On our return from morning prayers, I retired to read in my own apartment. Fanny remained in the parlour below, but joined me an hour after in the utmoſt per⯑turbation. On entering, ſhe haſtily ap⯑proached me, and throwing her arms around my neck, burſt into a flood of tears, which inſtantly informed me of what ſhe was unable by words to expreſs.

My deareſt girl, ſaid I, whence pro⯑ceeds this agitation?

She could not immediately reply: but at laſt—Oh Hermione! exclaimed ſhe, what have I to tell you—Mr. Howard is my lover.

Well my dear, ſaid I ſmiling, that is no very great calamity.

Good, heavens! could you ever have ſuſpected ſuch a thing? Could you ever have imagined that any thing ſo unlucky would have happened!

I believe I could, anſwered I. But [20] why unlucky? How comes it that the mere mention of a propoſal which muſt be at leaſt acknowledged diſintereſted, from an amiable and worthy object, ſhould give you this uneaſineſs. There are no rigid guardians to urge your com⯑pliance, nor, alas! parents to command your obedience; and believe me, my love, your ſiſter will not even preſume to ad⯑viſe on a ſubject in which your own feel⯑ings and ſentiments only are to be con⯑ſulted.

I ſoon found, however, that her tears were thoſe of agitation, doubt, and timi⯑dity. Diſguſt and repugnance had no part in her emotions. She confeſſed ſhe eſteemed Mr. Howard; that ſhe believed him one of the beſt men in the world; but I never once thought of being his wife, ſaid ſhe. I regarded him as a friend ſent by heaven to conſole us for the loſs of one parent who is gone for ever, and of another who diſowns us. I cannot [21] think of marrying him. The idea is al⯑moſt unnatural; for the poſſibility of ſuch an event never entered my imagina⯑tion. Indeed I always concluded his partiality to me was that of a father, and that the diſparity of our years would have alone proved ſufficient to have prevented the very notion of ſuch an attachment. Had it been you, I ſhould not have ex⯑perienced the ſlighteſt ſurprize; for I have more than once ſuſpected that he loved you, particularly before we left Languedoc; but for myſelf, I always imagined he viewed me in the light of a girl who might have amuſed perhaps, but who had no likelihood of intereſting him. Oh! what made him think of me, re⯑peated ſhe ſeveral times in the greateſt perplexity.

Calm your agitation my dear Fanny, cried I. Conſider you are ſolicited, but not compelled. I have on my part long ſuſpected that you was the object of Mr. [22] Howard's affections, and I ſincerely own have ſecretly wiſhed his paſſion that ſuc⯑ceſs which in my opinion it ſo juſtly me⯑rits. I am convinced the attachment and protection of a character like his muſt ſe⯑cure happineſs to the woman whom he honours with his choice, provided her heart is properly diſpoſed for feeling and anſwering the tenderneſs of his. If this is however wanting, believe me Mr. Howard himſelf has too much delicacy to demand the hand which prudence alone beſtows on him; and I am certain poſ⯑ſeſſes too large a ſhare both of good ſenſe and modeſty to be diſobliged. If then you feel the leaſt actual repugnance to this union, after having maturely weighed and conſidered all ſides of the queſtion, heſitate not to tell him ſo without co⯑quetry or affectation.

Repugnance is a ſtrong word, ſaid ſhe, after a pauſe. We are under infinite ob⯑ligations to him, and he is our only friend. [23] I ſhould be ſhocked to diſoblige him. But he has ſo ſurprized me, that I know not what to think of the matter, nor how to collect my ſcattered thoughts to pon⯑der on the conſequences. Now tell me ſeriouſly Hermione, what would you do in my caſe?

Why I will tell you ſincerely, ſaid I. Were I you, with your diſpoſition, your gratitude to Mr. Howard, and your indif⯑ference to every other man, I believe I ſhould be his wife.

Yet I am not the leaſt in love with him, cried ſhe.

Involuntarily I was about to reply, that being romantically in love was by all ac⯑counts far from an indiſpenſible requiſite towards happineſs in the married ſtate; but conſcious how different my own pri⯑vate ſentiments were from according with this opinion, I checked myſelf from touching on an argument that carried not conviction to my own mind, though from [24] my knowledge of Fanny's temper it might have been not improperly offered to her, and only added, that her own feelings muſt direct her.

We were interrupted by Mrs. Hindon, who came to inform us that the carriage waited to carry us to afternoon prayers. I believe poor Fanny's devotions were not a little diſturbed; and on our return I obſerved ſhe met the eyes of Mr. How⯑ard with a confuſion which ſeemed to forebode no great ſeverity.

I had evidently ſhewn on which ſide my ſuffrage reſted; but I cautiouſly withheld any advice likely to prejudice her mind, which tho' diffident and fear⯑ful, appeared neither averſe nor deter⯑mined.

Fanny and Mr. Howard have this day had a long converſation together, in the courſe of which he laid before her the ſtate of his finances, and ſuggeſted the plan of life which he thought would be moſt conducive to their mutual happineſs.

His paternal eſtate, Hubert Hill, does not exceed three hundred and twenty pounds a year; and this, with a couple of thouſands bequeathed him by a friend, conſtitutes his whole fortune; nor has he any addition to hope for independent of my ſiſter's precarious pittance when Mr. Benſeley's affairs are ſettled. This no doubt is a very ſlender income, eſpecially [30] if a numerous family ſhould bleſs their union; yet as Mr. Howard is a man of moderate views, and addicted to no ex⯑penſive pleaſures, and Fanny has ever been accuſtomed to ſolitude and fruga⯑lity if not abſolutely to a ſtrict oecono⯑my, I think it ſufficient, with ſome at⯑tention, for all the neceſſary indulgencies of life.

His little feat is ſituated, he ſays, in a delightful part of the country. The grounds are laid out with taſte; and the houſe, tho' ſmall, is fitted up with infi⯑nite neatneſs in a ruſtic ſtyle. This he propoſes making their conſtant reſidence; and hopes, by living himſelf on the ſpot, to improve it to great advantage, being extremely fond of farming himſelf.

He did not fail, in the very firſt mo⯑ments of Fanny's approbation, to give me the warmeſt and moſt preſſing invi⯑tation to join their family. Indeed with⯑out that condition I believe he never [31] would have prevailed with his bride, for ſhe has ever expreſſed the moſt painful reluctance at the idea of being ſeparated from me. It was no ſmall ſatisfaction to me however, to perceive the cordiality and eagerneſs with which Mr. Howard made this requeſt. Partial as I have al⯑ways been, ſaid he, to the abode of my youth, with how much delight muſt I now enjoy it, when bleſt with compa⯑nions who poſſeſs the power of converting any ſpot into a paradiſe.

He ſets out for Hubert Hill to-mor⯑row, to give the neceſſary directions previous to our going down; and in the mean while all other preparations are making, that the ceremony may take place as ſoon as he returns. Are you not entertained with Fanny's metamor⯑phoſis into a ſedate, ruſtic farmer's wife, who when you knew her but three years ago was a little wild giddy girl of thir⯑teen. I am ſatisfied however ſhe will [32] conduct herſelf to admiration in that ca⯑pacity. She is poſſeſſed of a very chear⯑ful, contented diſpoſition, the firſt bleſ⯑ſing of Providence; and the reverſes of fortune which the laſt five months have produced, by compleatly convincing her of the fallaciouſneſs of her ſanguine ex⯑pectations of the gay enjoyments of the world, formed in ignorance and ſolitude, have diſpoſed her mind for reliſhing and returning to the pure pleaſures of retire⯑ment and domeſtic life. In ſociety, ſhe has experienced only mortifications, diſ⯑appointments, and diſguſts, inſtead of finding it, as ſhe had concluded, a ſcene of perpetual gaiety, admiration, and de⯑light. In lieu of univerſal conqueſt, her admirers have been tranſient, and her lover inſincere. She has made no friends ſince ſhe left France; and is therefore the more eager to cement to herſelf him who has proved on trial ſtrongly and truly at⯑tached to her.

[33]As for myſelf, this event is every thing I can wiſh. It ſecures me an agreeable home with thoſe I love, and conveys me from this hateful city, which I wiſh from my ſoul I had never entered.

Mr. Howard is returned from his ex⯑curſion, much pleaſed with ſome little improvements he has begun; and the papers are now ready for ſigning. Mr. Howard, in the event of no family, leaves his wife ſole heireſs of all he poſ⯑ſeſſes: but ſhould any children ſpring from this marriage, her jointure is two hundred per annum. Having no friend to conſult on this occaſion, all ſhe feared was Mr. Howard's too great generoſity; and as ſhe was aſhamed even to mention pecuniary matters to him, I was unwil⯑lingly obliged on this occaſion to be her [34] agent, and abſolutely inſiſted that if her own money, ſhould any be recovered, was ſettled upon her as he propoſed, a deduction of equal value ſhould be made from this ſtipulation. Every thing there⯑fore relative to ſettlements is finally ad⯑juſted; and but that Fanny's timidity makes her catch at trifles to delay the aweful ceremony, things ere now would have been concluded.

Fearing Mrs. Hindon would be ex⯑tremely diſobliged at Fanny's conduct in concealing from her this affair, I per⯑ſuaded her the other day to confeſs her preſent ſituation; and ſuggeſted that as that lady, from whatever motives, had received us into her family, and teſtified towards us a thouſand civilities with great apparent hoſpitality and kindneſs, ſhe had reaſon to be not a little offended at the want of confidence and cordiality this ſecrecy betrayed; beſides common report would ſoon render all further con⯑cealment [35] uſeleſs, and deprive Fanny of an opportunity of paying her the com⯑pliment of confidence.

She intreated me to undertake this commiſſion for her. It was not an agree⯑able one; but as to Fanny it would per⯑haps have been ſtill more awkward, I conſented.

Good heavens! cried Mrs. Hindon, as ſoon as I had hinted [...]he connection which was likely ſoon to place my ſiſter among the liſt of her relations—married to my brother! Miſs Fanny to be my brother's wife! Well I declare he is extremely ſly, for I could have laid a bet that you were his favorite of the two. He is a bold man however, to think of incumbering himſelf with a wife and fa⯑mily in his preſent circumſtances. I wiſh them happy with all my heart; but I plainly perceive he had his own private reaſons for regarding my poor nephew's propoſals with ſo much diſapprobation. [36] Well, every one for themſelves in this world; but I always ſuſpect ſome ſelf-intereſted motive at bottom when I hear ſuch a piece of work made about ſenti⯑ment, and ſo many profeſſions of diſin⯑tereſted friendſhip; I think beſides, ſince matters were ſo far advanced, that Mr. Hindon and myſelf might have been ſooner made acquainted with a love af⯑fair that was going on under our own roof.

I pleaded Fanny's diffidence as an apo⯑logy; but my excuſe was in fact ex⯑tremely lame, and was not eaſily admit⯑ted. Mrs. Hindon could with difficulty prevail on herſelf to pardon the diſreſpect. But this ſtory had gone in all points ſo contrary to her plans and wiſhes, that I could forgive a little ill humour occa⯑ſioned by chagrin, and found it not on the whole ſo hard to reconcile her to it as I had feared. A marriage, tho' even not of her own negociating, afforded ſome [37] ſpeculation for her active mind to work on; and ſo fond is ſhe of being officiouſly buſy, that ſhe has ſet off to-day, accom⯑panied by Fanny, to aſſiſt with the ut⯑moſt cordiality and eagerneſs in the pur⯑chaſe of ſome bridal apparatus.

I had hardly laid down my pen this morning, when Mr. Roatſley was an⯑nounced. The ſight of him, ſo wholly unprepared as I was for the interview, threw me into the utmoſt confuſion, and I am certain I muſt have performed the firſt ceremonials with great awkwardneſs. The recollection of his late converſation with Mr. Howard, of which I had been ſolely the ſubject, and the obligations his generous conduct had laid me under, overpowered me with embarraſſment. I knew not how to expreſs my gratitude [38] for a ſervice ſo eſſential, which yet from a thouſand circumſtances I bluſhed to remember, and poſſeſſed ſcarce courage to touch on: added to this, the diſco⯑very I had made ſince our laſt meeting, and the mortifications attending our re⯑jected application to his family, ſtruck me ſo forcibly, that I was in agitation inexpreſſible when he entered.

He comes, thought I, at once to con⯑vince me how injurious were my ſuſpi⯑cions of his pride and duplicity, to ex⯑preſs his regret for the ill conduct of his relations, and to ſhew me how diſſimilar is his generous mind from that of his un⯑feeling mother.

So certain was I of the intention of his viſit, that I even wiſhed the explanation over, which muſt to him prove ſo em⯑barraſſing, as it was likely ſo little to redound to the honor of his family, and expected every moment when the ſubject ſhould be introduced. But moſt care⯑fully [39] did he guard againſt every topic that could lead to this point; which he evidently avoided with the moſt ſedulous precaution. Yet his manner poſſeſſed that inſinuating attention, and his voice that winning ſoftneſs, which ſeemed to imply the utmoſt ſatisfaction in my com⯑pany, and which beſtows on his a charm, that may be felt, Sophia, alas, too a⯑cutely! but which cannot be delineated.

The intereſting elegance of his addreſs is indeed ſo uncommonly engaging, that I think it muſt be wholly impoſſible even for a ſtranger to behold him enter with⯑out pleaſure, or ſee him depart without experiencing regret. It is not alone that he is perfectly well bred and intelligent, for from moderate parts, poliſhed by education and knowledge of the world, this may be expected, and uncharacte⯑riſtic of the Engliſh nation as the refine⯑ment of good breeding is ſuppoſed to be, I have ſeen, ſince my reſidence here, [40] more than one perſon to whom I think that panegyric is juſtly due; but Mr. Roatſley's mind ſpeaks in his counte⯑nance and in his manner, and confers on every look and on every motion that grace which a diſpoſition compleatly amiable, and talents thoroughly well cul⯑tivated, cannot fail to diffuſe over the appearance and behaviour.

My firſt flutters giving way to the re⯑ſpectful eaſe of his converſation, I took courage at length to mention the obliga⯑tion I owed him. I have been inex⯑preſſibly deſirous, ſaid I, of an opportu⯑nity to return you my moſt grateful ac⯑knowledgments for the attention and trouble you have been ſo humane as to beſtow upon an affair which has occa⯑ſioned me more uneaſineſs and perplex⯑ity than it is poſſible to conceive.

I am then extremely ſorry, cried he with warmth, that my preſence ſhould have induced you for an inſtant to recall [41] a ſubject ſo painful. Let it be baniſhed, I beſeech you, for ever from your re⯑membrance, and along with it all ex⯑preſſions of gratitude to which I cannot flatter myſelf I merit the ſlighteſt claim. Heaven knows what exertions I would make, what anxiety I would undergo, to merit the approbation of Miſs Seymour; but as yet I am not ſo happy as to con⯑gratulate myſelf with having had it in my power to perform any ſervice that could deſerve her thanks. Let me know my dear Madam, added he, by what means I can procure a title to that happi⯑neſs, and you ſhall perceive, by the avi⯑dity with which I ſhall obey your com⯑mands, how infinitely I ſhould prize my good fortune in obliging you.

Does he wiſh me, thought I, to apply to him to interceed with Lord Belmont; or are theſe profeſſions mere words of courſe, to which are annexed neither meaning nor intention. I was piqued [42] that he adhered ſo determinedly to the reſolutions of his relations, and only made a ſlight inclination of my head very gravely in return to this ſpeech.

A degree of ſurprize was evident in his countenance at the ſtatelineſs of my man⯑ner; the cauſe I think he muſt have been with eaſe able to comprehend. However he choſe to place it to another account; and finding that an air of chagrin invo⯑luntarily hung on my features——Miſs Seymour, ſaid he, after ſeveral ineffectual attempts to amuſe me on different ſub⯑jects which a ſlight degree of penetration ſufficed to ſhew did not intereſt me—I cannot but perceive that I have been ſo unfortunate as to offend you; and ſo ſe⯑vere, ſo painful is this idea, that tho' my confeſſion may at firſt rather encreaſe than diminiſh your diſpleaſure, I cannot reſiſt truſting to your candour and indul⯑gence by a ſincere avowal of the only circumſtance wherein I think it is poſſible [43] for me to have given cauſe for your diſ⯑pleaſure.

Finding I made no reply, for in truth I knew not what to anſwer—I ſincerely confeſs, continued be, and let, I beſeech you, the ſeverity of this confeſſion plead in my behalf, that after having been bleſt with your company that happy even⯑ing at Dover, my ideas and expectations of the dignity of your behaviour were raiſed to ſo juſt an height, that they could not but ſuffer ſome abatement on witneſſing what I could not but conſider as an impropriety, and which I am cer⯑tain Miſs Seymour herſelf would have regarded as an indelicacy. I am con⯑ſcious I ought to have judged leſs raſhly. I know that I ought to have ſuſpected my own eyes, rather than any indecorum in you; but I was led to do you injuſtice by a multiplicity of circumſtances, which can hardly have given more pain to your feelings than they have conveyed to mine; [44] and you may recollect, Madam, that the inſtant you appeared ſtill more unac⯑countable, inſtead of plunging deeper into doubt, I penetrated into the whole myſtery, and not only in my own mind fully acquitted you of the imprudence of a clandeſtine interview with a young man who merited only your ſcorn and de⯑teſtation, but alſo immediately perceived that though the whole was wrapt in ob⯑ſcurity, the veil was not placed over your conduct by your own hands; and I no longer heſitated to aſk an explanation from Mr. Howard, ſince I was com⯑pleatly convinced all muſt redound to your honour.

Oh! Sir, cried I, penetrated by this ſpeech and the eagerneſs with which he entered on his juſtification, be aſſured when I reflect on this painful affair, it is not only without the ſlighteſt diſpleaſure at any part of your conduct, but with [45] the utmoſt gratitude for the humane in⯑tereſt you teſtified in it.

May I then flatter myſelf I am forgiv⯑en, cried he warmly, and kiſſed my hand with a fervor that dyed me with Crimſon.

I had juſt withdrawn it, when Mrs. Hindon and Fanny returned from their excurſion, followed by a ſervant loaded with various purchaſes.

I introduced Mr. Roatſley to Mrs. Hindon, who appeared much delighted with the acquiſition of an acquaintance of his rank and figure, and began con⯑verſing with her accuſtomed volubility and avidity even before ſhe had ſeated herſelf.

As ſhe held a pretty large parcel in her hands, part of Fanny's paraphranalia, he politely offered to relieve her by plac⯑ing it on the table.

Perhaps Sir, cried ſhe facetiouſly, theſe ladies may generouſly reward your [46] trouble by preſenting you with part of the contents.

I ſhall be much delighted with the honor of any gift from theſe ladies, re⯑turned he. But pray may I be allowed to aſk of what nature is the donation?

Poor Fanny bluſhed up to the ears. Good God, Madam! cried ſhe, with a reproachful look.

Nay, anſwered ſhe, laughing immode⯑rately, I'm ſure I ſhan't tell; but if Mr. Roatſley ſhould be clever enough to gueſs it, you know neither of us can help that. Lord, look, look, cried ſhe with entire diſregard to Fanny's confuſion, how con⯑ſcious Miſs Fanny appears of the ſecret: and Miſs Seymour, I declare ſhe bluſhes too, as much as to ſay—but I muſt take care not to blab.

Roatſley ſmiled at our mutual confu⯑ſion; for indeed I felt extremely for poor Fanny, and was not a little aſhamed alſo for Mrs. Hindon's indelicate raillery.

[47]If my enquiries give the ladies ſo much pain, ſaid he, I am afraid I muſt be contented to remain in ignorance; tho' I confeſs my curioſity is raiſed to the higheſt pitch to diſcover this important ſecret.

Mr. Hindon juſt then entered; and an introduction taking place between him and Mr. Roatſley, I was in hopes Fanny would have been relieved from her per⯑ſecution. His lady, however, ſeemed determined ſuch an excellent joke ſhould not have ſo ſpeedy a termination.

My dear, cried ſhe, let us ſee if you can ſolve this riddle, which has puzzled Mr. Roatſley's brain in vain to unravel, and the bare mention of which has plunged theſe ladies into the moſt painful confuſion. The ſecret, or rather the ſo⯑lution, is contained in that package of brown paper that lies on the table.

I ſhall take a very ſimple method of diſcovery, returned he, and ſeizing the [48] parcel as Fanny was flying to ſecure it, he inſtantly cut the packthread with which it was tied, and holding it above her reach a number of favors compoſed of white and ſilver dropt on the ground.

The ſecret is diſcovered at length, ex⯑claimed Mrs. Hindon, laughing with great vociferation. Well I'm ſure ladies you need not care much, for it is of a nature that will ſoon ſpeak for itſelf, and I'm ſure you muſt acknowledge I ſaid never a word of the matter.

It is then a matrimonial one I preſume, ſaid Mr. Roatſley, with a conſtrained air and in a very low voice to Mrs. Hindon.

Yes, returned ſhe, ſmiling expreſſively as if ſhe was not at liberty to ſatisfy him further, though ſhe evidently ſeemed impelled by a ſtrong inclination to enter upon family tranſactions, equally unſoli⯑cited and impertinent.

Poor Fanny returned to her ſeat much aſhamed and confuſed; while Mr. Hin⯑don [49] following, laughed moſt indelicately in her face; and as I appeared little leſs embarraſſed—Poor Miſs Seymour! cried he half ironically, tapping me familiarly on the back, Mr. Roatſley I am certain will agree with me that your complexion requires no foreign aid, ſo pray don't bluſh ſo very deep:—which piece of ad⯑vice you may ſuppoſe was not much cal⯑culated to enable me to profit from it.

Mr. Roatſley finding his preſence ra⯑ther augmented the awkwardneſs of Fan⯑ny's ſituation, ſuddenly wiſhed us good morning and departed abruptly.

This tranſaction was in itſelf trifling, had it not ſhewn the family with whom we reſide in a vulgar and abſurd point of view; and the affair of the parcel could have excited neither curioſity nor ſuſpi⯑cion, had not Mrs. Hindon beſtowed an importance on it by her ill-judged rail⯑lery, ſufficient to convince Mr. Roatſley that ſomething "more was meant than [50] met the ear." However, except in hav⯑ing given poor Fanny ſome uneaſy mo⯑ments, it was of little conſequence, as ſhe has at length conſented that Friday ſhall unite her with Mr. Howard; and imme⯑diately after the ceremony, at which on⯑ly Miſs Parſons and this family are to be preſent, we ſet off for Hubert Hill; which being ſeventy five miles from town, we ſhall not reach till the ſecond evening.

But tell me, my Sophia, how ſhall I account for Roatſley's behaviour during our tete a tete this morning? To ſup⯑poſe him entirely ignorant of an affair which muſt have naturally and unavoid⯑ably occaſioned ſome diſturbance, and no ſmall degree of diſcuſſion in his fa⯑mily, is to imagine what is not only im⯑probable, but I own almoſt impoſſible. Have I not reaſon then to be diſpleaſed with the inflexible pride, (alas, it is a fa⯑mily failing!) which his conduct too plainly indicates: ſtill perhaps retaining [51] the embers of that trifling partiality he ſeemed once diſpoſed to feel for me, yet proudly aſhamed, or weakly afraid to venture on a ſtep his family unjuſtly pro⯑hibits, he ſeeks my company and con⯑verſation under the pretended veil of ig⯑norance. But under a pretence ſo ſhal⯑low, never ſhall he receive the ſhadow of my notice, never ſhall I countenance that perſon as my friend, who diſdains to acknowledge he is allied to me.

Yet, my dear, how impoſſible is it to ſee Mr. Roatſley and to retain diſplea⯑ſure. In vain I call offended dignity and wounded pride to the aid of my indigna⯑tion. He is abſent, and I blame him; but when preſent, to preſerve even a cold reſerve, proves the utmoſt exertion of my reſolution.

Miſs Pierſon has ſaved me the trou⯑ble of planning ſome little artifice to meet with her, by returning my viſit this very evening in an eaſy way, accompanied by Miſs Farnford.

My heart beat ſeverely at their en⯑trance. How do circumſtances, appa⯑rently [71] the moſt trivial, change the face of things. Two girls, whoſe acquaint⯑ance but a few days ago, from the frivo⯑lous though harmleſs inſipidity of their converſation I ſhould rather have avoided than courted, were now become the ob⯑jects of my moſt anxious ſolicitude.

I was in hopes, from the eagerneſs with which they had before entered on the ſubject I now wiſhed ſo much to in⯑troduce, that they might of themſelves lead to it; and one is but too apt to con⯑clude others in ſome meaſure influenced by circumſtances that convey intereſt and agitation to our own boſoms. Miſs Farn⯑ford and her friend were ſtruck with Roatſley's elegance, and the intelligence of a wedding, intereſting to all girls, had attracted their curioſity and attention; but after the conjecture relating to jew⯑els, ſettlements, finery, &c. were ad⯑juſted, to which ſuch a topic generally gives birth, the idea in all probability [72] occurred to them no more. I was there⯑fore obliged to touch on it myſelf in the manner I imagined leaſt liable to ſuſpi⯑cion. Fortunately the penetration of my companions was not to be dreaded, and ſtill more fortunately Mr. and Mrs. Hin⯑don were engaged abroad.

In the courſe of converſation I men⯑tioned a catalogue of marriages as the news of the day; and tacked Mr. Roatſ⯑ley's to the end of my liſt, tho' not with⯑out a glow on my cheek.

O don't you remember it was I who told you of that match, ſaid Miſs Pier⯑ſon, the other night when we were here.

I will not vouch for the authenticity of half my intelligence, ſaid I; and per⯑haps little more credit ought to be given to this laſt union than to many of the others.

Oh I aſk your pardon. I aſſure you Mr. Roatſley's marriage is an undoubted fact. But certainly you ought to know [73] all about it better than any body, for I am told that he is your couſin; tho' I be⯑lieve I ought to requeſt your excuſe for mentioning it, as I believe you don't wiſh it to be made public.

I never heard of it till the other even⯑ing, ſaid I; and now that I recollect, you I believe was my authority.

And that I promiſe you is as good as poſſible: for Lady Mary Lawrence, who is aunt to Lady Elizabeth Sedley, and who has had the charge of her from her infancy, (Lady Mortonbury having died when her daughter was quite a child,) is extremely intimate with my mother, and has frequently mentioned to her this projected alliance, which ſhe is exceed⯑ingly eager ſhould take place, as the young man is a very particular favorite with her, and ſhe deſigns I know to pre⯑ſent her niece with a very valuable ſet of jewels on the occaſion, and they are actu⯑ally beſpoke: tho' Lady Mary told my [74] mother the affair was not to be concluded till Lord Belmont's return from abroad, (who has been the chief promoter of the match,) and his Lordſhip is not expected till autumn; therefore the marriage is not publicly talked of by the relations on either ſide, but all the world knows of it for all that.

My doom is then fixed, ſaid I to my⯑ſelf. My authority is undoubted, and all deluſion at an end. Let me not ſink however with unpardonable weakneſs under the blow. Let me reſiſt this over⯑whelming regret with all my fortitude. Had it not been from the foible of a too ſuſceptible heart, all efforts had been on this account unneceſſary. Let me there⯑fore atone to my own mind by the moſt rigorous exertions for the error I have committed, and let a name ſo fatal, ſo intereſting, be mentioned in my journal no more.

Theſe reflections, which in an inſtant [75] paſſed through my mind, beſtowed a mo⯑mentary enthuſiaſm that enabled me to talk with a compoſure on the ſubject for which I applauded myſelf not a little.

I make no doubt but Lady Elizabeth will be extremely happy, ſaid I, for Mr. Roatſley really ſeems to be an agreeable man.

Oh! extremely clever and agreeable certainly, cried Miſs Farnford, (who had been examining ſome work with Fanny above ſtairs, but who juſt then returned,) and the handſomeſt creature I ever be⯑held. But I think if he is actually go⯑ing to be married the lady has reaſon to be not a little jealous, for if ever I diſco⯑vered a man to be in love in my life, Mr. Roatſley is deeply ſo with Miſs Seymour.

I bluſhed exceſſively, but attempted to laugh it off.

Nay you need not bluſh ſo violently, cried Miſs Pierſon, for Miſs Farnford [76] did not accuſe you of being in love with him. I give you my word however I made the ſame obſervation. During ſupper his eyes were never from you; and when you ſung, (and really you ſung di⯑vinely,) I never beheld a countenance ex⯑preſs admiration and delight as his did. He ſeemed to feel every note.

My confuſion was inexpreſſible. Con⯑ſcious guilt made me extremely appre⯑henſive leſt it ſhould excite the notice and raillery of my two gay companions; and Fanny, inſtead of endeavouring to relieve me from my embarraſſment, had the roguery to plunge me ſtill deeper in⯑to difficulties. If muſic be the food of love, cried ſhe, Mr. Roatſley was proba⯑bly dreaming of his intended during the ſong, and of courſe might be more feel⯑ingly diſpoſed to reliſh its pathetic charms than if he had been in the ſame comfortable ſtate of indifference with the performer. This ſhe uttered with a moſt [77] malicious ſmile; but fortunately the la⯑dies were in haſte to pay other viſits, and left us ſoon after.

Adieu, my dear Sophia. I ſhall not write again till the marriage is concluded.

This morning being a clear froſt, we walked out for an hour and an half. The country around could not be ſeen to advantage, where every object was co⯑vered [...]ith ſnow; yet it appeared beau⯑tiful. The houſe is ſituated in the moſt romantic ſpot I ever beheld; fronting the ſouth weſt, on the gentle ſlope of a hill which riſes by a very gradual aſſent. A noble river, the banks of which are ſhaded with very fine old trees, runs be⯑low, [80] within ſight of the windows; and the eminence behind, on which there is a thriving plantation, gives the little manſion a very ſnug appearance. The garden is an excellent one, and well ſtored with common fruit trees of the beſt kinds, that amply compenſate for the want of thoſe luxurious ones to be obtained only through the expenſive aid of a hot houſe. The pleaſure ground, tho' of ſmall extent, is laid out with ad⯑mirable taſte, and the little incloſures kept in ſuch good order, that I think in ſummer Hubert Hill muſt be the moſt delightful ſpot in the world.

I am ſurprized Mr. Howard ſpoke ſo faintly in its praiſe. But no doubt he wiſhed to ſurprize us in favor of our fu⯑ture reſidence. It is on a very ſmall ſcale indeed, and partakes more of an ornamented farm than a country feat; but I think the worthy owner has reaſon to be not a little vain of the improvements [81] he has himſelf effected ſince it came into his poſſeſſion by the death of his father; an event that took place only a few years previous to his acquaintance with our family.

From the period of his ſucceſſion to Hubert Hill till that of his leaving Eng⯑land, an amiable ſiſter, who died of a conſumption at the age of twenty-nine, preſided at the head of his table; and it is to her taſte and regularity that Fanny owes the comfortable and neat elegance of various conveniences not to be expec⯑ted in the houſe of a bachelor.

Nothing but continual rain or ſnow, and no poſſibility of ſtirring out of doors. We endeavour, however, to make our⯑ſelves the more comfortable within; Fanny, who makes all the buſtle of a [82] young miſtreſs of a family vain of the importance of her new charge, finds con⯑tinual amuſement and employment in directing all her little houſhold matters, for which ſhe really ſeems to poſſeſs a talent, tho' I ſometimes alledge that her orders are calculated rather to confuſe than adjuſt. Being diſpleaſed with the furniture of her drawing room, which is a little antique, we have ſet about a ſe⯑rious piece of work in order to fit it up with elegance. We have begun to work chairs and hangings in imitation of na⯑tural flowers; which, as there is ſcope given both for taſte and ingenuity, is an agreeable occupation. You know this ſort of work is a convent accompliſh⯑ment; by which means Fanny and I are adepts in it. I have likewiſe undertaken to cover the walls of the little chearful parlour with landſcapes, for which many delightful ſcenes even from its windows furniſh ample ſubject; ſo that we are [83] provided with abundant employment for at leaſt a twelvemonth to come. Mr. Howard, who has a well choſen collec⯑tion of the works of the beſt authors, both French and Engliſh, generally reads to us while we ſit at work. The even⯑ings we divide with a little muſic, and our favourite cheſs, ſo that they never ap⯑pear too long, and our life on the whole glides along in a tenor ſo ſmooth, ratio⯑nal and placid, that I hope in a ſhort time to enjoy it with perfect reliſh. Even at preſent I am conſcious I could no where be more happy.

This evening I received a letter from Mrs. Hindon. Oh Sophia into what agita⯑tion has it not thrown me. Read, my dear, what that officious woman writes.

[91] Oh! Sophia! what were my emotions on reading this letter! No words can ſpeak my feelings. Though penetrated with the exertions of my amiable couſin in my favour, how ſeverely was I morti⯑fied, how deeply wounded, to find my⯑ſelf the object of his compaſſion—of his generoſity—of his pecuniary aſſiſtance. Oh! how did all the pride of my heart riſe at the humiliating idea.

Why did Mrs. Hindon preſume to in⯑terfere, without my knowledge or con⯑ſent, in an affair for which ſhe poſſeſſes the requiſites neither of judgment nor delicacy. Proud as ſhe appears of her ſucceſs, I ſhall for ever regret the buſy officiouſneſs which dictated a ſtep ſo dreadful to me to think of. Yet I fear I am unjuſt. The poor woman had cer⯑tainly no apparent aim but my advantage in this unlucky tranſaction, and perhaps prejudice alone induces me to ſuſpect it the mere effects of her intermedling diſ⯑poſition, [92] which derives its higheſt grati⯑fication from prying into the concerns of others, and is delighted to find occupa⯑tion for its reſtleſs and frivolous activity.

The letter, at the firſt reading, threw me into agonies. I perceived only the mortifying point of view in which Mrs. Hindon had repreſented me to Roatſley, and that reflection poiſoned and wholly embittered the ſatisfaction which the no⯑tion of his anxiety and intereſt might otherwiſe have excited. To paint in co⯑lours the moſt pitiable and moving, ſo as to raiſe his pity and ſympathy, the ſi⯑tuation to which we might have been reduced?—good heavens! can ſhe ima⯑gine this a circumſtance from which I could derive ſatisfaction? Her repre⯑ſentation too was by no means juſt, and had not even the merit of truth to re⯑commend it: for tho' at preſent I am conſtrained to depend upon the limited income of my brother in law, Mr. How⯑ard [93] expects that a very few weeks will in all human probability ſee Mr. Benſeley's affairs adjuſted, and two thouſand pounds at leaſt retrieved, for his wife's ſhare and mine, out of the wreck of our for⯑tune. From the intereſt of my patri⯑mony, ſlender as it is, in this retired abode I am certain I ſhall have not only all my neceſſary wants ſupplied, but poſ⯑ſeſs the ability of making ſuch little uſe⯑ful preſents to my ſiſter, as ſhall ſecure to me my independency in my own eyes. But this is a notion which to Mrs. Hin⯑don muſt appear the mere fiction of a romantic brain. Born an heireſs, and accuſtomed to derive that vain impor⯑tance on which her heart is fixed from the poſſeſſion of wealth and an oſtenta⯑tious diſplay of grandeur, ſhe regards opulence as the firſt of human bleſſings and its deprivation as the harbinger of the moſt acute miſery.

Of the penſion I heard with unfeigned [94] regret. Shocked at the circumſtances which had given birth to the acquiſition, I felt it as a painful weight which de⯑preſſed my mind, and from which to be free I would have given the world had I poſſeſſed it. But having communicated the letter to Mr. Howard, he repreſented it to me in ajuſter point of view; tho' in reading it to himſelf I obſerved that he bluſhed indignant at the unfeeling hints with which the epiſtle is interſperſed.

I ought to conſider, he ſaid, that the obligation of ſoliciting this annuity was inferior to the claims, which in my pre⯑ſent ſituation juſtice alone, independent of humanity, gave me upon my relations; and that as an acquittal of the great debt owing me from their kindneſs and atten⯑tion, this ſalary had doubtleſs been pro⯑cured, which was evidently deſigned to extinguiſh all future expectations.

As Mr. Howard perceived however that I was vexed and aſhamed, and as [95] yet undetermined how to act, delicacy made him forbear any other advice on the ſubject than merely that which I had at firſt ſolicited and which naturally re⯑ſulted from reading the letter; and as my happineſs and advantage were the ſole ideas that dictated his ſentiments, he thought theſe acquirements would not readily be the production of a meaſure which even in proſpect gave birth to ſuch uneaſineſs. He therefore concluded, with a feeling peculiar to his diſpoſition, it muſt be confeſſed that our good ſiſter's notions of affluence are not the moſt ro⯑mantic in the world; therefore while ſhe thought ſhe poſſeſſed the power of pro⯑curing you what ſhe herſelf eſteems the chief good in life, and which no doubt beſtows many valuable and rational gra⯑tifications, ſhe ſcrupled not by what means the advantage was gained, tho' a little more delicacy exerted in the tranſ⯑action had probably given it a very diffe⯑rent [96] aſpect to what it now wears. How⯑ever ſhe meant all for the beſt, tho' it cannot be denied that to talk to her of eaſe, comfort, and compleat indepen⯑dence on forty or fifty pounds a year, is to preſent different ſhades of colour be⯑fore eyes whoſe organs have been from infancy impaired. Indeed the happy diſpoſition that gives exiſtence to ſuch ſentiments, is beyond, infinitely beyond the reach of adverſe fortune; and is in itſelf a bleſſing which no worldly acqui⯑ſitions can confer.

By praiſe ſo delicate, Mr. Howard la⯑boured to convince me, that however I ſhould determine, his opinion ſhould fol⯑low mine; and that if my reſolution was to give way to pique, and to reject this ſeeming compromiſe with my family, he on his part ſhould rather applaud than blame the ſpirit that induced me to refuſe a favor, which, however otherwiſe advantageous, overwhelmed me with [97] mortification. Yet it was not difficult to diſcern, that he might be apt to conſi⯑der my rejection as an abſurdity to which falſe delicacy and offended pride alone gave riſe; and when on the other hand I coolly reflected that my finances were by no means aſcertained, that it was not quite impoſſible amidſt the chapter of ac⯑cidents from which they had already ſuf⯑fered ſeverely but that I might really one day become dependent on the worthy Mr. Howard and my ſiſter, a ſituation I could indeed but ill brook, I reſolved to conquer my reluctance and yield to ne⯑ceſſity; tho' my heart roſe againſt my judgment, and had I been alone I ſhould have indulged in tears, which indeed were not wholly reſtrained even in Mr. Howard's preſence, at ſight of the bill.

Oh! Sophia! what ſteps were to be taken here, in this moſt cruel of all cir⯑cumſtances? —To return it inſtantly without doubt. But how conceal from [98] the generous donor that I was acquainted from whence it came. Since Mrs. Hin⯑don could not retain his ſecret, tho' ſo powerfully urged and intreated, how could I poſſibly flatter myſelf that ſhe would pay greater regard to mine. I had no path to purſue that had not been attempted by him without ſucceſs; how⯑ever on ſome plan I was obliged ſuddenly to determine. I therefore ſat down to my bureau without loſs of time to anſwer her letter.

I thanked her in terms warmer than were my feelings, tho' I fear my coldneſs will ſurprize her, for the intereſt and trouble ſhe has taken in this buſineſs; but re-encloſed the bill, which I beſought her to return to the right owner, informing him that even as her gift, I could not poſſibly prevail with myſelf to accept of it.

I have aſked the favor of Mr. Howard to thank Mr. Roatſley by letter in his [99] ſiſter's name for the intereſt he has taken in her concerns. I think I can do no leſs. An obligation may wound a proud ſpirit, but the teſtimonial of a proper gratitude cannot hurt an ingenuous one.

There is one circumſtance, material and intereſting, in Mrs. Hindon's letter, on which I have not yet touched, but which I conjecture will not paſs unnoticed even by you, and as for me, it has em⯑ployed my thoughts day and night ever ſince it reached me: Roatſley, ſhe tells me, appears to have been kept hitherto in utter ignorance with regard to our un⯑lucky tranſactions with his mother, and to be wholly unacquainted with the rejected application to our grandfather. Though how particulars of ſuch importance in the family ſhould have been concealed from his knowledge it is impoſſible to conjec⯑ture. There is indeed a myſtery in this affair which Mr. Howard, Fanny, and myſelf, attempt in vain to unravel. Is [100] it too fanciful to imagine that Lady Lin⯑roſe, fearing the known generoſity of her amiable ſon's diſpoſition might lead him to act againſt the wiſhes of Lord Bel⯑mont, may have determined on keeping him wholly in ignorance. I am bewil⯑dered in a variety of imaginary opinions, and not a little ſecretly delighted at find⯑ing myſelf enabled to exculpate him from thoſe charges of pride and duplicity, which in ſpite of a too inſinuating parti⯑ality, have ſometimes painfully recurred to my mind.

Can it be, my Sophia! that Roatſley has been ſo long ignorant, and what is equally aſtoniſhing and unaccountable, has been informed from the lips of Mrs. Hindon only, that we are ſo nearly allied by the ties of blood? Yet what are theſe ties? how weak, how inſufficient alone either to produce friendſhip or to excite eſteem or admiration! The connection is indeed productive of ſatisfaction, [101] merely from the idea that it is a founda⯑tion for intercourſe and a pretext for in⯑timacy. I think however, even in com⯑mon politeneſs, he ought to have ap⯑peared leſs dejected than he did upon the diſcovery. His ſilence and embarraſſ⯑ment during our laſt interview evidently confeſs what little ſatisfaction he derived from the information.

I have been reading Mrs. Hindon's letter once more; and tho' ſhock'd at the indelicacy too viſibly expreſſed in almoſt every line, now that I am cool there are ſome paſſages in it which do not wholly diſpleaſe me. How feeling, how conſi⯑derate, how noble, has been Roatſley's conduct. His heart is indeed open to every call of diſtreſs, and to every ſenti⯑ment of compaſſion. How amiable is his delicacy compared to that of his part⯑ner in the generous tranſaction. It pains me not, nay I ſhould be gratified, to re⯑ceive an obligation from my couſin, diſ⯑tinct [102] from the ſordid and humiliating conſideration of money matters. The anxiety and trouble therefore which were exerted on this occaſion, dilate my heart and animate my gratitude. I am alone hurt that the repreſentations of my offi⯑cious agent were dictated with ſo little judgment as to excite his pity, and ſo little refinement as to mortify my feel⯑ings. To this was owing the diſtreſſing and unſucceſsful attempt to wound me ſtill more ſeverely by pecuniary favours.

I have received a letter from Miſs Par⯑ſons, who promiſed at parting ſome⯑times to let me hear from her. She tells us that ſhe is now moſt agreeably ſettled in that line, for which ſhe regarded her⯑ſelf as beſt qualified to earn her own in⯑dependent ſubſiſtence, and that ſhe is to quit Mrs. Hindon's in a few days, who has been much diſpleaſed with the ingra⯑titude of her conduct towards ſo kind a [103] relation: theſe are the good lady's own words.

The lady with whom ſhe was in terms, held her determination ſuſpended as I told you, on account of ſome point on which Miſs Parſons did not anſwer her wiſhes; but on that deſerving young woman's offering her ſervices in perſon, ſhe was ſo much pleaſed with her ap⯑pearance, as to wave all deficiencies, and cloſed immediately with her terms. Pray who do you imagine this lady has turned out to be? no other than Lady Linroſe herſelf: and Miſs Parſons at this moment actually makes one of her family.

After a tedious ſuſpenſe of ten days, Lady Aubrey's fever, thank Heaven, be⯑gins to give way to medicine. Doctor Harding this day pronounces his patient in a fair way of recovery. Her recollec⯑tion is perfectly reſtored, the violence of her fever is abated, and ſhe is now ſenſi⯑ble of her aunt's attendance, who leaves not her chamber either day or night, having a ſmall field bed placed in the room, wherein ſhe has taken what little [123] repoſe the perturbation and anxiety of her ſpirits allowed.

This interval has been a period of real anguiſh to me. All the horrors of my father's ſufferings and misfortunes, this wonderful and unexpected incident has renewed in my mind with augmented poignancy; and that gloomy impreſſion which the ſoothing hand of time, the ha⯑bit of frequent reflexion, and the conſider⯑ation of his tranſition, I truſt, to a hap⯑pier world, had in ſome meaſure effaced, this accidental meeting has reſtored with redoubled violence, attended if poſſi⯑ble with encreaſed depreſſion.

Mr. Howard and Fanny having inſiſt⯑ed on my relinquiſhing an attendance which the preſence of Lady Meredith rendered unneceſſary, and which, igno⯑rant of the ſecret and ſingular the that binds my heart to that of the unfortunate Lady Aubrey might be deemed officious by her aunt, I have ſtrictly forborn ever [124] ſince her arrival to enter the apartment; and ſo powerfully has my ſenſibility ſtrengthened by this forbearance, that had my aſſiſtance been required I ſcarce think I could have ſummoned reſolution ſufficient for encountering the hazard of again hearing my father's name pro⯑nounced in the heart rending accents of the mournful invalid. Even now, that her reaſon and recollection, through the mercy of Heaven, are reſtored, I look forward with inexpreſſible apprehenſion to the idea of once more meeting her eyes. The pang this interview muſt occaſion to her boſom, the pain with which it muſt overwhelm mine even in anticipation, agitates me beyond expreſſion.

Lady Aubrey is much better. She now merely retains that languor and de⯑preſſion [125] which indiſpoſition, independent of dejection, invariably leaves behind as a memento of its power.

Lady Meredith, who is a moſt amia⯑ble and agreeable woman, now happily delivered from the painful anxiety that oppreſſed her, gives us at times, when ſhe can be ſpared from her attendance on her niece, a good deal of her com⯑pany, and expreſſes in the warmeſt terms her gratitude for our attention to Lady Aubrey.

As yet Lady Aubrey, who is now able to ſit up, or rather to recline on the ſo⯑pha for ſome hours every day, has ex⯑preſſed no deſire for an interview with either my ſiſter or myſelf, and the longer this meeting is delayed the more for⯑midable it appears. It is but too pro⯑bable, [126] indeed, that ſhe views it with equal apprehenſion, and willingly lays hold of the pretence of indiſpoſition to defer a conference which muſt be pro⯑ductive of ſo much pain and embarraſſ⯑ment to all parties.

I think it not unlikely, that perceiving the obſcurity that is thrown over our ſi⯑tuation, the borrowed name we have aſ⯑ſumed, the retirement in which we live, and the total alienation which has taken place between us and my uncle's family, ſhe may be led to conclude our real rank in life a ſecret even to ourſelves, or at leaſt may be induced to ſuſpect that the circumſtances of our birth are but partially known to us; thoſe particulars eſpecially in which ſhe herſelf is imme⯑diately concerned, ſhe may naturally conjecture the leaſt liable of any to have reached our ears. In this caſe, as all explanation upon our meeting is out of the queſtion, part of the awkwardneſs of [127] the ſcene will be avoided, and I am la⯑bouring to think of it with a compoſure that ſhall enable me, when it takes place, to behave with the calm indifference of an unconcerned perſon.

Laſt night Lady Meredith delivered to us a meſſage from Lady Aubrey, in⯑timating that her Ladyſhip had been for ſome days paſt beyond meaſure anxi⯑ous to return us perſonally her grateful acknowledgments for that benevolent hoſpitality to which ſhe had been ſo infinitely indebted; but that the weak ſtate of her nerves rendering her liable to be ſeized with agitation, and diſcom⯑poſed by the moſt trifling occurrences, Lady Meredith had perſuaded her into compliance with the injunctions of her phyſicians, which were on no account [128] to hazard any riſk of being diſordered or diſturbed in her preſent feeble condition; finding herſelf now, however, much re⯑cruited both in ſtrength and ſpirits, ſhe hoped in a day or two to be well enough to aſk the favour of a viſit from us in her dreſſing room, and in the mean while recommended herſelf, with many kind and polite expreſſions, to our good wiſhes.

This formidable interview is at laſt over. Oh! Sophia! I did not imagine it more formidable than it proved.

This morning Lady Meredith came down to the parlour, for ſhe ſeldom gra⯑tifies us with her company till dinner, and requeſted, in Lady Aubrey's name, the favour of my ſiſter's company and mine above ſtairs. My heart beat vio⯑lently [129] at this meſſage. I felt myſelf change colour; and involuntarily ſat down on the firſt chair ſo evidently diſ⯑compoſed, that Lady Meredith concluded I was ill, and ſaid with much kindneſs, 'tis fortunate, my dear Miſs Seymour, that I would not be prevailed with to accept of your moſt obliging offer of ſharing my fatigue and attendance upon my niece, for I ſhould have undoubtedly ſuſpected that you had ſuffered for your humanity. I am certain you are indiſ⯑poſed. Pray allow me to feel your pulſe; for you muſt know I am reckoned an able phyſician by the poor people around our ſeat in the country. You are feveriſh I am convinced, and muſt nurſe yourſelf for a day or two.

I aſſured her I was perfectly well; but ſhe would not give immediate credit to my aſſertion, and entreated my ſiſter to prevail with me to allow of the phyſician's attendance. Finding however that we [130] both made light of the propoſal, ſhe left us to prepare her niece for our appear⯑ance, who was ſo feeble and exhauſted, that a trifle ſhe ſaid diſcompoſed her ſpirits, and threw her into a tremor.

Alas! Sophia, this interview, though a circumſtance of no moment in the eyes of Lady Meredith, was by no means a trifle to the unfortunate Lady Aubrey; and ſo wholly did the proſpect of it over⯑power her feelings, that her aunt re⯑turned to us in a few minutes with an apology and requeſt that we would be ſo kind as to defer our viſit till the even⯑ing, as ſhe found herſelf languid and oppreſſed, and meant to lie down for an hour or two.

I felt relieved by this ſhort reſpite; and in the mean while endeavoured to prepare myſelf for the approaching pe⯑riod with a compoſure that might wholly confute any ſuſpicions ſhe might enter⯑tain of my being conſcious of the inte⯑reſting [131] and melancholy events that form a connexion ſo ſingular between us. As for my ſiſter, her emotions, naturally leſs uncontroulable, at leaſt after the firſt moments of agitation, I was under no apprehenſion that ſhe would betray herſelf; and by preſerving if poſſible an air of ſerenity myſelf, I hoped to render this meeting leſs affecting to Lady Au⯑brey, who by that means would be ſpared the painful reflections which our mutual perturbation might otherwiſe occaſion.

In the evening, Lady Meredith re⯑turned again into the parlour. I am come once more, ſaid ſhe, to aſk the favour of your company in Lady Au⯑brey's dreſſing room. She is by no means well to-day; and I am ſo apprehenſive of a relapſe, that I would have perſuaded her to defer your viſit till to-morrow, and go to reſt early; but her heart is ſo bent upon the pleaſure of ſeeing you, that I fear oppoſition would prove more [132] hurtful than the flutter of ſpirits which the ſight of a new face in the preſent weak ſtate of her nerves may occaſion. I however ſhall remain below, and enjoy a tete a tete with Mr. Howard, that we may not prove too many at once for her.

We accordingly went up ſtairs. The dreſſing room windows had been dark⯑ened with blinds, under pretence that the light was offenſive, but doubtleſs with the intention of concealing an emo⯑tion for which the inadequate allegation of debilitude and recent indiſpoſition only could be given. Lovely even in ſickneſs, ſhe reclined on a ſopha; from which, the moment we appeared, ſhe made a feeble attempt to riſe; but find⯑ing herſelf incapable of effecting it, ſhe fell back in evident diſcompoſure, and holding out a hand to each, burſt into tears.

All my reſolution forſook me at that moment. Beholding her the victim of [133] thoſe calamities which had wholly embit⯑tered the declining days of my father— calamities which ſhe ſtill lived to de⯑plore, and evidently felt at that inſtant with all the agony of recent and bitter diſappointment, my heart melted with ſympathetic ſorrow, and forgetting the compoſure I had laboured to obtain, I preſſed her offered hand to my lips with an enthuſiaſtic fervour which told as plainly as words could have done that I partook in the griefs that oppreſſed her diſconſolate boſom. This language was indeed too expreſſive not to be inſtantly comprehended, for raiſing herſelf by a ſudden effort, ſhe claſped me in her arms, and ſupporting her head on my ſhoulder, ſobbed aloud..

Terrified at the violence of her emo⯑tions, I would have broke from her to have called Lady Meredith; but redou⯑bling her careſſes, do not leave me, cried ſhe the moment ſhe could articulate— [134] tears are habitual to me, and thoſe I ſhed at this moment are produced by ſenſations which have not often, alas! found entrance into my heart. Let not this agitation frighten you, added ſhe. It's vehemence will in time abate. The Almighty, I truſt, ſends you to me for my conſolation and ſupport. She was unable to proceed; but diſengaging her⯑ſelf from my embraces, ſhe ſtretched out her arms to Fanny, who flew into them drowned in tears.

For heavens ſake, deareſt Madam, cried ſhe, for I was unable to ſpeak, endeavour to compoſe yourſelf; for your own ſake and for ours try to be calm. Many, many days of happineſs are yet I hope in ſtore for us all. Your friend⯑ſhip and affection is alone able to conſti⯑tute our felicity; and it will be the de⯑light of our lives if you will honour us ſo far as to flatter us with the hopes of being enabled, from the ſolicitude of the [135] tendereſt regard and moſt filial affection, in ſome ſlight degree to contribute to your's.

Alarmed for the conſequences of this ſcene, and afraid leſt the frankneſs of Fanny's diſpoſition ſhould lead her in the height of her emotions to touch on par⯑ticulars much too delicate for the preſent moment, I ran to the door to call Lady Meredith, whoſe preſence I imagined would put a period to a converſation that was about to become much too intereſting to all parties, and which in the precarious ſtate of Lady Aubrey's health might prove exceedingly hurtful to a frame ſo infinitely delicate; but perceiving my intention, ſhe entreated me to ſit down by her, and having ſwal⯑lowed ſome drops in water, ſhe became ſomewhat more compoſed.

I truſt in heaven, ſaid ſhe, again tak⯑ing my hand and obliging Fanny to ſeat herſelf upon the ſopha, that there are [136] days of returning peace yet in ſtore for me, ſince the Almighty has been pleaſed in his gracious providence to vouchſafe me, by means ſo unexpected and extra⯑ordinary, the gratification of that eager wiſh, in which has been centered all my hopes and expectations of ſatisfaction on this ſide the grave; for know, my ami⯑able young friends, continued ſhe in ac⯑cents interrupted by tears, that you have been ever ſince—(her voice failed her,) ever ſince my return to England, the ſubject of my thoughts—of my very dreams—and the unceaſing ſource of my anxious but ineffectual purſuit. Poor Mr. Benſeley! He was the firm and un⯑alterable friend of both. His ſteady and inflexible attachment no circumſtances could change, no reverſes could ſhake, while he remained convinced, continued ſhe claſping her hands together with an energy the moſt affecting, that there ſtill lay concealed within the ſecret receſs of [137] the heart, a hidden and obſcured, yet fervent ſentiment of virtue, which called for the ſoothing hand of friendſhip to guard it from diſtraction and deſpair.

You will not wonder, Sophia, that the concluſion of this ſpeech, by over⯑whelming me with the complicated ſen⯑ſations of aſtoniſhment, admiration, ſor⯑row, and delight, ſhould wholly over⯑power my feelings. Utterance was de⯑nied me: yet words, had I been able to command them, could have but feebly expreſſed the tumult of contending emo⯑tions that agitated my boſom. Throw⯑ing myſelf on my knees before the in⯑jured Lady Aubrey, I diſſolved into tears; and while I kiſſed her hand and preſſed it to my heart, my looks and my diſtreſs told her how much I venerated and admired her. Oh, Sophia! had you beheld the lovely unfortunate at that moment, you muſt have adored her.

[138]She embraced me with the tendereſt emotion; and I then reiterated my in⯑treaties that ſhe would allow us to leave her. But while ſhe detained me feebly by the hand, ſhe requeſted Fanny to re⯑move the blinds, which now almoſt wholly obſcured the declining rays of the evening, and fixing her eyes ſtea⯑dily for an inſtant on my face, tears again began to flow, and ſighing with an expreſſion the moſt mournful, ſhe bade us good night. You may conclude that my ſiſter and I could not ſpeedily recover the appearance of compoſure. Yet af⯑fecting as this interview had proved, a mixture of ſomewhat ſoothing and con⯑ſolatory has inſinuated itſelf amidſt the bitterneſs of more poignant ſenſations. By a wonderful interpoſition of Provi⯑dence, we had been introduced to the knowledge of one of the moſt amiable of her ſex, who not only felt inclined to accord us her friendſhip and affection, [139] but who was already our friend, who re⯑turned with fervor the warm attachment our hearts had imbibed almoſt the firſt moment that ſhe was preſented to our view, and the bitter recollection of whoſe paſt calamities our aſſiduous attention might prove the fortunate means of ſoothing into tranquillity. Theſe reflec⯑tions were of the moſt pleaſing nature, and grateful to our hearts; yet were they but ill calculated for wiping the tears from our eyes: on the contrary, by melting every ſenſation into tenderneſs we were almoſt exhauſted with weeping, when Mr. Howard came to ſeek us in my dreſſing room, where we had taken refuge in hopes of acquiring that com⯑poſure which our tete a tete had ba⯑niſhed ſtill further than ever from our minds.

He kiſſed a hand of each, and telling us that ſupper waited, and that Lady Meredith was already in the parlour, we [140] tried to aſſumed ſmiling faces, and defer⯑ring any account of our affecting inter⯑view till a more convenient opportunity, accompanied him down ſtairs.

On our entrance, and during ſupper, Lady Meredith's countenance betrayed an expreſſion of grave reſerve ſo different from the frank and open familiarity of manner which ſince the relief of her anxiety had ſeemed the characteriſtic of her mind, that I inſtantly perceived ſhe had been but recently informed of par⯑ticulars, which probably the agitation of Lady Aubrey's ſpirits had diſcovered to her only an hour or two before. Painful as it was both to witneſs this change and to ſuſpect the cauſe, I made large allow⯑ances for the prejudice which induced her to regard us with repugnance. That Lady Meredith ſhould behold with diſ⯑guſt, the offspring of him whoſe name in all probability ſhe merely knew as the ſource of miſery to her beloved niece, [141] and with whoſe ſubſequent agonies of re⯑morſe ſhe may be wholly ignorant, is not ſurpriſing, when ſuch conſiderations have had power to outweigh in the ſcale of paternal affection every motive of huma⯑nity, compaſſion, and even duty. Yes, Sophia, even duty: for rigid as Lord Belmont's ſenſe of integrity is reported to be, in regard to us, a miſtaken notion of honour ſways his conduct. It is for minds like the angelic Lady Aubrey's only to prove ſuperior to ſuch ſentiments, to wave perſonal injuries, to diſcard pri⯑vate reſentment, and to forget her own feelings and ſufferings in her pity and affection for the penitent author of her calamities.

As Mr. Howard during ſupper had converſed on indifferent ſubjects, and Lady Meredith with an air of unuſual ceremony ſeemed determined to follow his lead, the mortifying coldneſs of her manner deterred me from finding cou⯑rage [142] to aſk how Lady Aubrey found her⯑ſelf, and indeed I dreaded truſting my voice with the enquiry. However when the ſervants had retired, Mr. Howard ſaved me the trouble.

My niece tells me ſhe is no worſe, an⯑ſwered ſhe coldly; but ſhe is extremely low ſpirited; and the ſlighteſt agitation in her preſent weak condition may be fatal to a frame ſo exhauſted as her's. I own I am under great uneaſineſs about her: the apprehenſion of a relapſe terri⯑fies me.

A relapſe! cried I in a tone which betrayed my emotion, heaven forbid! or we ſhall never forgive ourſelves; and leaning my head upon my hand, I found myſelf unable longer to preſerve the ap⯑pearance of the tranquillity I had endea⯑voured to aſſume.

Mr. Howard made me ſwallow a ſe⯑cond glaſs of Madeira; and Lady Mere⯑dith ſeemed ſo affected with my tears, [143] that preſſing my hand with even more than her accuſtomed kindneſs, all cold⯑neſs, prejudice, and reſerve, ſeemed in⯑ſtantly to give way to the kindeſt ſym⯑pathy and moſt ſoothing compaſſion. Compoſe yourſelf, my dear Miſs Sey⯑mour, cried ſhe; my apprehenſions have been always accuſed of greatly magnify⯑ing every impending danger. It is ap⯑prehenſion only, thank God, that leads me to ſpeak in a tone of ſuch deſpon⯑dency. Lady Aubrey aſſures me, that far from being hurt by the late inter⯑view, it has ſoothed and gratified her heart; and even had the violence of her feelings, naturally acute, exhauſted her a little for the preſent, from the kin⯑dred ſenſibility of your ſympathetic hearts, I foreſee in future infinite ſatisfaction and conſolation to my unfortunate niece in the unexpected happineſs of your friend⯑ſhip and ſociety.

The ſubject was too delicate to admit [144] of more, and ſoon after we ſeparated for the night.

This morning, when we met at break⯑faſt, Lady Meredith paid us her compli⯑ments with much kindneſs, and the ap⯑pearance of revived ſpirits. Her niece, ſhe ſaid, her beloved niece, (for ſhe ſel⯑dom mentions her without ſome epithet expreſſive of affection) had enjoyed an excellent night's reſt, and found herſelf much refreſhed, ſo I hope in God, Miſs Seymour, all our fears were wholly ground⯑leſs.

On her Ladyſhip's leaving us imme⯑diately after breakfaſt, Mr. Howard in⯑formed us that he had had a long walk with her in the morning, for ſhe is an early riſer, and that it had been produc⯑tive of a very intereſting converſation; in the courſe of which he had picked up ſome particulars relative to Lady Aubrey that he was certain we muſt be eager to learn.

[145]Lady Meredith, he ſaid, had entirely contradicted the report, ſo univerſally cir⯑culated and ſo generally credited, of La⯑dy Aubrey's inſanity. A fever of the moſt alarming nature had indeed attacked her brain, and held her life for many weeks ſuſpended; but this was the natu⯑ral conſequence of her misfortunes. Re⯑turning reaſon had been the immediate follower of recruited health: and tho' the moſt mournful depreſſion had wholly baniſhed tranquillity and peace from her boſom, religion the moſt devout, and re⯑ſignation the moſt humble and ſincere, had ſupported her in the height of mi⯑ſery, and had preſerved her from the baneful effects of diſtraction and deſpair.

When her ill fated marriage took place, ſhe had been but a few weeks in England. She had ſpent her life abroad, where Lord Embdon had acted at the Court of Turin in a public capacity. She had hitherto enjoyed little perſonal inter⯑courſe [146] with her numerous relations, and was particularly attached to none of them. Her native country, endeared to her neither by the force of private friendſhip nor by the inſinuating remembrance of early prepoſſeſſion, it was the inevitable and natural effects of her misfortunes to be diſguſted with it, and her departure was a ſtep which delicacy, pride, and af⯑fliction, all conſpired to dictate.

The death of Lord Embdon, which happened at this juncture, (a ſtroke which it is to be hoped his weakly conſti⯑tution rather than his child's calamities had inflicted,) involved the unfortunate daughter in accumulated diſtreſs. Thank heaven he died of a complaint wherein the ſpirits are not ſuppoſed by medical people to influence the diſorder. He had been for many years afflicted with the ſtone; and refuſing to ſubmit to an ope⯑ration, fell a ſacrifice to that painful diſ⯑eaſe.

[147]This event, while it diſſolved her only remaining tie to England, left her wholly at liberty to purſue her intended ſcheme of future ſecluſion. Her grandfather, the old Earl of Aubrey, indeed ſtill ſur⯑vived, and beheld the ruined peace of his family with the weeping eye of a pa⯑rent. He entreated his grand daughter, the heireſs of his poſſeſſions, not to deſert him in his old age; but as ſhe well knew that an hereditary regard for the ſucceſ⯑ſor of his name and titles alone dictated this requeſt, and that wholly governed by a woman who had lived with him for years, his heart but feebly retained the impreſſions of natural affection, her ſenſe of duty did not interfere with the proſe⯑cution of her intentions.

She therefore bade adieu to England; and having for a ſhort time boarded her⯑ſelf and attendants in the quiet retire⯑ment of a monaſtry, ſhe from thence en⯑quired after an obſcure but elegant re⯑treat, [148] which an early and tender friend⯑ſhip for it's deceaſed poſſeſſor had en⯑deared to her remembrance; and having purchaſed it from the preſent owner, ſhe retired thither with the deſign of ſeclud⯑ing herſelf for ever from the world.

When this reſolution was formed, Miſs Marſdon was but eighteen, and poſſeſſed in the full glow of radience thoſe charms which dejection, diſappointment, and in⯑diſpoſition, for fifteen years more, have ſcarce been able to impair. Her days, bounded by diſtreſs, the dreary proſpect admitted no ray of reviving conſolation except what reſulted from the ſocety of one dear and maternal friend, who hav⯑ing been lately deprived of the huſband of her heart, and never having been bleſſed with offspring, flew to indulge with her favorite young friend the un⯑bounded luxury of ſorrow.

Madame de St. Hillaire, for ſome time combated not the intended ſecluſion [149] of her amiable friend. But the violence of her own diſtreſs yielding to reſignation and compoſure, ſhe became conſcious that tho' grief is ſeldom abated by reaſoning the moſt convincing and judicious, time will infallibly leſſen, and variety in ſome meaſure divert, it's bitterneſs. Her feel⯑ings, tho' poignant, were ſoothing and enthuſiaſtic: tears unceaſingly fell from her eyes; but they were tears of relief. Some pleaſing recollection, ſome ſcene, intereſting and endearing, often made them flow, and the luxuriant reveries of paſt delight in a great meaſure ſoothed the preſent ſad reverſe.

Far otherwiſe was the ſource of the bitter anguiſh of her friend. The re⯑membrance of paſt affection carried a ſting which made her in horror fly from the thought; and the idea that the man ſhe had loved and had loſt was torn from her arms by the common ſtroke of death, ſupported not her feeling mind in the [150] height of languor and depreſſion: all was miſery unmitigated: the paſt was hor⯑ror, and the future preſented only unde⯑ſerved mortification and perpetual regret.

In ſolitude and obſcurity were centered the only ideas of dejected tranquillity that could find entrance into the boſom of the fair mourner: a boſom of acute ſenſibi⯑lity, chilled by the cold hand of diſap⯑pointment: but her anxious friend, re⯑flecting on her youth and amiable diſpo⯑ſition, hoped that after time had been given for meliorating her ſorrows into peaceful reſignation, a temper ſo calcu⯑lated for the active duties of benevolence would not remain unſubdued by the heartfelt gratifications which that noble principle affords, and foreſaw that it would not prove impoſſible to prevail with her to relax in her preſent ſyſtem.

Time juſtified the predictions of this valuable friend. By degrees, at her earneſt entreaties, a ſelect acquaintance [151] was admitted; and altho' through the whole of Lady Aubrey's reſidence a⯑broad, till the preſent moment, a weight of melancholy impaired her health and clouded her ſpirits, religion and princi⯑ple co-operating with the continual ef⯑forts of Madame de St. Hillaire, greatly ſoftened the firſt anguiſh of her ſuffer⯑ings; and while ſhe remained incapable of participating in the gaieties of life, its rational comforts were reſtored to her re⯑liſh. Her ſociety, tho' limited, was ele⯑gant, and judiciouſly choſen; and her ſolitary reſidence at length began to wear the aſpect of a peaceful retirement, which the ſad ſtroke of Madame de St. Hil⯑laire's death, added to the dying requeſt of her grandfather, would probably alone have prevailed with Lady Aubrey ever to have quitted.

Lord Aubrey, ſinding the infirmities of age overtake him with a haſty pace, the beginning of this year ſent an earneſt [152] intreaty to his grand daughter to grant him the ſatisfaction of beholding once more the laſt and only ſupporter of his family and dignities. She heſitated not to obey, however painfully her return to England muſt awaken every ſource of anguiſh, and arrived in London about the end of January, juſt in time to re⯑ceive his laſt injunctions, the old Lord having ſurvived this affecting meeting only a few days.

Lady Aubrey now found herſelf poſ⯑ſeſſed of the accumulated wealth of a long line of noble and opulent anceſtry. Independent of thoſe eſtates which from entail were annexed to the title, her grandfather had left her conſiderable pro⯑perty; and he requeſted that a due re⯑gard to an ancient and honourable fa⯑mily, of which ſhe was the head and or⯑nament, might prevail with her to ſpend her days in the old family caſtle; where her predeceſſors had lived time immemo⯑rial, [153] adored by their vaſſals, reſpected by their friends, and the pride and bleſſing of the country around.

In addition to theſe particulars, Lady Meredith mentioned to Mr. Howard, that though from ſeveral circumſtances which on recollection ſtrike her remem⯑brance, ſhe conjectures her amiable niece wiſhed her to be made acquainted with the ſingular event of her rencontre with this famiy, never could ſhe ſummon cou⯑rage and calmneſs ſufficient for entering on the painful ſubject till yeſterday evening, when the violence of her emotions ren⯑dering her aunt at once ſuſpicious and inquiſitive, drew the formidable ſecret from her boſom.

Tho' tenderly attached to my niece, ſaid Lady Meredith, the only ſurviving child of a deceaſed ſiſter whom I almoſt idolized, I have not had the happineſs, till her late return from abroad, of en⯑joying much of her company. She has [154] ſpent great part of her life on the conti⯑nent, where it was only in my power to viſit her once for a few months; and it is only of late, that ſtrict intimacy and affection have taken place which always indeed ſubſiſted, but in a leſs powerful degree, between us. Length of abſence, and difference of years, have however precluded that unreſerved confidence, which, except at the open and undiſguiſed period of early youth, is not eaſily be⯑ſtowed. Aware of the quick ſenſibility of Lady Aubrey's feelings, I forbore to probe wounds ſcarce cloſed, and care⯑fully avoided every ſubject likely to re⯑call the paſt to her mind: till laſt night, when the emotion in which I found her paved the way for a communication as unexpected as extraordinary. Lady Au⯑brey confeſſed that accident had intro⯑duced to her knowledge a family, to meet with whom had been her moſt earneſt wiſh, tho' from a variety of circumſtan⯑ces [155] ſhe had for ever deſpaired of enjoying that ſatisfaction; and that altho' a com⯑plication of agitating ſenſations had wholly overpowered her at the firſt meet⯑ing, and rendered her ſo apprehenſive of a ſecond as to delay it till returning health and ſtrength might enable her to ſupport the feelings which ſhe knew it muſt occaſion, the inherent ſatisfaction reſulting from the event ſhe was convin⯑ced would be of infinite benefit both to her health and tranquillity in future.

It was not difficult, continued Lady Meredith, to divine who this family muſt be: and what I have ſeen of every individual in it, perſuades me that Lady Aubrey will not find herſelf deceived in this flattering expectation.

Mr. Howard had juſt concluded this intereſting narrative, when Lady Mere⯑dith entering the parlour, told us that Lady Aubrey requeſted our company; and that while we attended her Ladyſhip [156] ſhe ſhould accompany Mr. Howard once more in his rambles thro' the wood, as it was impoſſible ever to tire in walking over ſo delightful a ſpot as Hubert Hill, and ſhe had not yet been ſhewn all the lions.

My ſiſter and I then went up ſtairs. We found our dear Lady Aubrey in bed, for ſhe is not allowed to riſe till the morning is far advanced; but ſhe looked more beautiful as ſhe ſat upright ſup⯑ported by pillows, than any other wo⯑man I ever beheld in all the pride of youth, dreſs, and lovelineſs.

There is an expreſſion of feeling lan⯑guor in her charming eyes, that would be alone captivating beyond expreſſion, even diveſted of the aid they receive from the perfection of her other features, and I am not certain if it would be in my power to admire her ſo enthuſiaſtically was ſhe relieved from thoſe traces of de⯑cay, which betraying the ravages of la⯑tent [157] anguiſh, beſpeak in the ſame mo⯑ment the warmeſt admiration and the moſt compaſſionate ſympathy. In the bloom of eighteen, Miſs Marſdon may have been more beautiful, but could not have proved ſo intereſting, ſo inſinuat⯑ing as Lady Aubrey appears at this in⯑ſtant.

She embraced us both tenderly, and apologized for requeſting our company at her bed ſide; but I cannot deny my⯑ſelf, ſaid ſhe, the gratification of your company from mere motives of cold ce⯑remony, while my heart is under the in⯑fluence of ſentiments ſo fervent. I am ſoothed and gratified beyond expreſſion, continued ſhe. My reſt laſt night was more refreſhing and tranquil than any I have enjoyed ſince my accident, which, far from accounting unfortunate, I ſhall ever regard as the bleſſing of providence. With a heart overflowing with gratitude to the Almighty, I offered up my hum⯑ble [158] thanks, and compoſed myſelf to ſleep with an inward ſenſation of relief and ſa⯑tisfaction, which caſt a gleam of content⯑ment even over my dreams and my re⯑poſe.

She appeared indeed calm and com⯑poſed beyond our moſt ſanguine hopes; and tho' a tear of feeling often fell from her eye, and her boſom heaved with an oppreſſion not to be ſuppreſſed, a ſmile of reſigned benevolence often broke thro' the ſedate melancholy ſeated on her in⯑tereſting countenance, and her ſighs ſeemed more the offspring of relief than uneaſineſs.

Amidſt the effuſions of that melting and ſoothing tenderneſs which linked our hearts together, and which was tacitly acknowledged to have but one common ſource in my dear father, yet was his name not once pronounced. Amidſt the free and mutual communication which a heart-felt intereſt claimed, tho' to this [159] every circumſtance alluded and every en⯑quiry tended, it was a point at which none of us could arrive. It ſeemed too ſacred, too aweful to be uttered, and muſt have led to particulars at which for worlds we would not as yet have ventu⯑red to hint.

Lady Aubrey, however, by degrees informed us of all we were moſt anxious to know: that during the whole period of our reſidence abroad ſhe had main⯑tained a conſtant correſpondence with Mr. Benſley, unknown to every one, and under promiſe of profound ſecrecy. Doubtleſs the appearance of preſerving an intercourſe of any kind with the a⯑vowed friend of my father, muſt have ſeemed an act of impropriety in the eyes of her own family, and might have been deemed romantic by the world; yet could not this amiable, this angelic woman, remain contentedly ignorant of the fate of a man to whom her whole heart had [160] once been given up, however unworthy he had proved himſelf by overwhelming her with unmerited ſhame and deſpair, and by driving her, in the gay ſeaſon of a youth which fortune and nature had conſpired to bleſs with a thouſand envied advantages, to bury herſelf in ſolitude and obſcurity.

The deſire of addreſſing myſelf to Mr. Benſeley, ſaid Lady Aubrey, had taken poſſeſſion of my mind for ſeveral months previous to my quitting England. From him only could a thouſand circumſtances reach my knowledge, which it was abſo⯑lutely eſſential to my very exiſtence to know, and which to no other perſon could even be hinted; yet a number of objections, and difficulties almoſt inſur⯑mountable, deterred me from gratifying a wiſh that every moment grew more ir⯑reſiſtible. The awkwardneſs of an ap⯑plication by letter appeared formidable, and the apprehenſion of being detected [161] in a ſtep which I well knew my father would deem derogatory to my dignity, and fraught with impropriety, terrified me. This laſt bar was, alas! but too ſoon removed by that dear parent's death; and yielding to the potency of my anx⯑iety, I ventured at length to write to Mr. Benſeley, and informing him of my reſi⯑dence abroad, where I meant immedi⯑ately to retire, requeſted the favor from time to time of hearing from him.

By his anſwer I was relieved from much miſery, and ſpared the anguiſh of vague and fruitleſs conjecture. I was made ac⯑quainted with a thouſand particulars, minute and intereſting: I was ſatisfied in the point neareſt my heart—the point in⯑deed which had dictated my ungoverna⯑ble and eager deſire of information. I was informed of your ſecluded reſidence in the ſouth of France, and my fervent and inceſſant prayers to heaven I found were at length anſwered:—remorſe the [162] moſt poignant ſucceeded to errors which—

She ſtopped for a moment, unable to proceed; but recovering herſelf—dur⯑ing this correſpondence, continued ſhe, which regularly ſubſiſted between Mr. Benſeley and myſelf till within a fort⯑night of his death, I was minutely in⯑formed, according to my moſt earneſt requeſt, of every particular of your man⯑ner of life, your ſolitude, your amuſe⯑ments, and the plan of education that had been adopted. All, all was intereſt⯑ing to me; and this ſingular participa⯑tion in your welfare gave an intereſt to my exiſtence; and while I deplored the bar that for ever excluded all perſonal knowledge or intercourſe between us, my heart ſtrongly cheriſhed and imbibed a warm and maternal affection, which was daily nouriſhed and encreaſed by the peruſal of letters from B— with which the worthy Mr. Benſeley, indul⯑gent [163] to my ſecret wiſhes though not to my avowed requeſt, often favoured me. Theſe letters, dated from your ſolitary abode in Languedoc, written with all the enthuſiaſm of paternal admiration and affection, repeated with unwearied de⯑light the virtues, the talents, and accom⯑pliſhments of his amiable daughters; and though merely deſigned for the friendly eye of Mr. Benſeley, were faithfully in ſecret tranſmitted to me. The returning conſolation theſe epiſtles indicated thro' the means of his beloved children, to ſpirits worn out by agonizing repentance and remorſe, began at length to afford comfort to mine, and bleſſing heaven for having touched a heart where virtue though obſcured never was eradicated, I in my diſtant ſecluſion partook of his revived though dejected tranquillity, and bending with due humility under the juſt and aweful diſpenſations of Providence, ſtrove with augmented fortitude to ſub⯑mit [164] to evils to which it had pleaſed hea⯑ven to grant ſome alleviation.

In this way many years rolled on: in compliance with the earneſt entreaties of a friend, who partook of my retire⯑ment and ſhared my ſorrows, I con⯑ſented to admit the ſociety of a few cho⯑ſen acquaintances, and at length began to experience the calm tranquillity, which, where religion poſſeſſes a due influence over a mind unburthened with the acute ſenſations of ſelf reproach, humility and ſubmiſſion always in ſome meaſure re⯑ſtore: yet ſtill the ſource, after heaven, from whence my chief comfort flowed, was the frequent and intereſting intelli⯑gence which Mr. Benſeley's letters, en⯑cloſing others from the quiet retreat at B—, often afforded me; till in Octo⯑ber laſt, when a packet from my good friend, which had been anxiouſly ex⯑pected for an unuſual length of time, was put into my hands. The ſeal an⯑nounced [165] fatal news, and my heart with ſecret apprehenſions died within me.

Though the moſt romantic flight of imagination, continued this amiable wo⯑man, ſighing with a bitterneſs that ſeemed to rend her boſom, never flattered me with the poſſibility of more than merely knowing he lived, and the moſt miracu⯑lous fluctuation of human events could grant me nothing beyond what I at pre⯑ſent enjoyed—the cold ſatisfaction of pe⯑ruſing letters neither addreſſed to myſelf nor intended for my view; though the hand of death could ſcarce place a bar more unſurmountable between us than that which already ſubſiſted; yet to be told that death itſelf had divided us, over⯑powered me with a pang yet unfelt, the violence of which appeared aſtoniſhing even to myſelf.

Between thoſe calamities, however, with which, by the common lot of mor⯑tality, we are overwhelmed, and thoſe [166] which a chequered ſeries of diſmal and ſingular events have produced, a mate⯑rial difference muſt ever be felt. The lenient quality that time ſo powerfully poſſeſſes, in mitigating the aſperities of the former, proves wholly ineffectual in thoſe afflictions which diſappointed af⯑fection or early mortifications have in⯑flicted; and I confeſs this wound, though in the firſt moments of ſorrow not inferior perhaps to any I had endured, reaſon and reflection much more ſpeedily allayed; unlike the corroding ſting which the me⯑mory of my former miſeries perpetually renewed, a ſoothing and not unpleaſing regret now reſts on my mind, which, while it melts and ſubdues my heart, does not raiſe a bluſh for the uncon⯑querable weakneſs it confeſſes.

This affecting converſation, to which tears on my ſiſter's part and mine were the only interruption, and which made the eyes of our dear and amiable Lady [167] Aubrey overflow with a bitterneſs that almoſt wholly exhauſted her, terrified me with the apprehenſion of her ſinking wholly under her agitations. I entreated her to defer for the preſent all further diſ⯑courſe on this ſubject, and to allow of our leaving her. But to this ſhe would not be perſuaded to conſent. My ſor⯑rows have been of ſuch a nature, ſaid ſhe, that all communication of them is impoſſible; and confidence, a ſolace which except with my dear deceaſed friend Ma⯑dam de St. Hillaire, I never could enjoy. A painful mixture of ſhame and pride, encreaſed perhaps by early proſperity and indulgence, ſealed my lips, and confined my ſufferings to my own ſolitary and de⯑ſolated boſom; how then can my chil⯑dren, my dear children, (repeated ſhe, folding us alternately in her arms) deny me the ſatisfaction of giving vent to griefs in which their ſympathetic hearts muſt feel a generous concern.

[168]You may believe, Sophia, we returned the kind careſſes of this amiable friend with all the enthuſiaſtic warmth which a conduct ſo amiable, ſo truly great, could not fail to excite in circumſtances ſo ſin⯑gularly intereſting.

Lady Aubrey then proceeded to in⯑form us, that Mr. Benſeley had minutely acquainted her with all our intended ſchemes, and had with his uſual kindneſs voluntarily promiſed, ſhould his declining health permit of ſuch a journey, to pay her a viſit in the courſe of the following ſummer, attended by his wards; to whom this angelic woman was to have been perſonally introduced as a lady who ho⯑nored him with ſingular marks of friend⯑ſhip and regard, but without the ſlighteſt hint of any ſecret connection.

To this ſoothing ſcheme, ſaid Lady Aubrey, which I had been unceaſingly revolving in my mind how to accom⯑pliſh, I returned a moſt grateful and glad [169] aſſent, and requeſted to know at what time you were expected in England. But alas! to this letter I received no anſwer. I wrote another, and was informed by a relation, who had opened it after Mr. Benſeley's deceaſe, that the worthy man was no more. It is not eaſy to expreſs the anguiſh and diſappointment I expe⯑rienced on hearing this diſmal intelli⯑gence. Tho' inured to mortification and regret, I found I had yet much to under⯑go ere I became callous to their attacks. This blow, by overturning the ſole fa⯑vorite plan on which I had built any re⯑maining hopes of comfort, ſunk me to the loweſt ſtate of deſpondency; and the loſs of my invaluable friend, Madame de St. Hillaire, put the finiſhing ſtroke to my ſufferings.

This laſt calamity preſſed hard indeed. In all my other diſtreſſes, this beloved friend had been, under heaven, my chief ſupport, and had in ſome meaſure ſup⯑plied [170] the place of all I had loſt. I had ſtill a friend to love, a friend who re⯑turned my warm affection. An early ſeparation from my relations in England, had kept me a ſtranger to all of them, my aunt, Lady Meredith excepted, and ſhe I had known for too ſhort a period to feel for her that attachment which now fills my heart. I was then bereſt of my laſt, my only friend. Ah! can human miſery preſent a more diſmal picture to a heart of ſenſibility, than the melancholy conſideration that none exiſts to animate the feelings of fervent affection.

Still, however, the only form in which alleviation touched my boſom, was the hopes of one day meeting with you; and revolving on the means to procure my⯑ſelf this conſolation, in ſome meaſure diſſipated my gloomy reflections. I knew not where, or to whom to apply for in⯑formation; and was in this ſtate of me⯑lancholy and uncertainty, when the ac⯑count [171] of my Lord Aubrey's illneſs and requeſt to ſee me arrived. Painful as was the idea of reviſiting England, I he⯑ſitated not inſtantly to comply: and my repugnance was in a great meaſure ſub⯑dued, by the hopes of gaining ſome in⯑formation relative to you, tho' to chance alone I could owe the intelligence, Lit⯑tle likelihood indeed remained of ſucceſs. A cruel peculiarity of circumſtances de⯑prived me of any light to guide my re⯑ſearches, and an open and avowed purſuit was precluded me. Yet the poſſibility ſoothed and ſupported my ſpirits; and it was not till I had been ſome weeks in London, that I found how totally im⯑practicable it was to diſcover a private family whoſe names muſt ever be care⯑fully guarded from my ears. My own maid, who had been with me from my early youth, I ventured to entruſt with the enquiry, and two different channels of information occurred; by means of La⯑dy [172] Linroſe's ſervants, with one of whom ſhe was acquainted; and if this failed, Mr. Benſeley's relation might be applied to; but that gentleman I found was lately gone to Holland; and when I addreſſed myſelf by letter to him on the ſubject, he aſſured me in anſwer that the ladies names were as wholly unknown to him as was their abode; and Lady Linroſe's maid alſo informed mine that ſhe did not be⯑lieve two ſuch relations were expected by the family, nor had ſhe learnt that any account of them had been received.

Worn out by ſucceſſive diſappoint⯑ments, I could only conjecture that you were ſtill in Languedoc; and unwillingly conſtrained to relinquiſh this purſuit, I prepared myſelf for taking poſſeſſion of my country reſidence according to the dying requeſt of Lord Aubrey, where I was anxious to find myſelf calmly ſettled. Fatigued with the civilities and attentions paid me by a numerous claſs of diſtant [173] relations and family acquaintance, who crowded on me immediately on my ar⯑rival, I determined to ſet out for Aubrey Caſtle even at that unpropitious ſeaſon of the year, in defiance of ſundry remon⯑ſtrances from my friends, and contrary to the wiſhes of my kind aunt, who pro⯑miſed to follow when the ſpring was fur⯑ther advanced. How ſhall I ever bleſs this reſolution, concluded Lady Aubrey, how fervently ſhall my grateful prayers aſcend to the Almighty, for having in⯑ſpired a meaſure from which I have de⯑rived ſuch unſpeakable comfort.

Shall not we too bleſs heaven, cried I, every hour of our lives, for the fortunate and providential rencontre. Ah! had we known, while we remained in that inhoſpitable city diſowned and un⯑friended—had we but ſuſpected that it contained one kind, invaluable friend, who could have participated in our diffi⯑culties, ſoothed our diſappointments, and [172] [...] [173] [...] [174] aided us with comfort and advice, what an altered aſpect muſt it not have worn. Lady Aubrey's kind intereſt would have compenſated for every mortification, her friendſhip would have ſupported us un⯑der every reverſe, and bleſt in her ſociety, the cruelty of our relations would have loſt the ſevere pang it inflicted.

Lady Aubrey finds herſelf now ſo much recovered, that the phyſicians de⯑clare their attendance no longer neceſſary, and ſhe is now left to Mr. Rudder's care, who generally viſits her twice a day.

I have inſiſted on attending her con⯑ſtantly; and inſtead of ceremoniouſly re⯑fuſing my aſſiſtance, ſhe receives it with undiſguiſed pleaſure, and regards my ſolicitude and anxiety with a warmth of gratitude which would a thouſand times [175] repay my fatigues, were they even as ſevere as ſhe perpetually imagines them to be; but the permiſſion of being con⯑ſtantly with her, is a privilege and indul⯑gence which I would not for the world relinquiſh. She is ſtill very weak; and I am ſo peremptory in the duties of my office as nurſe, that I will not allow of her converſing on ſubjects which I know muſt agitate and affect her. This morn⯑ing, however, ſhe entreated me to ac⯑quaint her where and in what manner we had lived ſince our arrival in England, and I gave her a brief account of our ſi⯑tuation. This I could not poſſibly con⯑trive to do, without touching on our diſappointment in regard to Lord Bel⯑mont: but I paſſed over it as ſlightly as was in my power. She ſighed bitterly however at my relation: alas! ſaid ſhe, how differently men feel: even in his place I ſhould have taken you with de⯑light to my boſom.

[176]In talking of pecuniary matters, I mentioned my obligations to Mr. Roatſ⯑ley. Yet, Sophia, dearly as I love and reſpect Lady Aubrey, I could not confeſs more. Shame tied my tongue, and my cheeks even glowed on repeating his name. I have heard a great character of that young man abroad, ſaid ſhe. He ſpent ſome weeks at Liſle, where he was much careſſed and admired; but as I ne⯑ver quitted my home, and never enlarg⯑ed the private circle who ſometimes fa⯑vored me with their viſits, I was ſpared all chance of meeting with him.

I am ſtill at Hubert Hill. Our be⯑loved Lady Aubrey ſet off this morning by herſelf. This change in our plans is occaſioned by an indiſpoſition which has ſeized my ſiſter, and which, without be⯑ing in the leaſt alarming, renders her low ſpirited and oppreſt. I ſhould have been uneaſy at leaving her in her preſent [179] ſituation; and Lady Aubrey, had I in⯑clined, would not have deſired it. She has contented herſelf therefore with ex⯑acting Mr. Howard's promiſe to carry us both to her in a ſhort time, when his buſineſs is finiſhed and my ſiſter's health re-eſtabliſhed.

Short as is to be this interval of ab⯑ſence, we did not ſeparate without tears. How gracious, Sophia, have been the diſpenſations of Providence towards us: when we have imagined ourſelves de⯑ſerted by the whole world, Mr. Howard excepted, and felt ourſelves outcaſts from our family, with what augmented reliſh muſt we not enjoy the ſoothing idea of poſſeſſing a tender and invaluable friend, who gratifies our hearts every moment with new proofs of attachment, and to whom our tenderneſs and regard are e⯑qually eſſential. What a new ſource of happineſs has this unexpected connexion produced.

Mr. Howard, who is ever anxious to afford us ſuch amuſements as the unifor⯑mity of our tranquil ſtile of life admits, aſked me on Tueſday morning if I choſe to accompany him in an excurſion on horſeback towards a part of the country that was entirely new to me, and beauti⯑fully romantic. I gladly conſented; but juſt as we were equipt for our little ex⯑curſion, his attorney from town arrived on buſineſs, and perceiving how incon⯑venient his leaving home muſt prove, I inſiſted on proſecuting my expedition without him; and merely taking old James the gardener, who has paſt his days in the county, as my eſcort.

Fanny was lazy, and would not be per⯑ſuaded to ſtir from her work; ſo I ſet off about eleven, the morning being deli⯑cious [181] for the ſeaſon, eager to explore ſome particular pictureſque ſcenes which Mr. Howard had deſcribed as admirable ſubjects for my pencil.

The country around was ſo ſingularly beautiful, that I was tempted to go on further than I at firſt intended; for as we are regular people at Hubert Hill, and keep early hours, I wiſhed to be home by two o'clock; but the ſight of a very fine country ſeat at no great diſtance induced me to prolong my ride, from the deſire of admiring it on a nearer view.

I had juſt turned the wall of a park that ſurrounded a houſe of a very noble appearance, which James, to whom I applied for information, acquainted me was called Holtenham Abbey, when a party of gentlemen and ladies iſſuing from a gate, with the intention of croſſ⯑ing the road, made my mare plunge, and unable to recover my ſeat, I was [182] thrown from it with ſuch violence that ſcreams reſounded from every voice.

Happily I did not ſuffer from any in⯑tanglement with the ſtirrup or accoutre⯑ments, and felt at the moment no other bad conſequences from the fall, than the painful one of confuſion at having ſo many people to witneſs this awkward ac⯑cident, added to that diſmay which the ſudden ſhock unavoidably occaſioned me.

I believe half a dozen gentlemen at leaſt flew inſtantly to my aſſiſtance, to raiſe me from the ground, where, con⯑founded and without motion, I lay for ſome moments. Good heavens, Madam, exclaimed they all, one after another, how do you find yourſelf? I hope you are not hurt? Where have you ſuffered? and the reſt of the company, who ſeemed diſperſed in walking parties of two or three together, juſt then coming up, I felt myſelf nearly as ſeverely ſtunned by the ſucceſſive repetitions of the ſame en⯑quiries, [183] to which at firſt I was unable to make any reply, as I was by the fall it⯑ſelf. Smelling bottles were preſented me from all quarters; yet ſome little time elapſed before I could even recollect my⯑ſelf ſufficiently to expreſs my thanks for the kindneſs and humanity of their ſolici⯑tude.

An elderly lady, who appeared parti⯑cularly concerned for me, and who ſeemed to be owner of the noble manſion, inſiſted, the moment I was a little reco⯑vered, on having me conveyed into the houſe, from which an avenue of no great length only divided us; and aſked me, with much civility and tenderneſs, if I found it impoſſible with aſſiſtance to walk towards it.

Happy to eſcape from the company, and embarraſſed by the curioſity and no⯑tice I excited, I thankfully accepted this obliging offer, and made a feeble attempt to move forward.

[184]Pray allow me the honor of conduct⯑ing you, ſaid a young man, who had obliged me to lean on his arm, but whoſe face from perturbation I had not yet diſ⯑tinguiſhed: the voice, however, was fa⯑miliar to my ears, and on regarding him I recollected my aſſiſtant to be Captain Bradſhaw, the friend of Roatſley, againſt whom, notwithſtanding that circum⯑ſtance, I had conceived no ſmall degree of prejudice, from cauſes which you will I am certain recollect.

At the inſtant I caſt my eyes on him, Miſs Seymour, I believe, ſaid he, and bowed with a diffidence that teſtified he had not forgotten the ſelf-introduction to which he owed the acquaintance.

The old lady then led the way; and I ſlowly followed, ſupported by Mr. Brad⯑ſhaw, without whoſe aſſiſtance I now found I ſhould have been unable to have ſtirred, from a ſevere ſprain in my foot. Indeed ſo painful did it feel, that had not [185] my anxiety to eſcape from obſervation ſupplied me with fortitude to endure the uneaſineſs that walking occaſioned, I ſhould have concluded moving impoſſi⯑ble.

Moſt of the ladies ſeemed inclined to accompany us, tho' I very earneſtly en⯑treated that I might not be the means of interrupting their walk. My worthy pa⯑troneſs however perceiving their intended civility conſiderably encreaſed my per⯑plexity, immediately ſaid, pray ladies and gentlemen don't let this accident in⯑terfere with your rambles: ſince it has not, thank heaven, turned out very un⯑happily, Mr. Bradſhaw and I ſhall attend the young lady; and ſaying this, ſhe made a motion with her hand, which obliged the whole party, tho' with ſeeming reluc⯑tance, to leave us; for ſo powerfully does curioſity and the love of novelty prevail in moſt diſpoſitions, that perceiving I was not a ſevere ſufferer from the accident, [186] the company appeared to regard it as a little adventure, the concluſion of which they ſhould not have been ſorry to have witneſſed.

When we reached the houſe, at which I did not arrive without conſiderable dif⯑ficulty, the door was opened by a foot⯑man, who uſhered us into a ſuperb par⯑lour, where a young lady apparently of about ſeventeen, who might have ſat for the picture of Hebe, was placed by the fire with a book in her hand.

She ſeemed to have been confined by ſome ſlight ailment, having a large cap and hood tied careleſsly under her chin.

I have brought you an unfortunate in⯑valid, Miſs Lucy, cried my conductreſs, and explained my accident in a few words, while Mr. Bradſhaw flew to pro⯑cure me a glaſs of cold water.

Good God, Madam, what a ſhocking accident! cried the young lady with much kindneſs. How dreadfully pale [187] you look: pray where are you hurt? I hope not ſeverely? and no ſooner had I acknowledged that I ſuſpected my foot had been ſlightly diſlocated, than ſhe in⯑ſiſted on ſupporting me into her dreſſing room; where, while the lady of the houſe diſpatched a ſervant for a neigh⯑bouring ſurgeon, this amiable ſtranger aſſiſted her maid in chafing my foot with Goulard and water to allay the ſwel⯑ling, which had encreaſed rapidly from the effort of walking.

Lady Mary, for ſo I found this hoſpita⯑ble old lady was called, ordered wine and cordials of all kinds to be inſtantly brought, which ſhe inſiſted on adminiſ⯑tering to me with a benevolence that diſplayed her character in a point of view ſo humane as to give me the moſt fa⯑vourable opinion of her heart. Her young friend was if poſſible ſtill more kind and equally anxious to provide every thing for my eaſe and comfort. My foot [188] however grew more uneaſy, and ſoon be⯑came ſo ſwelled as to be perfectly ſtiff and extremely painful.

Finding myſelf worſe, I was appre⯑henſive of being laid up with this ſtranger family, which ſpite of their civility and goodneſs might have proved as inconve⯑nient for them as diſagreeable to myſelf: I made therefore as light of the accident as I poſſibly could; aſſured the ladies it was quite trifling, and inſiſted on re⯑mounting my mare and returning home; promiſing to walk her gently, and plead⯑ing the terror my ſiſter muſt endure at my unaccountable length of abſence.

The ſurgeon made his appearance juſt as I ſpoke, and joined the ladies in re⯑garding this propoſal as abſolute frenzy. There is no treating caſualties of ſuch a nature in this manner, Madam, ſaid he, with much pompoſity, and though it is to be hoped that ten days confinement, with proper care, may effect a cure, as [189] many weeks, if you are imprudent, may not ſet you again on foot.

If I was your father or mother, my dear Madam, cried Lady Mary, or any relation who poſſeſſed authority or influ⯑ence over you, I ſhould not only now, but for ever prohibit your again ventur⯑ing on the back of that fiery, dangerous animal. I can no way reconcile myſelf, added ſhe, to the preſent prevailing mode of ladies becoming profeſſed jockies; an unaccountable paſſion for the maſculine accompliſhment of horſemanſhip ſeems now a days to have extended even to our ſex, and it muſt certainly be acknow⯑ledged the leaſt graceful and moſt abſurd cuſtom that faſhion ever introduced among females. I am ſure it perſuades many a timid girl to brave dangers from which, under any other form, ſhe would ſhrink with terror: but the ton is not only a ſufficient apology for ſuch enterprizes, but a ſupport likewiſe. Excuſe the free⯑dom [190] of my obſervation, dear Madam, continued ſhe with a good humoured ſmile, and pray give me leave to ſend to inform your friends that you are ſafe and in good hands.

I returned a thouſand thanks to Lady Mary for her benevolent civilities; but entreated ſhe would not inſiſt on my ſtay as I acknowledged myſelf extremely anx⯑ious to get home, and aſſured her there was not the ſlighteſt probable danger in my returning on horſeback, as my mare was remarkably ſafe, and my fall had merely reſulted from the ſudden appear⯑ance of ſome of the company, which had ſtartled her.

As to your going on horſeback, cried ſhe, pray talk of it no more, for indeed you muſt not think of ſuch imprudence. However, ſince you are ſo very eager to leave us, I really wiſh it was in my power to contrive your removal in the way that would the leaſt ſubject you to [191] inconvenience and uneaſineſs; but un⯑fortunately I have at preſent no carriage to offer you; my niece's chariot requir⯑ing ſome alterations, was left behind us in town, ſo that for ſome weeks we ſhall have no equipage but my coach, which a lady, who is juſt now my gueſt, got this morning to pay a viſit in the neigh⯑bourhood, and I am really uncertain whe⯑ther or not ſhe will be home till the even⯑ing. Pray, my dear, turning to her young friend, is there any hopes, think you, that Lady Linroſe will behave bet⯑ter than her promiſe, and return to us before dinner.

Conceive my regret and aſtoniſhment, Sophia, at the ſound of a name I ſo lit⯑tle expected to hear, and imagine to your⯑ſelf my concern upon finding there was ſo much probability of my meeting with her Ladyſhip, which her return every inſtant might ſubject me to; a mortifica⯑tion which of all things on earth I moſt [192] wiſhed to avoid. I was thunderſtruck on perceiving myſelf plunged into a ſitu⯑ation ſo awkward, and changed colour ſo rapidly, that had not the ladies been happily otherwiſe engaged, they muſt have remarked my emotion.

I am indeed afraid, Madam, replied Miſs Lucy, that my mother's return will hardly leave time ſufficient for the young lady's removal this evening; for you know Mrs. Pelcourt and ſhe are old friends; they muſt always have a long chat when they meet, and I make no doubt that if ſhe inſiſts on it, my mother will paſs the day with her.

Her mother. Here was a freſh ſur⯑priſe, which wholly diſconcerted me. To find myſelf all at once involved in difficulties ſo ſingular and unlooked for, ſurrounded by relations who had behaved ſo unworthily by me, and who muſt feel themſelves, when they made the diſco⯑very, ſo aſhamed, ſo vexed at the ren⯑contre, [193] threw me into a confuſion and perplexity not to be expreſſed; and the idea that it was not impoſſible but Roatſ⯑ley himſelf might be of the party, put the finiſhing ſtroke to my embarraſſment.

You will aſk, I know, Sophia, why I, who was on this occaſion the ſuffering perſon, who had done no injury to La⯑dy Linroſe, and who had no cauſe to bluſh for my conduct towards her or her family, ſhould undergo ſuch apprehen⯑ſions at the thoughts of ſeeing her:—ap⯑prehenſions that ought only to have at⯑tended the conſciouſneſs of miſconduct. I own there might have been more ſpirit perhaps in braving than in yielding to my preſent feelings; but the certainty of plunging a whole family into confuſion was by no means either ſoothihg to my pride or gratifying to my reſentment. I felt myſelf an unwelcome intruder, who was about to create diſturbance and un⯑eaſineſs, and I ſunk under the dread of the ſcene that awaited me.

[194]Come, dear Madam, cried Lady Ma⯑ry, finding I was ſilent, this day at leaſt you muſt be contented to remain my gueſt: to-morrow, if you continue thus impatient, my carriage ſhall attend your commands; but in the mean time pray allow me to aſk whither the meſſage ſhall be directed with the aſſurances of your ſafety?

You are all goodneſs, Madam, ſaid I at length, and I am truly aſhamed of appearing thus obſtinate and ungrateful; but indeed buſineſs of real moment, bu⯑ſineſs of the laſt importance, renders my abſence from home ſo particularly un⯑fortunate, that my ſtay is impoſſible.

I ſpoke with an energy that I believe ſurpriſed them, and muſt have ſurmount⯑ed all oppoſition had my removal been practicable.

Since the lady is ſo eager to be gone, ſaid the ſurgeon, I think ſhe might be conveyed with tolerable ſafety in a coach, [195] where her leg might be extended at eaſe on the oppoſite ſeat; but as for any other mode of travelling, particularly on horſe⯑back, that, Madam, addreſſing himſelf to me with much importance, you would find not merely inconvenient but painful in the extreme, and really when patients refuſe to be directed by their medical at⯑tendants, they undoubtedly cannot be⯑come reſponſible for the conſequences of imprudence.

The awkwardneſs of my ſituation giv⯑ing defiance to all alarm, I was beyond meaſure provoked with the pedantic pa⯑rade of this man, who made my deter⯑mination to depart appear ſtill more ſtub⯑born and unaccountable: but the mo⯑ment he left the room, I enquired, tho' with many expreſſions of gratitude and obligation, if a carriage could not be procured from the neighbouring village.

It is a poor little place, anſwered Lady Mary, and boaſts of no conveyance be⯑yond [196] a cart. I believe a hired chaiſe might indeed be had from N—; but 'tis twelve miles diſtant, and it muſt be ſo late before it could arrive, that I ſhould imagine a few hours could make little difference. 'Tis already almoſt two; and before a ſervant could go and return, the night muſt be far advanced: at all events to-morrow you ſhall have my coach; and tho' I ought to aſk pardon for importun⯑ing you ſo much, I muſt confeſs that I ſecretly ſuſpect this buſineſs of impor⯑tance to be nothing more than a pretext under which you wiſh to relieve the fears of your family in perſon. Now, my dear Madam, be aſſured I ſhall be moſt happy to be favoured with the company of any of your friends who on this oc⯑caſion may chuſe to viſit you, and as a meſſage to that effect can be inſtantly diſpatched by your own ſervant, ſome of your family will join you in a few hours.

This is a plan, cried Miſs Lucy with [197] the utmoſt kindneſs, which cannot fail to render you perfectly at eaſe; ſo do pray, dear Madam, be prevailed with at leaſt to continue with us till to-morrow.

My ſituation became now more diſtreſ⯑ſing than ever. I at laſt determined on diſpatching James in all haſte to Hubert Hill, with orders inſtantly to return with Mr. Howard's one horſe chair, and this plan I flattered myſelf would ſave me the mortification of the impending meeting, as in all likelihood it would arrive before Lady Linroſe returned from her viſit.

Yet a thouſand different reaſons ren⯑dered this ſcheme, tho' the beſt I could deviſe at the time, defective and un⯑comfortable. Lady Linroſe I might by this means avoid; but her ſon might ſtill be of the party; he, and the reſt of the family, I might ſtill encounter; and the late pecuniary tranſactions that had taken place ſince we laſt met, the indigent light in which I had been repreſented to [198] him, and the pride and incivility of his behaviour on the diſcovery he had ſo re⯑cently made, all conſpired to make me wiſh myſelf in any quarter of the globe at that inſtant rather than under the ſame roof with him. A confuſion of painful and even oppoſite ſenſations agitated and perplexed me, while I felt proud, piqued, and diſpleaſed. I was ſunk, humbled, and dejected, and tears, owing their ſource leſs to mortification than ſenſibility, threatened every moment to burſt from my eyes.

This plan, however, I now diſcovered with bitter diſmay, was impracticable, for the day had ſuddenly changed it's aſ⯑pect, and it rained with great violence; and tho' I would with pleaſure have de⯑fied any inconveniency, I knew not how to inſiſt further on departing without in⯑curring the imputation of being ſelf-wil⯑led and capricious. The weather equally prohibited every mode of travelling, ex⯑cepting [199] that which was not to be procur⯑ed; therefore all reſiſtance was at an end; and it only remained that I ſhould en⯑deavour to comply with a good grace to this cruel neceſſity. My countenance, I am afraid, betrayed my feelings; for my two amiable companions joined in intreat⯑ing me to make myſelf eaſy, and be⯑ſought me to loſe no time in diſpatching my ſervant home with Lady Mary's kind meſſage to my friends.

Juſt as they ſpoke, two ladies entered the dreſſing room. May I uſe the free⯑dom to enquire for the young lady, ſaid one of them, (whom I recollected to have been particularly obliging and attentive to me at the moment of my accident,) I was ſorry to learn below that it had been found neceſſary to call a ſurgeon.

His attendance Madam, anſwered I, was wholly unneceſſary, as a ſlight ſprain is all the inconvenience my fall has occa⯑ſioned; and I am ſure I ought not to re⯑gret [200] an accident to which I owe ſo much kindneſs and civility.

Indeed I am extremely ſorry you have been ſo unfortunate, returned ſhe; tho' we have profited ſo much from the event, that if it is only the means of confining you with us for ſome little time, we ſhall find difficulty enough in regretting it.

I endeavoured to return an anſwer ex⯑preſſive of my ſatisfaction on having en⯑countered a family whoſe humanity did ſo much honor to their characters; but my mind was uneaſy, and I fear my looks contradicted my words.

Yes, cried Lady Mary, interrupting, me, yet you were ſo extremely unwilling to truſt yourſelf, tho' but for a ſingle night, with this ſame hoſpitable family, that do you know, niece, our invalid in⯑ſiſted on returning upon the identical horſe that gave us all this alarm, in ſpite of the ſurgeon's denunciation againſt ſo imprudent a ſcheme.

[201]Good heavens! dear Madam, what an idea! But I hope you have entirely given up all thoughts of ſuch a plan.

Before I proceed, however, in my ac⯑count of this formidable day, I muſt in⯑terrupt the preſent converſation by giving you a deſcription of this lady, whoſe manners and converſation appear ſo affa⯑ble and engaging. I told you there were two who entered together; but the friend who accompanied this engaging young lady, and on whoſe arm ſhe hung, was remarkable for nothing but an air of ſycophantiſh obſequiouſneſs, which in⯑ſtantly informed me ſhe reſided in the fa⯑mily in the comfortable capacity of an humble friend.

The young lady herſelf appeared about twenty. Her extreme height, which rendered her figure at firſt ſight remarka⯑ble, had not imbibed the ſlighteſt degree of that awkwardneſs which often in very tall people precludes grace; on the con⯑trary, [202] her form was uncommonly ele⯑gant, and her features, tho' not ſo regu⯑lar on examination as a firſt glance lead me to conclude, being embelliſhed by a very beautiful complexion, and her ſhape improved by an eaſy air, fully entitled her to the encomium of being what is generally eſteemed a prodigious fine woman. You will preſently diſcover, Sophia, why my pen is ſo minute in it's deſcriptions.

I was much embarraſſed how to make an adequate return to ſo much civility, and yet retain in my own option the power of departing ſhould an opportunity offer.

I hope you will believe Ladies, ſaid I at length, that on any other occaſion I ſhould have been beyond meaſure grati⯑fied with an opportunity of cultivating an acquaintance, which even by anticipa⯑tion gives me the moſt ſincere pleaſure; but this day my leaving home is ſo ſingu⯑larly inconvenient, that I muſt confeſs I [203] ſhall not be quite at eaſe till I find my⯑ſelf there; and if the evening improves, I hope you will neither conclude me un⯑grateful nor obſtinate, if I ſtill perſiſt in my firſt intentions. Hubert Hill is not, by my ſervant's account, above ſeven or eight miles diſtant, and I mean to ſend him off directly with orders to return with Mr. Howard's little carriage, which if the afternoon proves tolerable, is a very eaſy conveyance.

Oh no doubt he will ſend his coach for you, cried the young lady. But are you quite determined to leave us?

Mr. Howard? ſaid Lady Mary. I have the pleaſure of knowing him well, and an excellent man he is. I was indeed told that he had lately entered into the mar⯑ried ſtate, but I did not know how for⯑tunate he had been.

Perceiving her miſtake, I preſently un⯑deceived her by ſaying that my ſiſter was equally ſo in her union with a man of his ſingular worth.

[204]I make no doubt of it, returned ſhe: Mr. Howard is a character of uncommon merit, whoſe connexion muſt confer hap⯑pineſs on any family with whom he is al⯑lied. I had at all events intended my⯑ſelf the honor of waiting upon him and his new married lady, but I ſhall now have an additional motive.

Both Mr. Howard and my ſiſter, I told her, would be much flattered with the intended favor; and added, that my bro⯑ther's one horſe chair would prove a ſafe and comfortable conveyance for my re⯑turn, as in ſpite of my apparent courage I felt no inclination to venture on horſe⯑back, ſince a more agreeable method of getting home could be adopted.

It was wonderful to obſerve the ſud⯑den change which this laſt ſpeech effected upon the manners of the young lady whoſe affability had hitherto appeared ſo engaging. An expreſſion of ſurprize, which her countenance betrayed, might [205] have paſſed unnoticed, as alſo the obſer⯑vation of her companion, who had not as yet articulated one ſyllable, but had remained in reſpectful ſilence till a faint ſmile from her young patroneſs induced her to ſay, truly it may prove a very ſafe, but ſurely it can't prove a very comfortable conveyance in ſuch an evening as this promiſes to be.

The alteration which took place in the behaviour of the other, ſoon after con⯑vinced me I had conſiderably abated of my importance in her eyes, from being known. She immediately walked to⯑wards the window; her friend followed, and they whiſpered together ſome mi⯑nutes, while the bell ſummoned Miſs Lucy's maid to diſpatch James to Hu⯑bert Hill.

So tis only the people at the little white houſe on the hill, ſaid the young lady in a low voice which I could diſtinctly over⯑hear while the meſſage was tranſacting; [206] her friend replied with ſo much caution that I could only diſtinguiſh the words, quite private ſort of people, I aſſure your Ladyſhip.

Lady Mary looked towards them as if uneaſy at their behaviour, and addreſs⯑ing herſelf to her niece, endeavoured to engage her in general converſation: but evidently undeceived as to the fancied importance of the viſitor, her looks of civility and expreſſions of kindneſs were converted into ſilent indifference and haughty unconcern; and as if her curio⯑ſity had been now thoroughly ſatisfied, ſhe ſoon after left the room.

Well, Miſs Seymour, cried Lady Ma⯑ry, whether you leave us or not, pray, while we have the pleaſure of your com⯑pany, don't let us deprive the reſt of my gueſts of partaking of it. I hope you are able to walk into the next room.

The amiable Miſs Dudley then inſiſt⯑ing that I ſhould take the aſſiſtance of [207] her arm, I made ſhift, tho' with no ſmall degree of pain, to walk into the drawing room, which was luckily on the ſame floor.

When we entered, we found ſeveral gentlemen and ladies differently employ⯑ed: the young lady before mentioned was placed at the harpſichord, ſurround⯑ed by moſt of the former, whom ſhe ſeemed enchanting by the divine power of muſic. Our appearance interrupted her for a moment; but after ſlightly bowing, ſhe continued her concerto.

The gentlemen all advanced, and made their enquiries after me with great po⯑liteneſs. I caſt my eyes over them with an anxious look, and a ſenſation of ſome⯑thing not unlike diſappointment, on per⯑ceiving that Roatſley was not of the party, diſcovered to me that I ſhould not have been quite ſo ſorry to have beheld him as I had imagined.

Captain Bradſhaw, the only perſon in [208] company whom till that morning I had ever ſet eyes on, appeared to regard him⯑ſelf as an acquaintance, and paid me par⯑ticular attention. Ah, Sophia! how do trifles, as I have more than once ob⯑ſerved, often influence us. This young man, againſt whom I had cheriſhed no ſmall degree of diſlike, now no longer appeared what I uſed formerly to conſider him. Nothing had occurred to alter my prejudice; yet it was already gone. I could regard him only as the friend of Roatſley; as his friend, I was convinced he muſt have merit; and the attentions of that friend could not but prove agree⯑able to me.

The certainty too of making him ab⯑jure his injurious opinion of me, grati⯑fied my pride, and the idea, ſuppoſing Roatſley was not at Holtenham, that on their next meeting Captain Bradſhaw might chance to mention me to him, gave life to my converſation, even while [209] my ſpirits were every moment ſinking under the apprehenſion of the return of Lady Linroſe.

I could not help feeling confounded, when Miſs Lucy Dudley, taking her re⯑ference from Mr. Bradſhaw, called me occaſionally Miſs Seymour. The name, it is true, could lead to nothing, yet the certainty that ſhe muſt have heard of me under that appellation confuſed me.

Oh! with what pleaſure did I contem⯑plate the countenance of the only female relation, my ſiſter excepted, whom I ever recollect to have ſeen, and how did I trace all the amiable qualities in its ex⯑preſſion which Miſs Parſons's letter lead me to expect. Miſs Jenny kindly tells me, that a family likeneſs between her features and mine augmented the parti⯑ality ſhe was inclined to feel for her. Ah! Sophia! do you imagine that a ſtrong and remarkable reſemblance to her bro⯑ther diminiſhed the affection I was diſ⯑poſed [210] to retain for her, from the mo⯑ment ſhe was introduced to me.

The inſtant I was preſented to her, I thought I remembered having ſeen her before; but it was not immediately that I recollected her to be the young lady who once occaſioned me a pang, (I am ſorry to confeſs it,) not unlike jealouſy on perceiving her ſeated next her brother at the Opera, the evident object of his peculiar regard. There is the ſtrongeſt ſimilarity in the tones of their voices, which are both uncommonly pleaſing, and ſomething even in their turn of ex⯑preſſion ſo much alike, that the ſweet Lucy recalled her brother every inſtant to my mind. Indeed, independent of this prepoſſeſſion, her countenance and manners convey an idea of ſuch infinite ſweetneſs and ſenſibility, that I think at all times I muſt have been partial to her.

She had placed herſelf on the ſopha by me; but in ſpite of her evident wiſh to [211] leſſen the awkwardneſs of my ſituation, ſurrounded by a large company to whom but two hours before I had been acciden⯑tally introduced, and not one of whoſe names, (Captain Bradſhaw's excepted,) I even knew, you may believe the con⯑verſation was not kept up without viſible difficulty.

At this time the young lady, before ſo particularly deſcribed, ſat at her harpſi⯑chord rattling over ſome little cotillion tunes, and occaſionally interrupting her⯑ſelf to laugh and chat with ſeveral gen⯑tlemen who leant over her chair. Indeed I ſoon perceived the muſic was only a pretence to render the converſation, of which the poor ſtranger was evidently the topic, leſs remarked. She often looked at me herſelf, and carried the eyes of the gentlemen to examine me, while ſhe continued her diſcourſe in a half whiſper, which the jumbling of the keys prevented my overhearing.

[212]She appeared in great ſpirits; but an affectation too viſible in every motion deſtroyed at leaſt to me the natural grace of her appearance. I began to ſuſpect ſhe might be Miſs Dudley; which idea prevented me from gratifying my curio⯑ſity by means of her ſiſter, and I em⯑ployed myſelf ineffectually in trying to diſcover a reſemblance in her features either to thoſe of Miſs Lucy or her bro⯑ther.

At length,however, on that young lady's being called to the end of the room to examine ſome muſic, I enquired of Captain Bradſhaw the name of the lady at the harpſichord; adding, I was ſo ſingularly ſituated as to be a ſtranger to the whole company.

Is it poſſible you ſhould be ignorant of it, ſaid he in a tone of ſurprize. It is the celebrated and admired Lady Eliza⯑beth Sedley, whom I am certain you muſt at leaſt have heard of often.

[213]Sophia, conceive, if you can, my feel⯑ings at this information. Ah! no! it is impoſſible: for except in a ſimilar ſitu⯑ation, they are not to be conceived. My heart beat violently, even while a ſudden faintneſs came over me, and I fear my agitation muſt have been too apparent, for Miſs Lucy juſt then returning to her ſeat, ſaid with much ſweetneſs—I am afraid, Miſs Seymour, your foot is more uneaſy than you will own, for you look extremely pale; and Mr. Bradſhaw fixed his eyes on me with a look of inveſtigation that ſoon changed my complexion from the palid to a deeper dye.

The gentlemen now approaching the ſopha, the harpſichord ſeemed deſerted; and ſo I imagine thought Lady Elizabeth, for advancing towards us, ſhe called out in a tone of careleſs familiarity, I am a⯑fraid, Miſs Seymour, this will be a mi⯑ſerable afternoon for your excurſion in the one horſe chair, for it rains extremely hard.

[214]The voice in which ſhe pronounced theſe words let me into a ſecret that I had before half ſuſpected, viz. that the mean⯑neſs of my equipage had ſo much lowered me in her Ladyſhip's eſtimation, as to produce the change in her manner for which I had not been able to aſſign any other motive.

I know not whether Miſs Dudley felt the indelicacy of her behaviour, but ſhe immediately ſaid, it is indeed extremely unfortunate, ſince Miſs Seymour is ſo anxious to go, that Mamma ſhould have occupied Lady Mary's coach to-day; for theſe little carriages, tho' mighty pleaſant in fine weather, are not well adapted for rain.

Oh in ſuch an evening the thing is im⯑poſſible, cried all the gentlemen at once. Miſs Seymour cannot ſurely think of it.

It rained indeed harder than ever; and I was truly provoked by a change of weather ſo teizing and unlucky. My [215] foot was painful, my mind uneaſy, I re⯑quired reſt for both, and here I was not likely to enjoy eaſe in any form.

A carriage was ſoon after heard driv⯑ing up to the door, and my heart panted with expectation. I was convinced it was Mr. Roatſley, and no longer har⯑boured a doubt when I heard Mr. Brad⯑ſhaw call out, I dare ſay it is Roatſley, and inſtantly went out to meet him.

My perturbation, however, was not of long continuance; for this ſpeech con⯑vinced me that tho' he might be expected he made not one of the family; and pre⯑ſently after Mr. Bradſhaw returned, ac⯑companied by Sir Edward Sudbury.

He met with a very gracious reception from the whole company, particularly from Lady Elizabeth, who ſeemed much pleaſed by his entrance. As he did not immediately recognize me amongſt ſo large a company, I began to imagine that perhaps he deſigned to conduct himſelf [216] with a prudent reſerve; and recollecting his advances in town, which had been in⯑terrupted by my departure, now abſence had probably cooled his flame, he might incline to keep at a diſtance and withdraw his notice by degrees.

I ſoon found, however, how unjuſt was this ſurmiſe, when Sir Edward, diſ⯑covering me, approached with his uſual modeſty and politeneſs, a glow of ſatiſ⯑faction being viſible on his countenance.

He enquired with anxiety after my health, then for my ſiſter and Mr. How⯑ard, and regretted in ſtrong terms my un⯑expected departure from town, which he ſaid had aſtoniſhed him, as he had no doubt of finding me at Mrs. Hindon's on his return from a ſhort viſit he had made in the country about that time.

Dinner was ſoon after announced; and tho' with pain I walked into the parlour, ſupported by the arm of the ſweet Lucy, who gaily ordered all the gentlemen to [217] depart before us, and reſolutely refuſed all their offers of aſſiſting me.

She kindly placed herſelf next me at table; and Sir Edward, though Lady Elizabeth in a manner invited him to go to the other ſide by herſelf, contrived to ſeat himſelf on my other hand. This little mortification by no means ſoftened the hauteur of her behaviour to me; on the contrary, from the moment ſhe remarked Sir Edward's aſſiduities, her countenance betrayed a ſcornful diſplea⯑ſure, but ill concealed under the maſk of neglect and indifference.

As the evening advanced, I grew more engroſſed with the expectation of ſeeing Lady Linroſe; and about eight her La⯑dyſhip entered the drawing room, ac⯑companied by her eldeſt daughter.

I eaſily recollected the face that had been pointed out to me at the Opera. It's expreſſion, however, was much changed. The ſour ſeverity of her aſpect [218] had now entirely given place to ſmiles, good humour, and condeſcenſion; and though I could not wholly divert myſelf of the prejudice of my firſt prepoſſeſſion, I had at leaſt the impartiality to condemn myſelf for it.

I hope you did not wait dinner for me, Lady Mary, cried ſhe, after the firſt compliments were over, for my good friend was rather indiſpoſed, and ſo anxious for my ſtay, that I found it would have been unkind to have refuſed.

I did not expect your Ladyſhip, re⯑turned Lady Mary, and now that you are returned I ought not to regret your abſence, as to that alone I owe the com⯑pany of another viſitor, who has only fa⯑voured me with it becauſe my coach was not to be had to carry her home. Pray give me leave, Miſs Seymour, added ſhe, to have the pleaſure of in⯑troducing you to Lady Linroſe.

I coloured at the introduction. But [219] Lady Linroſe, with much politeneſs and no change of countenance, ſaid ſhe ſhould be happy to have the honour of knowing me, and hoped her having the carriage had been no very material inconvenience to me.

Miſs Dudley, however, to whom I un⯑derwent the ſame ceremony, only half bowing to my curtſey, ſtared me in the face with evident curioſity, and a look of ſupercilious eaſe which wholly diſcon⯑certed me.

She is by no means plain; but a look of conſcious ſuperiority renders her fea⯑tures determinedly unpleaſing.

My accident, for which Lady Linroſe teſtified much regret and concern, fur⯑niſhed converſation for the firſt quarter of an hour: but her open and unreſerved affability immediately convinced me that no ſuſpicion had ariſen in her mind on hearing my name, and her manner was ſo totally oppoſite from what I expected [220] to have found it, that in ſpite of my long cheriſhed reſentment I could not avoid feeling delighted to perceive the mother of Roatſley ſo much more amia⯑ble than I had conceived poſſible.

Relieved from my alarm of being known, I flattered myſelf I ſhould ſoon grow more compoſed: but ah! Sophia, remained there not yet ſufficient to diſ⯑turb and diſtreſs me? Lady Elizabeth! to meet with her, and in a party ſo gay, where the relations on both ſides ſeemed met to rejoice over the approaching union which was ſoon to cement their friendſhip and intimacy by ſtill ſtronger ties! Oh how ſunk, dejected, and diſpi⯑rited did I feel.

The company were not yet ſat down to cards, but continued chatting during a ſhort interval which ſucceeded to the entrance of Lady Linroſe and her daugh⯑ter, when the door opened, and Mr. Howard, who anxious to relieve Fanny's [221] apprehenſions, had ſet off in defiance of the inclemency of the evening, was an⯑nounced.

Lady Mary received him with the kindneſs and familiarity due to an old friend, (for I find they have been long acquainted), and congratulated him on my fa [...]ety, which I give you my word, ſaid ſhe, you chiefly owe to me; for ſo eager was Miſs Seymour to return home, that I was obliged to exert the authority which above forty years ſeniority has given me over her, to prevent her riſk⯑ing her neck upon that horrid horſe of your's, which I hope you will diſpoſe of in all haſte.

My joy at ſeeing Mr. Howard, who was equally delighted to find me ſo ſlightly hurt, drove Lady Linroſe for an inſtant from my mind. The idea ſoon recurred, however, when on turning round, I perceived the alteration which his unexpected appearance had produced [222] on her countenance. A look of gloom, aſtoniſhment, and vexation, were there predominant; and a fluſh of embarraſſ⯑ment tinged her cheeks. The truth ſeemed at once to have flaſhed upon her mind. Mr. Howard, ſhe well knew; and my name had been repeated to her ſo often from his lips, that no doubt could remain. She ſeemed for a mo⯑ment confounded and irreſolute, but on Lady Mary's preſenting Mr. Howard to her, ſhe appeared ſuddenly to recollect herſelf and received him as an utter ſtranger, whom ſhe had never before beheld, with a cold formality not untinc⯑tured with hauteur.

He on his part, finding her deſign was to affect ignorance, bowed with po⯑lite diſtance, and continued to chat with his uſual eaſe to Lady Mary.

From the moment of his appearance, Lady Linroſe kept a profound ſilence. She often glanced upon me an eye of [223] ſcrutiny as if by ſtealth, and her looks were by no means expreſſive of ſatisfac⯑tion: but the inſtant I ſeemed to remark her notice, ſhe withdrew it and employed herſelf very buſily at her knitting, which ſhe entangled and diſentangled unceaſ⯑ingly with much ingenuity.

Mr. Howard, in ſpite of the moſt preſſing entreaties, inſiſted on returning home, though the evening was damp and cold. I would have given the world to have accompanied him; but finding the propoſal would be received with great oppoſition, I prevailed on myſelf to ſay nothing, Lady Mary promiſing herſelf to accompany me to Hubert Hill in the morning.

After he was gone, the company di⯑vided into little parties. Thoſe who preferred cards, ſat down to the card ta⯑ble, while moſt of the young people ſeemed more inclined to chat.

All the gentlemen, Sir Edward and [224] Captain Bradſhaw excepted, flocked around Lady Elizabeth's chair. They ſeemed indeed moſt zealous in their de⯑voirs, and attached themſelves wholly to her; liſtening with delight to every little ſally which levity drew from her lips, while ſhe received their homage with a pride ſhe took but little pains to conceal. Oh! my Sophia, from this ſevere ex⯑preſſion, are you not afraid that my un⯑fortunate partiality has given birth to the worſt of paſſions, envy and injuſtice. Diſappointment, by calling forth our powers of exertion, is generally thought to improve the heart; but I fear you will conclude my mortifications have had a very different effect on mine. Believe me, however, my dear, when I ſolemnly declare that thoſe mean paſſions are far from having influenced me in my repre⯑ſentation of Lady Elizabeth. Had her manners poſſeſſed that poliſhed dignity, or her converſation that unaſſuming good [225] ſenſe, which from the choice of Mr. Roatſley I could not but expect, be aſ⯑ſured I ſhould have admired with un⯑prejudiced eyes the woman of his heart: but oh! how oppoſite did I conceive that woman to be from what I find her. How pleaſed, how gratified did ſhe not ſeem with the flattery and attention of the gentlemen preſent; who really, as far as one day's acquaintance could ena⯑ble me to judge, appeared uncommonly inſipid in their converſation, and far from engaging in their addreſs. But pro⯑bably they ſuffered not a little from the compariſon my thoughts were continu⯑ally drawing between them and another, ah! how infinitely their ſuperior.

Ought I not to regard this marriage as a material fault in Mr. Roatſley's charac⯑ter: for that his chief, if not his only aim in it is fortune, I cannot help being convinced; and is it not an unpardona⯑ble error to prize the advantages of ſplen⯑dour [226] ſo highly, and to hold domeſtic happineſs in ſo low eſtimation. Yet I ought not to judge thus harſhly. We know not a thouſand circumſtances which may render this match not only laudable but meritorious; and of Lady Elizabeth I merely form my opinion from the obſer⯑vation of a few hours, where the little de⯑fects of addreſs muſt be ſuppoſed wholly to have influenced my judgment. Erro⯑neous as this mode of concluſion may be, yet the manner ſo generally beſpeaks the character, that where the one is informed and intelligent, the other ſeldom or ne⯑ver appears trifling or diſguſting.

But to return to the company. Lady Linroſe being engaged at whiſt, ſtill pre⯑ſerved towards me the cold diſtance ſhe had aſſumed ſince Mr. Howard's appear⯑ance, and addreſſed herſelf to me no more during the remainder of the even⯑ing. Her eldeſt daughter ſeemed lan⯑guid and out of ſpirits, and at length [227] took up a book, in which however ſhe only occaſionally looked, often recurring to the inveſtigation of my figure, which appeared much the moſt amuſing em⯑ployment of the two; for ſhe examined me ſometimes for minutes together with no great cordiality in her countenance, and with entire diſregard to the uneaſi⯑neſs it gave me. Lady Elizabeth was ſoon perſuaded to retire to the next apartment, where ſhe was ſolicited to play on the organ, which induced almoſt all the company to follow her. Miſs Lucy Dudley, however, ſeeing me diſ⯑engaged and ſilent, kindly reſumed her ſeat on a ſopha; where, with Sir Edward and Mr. Bradſhaw, we made a ſort of diſtinct cotterie, and began to chat very agreeably together.

Lady Linroſe, who appeared to re⯑mark with diſpleaſure her daughter's at⯑tention to me, ſoon called her to look over her cards, and kept her by her ſide [228] the reſt of the evening; and a meſſage from the muſic room ſoon after requeſt⯑ing Sir Edward to accompany on the flute Lady Elizabeth's voice in a ſong, unwillingly obliging him to leave the drawing room, Mr. Bradſhaw and I were left in a manner tete a tete on the ſopha. I found him agreeable and intelligent, attended with a certain bluntneſs of man⯑ner which rather inſpired the idea of ſin⯑cerity than rudeneſs, and we ſoon entered into a moſt intereſting converſation.

Pray, ſaid he, may I aſk your opinion of Lady Elizabeth. She is univerſally followed and admired; yet I cannot help ſuſpecting that her ſplendid fortune and brilliant proſpects have contributed full as much to place her ſo high in the liſts of beauty as any intrinſic charms ſhe poſſeſſes; but I make no doubt you will not agree in my opinion, for I know on this ſubject it is impoſſible you ſhould talk according to conſcience.

[229]Why ſo, ſaid I.

Becauſe it is wholly but of nature for one fine woman to give her genuine ſen⯑timents of another.

Do you then imagine envy ſo univer⯑ſally prevalent.

By no means. I only believe that the terror of ſuch an imputation induces every handſome female to beſtow upon another encomiums infinitely beyond her private opinion.

To prove my ſincerity, ſaid I, I will acknowledge, that Lady Elizabeth, tho' undoubtedly a fine looking woman, is leſs ſo than from report I expected to find her.

Had ſhe truſted to nature, returned he, ſhe might have merited the appella⯑tion you give her; but affectation and coquetry will diſtort the fineſt features, and produce awkwardneſs where we ought to admire grace.

That the friend of Mr. Roatſley ſhould [230] expreſs to a ſtranger, with ſo little re⯑ſerve, an opinion ſo unfavourable of the woman who was ſoon to be united to him, ſurprized me not a little, and I could only account for it by ſuppoſing that her coquetiſh behaviour had pro⯑voked him ſo much as to put him out of all patience and had rendered his pru⯑dence off its guard.

I thought, ſaid I, all her little follies of that ſort were ſoon to have a ſpeedy concluſion.

Concluſion, repeated he, in a voice of undiſguiſed diſpleaſure; not ſo long as youth and good looks remain, I'll be ſworn; at leaſt if we may judge of the future by the preſent.

I thought Lady Elizabeth had been on the verge of matrimony, ſaid I, with as much compoſure as I could aſſume, yet trembling to hear it confirmed from authority ſo indiſputable.

And pray can you, Miſs Seymour, [231] who have paſſed part of the winter in town, pretend to imagine that matri⯑mony, to a vain woman, excludes the attentions of a crowd of followers.

Your reproof of my ignorance is juſt, ſaid I, (attempting to ſmile, though in⯑wardly depreſſed by an anſwer ſo unſatis⯑factory and evaſive, and which yet ta⯑citly acknowledged the truth of Lady Elizabeth's engagement) but I was little in company, had few acquaintance, and ſpent my time chiefly at home in a very ſober domeſtic family.

Yes, we could not conceive where you had hid yourſelf, for you were to be ſeen no where. It was at one time con⯑cluded that you muſt have left town.

That was exactly the caſe, returned I.

Not exactly, for I think you did not go till the beginning of March.

I could not avoid being rather ſur⯑priſed, on finding Mr. Bradſhaw, with whom I had had when in town not the [232] ſlighteſt intercourſe or acquaintance, ſo well informed of my motions; and read⯑ing my thoughts from a tranſient ex⯑preſſion in my countenance—you are aſtoniſhed, ſaid he, ſmiling, to find me ſo accurate in this point; but I believe you would be ſtill more ſo were I to inform you how long I have had the ho⯑nour of conſidering myſelf intimately ac⯑quainted with you, though entirely with⯑out your knowledge or participation.

I muſt confeſs my ſurpriſe, cried I, laughing, and alſo my regret, that I ſhould have been ſo fortunate without knowing it.

O, in regard to Miſs Seymour, I give you my word I am extremely intelligent.

I began faintly to ſuſpect from whence this information had been derived, and to flatter myſelf that it might have owed its origin to Roatſley's ſolicitude. This idea produced an anxiety beyond mea⯑ſure potent, to draw ſome ſoothing par⯑ticulars [233] from his friend; but as if eager to excite a curioſity be meant not to gra⯑tify—perhaps, cried he, you might be no leſs ſurprized were you to know that I was in conſtant purſuit of you all the beginning of the winter; nay, and what is yet more wonderful and perplexing, I do not claim either merit to myſelf or gratitude from you, for the indefatigable pains and induſtry I employed in hunting after you at every place of amuſement where it was probable you might appear.

It is very wonderful indeed, cried I, ſecretly delighted, nor could I ever have ſuſpected, ſtranger as I found myſelf in this country, that I poſſeſſed any friends ſufficiently intereſted in me to be ſolici⯑tous how or where I paſſed my time.

O, cried he with an inveſtigating look that ſeemed to penetrate into what effect his words might produce, nature has been ſo bountifully profuſe to ſome of her happy favorites, as to endow them [234] with the gift of creating friends by a coup d'oeil—friends, who exiſt but in their ſight, who live but on their ſmiles, and who watch with unwearied patience and aſſiduity, every opportunity for a meet⯑ing which indulgent fortune may throw in their way: friends, who develope at one glance, and adore almoſt in an in⯑ſtant, thoſe virtues and excellencies which in common mortals require inti⯑macy, inveſtigation, and length of time, to expand and diſcover themſelves.

Vague as were theſe expreſſions, a dawning ray of hope led me to give them an interpretation ſo conſcious, as covered me with bluſhes. I knew not what re⯑ply to make; and the earneſt look with, which he evidently tried to develope my thoughts, compleated my embarraſſment.

I am quite in the dark, cried I at length, and cannot conceive at what you aim.

So I perceive, ſaid he with a ſatyrical [235] ſmile; but I intreat that my words may not throw you into any perplexity. I ſhould be miſerable, were your reſt to⯑night to be diſturbed from a fruitleſs at⯑tempt to unriddle my myſterious oracles.

I believe my reſt will not be eaſily in⯑terrupted this night, replied I with a careleſs air, for my fatigues, or rather my alarm, has exhauſted me a good deal, and I feel quite drowſy and ſtupid.

Perceiving the gravity with which I ſpoke, Mr. Bradſhaw inſtantly-aſſumed a more reſerved behaviour, and ſhifting the diſcourſe to other topics, I diſcovered that he had not gone into the country at the time I imagined, from the private converſation I overheard, nor for ſome weeks after. "I was ſeveral times un⯑der the apprehenſion of recruiting orders, ſaid he, but received a longer reprieve than I had dared flatter myſelf with the hopes of obtaining.

The card party having now concluded [236] their rubbers, and Lady Elizabeth, with her ſuite of attendants, being returned into the drawing room, a period was put to our converſation. But it left the ſtrongeſt impreſſion on my mind, and at ſupper I could not help ſecretly wiſhing that Mr. Bradſhaw might be placed next me. In this however I was diſappointed; for Sir Edward betrayed an anxiety ſo eager to procure a ſeat next mine, that the other with a grave bow gave way to him.

At this little manoeuvre Lady Eliza⯑beth appeared by no means pleaſed. In⯑deed nothing could be more pointed than the haughtineſs of her manner to me the whole evening. A coquet, it would ap⯑pear, expects the excluſive privilege of enjoying the homage of every man who beholds her; for tho' the reſt of the gen⯑tlemen, Mr. Bradſhaw excepted, attend⯑ed her with the moſt zealous aſſiduity, the mortification ſhe experienced in finding [237] this devotion was not unanimous, evi⯑dently hurt and corroded her. Whether the meanneſs of my equipage, and the humility of my abode, at the little whtie houſe on the hill, increaſed her indignation, I know not, but ſhe regarded me with looks of contempt, and behaved to Sir Edward with ſo much childiſh ill hu⯑mour, that I began at length to ſuſpect ſome ſecret partiality muſt have produced a conduct for which mere ſelfiſh vanity ſeemed an inadequate cauſe.

This ſullen behaviour of Lady Eliza⯑beth, the cold diſtance of Lady Linroſe, and the imperious diſregard of her eldeſt daughter, added to my being conſcious how diſagreeable my preſence, tho' from very different motives, muſt prove to them all, made me feel beyond meaſure uncomfortable; and the painful weight which lay heavy at my heart, and wholly depreſſed my ſpirits, made Sir Edward's converſation not merely unpleaſant but [238] irkſome to me; eſpecially as my ſuſpi⯑cion of Lady Elizabeth's attachment was ſtrengthened and confirmed every inſtant by her increaſing uneaſineſs. When I conſidered however how inferior Sir Ed⯑ward was in all points to his competitor, it was not poſſible for me to conceive that caprice, or folly itſelf, could be blind to the ſtriking difference between them.

The cordial intimacy that ſubſiſted be⯑tween the two families, and indeed in⯑cluded all preſent but myſelf, not only ex⯑cluded me from all ſhare of the conver⯑ſation, which I was far from regretting, but made me feel awkward, as well as miſerable. Lady Mary indeed often ad⯑dreſſed herſelf to me with peculiar civili⯑ty; but as I was placed at a diſtance from her, politeneſs did not compenſate for the rude neglect of her niece.

The converſation happening to turn on reſemblances, I think, ſaid Sir Edward, I never beheld a more ſtriking likeneſs [239] than the profiles of Miſs Lucy Dudley and Miſs Seymour exhibit at this mo⯑ment. I have been conſidering them on each ſide of me for ſome time, with al⯑moſt an equal mixture of wonder and admiration.

A likeneſs! repeated Miſs Dudley. I muſt acknowledge I ſcarce ever beheld two faces in my opinion more oppoſite.

I am extremely ſorry to differ from you, Madam, returned he; but I ſtill dare ap⯑peal to the company if my remark is not juſt.

Strikingly ſo indeed, cried Lady Ma⯑ry; tho' till it was mentioned I own I was not ſenſible of the reſemblance. But in ſpite of the difference of complex⯑ion it is really remarkable. Don't your Ladyſhip think ſo, added ſhe, turning to Lady Linroſe?

I muſt confeſs, returned her Ladyſhip, with a cold, embarraſſed air, I am of [240] Caroline's opinion: I cannot perceive the likeneſs.

Good heavens! cried Caroline, how ſhould there be any. The eyes of the one are black, and Lucy's are quite blue.

I did not ſpeak of the eyes of the two ladies, but of their profiles, ſaid Sir Ed⯑ward. There is even ſomewhat in the ex⯑preſſion of countenance ſo much alike, that had I never before been in company with either, I ſhould have concluded them nearly related.

What effect theſe words produced in the countenances of Lady Linroſe and her daughters, I had not reſolution to examine, and conſcious confuſion made me keep my eyes fixed on the table; from which however I ſoon raiſed them in aſtoniſhment on hearing Lady Linroſe ſay, you pay my daughter a very unme⯑rited compliment by the compariſon, Sir Edward, and really now you put it into my head, I don't know but there is ſome [241] ſort of likeneſs, eſpecially in the under part of the face: and ſoon after, when we were ſeparating for the night, her La⯑dyſhip wiſhed me a good night with par⯑ticular civility and affability.

Confounded with the various events of the day, the moment I found myſelf a⯑lone in the chamber allotted me, I threw myſelf into a chair, and gave way to a train of reflections, which ſo wholly over⯑powered me, as to baniſh all deſire of ſleep. I could not but admire the ſingu⯑larity of that chance, which had conduc⯑ted me ſo ſtrangely into the midſt of my relations, and to the party which of all others I wiſhed the moſt to avoid; while I knew that my preſence, by overwhelm⯑ing them with confuſion and embarraſſ⯑ment, muſt prove ſtill more diſagreeable to them than to myſelf. Lady Elizabeth too—to feel all my half-ſuppreſſed emo⯑tions animated and renewed by this un⯑expected [242] and unwiſhed for rencontre, ah! Sophia! don't you pity me?

After paſſing a very reſtleſs night, I found my foot ſo much worſe, that walking even into the next room was al⯑moſt impracticable. I therefore ſent a meſſage to Lady Mary by her maid, who aſſiſted me to dreſs, intimating that if her Ladyſhip would give me leave, I ſhould breakfaſt in my own apartment, where I wiſhed to remain till the carriage was ordered to carry me home. By this means I avoided ſeeing any of the com⯑pany, whom I really dreaded encounter⯑ing at breakfaſt, after the perturbation of the preceding day. I regretted how⯑ever, that in eſcaping from the others, I muſt be deprived of ſeeing Mr. Brad⯑ſhaw, whoſe myſterious diſcourſe it muſt be owned aſtoniſhed though it did not perplex me, and formed no inconſidera⯑ble portion of my reflexions during the night.

[243]Lady Mary entered my chamber ſoon after, and made a thouſand kind enqui⯑ries reſpecting my health. She informed me that Lady Linroſe was confined to bed with a headach, and that Mr. Brad⯑ſhaw had ſet off for his quarters two hours before breakfaſt: and after kindly diſapproving of my imprudence in ven⯑turing home, told me, ſince I was deter⯑mined to go, ſhe ſhould herſelf ſee me ſafe to Hubert Hill, as ſhe wiſhed to take the earlieſt opportunity of waiting on Mrs. Howard.

Miſs Lucy Dudley was likewiſe ſo obliging as to pay me a viſit before I left Holtenham. While ſhe ſat with me in my chamber, Lady Mary again entered. I think an airing will be of ſervice to you, my dear, ſaid ſhe to her, after your late confinement. Pray will you accom⯑pany me to Mrs. Howard's. Her huſ⯑band is an old friend of mine, and I poſ⯑ſeſs few or none I reſpect ſo highly.

[244]With all my heart, my dear Madam, cried ſhe; and having ſent the maid for her hat, we immediately proceeded down ſtairs, which was to me a very difficult undertaking and one that I did not ac⯑compliſh without great pain, though I had an aſſiſtant on each hand.

When we entered the hall, we were met by Lady Elizabeth and Miſs Dud⯑ley. The former, with a reluctant bow, hoped I was well: and the other, with⯑out even vouchſafing me that civility, haſtily called out—Lucy, where are you going?

I mean to accompany Lady Mary and Miſs Seymour. The day is fine, and an airing will be agreeable.

I believe Mamma will not allow of your going, ſiſter.

Why ſo.

Nay, I ſhall go aſk her: and inſtantly returning, ſaid—Mamma does not chuſe [245] you ſhould riſk taking cold by airing to⯑day Lucy.

Lord how odd, when it is the ſweeteſt weather in the world.

O there is no chance of cold in ſuch a morning, cried Lady Mary. It will do her good I'm convinced.

It is Mamma's commands, ſaid Miſs Caroline gravely; and although the ſweet Lucy went herſelf to ſolicit, ſhe came back diſappointed. I am very ſorry, ſaid ſhe, taking my hand, that I cannot have the pleaſure of your company a lit⯑tle longer; but I hope Lady Mary will viſit at Hubert Hill more than once while we remain at Holtenham, and I ſhall moſt aſſuredly be of the party next time.

Lady Linroſe, you perceive, adheres with conſcientious integrity to her pro⯑miſe of debarring all intercourſe between her family and ours. Angry as I am, there is ſomewhat in her manners ſo inſi⯑nuating, [246] that I cannot ſo cordially blame her conduct as I did before I ſaw her: nay what is ſtill more ſtrange, I cannot avoid ſuggeſting excuſes for her beha⯑viour; and even feel ſomewhat ſoothing and conſolatory in the idea that Roatſley's mother, whom I deſire ſo much to love and reſpect, ſeems more worthy of theſe ſentiments than I ever imagined ſhe could prove. Her ſon reſembles her extremely, though the expreſſion is different.

I believe, Sophia, prejudice and par⯑tiality blind the eye of judgment ſo un⯑accountably, that people are ſeldom to be truſted in their prepoſſeſſions where a ſtrong and lively intereſt is at ſtake. Per⯑haps we have judged too hardly of this family. To oppoſe Lord Belmont in a favourite point, may be to relinquiſh all hopes of his favour for ever; and if ſuch is the inflexibility of his temper Lady Linroſe is not ſo much to blame.

Fanny was much relieved by my re⯑turn [247] though I looked miſerably ill. My foot was painful, and my mind in agita⯑tion; and the inſtant Lady Mary left us, I was put to bed, where however I did not ſleep, but enjoyed a more ſoothing relief in relating to my ſiſter all the cir⯑cumſtances of my diſagreeable adventure.

I have been viſited during my confine⯑ment by the good parſon's family, who ſpent yeſterday with us.

Mrs. Heathcote, though unacquainted but by report with Lady Mary Lawrence, told us a thouſand little country anec⯑dotes [250] of her, which all proved the good⯑neſs of her heart and the liberality of her ample purſe; for ſhe is poſſeſſed of a ſplendid income, having been left by her late huſband the ſole diſpoſal of his fortune. This fortune, Mrs. Heathcote ſaid, it was generally ſuppoſed would center in her neice, Lady Elizabeth Sed⯑ley, who was not much beloved by the ladies in the neighbourhood, as ſhe uni⯑formly behaved to them with a conſcious ſuperiority, and imperious reſerve, that rendered her company formal and diſ⯑guſting. Indeed, ſaid ſhe, her Ladyſhip, I am told, exacts a deference and atten⯑tion that few are willing to pay; for which reaſon there is uſually a party at Holtenham of people of the firſt rank and importance from town, with whom alone Lady Elizabeth will aſſociate on a footing of equality.

I ventured to enquire, finding the good woman both intelligent and communi⯑cative, [251] whether or not Lord Linroſe poſ⯑ſeſſed any property in this part of the country. She believed not, ſhe told me: but ſince Mr. Howard had left England, above one half of the eſtates around had changed their original proprietors; and my Lord Belmont had lately made two different purchaſes of conſiderable amount, which had ſecured to him a decided par⯑liamentary intereſt in the county. On one of theſe eſtates, ſaid ſhe, to which he has given the name of Mount Dudley, and which is not above ſeven miles diſ⯑tant, he has built a very elegant though not a very large houſe, and has preſented it to his favourite grand ſon Mr. Roatſ⯑ley, who however has never lived in it as it has not yet been put in order for a family: but I underſtand they are fitting it up in all haſte, and furniſhing it very magnificiently for his place of reſidence ſo ſoon as his marriage is concluded: ſo [252] you will have them for neighbours pre⯑ſently.

Is that event ſoon to take place, de⯑manded Fanny.

Indeed, Madam, nobody ſeems to know. It has been long talked of; and before Mr. Roatſley ſet out on his tra⯑vels, every one ſaid it would happen di⯑rectly on his return. But it has been whiſpered ſince his return, that matters are not in ſuch forwardneſs as was ima⯑gined. The young man's ardour is ſuſ⯑pected to be cooled; nay ſome people ſay it never was extremely violent; but that when he was very young, and the lady hardly fifteen, there ſubſiſted a childiſh attachment between them, which originated entirely on the ſide of Lady Elizabeth; and that Lord Belmont, who has been unfortunate in ſome of his fa⯑mily, particularly in the article of ma⯑trimony, and who was not eaſily recon⯑ciled to the preſent Lord Linroſe on his [253] marriage, although by the death of a dlſtant relation her Ladyſhip has brought him a very conſiderable fortune, exacted a promiſe, and promoted an engagement between his grandſon and this lady, which is intended to be concluded on his Lordſhip's return from the Continent.

Lady Elizabeth is much to be pitied, in my opinion, cried Fanny, if with all her ſplendid advantages of birth and fortune they cannot ſecure the heart of the man ſhe has choſen.

I agree with you perfectly, Madam: But I believe ladies of ſuperior rank and education don't always think in that man⯑ner; and by what I hear, Lady Eliza⯑beth is not much calculated for domeſtic happineſs.

Conſcious of my ſecret anxiety, I for⯑bore, while Mr. Howard and the reſt of the company were preſent, to prolong the ſubject: but finding my ſelf acciden⯑tally alone with Mrs. Heathcote, for a [254] quarter of an hour after dinner, I artfully renewed the topic of Lady Elizabeth; and ſhe then told me ſhe was intimately connected with the gentlewoman who had ſuperintended her education as go⯑verneſs, from whence ſhe had drawn the early part of her information. Mr. Roatſ⯑ley, ſaid ſhe, has been I know acquainted with the young lady from infancy. She was his ſiſter's friend, and had often been his own playfellow. It is not improbable therefore that her infantine attachment had produced in him a return of affection before he went abroad that might par⯑take more of gratitude than paſſion. It muſt be owned Lady Elizabeth has but ill anſwered the fond expectations of her family; and probably he finds himſelf diſappointed, after ſeveral years abſence. But there is no truſting to report. It is very certain however that he has not once viſited at Holtenham ſince his arri⯑val; though, owing to Lady Mary's in⯑diſpoſition, [255] the family only paſſed a very few weeks this winter in town. They ſay Lady Elizabeth is much offended at the coolneſs of his aſſiduities, and that there is a very formidable rival, Sir Ed⯑ward Sudbury, in the way, who is much in favour with her Ladyſhip at preſent, but I dare ſay there is nothing in it.

All this accounts a little, Sophia, for Captain Bradſhaw's inſinuations.

To-day I have ventured to take a ſhort walk, and am conſiderably better. We have had compliments of enquiry from Lady Mary after my health more than once.

We have been rather uneaſy at not hearing from our dear, dear Lady Au⯑brey all this while; and we now find we have had but too much reaſon for appre⯑henſion: [256] alas! ſhe has had a relapſe; but thank God not an alarming one. She is now, ſhe tells us, in the kindeſt of letters which we received this morn⯑ing, quite recovered, and has got Sir William and Lady Meredith with her at the caſtle. I find myſelf ſettled here, ſays ſhe, much to my ſatisfaction. The ancient architecture of my abode has nei⯑ther baniſhed light, nor precluded cheer⯑fulneſs; and I am determined its gran⯑deur ſhall on no account be fettered with ſtate or parade. My mind begins to partake of the tranquility around me; and I am enabled myſelf to taſte that comfort which an overgrown and other⯑wiſe uſeleſs fortune allows me the privi⯑lege of diſpenſing to others. But when ſhall my riſing ſatisfaction receive its full completion in the dear ſociety of my be⯑loved children? when ſhall I again fold them to my heart, and receive, in tears of heartfelt pleaſure, a compenſation for [257] thoſe of bitterneſs and miſery which have flowed with ſuch profuſion from my eyes? I will not however ſoften your feeling hearts into a haſty compliance with my wiſhes, which may not prove, juſt at this time, wholly convenient to the wor⯑thy Mr. Howard. I will truſt to your affection to expedite your viſit as ſoon as you can, and till I enjoy the happineſs of ſeeing you, do not fear that I am either ſolitary or deſponding; no, on the con⯑trary, be aſſured I am grateful, con⯑tented, and happy. I have at preſent the pleaſure of Sir William and my dear aunt's company, who will not leave me for ſome time. My doors are never ſhut againſt thoſe in my neighbourhood who favour me with their viſits, without exacting a ſcrupulous return; and my mind is at eaſe while I reſt aſſured of the love and attachment of thoſe clear and amiable children who are ſo entirely poſ⯑ſeſſed of mine.

[258]Dear and ever valued Lady Aubrey! With what delight ſhall we fulfil our promiſe. Mr. Howard's buſineſs will detain him a fortnight longer: but I have written that if any more delays in⯑tervene, and my ſiſter continues well, I ſhall undoubtedly make the journey by myſelf.