change her religion, and was at laſt ſo ſtrangely in⯑fluenced by an artful prieſt, who is her chap⯑lain, that ſhe had formed a deſign to ſend my ſiſter under the conduct of this fellow, to be ſhut up in a nunnery. The poor girl, who was, as I can collect by her account ex⯑tremely apprehenſive of being ſo entirely in the power of this ſly prieſt, had no way to avoid this misfortune, but by leaving her aunt privately, who abſolutely refuſed to be recon⯑ciled to her on any other condition than her changing her religion. Thus deſerted, her guardian being abroad, and having nothing to expect from her relations, ſhe choſe to go to ſervice, and was recommended to miſs Belmour by the counteſs of —, her kinſ⯑woman.’

"What a wretch muſt your uncle be!" ſaid the marquis, with tears in his eyes, ‘to per⯑mit ſuch excellence—’ He ſtopped a mo⯑ment; then ſuddenly graſping his hand, ‘O [...] my dear Freeman (purſued he) you have it in your power to make me happy— You know how ardently I love your charming ſiſter—’

[243]"This I was apprehenſive of," interrupted Mr. Courteney. ‘I beg, my lord, that you will baniſh theſe thoughts.’

"What!" cried the marquis, haſtily; ‘have you any objection to my paſſion for your ſiſter?’

"Indeed I have, and a very ſtrong one," re⯑plied Mr. Courteney, ‘and that is the cer⯑tainty of the duke your father's diſapprobation of it.’

"It is poſſible indeed," ſaid the marquis, after a little pauſe, ‘that in the choice of a wife for me, my father will be influenced by the ſame motives that moſt fathers are: he will expect a large fortune with the perſon I marry; therefore, my dear Charles, you ſee the neceſſity there is for not conſulting him in this caſe.’

"Sure you forget, my lord," interrupted Mr. Courteney, coolly, ‘what you once de⯑clared, that you would never enter into an engagement of this kind, contrary to the duke's inclinations.’

‘I remember I ſaid ſo (replied the mar⯑quis; and were I to make a choice which he could reaſonably object to, certainly it would be wrong, very wrong to diſobey him: but if the want of a fortune can make my father [244] diſapprove of my affection for a young lady of miſs Courteney's birth and merit, muſt I be governed by ſuch ſordid motives?’

The marquis went on to prove, by a great many arguments common enough on ſuch oc⯑caſions, that in the article of marriage, a parent had no right to lay any reſtraint upon the [...]uch nations of his child. Mr. Courteney did not think proper to enter into a diſpute with him upon this ſubject: the patience with which he liſtened to him, made the young nobleman con⯑clude he was not unwilling to come into his meaſures.

‘My dear Charles (added he, after a ſhort pauſe) will you not be my advocate with your charming ſiſter? I die with impatience to throw myſelf at her feet, and offer her my heart and hand.’

‘You cannot doubt, my lord (ſaid Mr. Courteney) but that I think, my ſiſter highly honoured by the eſteem you expreſs for her; but ſhe would be very unworthy of it, if ſhe was capable of admitting your addreſſes, ei⯑ther unknown to your father, or in oppoſi⯑tion to his will. I may venture to anſwer for her, that ſhe will not, by ſo unjuſtifiable a con⯑duct, expoſe her brother to cenſure: and it gives me great concern to find you are no better [245] acquainted with my ſentiments, than to ima⯑gine I will ſo baſely betray the truſt the duke has repoſed in me, and be acceſſary to your diſpoſing of yourſelf in a manner which I am very ſure he will not approve.’

‘Then I am to expect nothing from your friendſhip on this occaſion, Mr. Courteney!’ replied the marquis, with an air of diſpleaſure: ‘you are determined to raiſe difficulties to my deſign, inſtead of removing them; is this act⯑ing like a man whom I have loved like a brother, and whom it would be my higheſt happineſs to call ſo.’

‘To call you brother with your father's con⯑ſent, my lord (ſaid Mr. Courteney) is an ho⯑nour I cannot hope for, and which without it I do not wiſh.’

‘As noble and diſintereſted as you imagine this conduct to be (ſaid the marquis, riſing) it will have another name perhaps with per⯑ſons leſs romantic in their notions than you are, However, ſir, you are no more than the brother of miſs Courteney; if I am happy enough to prevail with her to receive my ad⯑dreſſes, I ſhall not think your conſent neceſ⯑ſary.’ He paſſed by him with a cool bow, as he pronounced theſe words, and retired to his own chamber.

CHAP. VII.

MR. Courteney ſaw plainly, that by re⯑fuſing to comply with his pupil's deſires, he ſhould entirely loſe his friendſhip, but in a caſe where his honour was ſo greatly concerned, this conſideration had no weight with him: and although he had a high opinion of his ſiſter's candor and integrity, yet the intimation miſs Belmour had given him of her regard for Mr. Melvil, made him apprehenſive that ſhe might be prevailed upon to liſten to the vows of the marquis of—. He reſolved therefore to keep the place of her abode a ſecret (for he knew he could depend upon the prudence of Mr. Knight and his wife) and to uſe his utmoſt endea⯑vours to haſten the young lord's departure from France.

The marquis, mean time, was forming very different deſigns. It is ſo rare a thing for a man in love to be either reaſonable or juſt, on occa⯑ſions where the intereſt of his paſſion is con⯑cerned, that it is not ſurpriſing the marquis [247] ſhould impute his governor's conduct with re⯑gard to his ſiſter to peeviſhneſs and caprice, and think himſelf extremely ill uſed by his not accepting his offers. He conceived miſs Cour⯑teney to be equally injured by the oppoſition her brother made to the advancement of her for⯑tune; and flattering himſelf that, if his perſon was not diſagreeable to her, he ſhould ſoon overcome any ſcruples Mr. Courteney might have ſuggeſted on account of the duke his fa⯑ther's diſapprobation, he determined to conſult him no further in the affair, but to addreſs him⯑ſelf directly to her.

He ſpent part of the night in writing a letter to her, in which he declared his paſſion in the moſt tender and reſpectful terms, and begged ſhe would allow him to wait upon her. The remaining hours were not ſpent in ſleep, but in impatient longings for the morning, which was to confirm or deſtroy his hopes. As ſoon as it was light, he roſe and walked about his room. He read over the letter he had written; he thought it but poorly expreſſed the ardor of his love: he ſat down and wrote another, which he liked ſtill leſs, and had recourſe again to the firſt, after adding a poſtſcript, in which he ear⯑neſtly repeated his requeſt to be indulged with a few moments private diſcourſe with her.

[248]He ſealed up his letter, and directed it for miſs Courteney. Her brother had not men⯑tioned to him his having removed her from miſs Belmour: he ſuppoſed ſhe was ſtill with her; but a doubt occurring to him, whether ſhe was will⯑ing to aſſume her real name yet, he thought it beſt to put it in another cover, ſuperſcribed for miſs Benſon.

It was ſtill too early to ſend to a lady's lodg⯑ings; he counted the hours with anxious impa⯑tience, and at length rung his bell for his ſervant. As ſoon as he appeared, he gave him the letter, recommending ſecrecy, and charging him not to return without an anſwer.

The valet, when he came back, brought him word that miſs Benſon was gone; and this was all the intelligence he could get. Miſs Bel⯑mour's woman indeed had added with a ſneer, that ſhe went off with Mr. Freeman, and it was ſtrange that his friend Mr. Melvil ſhould not know where ſhe was. This part of the meſ⯑ſage the fellow prudently ſuppreſſed; for he judged the buſineſs to be an amour, and that the young gentlemen were rivals, and he was afraid of making miſchief.

The marquis, however, eaſily gueſſed that this ſudden removal of miſs Courteney was her brother's act: he diſmiſſed his ſervant; and [249] beginning now to be ſenſible how much it was in his governor's power to traverſe his deſigns, and how obſtinately he was bent upon doing ſo, he reſigned himſelf up to the moſt violent tranſ⯑ports of rage; and, during a few moments, all his thoughts ran upon revenge.

Mr. Courteney came into his chamber while he was under theſe agitations; and, ſeeing him walking about with a furious pace, ‘For Hea⯑ven's ſake, my lord (ſaid he) what is the matter with you?’

The marquis turned ſhort upon him, and, with a voice broken with paſſion, exclaimed, "May I periſh, Courteney, if I forgive you."

Mr. Courteney, who ſuppoſed this reſentment was the conſequence of their converſation the night before, replied calmly, ‘You are angry, my lord—This is no time to talk.’

He was going out of the room, but the mar⯑quis, haſtily ſtepping between him and the door, ſhut it with great violence.

"If it is not your time to talk, ſir, it is mine," ſaid he.

"Very well, my lord," replied Mr. Court⯑ney, with a compoſed look and accent, ‘I am ready to hear you.’

The young nobleman continued to walk in a fullen ſilence, as if reſolved to be angry, and [250] knew not well what cauſe to aſſign for it; when ſuddenly ſtopping,

‘I inſiſt upon your telling me, ſir (ſaid he) why you have ſecreted your ſiſter? Do you ſuſpect I have diſhonourable deſigns upon her?’

"Diſhonourable deſigns upon my ſiſter" repeated Mr. Courteney, kindling at the ex⯑preſſion: ‘my lord, no man, while I have life, ſhall incur ſuch a ſuſpicion with impu⯑nity.’

"This ſpirit becomes one of your birth," replied the marquis; ‘but let me tell you, Mr. Courteney, your conduct is not altogether conſiſtent; why muſt your ſiſter be hurried, no body knows whither, and concealed with ſuch wonderful caution?’

"Are you ſure this is the caſe, my lord?" ſaid Mr. Courteney.

"Yes, very ſure," anſwered the marquis, haſtily.

‘Since it was not I who gave your lordſhip this information,’ reſumed Mr. Courteney, ‘you muſt have taken ſome trouble to come to the knowledge of it; and the motive that ſet you upon theſe enquiries ſufficiently juſtifies my caution with regard to my ſiſter.’

[251] ‘Then I am not worthy, it ſeems, to pay my addreſſes ſo your ſiſter,’ ſaid the marquis, peeviſhly.

‘Indeed, my lord, this is a very childiſh ſpeech,’ replied Mr. Courteney; ‘you know your addreſſes would do honour to any wo⯑man: but the depreſſed ſtate of my ſiſter's fortune leaves her no right to expect a man of your quality for a husband; and ſhe has too juſt a pride to ſubmit to make a clandeſtine marriage; nor will I be branded with the im⯑putation of having ſeduced my pupil into a marriage with my ſiſter.’

"What have you to do with the affair at all?" replied the marquis, eagerly: ‘leave miſs Cour⯑teney to act as ſhe thinks proper; you need not make yourſelf anſwerable for my conduct on this occaſion, I loved her before I knew her to be your ſiſter; cannot your romantic honour ſatisfy itſelf with being paſſive in this buſineſs?’

‘I ſhould but ill perform my engagements to your father, my lord,’ interrupted Mr. Courteney, ‘if I did not uſe my utmoſt endea⯑vours to prevent you from diſpleaſing him in a matter of ſo great importance as your mar⯑riage.’

[252] ‘How are you ſure my father will be diſ⯑pleaſed?’ ſaid the marquis: ‘miſs Courte⯑ney's merit will juſtify my choice.’

"Put it upon that iſſue," replied Mr. Cour⯑teney; "aſk his conſent."

"Well, ſir, I will aſk his conſent," reſumed the marquis; ‘and now am I at liberty to viſit your ſiſter?’

‘If you intend, my lord, to be governed by the duke's advice (ſaid Mr. Courteney) you will certainly be contented to wait his anſwer; and you cannot ſuppoſe, that knowing your ſentiments ſo well as I do, I will permit my ſiſter to receive your viſits while we are igno⯑rant of the duke's intentions.’

The marquis loſt all patience at this unrea⯑ſonable obſtinacy, as he conceived it. ‘I re⯑nounce your friendſhip from this moment (ſaid he) for ever; and, had you not a ſiſter, I would reſent this behaviour in ano⯑ther manner.’

He flung out of the room when he had ſaid this; and, ſhutting himſelf up in his ſtudy, gave his valet orders to allow no body to diſturb him.

Mr. Courteney was not ſo much offended at the harſhneſs of his language, as to hinder him from feeling great concern for the uneaſy ſtate [253] of his mind; and, notwithſtanding his own temper was vehement enough, yet he was able to make ſome allowances for the tranſports of a young man, who ſaw himſelf ſo reſolutely op⯑poſed in a point he had ſet his heart upon: but deſpairing to pacify his pupil without entering into his deſign, he determined to place his ſiſter effectually out of his reach, and then, if he could not prevail upon him to return to England, no⯑thing remained but to make the duke his father acquainted with the whole affair.

He waited ſome time in expectation that the marquis would come down to breakfaſt as uſual; but, finding that he had ordered his chocolate to be brought to him in his ſtudy, he went to viſit his ſiſter, as he had promiſed.

The marquis heard him, as he paſſed by his door, call for his hat and ſword; and, his valet entering a moment afterwards with the chocolate, he aſked him, if Mr. Freeman was gone out? Being anſwered that he was, it ſuddenly came into his head, that he was going to ſee his ſiſter.

‘Follow him inſtantly (ſaid he to the fellow) and bring me word to what place he goes, and here is ſomething to purchaſe your ſecrecy and diligence.’

[254]The fight of two Louis d' ors, which the mar⯑quis gave him, left the valet no inclination to be diſcreet any longer. He ran out of the room with officious haſte, fully determined to execute his commiſſion with the utmoſt exactneſs. When he got into the ſtreet, he perceived Mr. Cour⯑teney walking leiſurely on: he followed him at a diſtance, took particular notice of the houſe he entered; and, after waiting a few moments to ſee whether he came out again, he went back to the marquis with his intelligence.

The young lover did not doubt but he had diſcovered his miſtreſs's abode; and in the joy this thought gave him, he beſtowed many praiſes on his valet's ingenuity, together with a reward of two Louis d' ors more, which he liked ſtill better. He then ordered him to give directions for his chariot to be got ready, while he aſſiſted him to dreſs. His looks diſcovered ſuch an ex⯑ceſs of ſatisfaction, that the valet, under no ap⯑prehenſions that what he had done would produce any diſagreeable conſequences, entered with vaſt delight upon his new poſt of confidant to his maſter. The marquis ordered him to ſtay at home till Mr. Freeman came in, and then imme⯑diately to come to him at the Hotel de —.

CHAP. VIII.

WHILE Henrietta thus innocently ſowed the ſeeds of diſcord between the two friends, ſhe herſelf enjoyed a perfect compo⯑ſure of mind, and indulged the moſt pleaſing reflections on the happy change of her for⯑tune.

She was no longer in the humiliating condi⯑tion of a ſervant; or, what to her was far more mortifying, a dependant upon the bounty of an⯑other; an unknown wanderer, without friends or protectors. She was now under the care of a brother, whom ſhe tenderly loved, whoſe merit could not fail of diſtinguiſhing him, and of forcing that reſpect and conſideration due to a noble birth, and which he, though in a depreſt fortune, ſo nobly ſupported.

She was aſſured that her guardian was not only free from any unfavourable prejudices on account of her aunt's deſertion of her, but that ſhe might expect all the tender offices of a parent from him; and, what afforded the nice ſenſibility of her ſoul a more delicate ſatisfaction than all this, [256] the only man in the world whom ſhe was capa⯑ble of regarding, with a preference to the reſt of his ſex; though, in ſo elevated a rank, had loved her in indigence and obſcurity with honour, and juſtified the tender ſentiments ſhe entertained for him.

Her ſmiles, when ſhe ſaw her brother appear, and the gaiety of her behaviour, convinced him, her mind was at eaſe; but his features ſtill re⯑tained that impreſſion of chagrin he had ſo lately felt from the marquis's cauſeleſs rage; and there was a ſolemnity in his manner, that, in an in⯑ſtant, changed the innocent chearfulneſs of Hen⯑rietta into anxiety and concern.

The preſence of Mrs. Knight was a reſtraint upon them both. She perceived it; and as ſoon as the tea-table was removed (for the ladies were at breakfaſt when Mr. Courteney came in) ſhe retired and left them at liberty.

The moment ſhe was gone, Henrietta eagerly aſked him, if any thing had happened to give him uneaſineſs ſince ſhe ſaw him?

‘Yes (replied he abruptly) the marquis and I have quarrelled.’

"Quarrelled!" repeated Henrietta, trem⯑bling and pale as death, ‘have you qua⯑relled?’

[257]Mr. Courteney, who obſerved her emotion, continued to look at her ſo earneſtly that ſhe bluſhed and caſt down her eyes. ‘You ſeem greatly affected with this accident (ſaid he at laſt) I wiſh I had not mentioned it to you.’

"Could you ſuppoſe," ſaid Henrietta, in an accent which had at leaſt as much of grief as tenderneſs in it, ‘that I could hear with indif⯑ference what muſt neceſſarily be very afflicting to you?’

‘Your indifference perhaps, on this occa⯑ſion (ſaid Mr. Courteney) would be more welcome to me than the concern I ſee you under.’

Henrietta having pondered a little on the meaning of theſe words, replied in a firmer tone, ‘place ſome confidence in me, brother, you will find I ſhall deſerve it.’

"My dear Henrietta," reſumed Mr. Cour⯑teney, affected with the manner in which ſhe ſpoke, and her expreſſive look, ‘you ought to forgive my doubts, when you reflect on what miſs Belmour told me; the merit of my noble pupil has made an impreſſion on your heart; but your marriage with him, ſiſter, will bring everlaſting infamy upon me.’

‘Have I not already declared my reſolution to you upon this head?’ replied Henrietta.

[258]"The marquis loves you," reſumed Mr. Cour⯑teney: ‘he is raſh and inconſiderate; he has no hope (and indeed it would be ſtrange if he had) that the duke his father will conſent to ſuch an unequal match; yet he preſſes me to introduce him to you as a lover, and to favour his deſigns of marrying you privately. You may eaſily imagine what anſwer I gave him; the conſequence is, that he has de⯑clared himſelf my enemy. We are upon very bad terms. But this is not my greateſt con⯑cern: the marquis, if he can get acceſs to you, will teaze you with ſolicitations; and, diſpoſed as you are in his favour, have I not cauſe to apprehend you will liſten to him but too readily?’

"Although I ſhould confirm your ſuſpicions," ſaid Henrietta, with tears in her eyes, ‘yet I muſt again repeat I am grieved at this differ⯑ence between your pupil and you. Nay I will own,’ purſued ſhe, avoiding with a ſweet baſhfulneſs the earneſt looks of her brother, ‘that I am not inſenſible of this young noble⯑man's affection for me; but, after this candid confeſſion, you ought to believe me, when I aſſure you, that I will enter into no engage⯑ment with him without your approbation and to make you eaſy, I will comply with [259] any meaſures you think proper, to avoid his purſuits.’

"I ſee I may rely upon you," ſaid Mr. Cour⯑teney, charmed with her amiable frankneſs; ‘but, my dear Henrietta, I hope you will not allow this prepoſſeſſion to take too deep root in your heart: ſure your good ſenſe, and the delicacy of your ſentiments, will hinder you from giving way to a hopeleſs paſſion.’

"I beg you not to talk to me on this ſubject," interrupted Henrietta, tears, in ſpite of her en⯑deavours to reſtrain them, flowing faſt down her face; ‘only tell me what you would have me do to avoid the marquis: have you formed any plan? Doubt not of my readineſs to com⯑ply with it.’

‘Have you any objections to boarding in a convent till Mr. Bale comes?’ ſaid Mr. Cour⯑teney.

‘No (replied Henrietta, half ſmiling) for I cannot ſuſpect you have a deſign upon my re⯑ligion, as my aunt had, and mean to confine me all my life.’

"No, really," reſumed Mr. Courteney, ſmiling likewiſe; ‘but it will be more difficult for the marquis to get acceſs to you in a con⯑vent than here; and as it is probable enough that this affair will make ſome noiſe, it will [260] be more for your reputation to have it known that you lived in ſuch a reſpectable ſociety, where there were ſo many witneſſes of your conduct, and ſuch exact regularity required, than in private lodgings, where you were ac⯑countable to no body for your actions.’

‘Then you intend to leave me before Mr. Bale comes?’ ſaid Henrietta, ſighing.

‘To be ſure (replied Mr. Courteney) I will force the marquis away if poſſible; and if I find all my remonſtrances ineffectual, the duke muſt interpoſe his authority.’

"You intend to write to him then?" ſaid Henrietta.

‘Certainly (replied he) don't you think I ought to do ſo, ſiſter?’

"Indeed I do," anſwered ſhe.

‘I am glad of it (reſumed Mr. Courteney) yet this procedure will embroil me more with the marquis; but I ſee no help for it, unleſs Mr. Bale ſhould happen to come ſooner than we expect, and take you with him to England I hope to prevail upon my pupil to have Paris in two or three days; and if I have not the ſa⯑tisfaction to leave you under Mr. Bale's care, convent is the fitteſt place for you to retire to.’

Henrietta, having reflected on her brother's propoſal, found it ſo reaſonable, and ſo much t [...] [261] the advantage of her reputation, that ſhe rea⯑dily yielded to put it in immediate execution.

Mrs. Knight being deſired to return, Mr. Courteney told her their deſign, and requeſted her aſſiſtance. She expreſſed ſome concern at being ſo ſoon to loſe her agreeable gueſt, but undertook to tranſact: the affair; and it was re⯑ſolved that ſhe ſhould go that day, and procure the young lady to be admitted as a penſioner in the Auguſtine nunnery of Engliſh ladies in Paris.

Mr. Courteney, having promiſed his ſiſter to come and conduct her to the convent the next day, took leave of her, highly ſatisfied with her docility, and returned home. He was ſurpriſed to hear that the marquis was gone abroad; but having no ſuſpicion of his intention to viſit Hen⯑rietta, whoſe abode he concluded was ſtill a ſe⯑cret to him, he was only concerned left his health ſhould ſuffer, by venturing out before it was fully re-eſtabliſhed.

The marquis's valet no ſooner ſaw Mr. Cour⯑teney return, than he ran immediately to ac⯑quaint his maſter, who ſet forwards, with a beating heart, to viſit his miſtreſs. The valet had given ſo exact a direction, that the coach-man had no difficulty to find the houſe. The marquis alighted the moment the door was opened, and asking the ſervant for miſs Courte⯑ney, [262] was inſtantly introduced into a parlour, where Henrietta was ſitting alone, Mrs. Knight having juſt left her to go and execute her com⯑miſſion.

The ſight of the marquis threw her into the utmoſt confuſion. She roſe, however, and re⯑ceived him with great reſpect: he approached her bowing, and made her a genteel compli⯑ment upon her happy meeting with her bro⯑ther.

Henrietta would not ſuffer this ſubject to be dwelt upon long, left it ſhould lead to circum⯑ſtances too intereſting. She changed the con⯑verſation to indifferent matters, and took care that it ſhould not flag a moment; ſo that the marquis, partly embarraſſed by that awe which always accompanies a ſincere paſſion, and partly by the prudent management of Henrietta, found he had protracted his viſit to a conſiderable length, without drawing any advantage from it.

Alarmed at the thoughts of loſing an opportu⯑nity, which the rigid and inflexible temper of his governor might prevent him from meeting with again, he ſuddenly aſſumed courage [...] make her a declaration of his paſſion, but [...] terms the moſt tender and reſpectful, and wi [...] an explicitneſs that became one of his rank a [...] [263] fortune, to uſe towards a young lady in her deli⯑cate circumſtances, whom he would not for a moment leave in doubt of the ſincerity of his profeſſions, and his firm reſolution to adhere to them.

Henrietta liſtened to him with a graceful mo⯑deſty; and when he earneſtly preſſed for her an⯑ſwer, ſhe aſſured him, that ſhe was very ſen⯑ſible of the honour he did her, and ſhould always think herſelf obliged to him for having enter⯑tained ſuch favourable ſentiments of her, as could make him overlook the inequality there was be⯑tween them. As for the reſt, ſhe referred him to her brother, who, ſhe ſaid, was in the place of a father to her, and by whoſe advice and di⯑rection ſhe was determined to be governed en⯑tirely.

The marquis would have had no reaſon to be diſſatisfied with this anſwer, if he had not known that he had nothing to expect from an applica⯑tion to her brother, and the apprehenſion that ſhe alſo knew it, and therefore took this me⯑thod to free herſelf from his importunities, gave him ſo much concern, that he turned pale, and ſighing, fixed his eyes upon the ground. His air, his attitude, his looks, were all ſo mov⯑ing, ſo expreſſive of tenderneſs, anxiety, and grief, that Henrietta durſt not truſt herſelf to [264] behold him, leſt he ſhould turn his eyes towards her, and diſcover in her's the too great intereſt ſhe took in his uneaſineſs.

Some moments paſſed in an affecting ſilence on both ſides, during which the marquis re⯑mained immoveably fixed in the ſame penſive poſture, till rouzed by the opening of the door, and the appearance of Mr. Courteney. Hen⯑rietta's face was in an inſtant covered with bluſhes: the marquis ſeemed greatly embar⯑raſſed. Mr. Courteney ſhewed ſome ſurpriſe at firſt; but, recovering himſelf, he ſpoke to his pupil with an eaſy air, and relieved both him and his ſiſter from their confuſion, by enter⯑ing immediately into an indifferent converſa⯑tion.

The marquis drew a favourable omen from this behaviour: his looks reſumed their uſual ſweetneſs and vivacity; and, during a who [...] hour that they continued together, nothing cou [...] be more ſpirited and lively than the diſcou [...] between three perſons, who had the moſt per⯑fect tenderneſs for one another, yet, from the ſeveral circumſtances, were obliged mutually oppoſe and give pain.

The marquis at length, with apparent relu [...] ⯑tance, put an end to his viſit, as did Mr. Cour⯑teney likewiſe, though he was [...] d [...]s [...] [265] talking to his ſiſter in private. When they were in the chariot together, the young lord was ſe⯑veral times upon the point of preſſing his go⯑vernor again upon the ſubject of his love, as he ſeemed to be leſs inclined than formerly to op⯑poſe him; but he was reſtrained from entering into any explanation, by his apprehenſion of de⯑ſtroying thoſe hopes he had ſo lately began to en⯑tertain, and of rendering his acceſs to Hen⯑rietta more difficult for the future: Mr. Cour⯑teney alſo had his reaſons for preventing any ſuch explanation, and induſtriouſly amuſed him with other diſcourſe.

The marquis could not help thinking it ſtrange that he took no notice of the viſit he had made his ſiſter: but as love is ever ready to flatter its own wiſhes, he began to imagine that Mr. Courteney had relaxed in the ſeverity of his re⯑ſolutions, but knew not yet how to yield with a good grace; he favoured his embarraſſment therefore for the preſent, and they paſſed the re⯑maining part of the day in their uſual company and diverſions.

When they came home at night, the marquis deſired to have an hour's converſation with him; but Mr. Courteney, complaining of a ſudden head-ach, excuſed himſelf, and retired to his own chamber.

[266]The next morning, before his pupil was up, he repaired to Mrs. Knight's. She told him, that every thing was agreed on for the reception of the young lady; and he had the ſatisfaction to find his ſiſter making preparations for her re⯑moval, without any appearance of diſcontent. She acquainted him with what had paſſed in the converſation between the marquis and her.

"I have no doubt of his affection for you," ſaid Mr. Courteney; ‘we muſt leave the event of it to Providence, and act ſo as that what⯑ever happens, we may not incur cenſure.’

As ſoon as breakfaſt was over, Henrietta, ac⯑companied by Mrs. Knight and her brother, went in a coach to the convent, where ſhe was very civilly received by the prioreſs. Mr. Courteney promiſed to viſit her ſoon, and took leave of her, to wait upon Mrs. Knight home; after which he returned to the marquis, who had enquired for him ſeveral times.

CHAP. IX.

THE marquis, when he ſaw him enter his chamber, approached him with an obliging air, and affectionately preſſing his hand,

‘May I hope, my dear Courteney (ſaid he) that you have overcome your fantaſtic ſcruples, and that you will favour my pretenſions to your charming ſiſter. I will make you no apology for ſtealing a viſit to her; you would, I am ſure, have done the ſame in my ſituation. In⯑deed, Charles, you muſt either reſolve to give me miſs Courteney, or to ſee me miſerable. She referred me to you; my happineſs de⯑pends upon a ſingle word of your's: can you be ſo cruel to refuſe me this inſtance of your friendſhip?’

"You know, my lord," replied Mr. Cour⯑teney, ‘that there is not any thing you can deſire of me, conſiſtent with my honour, which I would refuſe; but, unleſs I would make my⯑ſelf infamous, I cannot yield to your marry⯑ing my ſiſter without the duke's conſent. [268] Hear what I have to propoſe,’ continued he, perceiving him to be in a violent emotion; ‘let us return to England immediately. You have often told me, that the duke is a moſt tender father; you are an only child: it is poſſible he may be prevailed upon to yield to your de⯑ſires, if you tell him you cannot be happy without my ſiſter. Let us make the trial at leaſt.’

"I agree to it," interrupted the marquis, eagerly, ‘provided you will promiſe me, that if my father is ſo unreaſonable as to refuſe his conſent, you will no longer oppoſe my mar⯑riage. I am of age; it is fit, that in a matter of ſuch importance to the future happineſs of my whole life, I ſhould be at liberty to follow my inclinations. Speak, Charles, will you make me this promiſe?’

"Indeed, I will not, my lord," replied Mr. Courteney, "you muſt not expect it."

"Deteſted obſtinacy!" cried the marquis, flinging his hand away, which he had held till this moment, ‘what a wretch am I to have my happineſs depend upon the will of a capricious man, who mikakes his romantic whims for honour! But obſerve what I ſay, Courteney,’ added he, turning haſtily towards him, ‘you ſhall not hinder me from viſiting your ſiſter, [269] nothing but her abſolute commands ſhall pre⯑vent my ſeeing her.’

‘My ſiſter (ſaid Mr. Courteney) will ſtay no longer in France, than till Mr. Bale (to whoſe care her mother left her at her death) returns from Montpelier: he is to conduct her to England; and ſhe is gone to board in a convent till his arrival.’

"Gone to a convent!" repeated the marquis; "this is your ſcheme, I ſuppoſe."

"I hoped to prevail upon you," ſaid Mr. Courteney, ‘ſince you are quite recovered, to leave Paris immediately; and I thought a convent the propereſt place for my ſiſter to re⯑ſide in till her guardian comes.’

The marquis inſtantly running over in his thoughts the uſe that might be made of this in⯑telligence, replied, that he had no inclination to leave Paris yet; and broke off all farther converſation by quitting the room.

In effect, he had reſolved to make an applica⯑tion to Mr. Bale, ſuppoſing, that ſince he had not the ſame foundation for ſcruples as his go⯑vernor, he would readily liſten to an offer ſo ad⯑vantageous for his ward.

Mr. Courteney penetrated into his views, and doubtful how Mr. Bale would act, and whether his ſiſter, having the ſanction of his approba⯑tion, [270] might not give way to the motions of he [...] own heart, and encourage the addreſſes of the marquis; he concluded it neceſſary to make the duke acquainted with the whole affair, that [...] might take ſuch meaſures as he judged proper [...] reſtrain his ſon from an action which might in [...] his diſpleaſure.

He wrote accordingly that day, and having thus diſcharged his duty, his mind was more at caſe.

The marquis, full of hope that his new ſcheme would be ſucceſsful, made no effort to ſee Henrietta, for fear of raiſing ſuſpicions in her brother: but the coldneſs and reſerve with which he treated him, ſufficiently ſhewed how much he reſented his conduct.

Henrietta was ſoon reconciled to a retire⯑ment, in which ſhe had full liberty to indulge her reflections; for ſhe was in love enough to find more ſatisfaction in being alone, than in the gayeſt and moſt agreeable ſociety. Her bro⯑ther did not fail to viſit her every day: he found her ſatisfied with her ſituation; and, in appear⯑ance, no otherwiſe affected with his approach⯑ing departure, which he gave her room to expect, than what her tenderneſs for him might well allow of.

[271]In the mean time the duke of—, hav⯑ing received Mr. Courteney's letter, was greatly pleaſed with the nobleneſs and generoſity of his behaviour. He wrote to him immediately, in terms of the higheſt friendſhip and regard; and, acquainting him with the purport of his letter to his ſon, recommended it to him to haſten his de⯑parture, aſſuring him, he had the firmeſt reliance upon his integrity and honour.

The packet, to avoid ſuſpicion, had been di⯑rected as uſual to the marquis, who was not ſurpriſed to find a letter in it for Mr. Cour⯑teney, to whom his father was accuſtomed to write often: he ſent it to him immediately; and, after reading his own, he went to Mr. Courteney's chamber, holding it ſtill in his hand.

‘My father writes to me (ſaid he) to leave Paris as ſoon as poſſible. He does not ex⯑preſly ſay that he is ill; but, from ſome hints in his letter, I can collect that this is the cauſe of his extreme earneſtneſs to ſee me. You cannot imagine how much I am affected with this accident (purſued he, ſighing). I love my father: I did not know how much I loved him, till I feared his loſs. I am determined to ſet out to-morrow from Paris; but I muſt ſee your ſiſter firſt, Courteney, nor ought you [272] to refuſe me the ſatisfaction of telling her, that I depart with a firm reſolution never to be but her's.’

"Well, my lord," replied Mr. Courteney, after a little pauſe, ‘we will go together, and take leave of my ſiſter.’

‘I was to blame (ſaid the marquis) to expect any indulgence from you: we will go toge⯑ther then, ſince it muſt be ſo.’ He retired again to his own apartment to write to his fa⯑ther; and in the mean time Mr. Courteney gave the neceſſary orders for their journey the next morning.

Henrietta had been prepared by a billet from her brother, for the viſit that was intended her. The news of their departure had coſt her ſome tears; but when ſhe was informed they waited for her in the parlour of the convent, ſhe ap⯑peared before them with all that ſoft compoſure and dignity of manners, which never forſook her in the moſt trying ſituations.

Mr. Courteney watched the turn of his countenance when the marquis accoſted her, and was pleaſed to ſee it equally free from embarraſſment and affectation; and that, not⯑withſtanding all the expreſſive language of her lover's eyes, ſhe had ſo much command over [273] herſelf, as to ſeem the leaſt intereſted perſon in company.

Politeneſs obliged the marquis to ſhorten his viſit, that the brother and ſiſter might be at li⯑berty to take a private leave of each other. He roſe from his ſeat, and approached Henrietta, with an air that left her no room to doubt of his intention to ſay ſomething particular to her; and now, for the firſt time, her looks betrayed ſome little confuſion.

‘I cannot go away, madam (ſaid he) with⯑out renewing the declaration I made you ſome days ago; and I take this opportunity to aſſure you, before your brother, who knows the ſincerity of my heart, that my ſentiments for you will ever be the ſame: and, if you do not forbid it, I will carry away with me the dear hope of being able one day to merit your eſteem.’

Henrietta courtefied in ſilence; but her bluſhes, and the ſoft confuſion ſhe was in, ſeemed no un⯑favourable omen for the marquis: he bowed re⯑ſpectfully, and retired.

Mr. Courteney, affecting not to perceive his ſiſter's concern, entered immediately after his pupil's departure into other diſcourſe. He re⯑commended it to her to improve her guardian's eſteem for her, and aſſured her he would viſit [274] lady Meadows, and uſe his utmoſt endeavours to remove her prejudices, and reſtore her to the place ſhe formerly held in her affection: at her deſire likewiſe he promiſed to call upon Mrs. Willis, to whom ſhe had been ſo greatly obliged. He charged her to keep up no ſort of intimacy with miſs Belmour, though ſhe ſhould ſeek it, but permitted her, in company with Mr. Bale, to pay her a farewel viſit; and, indeed, the conduct of that young lady, ſince the arrival of Mr. Campley, juſtified theſe pre⯑cautions.

Henrietta promiſed to follow all his directions. He ſaid a thouſand affectionate things to her; and then, deſiring to ſee the prioreſs, he ten⯑derly recommended his ſiſter to her care, took a ſhort leave, and went home; while Henrietta retired to her chamber to weep.

The marquis was not viſible till the next morning, when he was informed that the poſt-chaiſe was at the door. His extreme melan⯑choly during the whole journey, gave his go⯑vernor great concern: but he in vain attempted to amuſe him; for though the marquis behaved to him with all imaginable reſpect, yet he was ſo cold and reſerved, that he found it impoſſible to renew his former freedom with him.

[275]The duke of — had informed them, that he ſhould be at his country-ſeat; and, imme⯑diately upon their landing in England, they re⯑paired thither: the duke received his ſon with the moſt tender tranſports, and his governor with every mark of eſteem and regard.

The morning after their arrival, he ſent for Mr. Courteney into his cloſet, and thanked him in very affectionate terms for having ſo faith⯑fully and honourably diſcharged his truſt. He politely avoided mentioning the affair of the young lord's paſſion for his ſiſter, becauſe ſhe was his ſiſter; but ſaid enough to convince him, that he had the moſt grateful ſenſe of his diſin⯑tereſted conduct upon that occaſion. He ſettled on him, during his life, the ſum he had allowed him while he travelled with the marquis; and offered him, in the moſt cordial manner, all his intereſt towards procuring him an eſtabliſhment ſuitable to his birth.

Mr. Courteney received theſe inſtances of the duke's friendſhip for him with reſpect and gratitude; but he was more touched with the old nobleman's delicacy with regard to his ſiſter, than with all the favours conferred on himſelf.

The intereſt of this ſiſter, whom he loved with the moſt tender affection, made him haſ⯑ten [276] his departure from the duke's ſeat, that he might wait on his aunt, who he had heard was in London. The duke embraced him tenderly at parting, and obliged him to promiſe that he would return as ſoon as poſſible. The marquis loſt all his reſerve and coldneſs, when he took leave of his governor, his friend, and, what was more than all, the brother of his adored Henrietta.

"You have uſed me unkindly," ſaid he, in a low voice; yet preſſing him tenderly to his breaſt, "but I ſhall always love you."

Mr. Courteney let fall ſome tears, but made no anſwer; and immediately after mounting his horſe, he ſet out for London, attended by his own ſervant, and one of the duke's, whom his grace had ordered to eſcort him.

CHAP. X.

MR. Courteney, when he came within a ſhort diſtance of London, diſmiſſed the duke's ſervant, with compliments to his grace and the marquis, and proceeded [...] his journey. It came into his head to alight [...] the houſe of Mrs. Willis, from whom it was poſſible he might receive ſome intelligence that would be of uſe to him. The good woman received him with great civility; but, when he told her his name, ſhe was in tranſports, and enquired for her be⯑loved miſs Courteney with the tender anxiety of a mother.

Mr. Courteney told her, that his ſiſter would ſoon be in London with her guardian. He took occaſion to thank her for her friendly care of her, which Henrietta had mentioned with the utmoſt gratitude; and aſſured her, he ſhould always con⯑ſider himſelf as highly obliged to her.

‘How largely do I ſhare in my dear miſs Courteney's joy (ſaid ſhe) for ſo happy a meeting with her beloved brother! Heaven will, I doubt not, ſhower its bleſſings on her; [278] for ſure if ever mortal deſerved them ſhe does, O! ſir, your ſiſter is an angelic creature—’

Mrs. Willis, indulging the tender effuſions of her heart, continued to expatiate on Henrietta's virtues, till Mr. Courteney, though not diſ⯑pleaſed to hear her, interrupted her, to aſk ſome queſtions concerning his aunt.

‘I was going to write to miſs Courteney to⯑day, ſir (replied ſhe) for I have great news to acquaint her with: that vile prieſt, who was the cauſe of all her uneaſineſs, has at length ſhewn himſelf in his true colours. The ſanc⯑tified hypocrite was detected in an amour with lady Meadows's woman: this affair has opened her eyes; ſhe thinks her niece has been greatly injured by the miſrepreſentations of this wretch, whom ſhe has diſcarded with infamy; and the firſt proof ſhe has given of her favourable diſ⯑poſition towards miſs Courteney, was her taking again her former woman, whom ſhe had diſmiſſed on account of her attachment to the young lady. I had this intelligence [...] Mrs. White herſelf; for ſo your aunt wo⯑man, ſir, is called. She ſays ſhe does not doubt but her lady will write to miſs Courte⯑ney in the moſt tender manner, and invite her home again.’

[279]This news gave Mr. Courteney great ſatisfac⯑tion: he reſolved not to delay a moment viſiting his aunt; his portmantua had been carried into a chamber, by Mrs. Willis's directions, and thi⯑ther he retired to dreſs. As ſoon as he was ready, he got into a hackney-coach, and fraught with a thouſand kind wiſhes from this faithful friend of his ſiſter, he proceeded to the houſe of lady Meadows.

He was ſo lucky as to find her at home, and ſent in his name without any heſitation. The old lady, in a violent flutter of ſpirits, advanced as far as the door of her apartment to meet her nephew. His graceful form and polite addreſs prejudiced her inſtantly in his favour; and ſhe re⯑ceived him with all the tenderneſs he could have wiſhed, and with much more than he expected.

Her firſt enquiries were for Henrietta. Mr. Courteney was pleaſed with this ſolicitude; but he obſerved that, during the courſe of their con⯑verſation, her attention with regard to his ſiſter, decreaſed conſiderably. He praiſed her with all the modeſty, yet with all the affection of a bro⯑ther.

Lady Meadows, who had heard a very advan⯑tageous account of her niece from the counteſs, her good friend, aſſured him that ſhe knew his ſiſter's merit, and had reſtored her to that ten⯑derneſs [280] and eſteem, which ſome little errors of her's, and ſome unjuſt ſuſpicions of her own, which had been artfully infuſed into her, had robbed her of. She expreſſed great ſatisfaction at hearing of her guardian's kindneſs: but her words, "I hope he will do ſomething for her." gave Mr. Courteney great concern; who, from the firſt moment that he had heard Henrietta was likely to recover her favour, had formed a ſcheme to make her and the marquis happy.

Lady Meadows perceived that he was af⯑fected with that expreſſion: ſhe therefore added that his ſiſter might depend upon a welcome re⯑ception from her, whenever ſhe returned to England.

Though there was nothing to object to the words of this declaration, yet there was a great deal to the manner of it. In the coldneſs with which ſhe made it, he ſaw the diſappointment of his hopes. In reality, lady Meadows had begun to entertain a prodigious fondneſs for her nephew; and Henrietta had now but the ſecond place in her affection. The longer ſhe con⯑verſed with him, the more this fondneſs in⯑creaſed. Women are ever readier to diſcover merit in the other ſex than their own. Hen⯑rietta had as many amiable qualities as her bro⯑ther; but lady Meadows was not ſo ſenſible of [281] them: and Mr, Courteney made as great a progreſs in her affections in three hours, as his ſiſter had done in as many months.

When he roſe up to take his leave, ſhe de⯑clared, with ſome vehemence, that he muſt have no other home than her houſe. ‘You have an aunt (added ſhe, ſmiling) tho' you have no uncle, nor any other relations.’ Mr. Courteney reddened with indignation at the mention of his unworthy uncle; but, recovering himſelf, he made her ſuitable acknowledgments for her kindneſs, and, at her deſire, imme⯑diately diſpatched a meſſenger to Mrs. Willis, to acquaint her that he ſhould not return, and at the ſame time ſent orders to his ſervant to bring his portmantua.

Lady Meadows having given directions for an apartment to be prepared for Mr. Courteney, they paſſed the evening together with great ſa⯑tisfaction, particularly on the part of the old lady, who thought herſelf extremely happy in having ſo accompliſhed a youth for her nephew. All her thoughts ran upon the pleaſure ſhe ſhould have in ſhewing him to her friends and acquaint⯑ance, and of piquing his unnatural uncle, by openly profeſſing her regard for him.

More than a week after his arrival was ſpent in a continual ſucceſſion of viſits, to all which [282] he attended her; and ſo abſolutely had he won her heart in that time, that ſhe determined on nothing leſs than the making him her ſole heir. Mr. Courteney, who was deſirous of improving the favour he was in to his ſiſter's advantage, took all opportunities to revive his aunt's affec⯑tion for her; ſo that to pleaſe him, ſhe ex⯑preſſed an impatience to ſee her. He received letters from her, and from the duke of —, the ſame day. Henrietta informed him, that ſhe had heard from Mr. Bale, and that ſhe ex⯑pected him in Paris in a few days: that the af⯑fairs he had to ſettle there, would detain him but a ſhort time; after which they were to ſet out immediately for England. She added, that the marquis had wrote to her, and gave him a brief recapitulation of his letter, which ſeemed to be dictated by the moſt ardent affection, and the ſtricteſt principles of honour.

The duke's letter contained only an earneſt requeſt to ſee him as ſoon as poſſible. Lady Meadows was very unwilling to part with him, though he aſſured her, he would return in two or three days. He ſpent part of the night in anſwering his ſiſter's letter, and ſet out the next morning in a poſt-chaiſe for the duke' [...] ſeat: he reached it in the evening at ſupport time.

[283]He found only the duke and his ſon at table; in the countenance of the latter, he obſerved a profound melancholy, which ſen⯑ſibly affected him. The duke received him with great kindneſs. The marquis ſpoke little, but ſeemed pleaſed to ſee him. The next morn⯑ing the duke ſent for Mr. Courteney into his cloſet.

"What ſhall I do with my ſon?" ſaid he to him abruptly, as ſoon as he entered, ‘you ſee the way he is in; he will certainly break my heart. I made him a very advantageous propoſal three days ago: he tells me poſi⯑tively his heart is engaged; yet he knows I am very deſirous the match I mentioned to him ſhould take place. This is ſuch an in⯑ſtance of obſtinacy and diſobedience, as I know not how to pardon. Little did I ima⯑gine that his return, which I ſo paſſionately wiſhed for, would be productive of ſo much uneaſineſs to me.’

The duke pauſed here, and looked earneſtly at Mr. Courteney, who, not knowing what it was he expected from him, or to what aim his words were directed, continued ſilent, with his eyes fixed on the ground.

[284]"I ſee you are concerned," reſumed the duke, ‘for the trouble this unlucky affair gives me.’

"Indeed I am, my lord, moſt ſincerely," replied Mr. Courteney.

‘Then I may depend upon your readineſs to aſſiſt me in removing it (ſaid his grace) hear what I have to propoſe—Your ſiſter, allowing for the warmth of an admirer's imagination, appears to me, by my ſon's [...] ⯑count of her, to have a great deal of merit: ſuch a young lady cannot be without pre⯑tenders to her heart. It would give me great pleaſure to contribute to her eſtabliſh⯑ment: if you have a match in view for her, let me know if I can forward it, either by my purſe or my intereſt. I candidly confeſs to you, that meer generoſity is not my mo⯑tive for making you this offer: my ſon's paſſion is ſtrengthened by hope; when your ſiſter is married, I may find it leſs difficult to prevail upon him to yield me the obedi⯑ence I require, and which I have a right to expect.—You do not anſwer me, Mr. Cour⯑teney,’ added his grace, after a little pauſe, ‘is there any thing diſagreeable in this pro⯑poſal?’

[285]"Thus preſſed, my lord," replied Mr. Cour⯑teney, ‘it becomes me to ſpeak with plain⯑neſs and ſincerity— I have no power over my ſiſter's inclinations, and no conſideration whatever ſhould oblige me to hurry her into a marriage, which her own choice did not direct her to. Beſides, I am not without ſuſpicions, that the merit of the marquis has made ſome impreſſion on her heart; and, though ſhe has ſacrificed it to her honour and duty, yet it will for ſome time, no doubt, render her deaf to any offer that could be made her. I am very certain, my lord, that ſhe will never encourage the addreſſes of the marquis without your grace's conſent; but were ſhe capable of acting differently from my hopes and expectations, my honour is concerned to prevent it: and I moſt ſolemnly aſſure your grace, that my ſiſter ſhall never be the wife of the marquis without your ex⯑preſs approbation.’

The duke could not help being pleaſed with the candor and ſpirit of this reply. ‘We muſt leave this affair then as we found it,’ ſaid he: ‘I am ſo well convinced of your in⯑tegrity and honour, that I rely upon you en⯑tirely to prevent any conſequences that may be diſagreeable to me.’

[286]The duke that moment perceiving his ſon croſſing the terrace oppoſite to his window, deſired Mr. Courteney to join him. ‘You have ſtill great influence over the marquis, (ſaid he) try what your perſuaſions can do to make him alter his behaviour; this obſtinacy of his both afflicts and offends me.’

Mr. Courteney bowed, and quitted the duke's cloſet immediately. The marquis, when he ſaw him coming towards him, ſtopped to wait for him.

"You have been cloſeted with my father," ſaid he to him, ſmiling, ‘may I know the ſub⯑ject of your converſation?’

"I dare engage your lordſhip gueſſes," re⯑plied Mr. Courteney, ſmiling likewiſe.

‘I believe I do (ſaid the marquis) the duke has been complaining of me for my diſobe⯑dience, has he not?’

‘His grace tells me he has made you a propoſal, my lord, which you have rejected (anſwered Mr. Courteney) and he is under great concern about it.’

"Well, I am ſorry for his uneaſineſ [...]," in⯑terrupted the marquis: ‘but there [...] help for it.’

[287] ‘Ah, my lord (ſaid Mr. Courteney) have I not cauſe to be very uneaſy alſo? I who know your motive for diſobliging the duke, in a point he ſeems to have ſo much at heart?’

"You are miſtaken," reſumed the marquis, ‘I ſhould act as I do, tho' I had never ſeen miſs Courteney. But tell me, my dear Charles, have you heard from your ſiſter?’

"I have, my lord," replied he.

"She is well, I hope," reſumed the mar⯑quis, ſighing.

"She ſays nothing to the contrary," anſwered Mr. Courteney; ‘but I find your lordſhip has wrote to her.’

"Then ſhe mentions me in her letter?" cried the marquis, eagerly: ‘I did indeed write to her, but ſhe would not favour me with an anſwer. But, dear Charles (conti⯑nued he) have you not miſs Courteney's letter about you? let me ſee that part where I am mentioned. Shew me only my name, written by her dear hand, you know not what plea⯑ſure it will give me to ſee it.’

‘Upon my honour I have not her letter here,’ ſaid Mr. Courteney. ‘Why, why, my lord,’ purſued he, in great concern, ‘will you indulge this fatal paſſion for my ſiſter? [288] you muſt by this time be convinced that it can produce nothing but uneaſineſs to the duke, yourſelf, to me, and even to her.’

"To her!" repeated the marquis. ‘O! Charles, your ſiſter is wrapped up in indiffer⯑ence and reſerve; ſhe has not the leaſt ſenſi⯑bility for what I ſuffer upon her account.’

‘You are too generous, my lord (replied Mr. Courteney) to wiſh my ſiſter ſhould en⯑courage any ſentiments for you but thoſe of reſpect and eſteem. It would be preſump⯑tion in her to hope for the duke's approba⯑tion of your paſſion; and were ſhe too ſen⯑ſible of it, ſhe muſt be unhappy.’

"It is enough for me to be unhappy," re⯑ſumed the marquis, ſighing; ‘unhappy in the avarice of my father, to whom I have laid open my whole heart. The want of a for⯑tune is all the objection he has to miſs Cour⯑teney; for he appeared charmed with her character, and her birth he knows. Unhappy too, in a rigid friend, who ſacrifices me to the fantaſtic notions he has formed of honour. O! Charles, little did I imagine once that you would have contributed all in your power to make me miſerable.’

[289] ‘Indeed, my lord (replied Mr. Courteney) this reflection is cruel: this very moment all my thoughts are employed on the means to make you happy.’

"Now you are again my friend," interrupted the marquis, embracing him eagerly: ‘will you then at laſt give me your charming ſiſter. All that duty can require I have performed: I have implored my father's conſent; he has had the cruelty to refuſe it me; and this on a motive ſo ſordid, that I am juſtifiable in fol⯑lowing my inclinations without ſoliciting him any more.’

"You miſtake my intentions, my lord," in⯑terrupted Mr. Courteney: ‘no, never expect that I will conſent to your marrying my ſiſter without the duke's approbation.’

‘What then did you mean (ſaid the marquis) by the hopes you gave me juſt now?’

‘To prevail, if poſſible, upon the duke to conſent to your marriage,’ replied Mr. Cour⯑teney.

The marquis ſighed, and caſt down his eyes, as if hopeleſs that this expedient would ſucceed: but would not ſay any thing to divert him from his purpoſe: yet he thought it ſtrange that he ſhould undertake a taſk, which, intereſted as he [290] was, ſeemed leſs proper for him than any other perſon.

Mr.Courteney gueſſed his thoughts, but would not explain himſelf any farther. In reality, what the marquis had ſaid of his father's having no other objection to his choice but the want of a fortune, confirmed him in his deſign of uſing the favour he was in with lady Meadows to the advantage of his ſiſter; and he was not without expectations of prevailing upon her, by the proſ⯑pect of ſo honourable a match for her niece, to do as much for her as ſhe had formerly pro⯑miſed, in caſe ſhe had married the old ba⯑ronet.

The marquis, who beheld him earneſtly, perceived ſomething was labouring in his mind, and he began to entertain hopes of ſucceſs, tho' he knew not on what reaſonably to found them. "I cannot," ſaid Mr. Courteney, obſerving the tender ſolicitude with which he gazed on him, ‘communicate to you the ſcheme I have formed to reconcile the duke to your wiſhes, for reaſons which will be obvious enough here⯑after. Only thus much I will ſay to ſatisfy you, that I think it is highly probable I ſhall ſucceed; but there is one condition which you muſt yield to, and which I tell you [291] plainly is the price I ſet upon my endeavours to ſerve you in this affair.’

"Name it," interrupted the marquis, eagerly, ‘it muſt be a ſtrange one indeed if I do not comply with it.’

‘You muſt give me a ſolemn promiſe, my lord (reſumed Mr. Courteney) not to ſeek my ſiſter's conſent to a clandeſtine marriage, if I ſhould fail in my endeavours to procure the duke's approbation, and you muſt make the ſame promiſe to his grace likewiſe.— Nay, my lord,’ purſued he, obſerving that he heſitated, ‘you riſk nothing by entering into this engagement, for I am bound by oath, as well as by honour, to prevent my ſiſter from being your's upon any terms but the duke's expreſs conſent; and, depend upon it, you will never gain her's but on the ſame condition.’

‘Well (replied the marquis) you have my promiſe, and I will make the ſame declara⯑tion to my father: it will be time enough to tell him, if your ſcheme proves unſucceſsful, my fixed reſolution never to marry at all, if I do not marry miſs Courteney.’

Mr. Courteney had already gained ſo impor⯑tant a point, that he did not think it neceſſary to combat this reſolution at that time. They [292] walked together into the houſe; and the mar⯑quis conceiving that it might be of ſome advan⯑tage to Mr. Courteney's ſcheme to take an early opportunity of making the promiſe he required of him, the duke had that ſatisfaction in his next private converſation with his ſon, and was charmed with this new inſtance of Mr. Courte⯑ney's integrity.

The marquis, after having long puzzled him⯑ſelf with conjectures about the deſign Mr. Cour⯑teney had formed, at length concluded that he had ſome expectations from the earl of —, his uncle, in favour of his ſiſter; and he was ſo unfortunately circumſtanced between his father's avarice and Mr. Courteney's ſtrict principles of honour, that he was reduced to wiſh earneſtly for the ſucceſs of an expedient, which he would have diſdained, if he had been maſter of his own actions. Mr. Courteney at parting, which was in a few days, begged him to rely ſecurely upon his friendſhip, and to be mindful of the promiſe he had given him, which the young lord again confirmed.

CHAP. XI.

MR. Courteney found his ſhort abſence had rather endeared him to his aunt, than leſſened the ardor of her fondneſs; encouraged by her behaviour, he was ſeveral times upon the point of laying open to her the whole affair of his pupil's paſſion for Henrietta, and the dif⯑ficulties which obſtructed ſo advantageous a match; difficulties which ſhe could ſo eaſily re⯑move: but he hoped a great deal from the preſence of Henrietta, which it was highly pro⯑bable would revive the old lady's tenderneſs for her, and from the interpoſition of Mr. Bale, who, it was not to be doubted, would enter heartily into the intereſt of his ward, for whom he expreſſed ſo tender an affection.

While he waited in anxious expectation of a letter from his ſiſter, to acquaint him when ſhe was to leave Paris, with her guardian, he was pleaſingly ſurpriſed with a billet from Mr. Bale himſelf, requeſting him to meet miſs Cour⯑teney and him at the houſe of Mrs. Willis, where they were juſt arrived.

[294]Mr. Courteney, without communicating this news to lady Meadows, haſtened to ſee his be⯑loved ſiſter. The moment he entered the room, where ſhe was ſitting with her guardian and Mrs. Willis, ſhe flew to receive him with a tranſport of joy. He embraced her tenderly; and Mr. Bale advancing to ſalute him, he in the politeſt manner, thanked him for his generous care of Henrietta.

Mr. Bale was extremely pleaſed to hear that ſhe might depend upon an affectionate recep⯑tion from her aunt. "And now, my child," ſaid he; for ſo he tenderly affected to call her, ‘ſince I have delivered you ſafe into the hand▪ of your brother, I will leave you, and a day or two hence I will viſit you at your aunt's, and ſettle your affairs in a manner which I hope will not be diſagreeable to you.’

Henrietta, who, from ſome paſt converſa⯑tions with him, well knew the kind purport of theſe words, by a grateful look and a reſpectful courteſy, expreſſed her acknowledgment. Mr. Courteney, ſeeing him prepare to leave them, begged he would favour him with a few mo⯑ments private converſation. Mr. Bale readily conſented; upon which Mrs. Willis ſhewed them into another room, and returned to load [295] her dear miſs Courteney with a thouſand tender careſſes.

Mean time Mr. Courteney gave the friendly guardian of his ſiſter a brief account of the mar⯑quis's paſſion for her, and the conduct he had obſerved in that affair. He added, that he be⯑lieved it would be eaſy to engage the duke's conſent to his ſon's marriage with Henrietta, provided her aunt would act as generouſly to⯑wards her, as ſhe had formerly given her reaſon to expect.

‘From ſeveral hints (ſaid he) which lady Meadows has thrown out, and from the great kindneſs ſhe expreſſes for me, I am ap⯑prehenſive that ſhe intends to transfer her bounty from my ſiſter to me; but as my cir⯑cumſtances, though not affluent, are eaſy, and as I have nothing ſo much at heart as the happineſs of my friend and my ſiſter, I will moſt: chearfully relinquiſh in her favour all my expectations from lady Meadows. The proſ⯑pect of ſo advantageous a match will pro⯑bably have ſome weight with her aunt; and the mention of it will come with propriety from you, ſir, as the guardian of Henrietta. Lady Meadows will then explain herſelf clearly; and we ſhall have an opportunity given us of preſſing her to remove, by her [296] generoſity, the only obſtacle that obſtructs my ſiſter's advancement.’

Mr. Bale was prodigiouſly affected with the uncommon nobleneſs of this proceeding. He took the young gentleman's hand, and, giving it an affectionate ſhake, ‘I ſhall love and ho⯑nour you while I live (ſaid he) for this ge⯑nerous propoſal: doubt not of my ready con⯑currence in every meaſure for your ſiſter's ad⯑vantage. I love her as well as if ſhe was my own daughter; and the inconveniences ſhe has ſuffered through the folly and imprudence of ſome of my family, require that I ſhould make her amends, by doing every thing in my power to make her happy.’

"I will wait upon lady MeadoWs," purſued he, ‘to-morrow in the afternoon, and then we will talk over this affair.’ Mr. Courte⯑ney told him, he would prepare his aunt for the viſit he intended her. After which, Mr, Bale went away, and he joined his ſiſter and her friend. A coach being ordered, they took leave of Mrs. Willis, whom Henrietta promiſed to viſit again very ſpeedily. Mr. Courteney had ſome diſcourſe with his ſiſter as they went, con⯑cerning the marquis; but carefully avoided mentioning his deſign to her, leſt he ſhould [297] raiſe hopes which might be unhappily diſap⯑pointed.

Henrietta was under ſome perturbation at the thoughts of appearing before her aunt, whoſe diſpleaſure, againſt her, and unjuſt ſuſpicions, all recurred to her memory; but the reception the old lady gave her, immediately effaced thoſe impreſſions: it was perfectly kind and affec⯑tionate, without the leaſt mixture of upbraiding or reproach.

"I had a mind to ſurpriſe you, madam," ſaid Mr. Courteney, who with infinite pleaſure beheld his ſiſter ſo tenderly embraced by her aunt. Lady Meadows aſſured him, that he had ſurpriſed her very agreeably; and, again embracing Henrietta, told her, that her good friend, the counteſs of —, had been very laviſh in her praiſe, and had acquainted her with ſeveral circumſtances of her conduct, which had raiſed her highly in her opi⯑nion.

‘I ſuppoſe you will not be very much grieved (added the old lady, ſmiling) to hear that your former lover lord B— is married to the citizen's daughter.’

"No, indeed, madam," replied Henrietta, "they ſeemed to be formed for each other."

[298]"They are not very happy, I hear," ſaid lady Meadows; who, having fallen upon the article of domeſtic news, related a great number of anecdotes concerning her acquaintance, ſome of which Henrietta had often,heard before. The old lady's fondneſs for talking at length gave way to her curioſity to hear every thing that had happened to her niece during their ſepa⯑ration.

Henrietta gratified it with diſcretion, ſuppreſ⯑ſing whatever might tend to revive diſagreeable remembrances. She was now put into poſſeſ⯑ſion of her former apartment, and had an op⯑portunity that night to congratulate her old friend Mrs. White (who aſſiſted her to undreſs) upon her being reinſtated in the favour of her lady.

CHAP. XII.

THE next day Mr. Courteney informed lady Meadows, that Mr. Bale intended to wait on her, and hinted that he had a match to propoſe for Henrietta, which he hoped ſhe would approve.

Lady Meadows, who had already taken her reſolution with regard to both brother and ſiſter, told him, that ſhe was very deſirous of ſeeing her niece ſettled; and that ſhe was determined never to oppoſe her inclinations, being con⯑vinced that her virtue and prudence were to be entirely depended upon.

Mr. Bale came according to his appointment; and, being ſoon after left alone with lady Mea⯑dows, he acquainted her with the whole affair between the marquis of — and Henrietta, as he had received it from Mr. Courteney; and, obſerving that the old lady was dazzled with the proſpect of her niece becoming a dutcheſs, added, that the want of a ſuitable fortune ſhould not [300] hinder the advancement of Henrietta: ‘for whatever you deſign for her, madam (ſaid he) I will double; ſo great is my regard for her, and admiration of her virtues.’

Lady Meadows with reaſon thought this a very generous propoſal. She complimented him upon it; and, ſtepping to her cabinet, took out a box that contained her will, and another deed which had been drawn up, while Mr. Courte⯑ney was in the country with the duke of —, but were not yet executed. She put theſe papers into Mr. Bale's hands, and deſired him to read them, ſaying, ‘you will there ſee, ſir, what I intend to do for my nephew and his ſiſter.’

Mr. Bale opened the firſt, which was the will. He found ſhe had conſtituted Mr. Cour⯑teney her heir, leaving him her whole eſtate, charging it only with the ſum of five thouſand pounds, to be paid his ſiſter on the day of her marriage. The other paper contained a ſettle⯑ment of three hundred pounds a year upon Mr. Courteney during her life.

Mr. Bale, who knew the young gentleman's ſentiments, propoſed to lady Meadows to ſend for him, and acquaint him with her intentions. To this ſhe readily agreed. Mr. Courteney [301] turned pale when he heard the moderate ſum deſigned for his ſiſter; and, after expreſſing his gratitude to lady Meadows for the favour ſhe ſhewed him, in terms the moſt reſpectful and affectionate, he earneſtly conjured her to let Henrietta be at leaſt an equal ſharer with him in her kindneſs. He urged, as a motive to her to comply, the very advantageous match that was propoſed to his ſiſter. He expatiated on the marquis's tender and faithful paſſion for her; and touched with great delicacy upon the ſen⯑timents Henrietta could not avoid entertaining for a young nobleman, who had loved her with honour, even when ignorant of her birth, and when ſhe was under very humiliating circum⯑ſtances.

Lady Meadows interrupted him with the moſt flattering praiſes of his diſintereſtedneſs; but declared that her reſolution was unalterable. "Your ſiſter will have ten thouſand pounds," ſaid ſhe; ‘this is no deſpicable fortune: and ſince there is ſo much love on the ſide of the marquis, there is no doubt but it will be thought ſufficient.’

Mr. Bale explained the old lady's meaning, by telling him what he propoſed to do for miſs Courteney, and preventing the young gentle⯑man's [302] acknowledgments: ‘You have ſufficiently ſhewn your regard for your ſiſter (ſaid he) and I am of opinion we ought not to preſs lady Meadows any more on this ſubject; ſhe has acted nobly by you both.’

The lady was extremely flattered by the praiſe Mr. Bale gave her; and, to prevent any more ſolicitations from her nephew, ſhe ſigned the papers immediately, which Mr. Bale, at her requeſt, witneſſed.

Mr. Courteney ſaid every thing that grati⯑tude and politeneſs could ſuggeſt, upon her pre⯑ſenting him the ſettlement; yet there was an air of concern upon his countenance, which Mr. Bale obſerving, took an opportunity to deſire him, in a whiſper, to meet him at a coffee-houſe (which he named to him) that evening, having ſomething to ſay to him, which he hoped would make all things eaſy.

Mr. Courteney promiſed to attend him. He then begged lady Meadows not to let Henrietta know what had paſſed with regard to the mar⯑quis. ‘At preſent (ſaid he) ſhe conſiders this marriage as impoſſible to be effected, and ſo I would have her conſider it, till I am ſure that the duke will make no objection to the fortune that is deſigned her.’ Lady [303] Meadows approved of his caution; and Mr. Bale was deſired to viſit her in her own apart⯑ment, and acquaint her with the diſpoſitions made by her aunt.

Henrietta expreſſed the higheſt ſatisfaction at what had been done for her beloved brother, and, with the greateſt ſweetneſs, acknowledged her obligations to her aunt for the proviſion ſhe had made for her: but when Mr. Bale acquainted her with the addition he deſigned to make to the fortune her aunt would give her, tears of ten⯑derneſs and gratitude overſpread her face, and ſhe could utter no more, than, ‘O! ſir, how generous— how kind is this— how ſhall I re⯑pay ſuch unexampled goodneſs—’

Mr. Bale interrupted her ſoft exclamations, to lead her down ſtairs to her aunt, to whom ſhe paid her acknowledgments with inimitable grace, and congratulated her brother with ſo ſincere a joy, that he, who knew how much ſhe was likely to loſe by his good fortune, was moved al⯑moſt to tears.

Mr. Bale a ſhort time afterwards took his leave, and went to the coffee-houſe, where he had appointed Mr. Courteney to meet him. He was ſoon followed by the young gentleman, [304] whoſe mind was under great agitations on his ſiſter's account.

"One would hardly imagine," ſaid Mr. Bale to him, ſmiling, ‘that you have juſt been de⯑clared heir to a good eſtate, you look like one diſappointed and unhappy.’

"I am indeed diſappointed, ſir," replied Mr. Courteney; ‘I had laid a plan to make my ſiſter and my friend happy: but my aunt's partiality has broke all my meaſures for the preſent.’

"Then you intend," ſaid Mr. Bale, who had taken particular notice of his laſt words, ‘to make ſome addition to your ſiſter's fortune, when the eſtate comes into your hands?’

‘Certainly, ſir (replied Mr. Courteney) I ſhould but ill deſerve it, if I did not.’

‘It muſt be confeſſed (reſumed Mr. Bale) that you are a very good brother.’

‘All that I can do for my ſiſter, ſir (ſaid he) will be but bare juſtice; but your generoſity t [...] her can never be enough admired.’

"No more of that," interrupted Mr. Bale. ‘I love your ſiſter: ſhe is a worthy young wo⯑man; I am grieved to think ſo noble a match for her, ſhould meet with any obſtruction for [305] the want of a fortune. What do you think the duke will expect?’

"The lady he has propoſed to his ſon, ſir," ſaid Mr. Courteney, ‘has twenty thouſand pounds; and it would have been my pride and happineſs to have prevailed with my aunt to make my ſiſter's fortune equal to that.’

"Is it poſſible!" cried Mr. Bale, ſurpriſed. ‘Why fifteen thouſand pounds is at leaſt one third of your aunt's fortune?’

"My ſiſter," ſaid Mr. Courteney, ‘has a right to expect it. The whole would have been her's but for ſome unlucky acci⯑dents, and the ſtrange partiality of lady Mea⯑dows for me. All that I can now do is, to let the marquis know, that my ſiſter will have ten thouſand pounds paid on the day of her marriage, and ten thouſand more on the death of her aunt. The duke loves money; and I greatly doubt whether all his ſon's ſoli⯑citations will make him reliſh this reverſionary ten thouſand pounds.’

"We will not put it to the hazard," inter⯑rupted Mr. Bale, ‘ſince you are determined to act thus generouſly by your ſiſter, I will lay down the money myſelf, and all the ſecurity [306] I require, is your bond for the re-payment of it, when your aunt's eſtate comes into your poſſeſſion.’

Mr. Courteney was ſo overwhelmed with ſur⯑priſe, joy, and gratitude, for this unexpected, noble offer, that, during ſome moments, he was unable to utter a word. But this ſilence, accompanied with looks the moſt expreſſive that can be imagined, was more eloquent than any language could be. Recovering himſelf at laſt, he was beginning to pay the warmeſt acknow⯑ledgments; but Mr. Bale would not ſuffer him to proceed.

‘I am impatient (ſaid he) for the concluſion of this affair. Write to your friend imme⯑diately, and let him know that your ſiſter's guardian will treat with the duke his father, whenever he pleaſes.’

Mr. Courteney, at his reiterated requeſt, took leave of him, and went home, in order to com⯑municate this joyful news to his friend. Hear⯑ing that lady Meadows and his ſiſter were en⯑gaged in company, he went to his own apart⯑ment, and wrote a ſhort letter to the marquis, in which he acquainted him, that his ſiſter being reſtored to the favour of her aunt, he had it now in his power to aſſure him, that if he con⯑tinued [307] in the ſame ſentiments towards her, and could prevail with his grace to authoriſe them by his conſent, he was impowered by her aunt and her guardian, to declare that her fortune would be twenty thouſand pounds.

Having ſealed and diſpatched this letter to the poſt, he joined the company below ſtairs, with looks ſo full of ſatisfaction, and a behaviour animated with ſuch extraordinary gaiety, that lady Meadows was more than ever delighted with him, concluding that the noble proviſion ſhe had made for him, was the ſource of his joy; but Henrietta, who knew her brother better, and who beſides ſaw ſomething particular in thoſe looks, which he from time to time gave her, felt ſtrange flutterings in her gentle boſom: hopes checked as ſoon as formed; wiſhes ſup⯑preſſed as they roſe. In theſe perturbations, ſhe paſſed that night and the three following days.

Mean time the marquis, having received Mr. Courteney's letter, was ſo ſurpriſed at this ſudden change in the fortune of Henrietta, that he read it over ſeveral times before he could per⯑ſuade himſelf what he ſaw was real. His firſt emotions were all tranſport: every obſtacle to his marriage was now removed; and he might [308] ſolicit his father's conſent, with a certainty al⯑moſt of not being denied. Yet a ſentiment of delicacy and tenderneſs made him regret, that it was not in his power to convince Henrietta of the diſintereſtedneſs of his love, and for ſome moments rendered him inſenſible of his preſent happineſs.

The duke came into his chamber, while he was reading the letter the twentieth time, and ſo intently, that he did not perceive his en⯑trance. When ſuddenly raiſing his eyes, and ſeeing his father, who, ſuſpecting that this letter, which he ſeemed to read with ſo much emotion, came from his miſtreſs, was looking earneſtly on him.

‘O! my lord (cried he) there is nothing wanting to make me perfectly happy, but your conſent to my marriage with miſs Courteney. See, my lord, what her brother writes: her brother, who till now has ſo obſtinately op⯑poſed my paſſion!’

The duke took the letter out of his hands, and having read it, returned it to him again without ſpeaking a word, and walked to the other end of the room. The marquis, who ſaw nothing unfavourable in his looks, followed him, and, throwing himſelf at his feet, conjured him [309] not to oppoſe his happineſs any longer. The duke deſired time to conſider; but his ſon would not give over his ſolicitations, till he had ob⯑tained leave of him to viſit miſs Courteney, and to declare that his addreſſes had the ſanction of his conſent.

The happy marquis gave orders inſtantly for his poſt-chaiſe to be got ready, which his fa⯑ther at firſt did not oppoſe; but, after reflecting a little,

‘Can you not rein in your impatience for a few days?’ ſaid he to him; ‘I intend to be in town next week: I ſhall then have an opportunity of ſeeing the young lady (and, ſince you are ſo obſtinately bent upon the match) of talking to her aunt and her guar⯑dian.’

The marquis would not diſoblige his father, by making any objections to this little delay, grievous as it was to him; but retired to write to Mr. Courteney, whom he acquainted with the duke's intentions, and, anticipating the tender name of brother, poured out his whole heart in the warmeſt expreſſions of love, friend⯑ſhip, joy, and every ſoft emotion with which he was agitated.

[310]Mr. Courteney having communicated this letter to Mr. Bale, he agreed that it was ne⯑ceſſary to make lady Meadows acquainted with the ſteps they had taken in the affair. She en⯑tered with a good grace into the generous deſigns of her nephew in favour of his ſiſter.

"If I had done more for her," ſaid ſhe to him, ſmiling, ‘you would not have had an opportunity of doing ſo much.’ Mr. Cour⯑teney kiſſed her hand with a tender and reſpect⯑ful air.

"Go," ſaid ſhe, with a look that ſhewed ſhe was highly pleaſed; ‘go, and tell your ſiſter this good news; and tell her alſo that I am impatient to embrace and congratulate her.’

Mr. Courteney willingly obeyed her. He went to Henrietta's apartment, and, ſeeing her ſitting penſive and melancholy, he began to rally her upon her tenderneſs for the marquis. She bore it with great ſweetneſs, but not with⯑out ſome ſurpriſe; for her brother was uſed to be very delicate and reſerved upon that ſubject. By degrees he aſſumed a more ſerious tone; and at length gave her to underſtand, that the mar⯑quis was now permitted by his father to pay his addreſſes to her.

[311]Henrietta bluſhed and trembled from the mo⯑ment her brother began to ſpeak to her in a ſerious manner. Her emotions increaſed as he proceeded; yet ſhe laboured to conceal them, till Mr. Courteney, explaining to her what Mr. Bale had done for her, which neceſſarily in⯑cluded his own generous gift, that innate deli⯑cacy, which had forced her joy to be ſilent, ſuf⯑fered her gratitude to ſhew itſelf in the moſt lively expreſſions. Lady Meadows came into the room, and gave a ſeaſonable interruption to theſe tender effuſions of her heart, which Mr. Courteney had liſtened to with a kind of painful pleaſure. She embraced her niece, and con⯑gratulated her on her happy fortune.

Miſs Courteney, who had now reaſon to ex⯑pect a viſit from the marquis, was not much ſur⯑priſed a few days afterwards to ſee his equipage at the door. After a few moments converſation with Mr. Courteney, he was introduced to lady Meadows, who received him with great reſpect. Henrietta bluſhed a little when he appeared, but recovered herſelf, and received the tender and reſpectful compliment he made her with her uſual grace.

A great deal of company coming in ſoon af⯑terwards, he found means to engage her apart for a quarter of an hour. Their converſation [312] was ſuch as might be expected between perſons of their ſenſe and politeneſs, who loved each other with the utmoſt tenderneſs, and now for the firſt time ſaw themſelves at liberty to declare their ſentiments. Henrietta did not ſcruple to own to the man, who had ſo nobly merited her eſteem, that her heart had received a moſt tender impreſſion for him; and this ſoft acknow⯑ledgment completed her lover's felicity.

Mr. Courteney waited upon the duke the next morning, and had the pleaſure to hear from his own mouth, that he was entirely ſatisfied with his ſon's proceedings. His grace viſited lady Meadows the ſame day; and was ſo charmed with Henrietta, that he ſcarce diſco⯑vered leſs impatience than his ſon, for the con⯑cluſion of the marriage. Every thing being agreed on between the duke and Mr. Bale, with regard to ſettlements, the writings were drawn up with all convenient ſpeed, and a day ap⯑pointed for the marriage.

Lady Meadows, though a Roman catholic, allowed the ceremony to be performed at her houſe: after which, the new-married pair, with the old lady, the duke, Mr. Bale, and Mr. Courteney, ſet out for his grace's country ſeat.

[313]The charming marchioneſs did not make her firſt public appearance in town till late in the enſuing winter; when her beauty, her ſuf⯑ferings, her virtue, and her good fortune, were for a long time the ſubjects of converſation.

Mr. Courteney, happy in the conſcious in⯑tegrity of his heart, happy in the ardent affec⯑tion of his ſiſter and the marquis, and the eſteem of all who knew him, was, by the death of lady Meadows, which happened a few months after his ſiſter's marriage, enabled to diſcharge his obligations to Mr. Bale. His generoſity was not long unrewarded: an opu⯑lent heireſs fell deſperately in love with him; ſhe was related to the duke, who intereſted himſelf ſo warmly in the affair, that the mar⯑riage was ſoon concluded.

Lord B—, as has been obſerved already, lived very unhappy with his plebeian lady. The ſight of the charming Henrietta renewed his paſſion. Tortured with remorſe, diſappoint⯑ment, and deſpair, he had recourſe to the bottle, and fell an early ſacrifice to intempe⯑rance.

Miſs Woodby, who had always a violent paſſion for a red-coat, liſtened to the ſighs [314] of a young cadet, and married him in a week after their firſt acquaintance. Her excuſe for this precipitancy was, that the lovely youth would certainly have ſtabbed himſelf, if ſhe had delayed his happineſs any longer. With part of her fortune he bought a commiſſion, and ſpent the reſt in a few months. After which, he went abroad with his regiment, leaving her, in an obſcure retirement, to be⯑wail his abſence, and ſooth her love-ſick heart, with hopes that he would return more paſ⯑ſionate than ever, and lay all his laurels at her feet.

Miſs Belmour, forſaken by her lover, became a proſelyte to the Roman catholic religion, and retired to a convent, where the nuns wrought her up to ſuch a degree of enthuſiaſm, that ſhe ſettled her whole fortune upon the community, and took the veil; but ſoon afterwards, repent⯑ing of this raſh ſtep, ſhe died of grief, remorſe, and diſappointment.

Mrs. Willis was generouſly rewarded by the marchioneſs, for the many kind and faithful ſer⯑vices ſhe had received from her: and Mr. Bale, who highly eſteemed her for her behaviour to his beauteous ward, ſettled her huſband in ſuch an advantageous way, that in a few years he made a conſiderable fortune.

[315]The younger Mr. Bale found, in the inceſ⯑ſant clamours of a jealous wife, a ſufficient pu⯑niſhment for his treacherous deſigns on Hen⯑rietta; and it was not without great difficulty, that he was reſtored to his father's favour.

Every branch of the Courteney family made frequent advances towards a reconciliation with the marchioneſs and her brother: but ge⯑nerous as they were, they had too juſt a ſenſe of the indignities they had ſuffered from them, to admit of it; and, in this ſteady reſentment, they had, as it uſually happens with ſucceſsful perſons, the world on their ſide.