LETTER XIX. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

OH my dear friend, my aſtoniſh⯑ment and joy are unſpeakable. I had re⯑mained alone about half an hour, my mind diſtracted with a thouſand thoughts, when I was rouſed from my reverie by hearing the great door below open; and condemning myſelf ſeverely for a gratifi⯑cation ſo weak, dangerous, and improper, I haſtily tried to compoſe my features, and roſe to meet the company; when inſtead of the Heathcote family whom I had expected, Mr. Howard and my ſiſter entered, attended—conceive my aſtoniſh⯑ment Sophia—by Roatſley himſelf.

[2]After diſregarding your promiſe of waiting my return, Miſs Seymour, cried he, probably you did not expect I ſhould ſo ſoon make my appearance to reproach you: but though I believe I have ſome engagement or other with Bradſhaw this evening, I found myſelf quite unable to withſtand Mrs. Howard's kind and preſſ⯑ing invitation to ſup here. The remem⯑brance of the delightful evening I ſpent at Dover (which I ſhall ever regard as one of the happieſt of my life) renders the temptation wholly irreſiſtible.

His appearance did indeed agitate and ſurpriſe me beyond meaſure; nor could I conjecture how it had taken place, at ſuch an hour and at a juncture ſo unex⯑pected, till Fanny in a low voice con⯑trived to inform me, that in purſuance of her projected plan of operations ſhe had deferred leaving the theatre as long as with propriety ſhe could, and indeed I ſuſpect rather longer; for ſhe owned all [3] the ladies were gone and only a few ſtrag⯑gling gentlemen continued to ſaunter about. Captain Bradſhaw, however, ſtill kept by her ſide; and Roatſley returning, heard with evident marks of diſappoint⯑ment that I was already gone.

Perceiving my ſiſter's unaccountable delay, he naturally concluded that her carriage was not arrived, and politely aſked leave to ſee after it. Fanny, more and more embarraſſed, now beheld the total defeat of all her ſecret ſchemes to avoid detection, and was at length obliged to confeſs that as the way was ſo very ſhort and the night ſo very pleaſant ſhe thought walking by far the moſt agreea⯑ble way of returning; after which decla⯑ration wiſhing Roatſley a haſty good night, in hopes ſhe ſhould get rid of all the gentlemen, ſhe quickly led the way, accompanied, added ſhe in a tone of cha⯑grin, by poor Mrs. Heathcote and the [4] five children, all wrapt up like ſo many Egyptian mummeys.

Roatſley however, with a politeneſs na⯑tural to him, followed, and offering his arm, begged ſhe would allow him the pleaſure of eſcorting her part of the way. With great civility and a profuſion of thanks, Mrs. Howard made violent re⯑ſiſtance; but in vain; Roatſley made his point good, and had attended her as far as the bottom of the hill when they were met by Mr. Howard, who could do no leſs you know than requeſt that he would walk forward and partake of a family ſupper at Hubert Hill. To this, after ſome heſitation, he conſented; and the parſon's family, having ſeen Fanny ſafe under her huſband's protection, very opportunely choſe to excuſe themſelves from accompanying her farther, and jumped one after another over the ſtyle which leads through the fields to the par⯑ſonage.

[5]You cannot eaſily conceive, Sophia, after the train of ideas which had pre⯑ceded his appearance, how ſingular and extraordinary it now appeared, when I recollected what pique and diſpleaſure his ſilence to Mr. Howard's letter had a few days before occaſioned me. I could ſcarce believe he was now at Hubert Hill; and when I contraſted his preſent flow of ſpirits with his dejected aſpect two hours before, every thing appeared myſterious and unaccountable.

Were my dear, dear Sophia now pre⯑ſent, ſaid I to myſelf more than once during the evening, ſhe would confeſs that blind partiality has not guided my pen in my repreſentation of this amiable young man.

When our repaſt was concluded, Mr. Howard and Fanny, charmed to per⯑ceive their gueſt to all appearance fully as much pleaſed with their company as they were delighted with his, both joined [6] in entreating him to accept of a bed here. To this ſome ſlight objections in regard to inconvenience were on his part made, and eaſily overruled by the good lady of the manſion, who propoſed diſpatching Dubois to the village with orders to his ſervants and an apology to Mr. Brad⯑ſhaw; and in ſhort he at length complied. The wine and fruits being placed on a ſmall table before us, all ceremony and form ſeemed entirely diſcarded; and we chatted together with a ſocial familiarity and cheerfulneſs, which a long ſeries of occaſional meetings in town could never have produced. We were all in uncom⯑mon ſpirits; and Fanny, in the giddi⯑neſs of her mirth, let ſeveral little ſallies of naivete eſcape her which ſeemed ex⯑tremely to pleaſe and amuſe her viſitor. Chance has hitherto ſo contrived it, that my ſiſter has ſeldom or never been much the object of Mr. Roatſley's attention; but he appeared this night to regard her [7] in a point of view wholly new, and en⯑tered with much reliſh into the natural ſimplicity of her character.

As yet, however, nothing had been hinted relating to the propoſed explana⯑tion. Had Roatſley been tete a tete with any of the company, doubtleſs it would have been an eaſy matter to have led to the ſubject; but while the whole family were met together, to have enquired into particulars which from the agitation I had betrayed he could not but naturally conclude were of a very delicate nature, I doubt not muſt have appeared a pre⯑ſumption for which he could not ſum⯑mon reſolution. Wholly unſuſpicious beſides how nearly he was himſelf inte⯑reſted in the tale, all he could poſſibly conjecture in regard to what he was to learn muſt have been, that in gratitude for the obligation he had procured me, I thought it incumbent he ſhould be made acquainted with certain circumſtances of [8] my ſituation which he had reaſon to ap⯑prehend might prove a painful and not improbably a mortifying communication.

Silent therefore he continued on this topick, tho' moſt amuſing and agreeable on a thouſand others, till my ſiſter and I retired, which was not till after one in the morning, an hour unheard of in the ſober annals of Hubert Hill.

I did not ſhut my eyes for many hours after I went to bed. The diſtant mur⯑mur of the two gentlemen's voices be⯑low, who did not ſeparate till almoſt ſun riſe, engaged my conſtant attention; and a thouſand conjectures and reflections re⯑lating to the ſubject of their converſation, entirely baniſhed all inclination to reſt till about my uſual time of riſing, which at this ſeaſon is ſeldom after ſix. I then ſlept for a couple of hours; but finding it ſo late when I awoke, I haſtily roſe, and had but juſt finiſhed dreſſing, when Mr. Howard tapped at my chamber door [9] requeſting me to follow him into my ſiſ⯑ter's dreſſing room.

Impatient beyond meaſure to learn the ſubſtance of laſt night's converſation, I flew rather than run into the room, where I found Fanny almoſt as eager as myſelf.

Mr. Howard then related circumſtan⯑tially and minutely every word that had paſſed.

The moment we had left the parlour, Roatſley addreſſing himſelf to Mr. How⯑ard, ſaid—to you, my dear Sir, I think it muſt be wholly unneceſſary to obſerve that to be but once in company with the amiable Mrs. Howard and her ſiſter without feeling the warmeſt intereſt in their happineſs and the moſt anxi⯑ous ſolicitude to promote it to the utmoſt, is ſcarce poſſible; that I have experienced the truth of this remark, I hope you do me the juſtice to believe, and—

[10]Your conduct, Sir, interrupted Mr. Howard (to whom I had hinted the taſk that was likely to devolve upon him) fully evinces the warmth of your bene⯑volence, and claims the juſt gratitude of all this family.

Talk not of gratitude, I entreat, cried he. If through the intereſt of my family I have been ſo fortunate as to render a ſlight ſervice to Miſs Seymour, damp not the pleaſure it gives me by attaching to it an idea of obligation it ſo little me⯑rits; or if (for you will find I am willing to make the very moſt of the favour) if I can flatter myſelf with having enjoyed the happineſs either of obliging Miſs Seymour, or on her account of having gratified your wiſhes, will you give me leave to point out to you how you may cancel the obligation at once and make me moſt ſincerely regard myſelf as your debtor.

If I have the power, Mr. Roatſley, re⯑turned [11] Mr. Howard ſmiling, be aſſured the will is not wanting.

The power of granting my requeſt, I muſt conclude you are in full poſſeſſion of, ſince it is by permiſſion of Miſs Sey⯑mour I venture to make it; and allow me to premiſe, that without the ſanction of her approbation and conſent I cer⯑tainly ſhould not have had the preſump⯑tion (however anxious) to demand par⯑ticulars into which I have no title but from her indulgence and your's to pene⯑trate. Will you however favour me ſo far as to inform me of ſuch circumſtances of her preſent and paſt ſituation, as may enable me to judge in what manner I may perhaps one day have it in my power really and eſſentially to ſerve.

If your preſent enquiry reaches only to pecuniary matters, Sir, returned Mr. Howard, I have the pleaſure of aſſuring you that in regard to that circumſtance, Miſs Seymour's ſituation has never been [12] ſo extremely uncomfortable as I have rea⯑ſon to believe was ſuggeſted to you. My wife's fortune, and her ſiſter's, amounted originally to twenty four thouſand pounds; but the ſudden death of their guardian, who had the ſole management of this money, and who has left his affairs in the moſt embarraſſed and involved ſitua⯑tion, in all human probability will reduce the ſum to one tenth of its value. This certainly is a reverſe to be lamented; but the mind that is wholly untinctured with avarice, ſeldom allows ſuch morti⯑fications to inflict a pang either deep or of long continuance, and I am certain it has never proved the ſource of more than a tranſient regret to either. Alas! human life is replete with diſtreſſes and anxieties which reach nearer to the heart, which pierce it in its tendereſt feelings, and wound it where it is moſt open to the attack; and diſappointments of this na⯑ture, againſt which both my wife and ſiſter [13] have had to ſtruggle at a very early pe⯑riod of life, have wholly blunted and obliterated the little rubs of adverſe for⯑tune.

I dare not venture to be inquiſitive, ſaid Roatſley, viſibly affected by the pic⯑ture drawn by Mr. Howard, yet will you call me ſo when I acknowledge that both my curioſity and compaſſion are ſtrongly excited. Remember however in my juſtification, that Miſs Seymour her⯑ſelf permitted the enquiry, and if I miſ⯑take not ſeemed aſtoniſhed it was yet to be made.

You ought not to wonder at a circum⯑ſtance ſo natural, ſaid Mr. Howard. Miſs Seymour's aſtoniſhment, great as it muſt have been, can ſcarce exceed mine to find that her couſin, the grandſon of Lord Belmont, remains ſtill uninformed of the natural ties that exiſt between them, eſpecially after the unſucceſsful applica⯑tion made to his Lordſhip through the [14] medium and interference of Lady Lin⯑roſe for his countenance and favour.

At the expreſſion "her couſin, the grandſon of Lord Belmont," Roatſley caught ſuddenly the arm of Mr. Howard; and unable to interrupt him even by an ejaculation, remained rooted to the ſpot on which he ſtood in mute aſtoniſhment.

Good heavens! cried he, at length re⯑covering himſelf—is it indeed poſſible that this amiable family, who ſo forcibly engaged my inteteſt and attachment al⯑moſt in the inſtant that accident preſented them to my ſight, ſhould really prove the children of my late unfortunate un⯑cle, and connected with me by the ties of blood as they have ever been by thoſe of regard and admiration. Permit me, my dear Sir, continued he, approaching Mr. Howard with open arms, to congra⯑tulate myſelf on this delightful informa⯑tion, and pray give me leave to flatter myſelf with the hopes of one day pro⯑curing [15] an intereſt in the affections of my dear and valuable relations almoſt equal to what they have long poſſeſſed in mine.

Mr. Howard was not a little affected by this generous warmth, as apparent in his countenance and manner as in his language, and expreſſed his feelings on the occaſion in ſtrong terms.

But why has this explanation been made no ſooner? cried Roatſley. Why have I continued ſo long in a painful and lingering uncertainty in regard to a fa⯑mily ſo reſpected and ſo beloved? diſ⯑tracted and confounded by the moſt un⯑juſt repreſentations, dark ſuggeſtions, and at beſt vague and comfortleſs con⯑jectures.

Who may have found either intereſt or pleaſure in fabricating or in circula⯑ting injurious reports of your innocent and amiable couſins, ſaid Mr. Howard, is not poſſible for me to conceive, nei⯑ther will I loſe a moment in attempting [16] to confute what muſt appear ſo wholly unwarrantable and unjuſt, that I ſhall leave it entirely to time and intimacy to prove it ſo in the fulleſt extent.

Unneceſſary is the proof, cried Roatſ⯑ley with warmth, for falſe and malicious I have ever believed thoſe reports to be. Yet you, my dear Sir, I am perſuaded will be neither aſtoniſhed nor offended, when I acknowledge that a multiplicity of diſagreeable rumours continually reaching my ears to the diſadvantage of thoſe, of whom from the ſurer evidence of my ſenſes I had the moſt amiable opi⯑nion, could not fail to ſhock and torment me; and if you can ſuppoſe a ſtate in which you could juſt ſo far credit an aſ⯑perſion as to allow it to teize and perplex you, without permitting it to influence your judgment, paradoxical as that ſtate may ſeem it is exactly the ſituation under which my mind has for ſome time paſt laboured.

[17]Far from being ſurprized, returned Mr. Howard with his uſual candour, I think I ſhould only have been ſo had you continued immovable and determined in your firſt prepoſſeſſions, when ſuch infi⯑nite trouble and attention have been be⯑ſtowed to warp your judgment and miſ⯑lead your ſentiments.

But my mother, you ſay, was in the ſecret. Pray how came ſhe to be in⯑formed, while I and the reſt of the family remained wholly ignorant and unſuſpici⯑ous that my fair couſins had ever dreamt of quitting the ſecluded ſpot where they received their education.

That any individual of Lord Belmont's family ſhould continue uninformed of any ſtep taken by the ladies ſince their father's death, was by no means either their intention or mine. To their rela⯑tions no ſecrecy was requiſite; and in regard to others, a temporary conceal⯑ment was merely thought neceſſary, be⯑cauſe [18] it offered an eaſy method for eſcap⯑ing the impertinence of curioſity and in⯑veſtigation; and they naturally deferred relinquiſhing the name by which they had always hitherto been known, till the ſanction and countenance of Lord Bel⯑mont ſhould enable them to ſupport the cruel retroſpections which they knew their father's memory muſt ſuſtain on their introduction into the world. An utter and abſolute rejection from his Lordſhip to their application for acknow⯑ledgment, ſoon pointed out the fortunate propriety and delicacy of this precaution, as they afterwards diſdained all thoughts of aſſuming or proclaiming their title to a name, of which their family, however unjuſtly, deemed them unworthy.

You open a tranſaction ſo entirely new, wonderful, and inconceivable, cried Mr. Roatſley, who had been attending with an expreſſion of amazement in his coun⯑tenance to this ſpeech of Mr. Howard's, [19] that I can no otherwiſe hope to reduce it to my comprehenſion than by entreating you to favour me with a minute and re⯑gular detail of every circumſtance.

Mr. Howard then beginning at the unhappy epocha of my dear father's mis⯑fortunes, related briefly yet with preci⯑ſion every particular reſpecting him and his children till the period of our arrival in England.

In regard to many of theſe events, ſaid Mr. Howard while he repeated to us this intereſting converſation, I could not ſuppoſe Mr. Roatſley compleatly igno⯑rant. It may be naturally inferred that thoſe who could traduce the innocent offspring would not fail to load the pa⯑rent's memory with additional reproach, and I doubt not but Mr. Roatſley's mind has been early tinctured with the moſt contumacious prejudices againſt his ill fated uncle. To know his errors, inde⯑pendent of the penitence and remorſe [20] which ſo powerfully extenuated and even obliterated his guilt, could not but miſ⯑lead the nephew's candour, and muſt have induced him to regard with unabated horror a conduct that was followed by conſequences ſo unhappy as to baniſh him for ever from his friends and coun⯑try.

I therefore dwelt with particular ener⯑gy on the diſmal lapſe of years ſpent in ſorrowful ſecluſion that had ſucceeded to your father's rupture with his family, and continued invariably till his death: his contrition, his ſufferings, his rectitude and benevolence, and the aſſiduous care with which he inceſſantly laboured (and in which he ſo well ſucceeded) to inſtil into the minds of his children every vir⯑tuous and amiable ſentiment, as a bar⯑rier againſt the temptations and viciſſi⯑tudes of a world that from a too fatal experience he believed ſtrewed with dan⯑gers and replete with miſery: and in or⯑der [21] to enforce this relation, I promiſed to procure him a peruſal of the manu⯑ſcript written by your father's own hand, which, as he ſeeks not in it either to pal⯑liate or conceal his faults, but breathes in every line that horror which ever at⯑tended the ſenſe of his offences, offers a defence, the force of which candour muſt admit and juſtice itſelf acknowledge.

As Mr. Roatſley did not attempt to interrupt Mr Howard, he proceeded to acquaint him with our arrival in town, our diſappointment in regard to Mr. Benſeley's deceaſe, our application in this uncomfortable and friendleſs ſituation to Lord Belmont through the medium of Lady Linroſe, and with every particular of the interview on that ſubject with her Ladyſhip.

He next recapitulated the ſubſtance of my letter to my grandfather, imploring his favour and protection; and in anſwer to this, ſaid he, taking out of his pocket [22] book the epiſtle written him on that oc⯑caſion, pray take the trouble of reading his Lordſhip's final determination from the pen of Lady Linroſe.

During the latter part of this relation, Mr. Roatſley's countenance betrayed an agitation and aſtoniſhment that gave de⯑fiance, Mr. Howard ſaid, to all powers of expreſſion. His perplexity, after read⯑ing the letter, ſeemed but little abated. He was for ſome moments loſt in thought; but at length breaking ſilence —all that I can poſſibly conceive, cried he, all that it is in my power to conjecture or comprehend in this affair, is, that my mother having been herſelf deceived by the injurious aſperſions fabricated by the infamous woman Brumpton, which have been circulated in town with a credit that aſtoniſhes me, dreading the impetuoſity of my temper, which might induce me to diſoblige Lord Belmont and even to act in open defiance of a prohibition ſo [23] unjuſt, ſo inhuman, ſo wholly contrary to his natural character and benevolence, in conſequence of her apprehenſion of creating that diſcordant diſſention which ever leads to alienation of affection and of⯑ten to a total breach of family unanimity, has determined on concealing carefully from my knowledge every circumſtance of the application; yet I muſt acknow⯑ledge myſelf extremely diſpleaſed at a ſtep, which has been the means of re⯑taining me ſo long in uneaſineſs and un⯑certainty, and the more I conſider the circumſtances of the whole tranſaction, the more I am aſtoniſhed and bewil⯑dered. To imagine that Lord Belmont, if properly apprized of the ſituation of his granddaughters, would allow an ob⯑ſtinate and hardened prejudice to arreſt his juſtice, to influence his humanity, and even to baniſh natural affection from his boſom, is a ſuppoſition to which I cannot for an inſtant give credit; it is to [24] believe him ſcarce human, and devoid of the firſt and moſt powerful principle of our moral conſtruction. My mother in⯑deed labours under a cruel miſrepreſen⯑tation, to which ſhe has unfortunately given implicit faith, and which it has never been in my power to confute; for more than once have the Miſs Seymours, though their names and ſome vague re⯑ports concerning them were all I con⯑cluded ſhe knew, been the ſubject of diſcuſſion and even of altercation between us. Violently prepoſſeſſed againſt them previous to their application, her accounts may have perhaps influenced Lord Bel⯑mont's determination, even without her intending or dreading the injuſtice which her repreſentation of their characters may have occaſioned.

This indeed in ſome meaſure accounts for her Ladyſhip's conduct, and even greatly exculpates her from the charge of ſelfiſh and intereſted views. While ſhe re⯑garded [25] us in the light of relations who were likely to reflect diſhonour upon our family, and who could bring no conſola⯑tion to the deſolated boſom of our grand⯑father, it cannot be ſuppoſed that her mediation in our favour would prove fervent, nor that her anxiety for our ſuc⯑ceſs could be as ſincere as if our conduct had ſupported our claims. Her cold re⯑ception of Mr. Howard, and her diſtant reſerve to myſelf, are here fully explained; and while the motives of her Ladyſhip's conduct are cleared up, a diſtant hope opens to view, that her prejudices being removed, thoſe of our only ſurviving pa⯑rent may yet liſten to truth and yield to the voice of nature.

Is it not ſurprizing, however, that the infamous deſigns of this wretch Brump⯑ton in aſperſing our reputations, ſhould have ſo extenſively ſpread the ſlander as to reach the ears of a perſon who moves in a ſphere ſo ſuperior, ſo diſtinct [26] from that wicked woman's line of life, and that theſe calumnies ſhould have flown with ſuch rapidity; for Lady Lin⯑roſe muſt have learnt that we were un⯑worthy of her notice almoſt as ſoon as ſhe was informed that we ſolicited it. Mr. Howard's letter indeed, ſhe received before her departure from her country ſeat, had afforded her an opportunity of being made acquainted with any particu⯑lars; but during the ſhort interval be⯑tween her arrival in town and her confer⯑ence with Mr. Howard, our buſy ene⯑mies muſt have contrived to ſow the ſeeds of that contageous diſtruſt and diſguſt, which then proceeded to infect and influ⯑ence Lord Belmont.

This converſation having detained the two gentlemen till extremely late, they then ſeparated and went to reſt; though not before Roatſley had reminded Mr. Howard of his promiſe to intercede with my ſiſter and myſelf to procure him a [27] peruſal of the manuſcript to which in his narration he had ſo often alluded.

So pleaſed, ſo affected was I with this relation, that it was with difficulty I could reſtrain my too viſible emotion; and I willingly gave into Mr. Howard's hands the diſmal packet, the mere ſight of which as it lies in my bureau often ſaddens my gayeſt moments.

Mr. Roatſley has been up ſome time, ſaid Mr. Howard; and anxious to pre⯑ſent himſelf to you as a near and tender relation, has waited the hour of your riſing with all the impatience of a dear and long abſent friend.

Mr. Howard and my ſiſter then went to join him in the breakfaſting parlour; but afraid to diſcover an agitation too poignant for the occaſion, intereſting as it was, I choſe to remain a few moments behind in hopes of acquiring ſome degree of compoſure.

The inſtant my ſiſter appeared, Roatſ⯑ley [28] with open arms and a countenance in the higheſt degree expreſſive of kind⯑neſs and delight, approached her. Mr. Howard, cried he, are not couſins bleſt with peculiar privileges, and folding her in his arms, he embraced her with the tenderneſs and familiarity of a brother.

So our couſin does not deſert us, cried Fanny, receiving his ſalute with equal eaſe and pleaſure.

Good heavens, my dear Mrs. Howard, I hope you do not confeſs ever having for a moment harboured a ſuſpicion at once ſo unnatural and injurious.

Juſt then I entered; and quitting my ſiſter's hand, he haſtened to ſeize mine, which he kiſſed very fervently more than once, though with a degree of embar⯑raſſment, and even of diſtance, yes even of diſtance Sophia, which did not in the leaſt influence his addreſs to Mrs. How⯑ard.

A variety of ſenſations, a conflict of [29] emotions, in defiance of all my ſum⯑moned calmneſs and reſolution, wholly deprived me of utterance. Will you not acknowledge me, my deareſt couſin, cried he. At theſe words, you will bluſh for my weakneſs Sophia—(I'm ſure I do moſt painfully at this moment, even at the recollection of my folly)—I burſt into tears, and haſtily pulling away my hand, turned from him in ſilence and ran out of the parlour.

A moment's reflexion ſhewed me what an unaccountable appearance my, beha⯑viour muſt have had to all preſent. With⯑out allowing myſelf therefore an inſtant for heſitation leaſt my ſpirit ſhould eva⯑porate, I wiped my eyes and forced my⯑ſelf to return.

I bluſh for myſelf, ſaid I on re-enter⯑ing the parlour; and my cheeks ſuffi⯑ciently proved how true was the confeſ⯑ſion; but as I have never before enjoyed the happineſs of knowing but one male [30] relation, it is no wonder that the acknow⯑ledged preſence of another ſhould bring the firſt ſo forcibly to my memory as wholly to overcome my feelings.

In ſheltering my weakneſs under this little artifice, I was hardly guilty of de⯑ceit; for though my tears did not at that inſtant owe their ſource to this cauſe, the very idea had during the night drawn ſhowers from my eyes; and I could not help believing, that if our beloved father locked down upon his children, he muſt witneſs with pleaſure, even in his angelic ſtate, this re-union with his family.

Mr. Roatſley only replied by preſſing my hand tenderly in ſilence; and per⯑ceiving the ſubject as yet too affecting for my ſpirits, he forbore dwelling on it, and ſhifted the converſation to topics leſs intereſting. My heart was indeed ſo completely awakened to ſoftneſs and ſenſibility, that the keenneſs of my feel⯑ings gave even to my glad emotions the [31] tincture of melancholy; and while the moſt heartfelt ſatisfaction lightened my countenance, a tear, which all my ef⯑forts could hardly diſpenſe, was ready to follow every ſmile.

Of our breakfaſt converſation I can really give you no account. Indeed I believe it is conferring an unmerited compliment on what paſſed to dignify it with the name of converſation. A hun⯑dred different topics were occaſionally touched upon; but not one purſued with any method or connexion. Fanny's mirth was giddy and unbounded; Roatſ⯑ley himſelf appeared in uncommon ſpi⯑rits; and though I perhaps was not the moſt talkative of the company, I believe my ſilent ſatisfaction was ſo apparent that I was far from appearing the leaſt pleaſed.

Soon after breakfaſt he took leave of us in the kindeſt manner. I am unfor⯑tunately engaged, cried he in anſwer to the preſſing invitations of my ſiſter and [30] [...] [31] [...] [32] Mr. Howard, otherwiſe undoubtedly I ſhould not have been proof againſt the friendly and obliging requeſt of my new found relations, but while I remain in the county, which I think of doing for ſome time, I flatter myſelf you will allow me often to be your gueſt.

He then departed, followed by Mr. Howard; who having ſome buſineſs in the village, accompanied him on horſe⯑back part of the way.

Fanny and I, left then to ourſelves, talked over every circumſtance of the tranſactions of laſt night. We made a thouſand reflexions, you may believe, upon the ſingularity of our ſituation, and formed various conjectures upon the con⯑duct of Lady Linroſe and the unaccount⯑able ſilence and ſecrecy ſhe has obſerved; which we could not avoid attributing in part to ſelfiſh motives.

My ſiſter dwelt with pleaſure on the tenderneſs of her couſin's behaviour on their firſt meeting. Had I never ſeen him [33] till now, ſaid ſhe, the warmth of feeling with which he acknowledged a connexion ſo repugnant to the wiſhes of his family muſt inſtantly have gained my heart. On approaching you, I obſerved he was more diſtant; and I confeſs the differ⯑ence ſtruck me obviouſly. His addreſs to me was that of a kind and long abſent relation, who expreſſed in that character, with affection and familiarity, the plea⯑ſure he felt at the rencontre; to you his behaviour ſeemed to betray more of the timidity of the lover than the undiſguiſed kindneſs of the friend.

O certainly it reſembled the timidity of a lover extremely, cried I in an ironi⯑cal tone, and I am afraid rather pee⯑viſhly, for Fanny burſt into a loud laugh.

Nay, cried ſhe, I really think you have ſome reaſon to be jealous; for it muſt be confeſſed I am grown a prodi⯑gious favourite ſince laſt night, and be⯑fore, you know, he uſed to be ſo en⯑tirely [34] engaged in another quarter, that he never could give himſelf the trouble to ſpeak nor to liſten to me, and ſeldom ſeemed even conſcious I was in the ſame room with him.

She was diverting herſelf at my ex⯑pence, when Mr. Howard returned. Pray Fanny, cried he, what is it that amuſes you?

Nay I dare not tell for my ears, re⯑turned ſhe, for Hermione will beat me; but ſmiling expreſſively, ſhe ſung theſe two lines from the entertainment of Mi⯑das:

She needed not have ſtopped there, for words could not have contrived to ex⯑plain more clearly what ſhe pretended to conceal, and Mr. Howard's countenance expreſſed a momentary ſmile, but as if he was deſirous of relieving my embar⯑raſſment, [35] which was indeed extreme, he inſtantly entered on a new ſubject, tho' the rapidity with which he did ſo, by confirming my apprehenſions of ſuſpi⯑cion, gave me very ſevere mortification.

He ſoon after began to join warmly with my ſiſter in praiſe of our couſin's amiable qualities; and with an enthuſi⯑aſm which delighted me, though I hardly ventured to appear attentive, recapitu⯑lated the converſation he had had with him during their ride. Though we have ſuffered ſo unaccountably from the breath of fame, ſaid he, it has at leaſt rendered us juſtice to this young man, whoſe cha⯑racter riſes upon me every opportunity I enjoy of converſing with him. I have juſt been receiving ſome farther lights in regard to the ignorance in which he has continued thus long, and which appeared ſo extraordinary after the information given us in Mrs. Hindon's letter; but he has juſt now told me that during the [36] converſation he had with my ſiſter in law that evening at her houſe, ſhe touched ſo lightly on particulars, ſuppoſing him already perfectly informed of the moſt material circumſtances, that not a hint eſcaped her which could have led him to diſcover his connexion with you. All I learnt from her was, ſaid he, that the two ladies had been unfortunate, were in⯑volved in conſequent difficulties, and that an application to Lord Belmont (I con⯑cluded for his intereſt towards obtaining a penſion) had proved unſucceſsful. My anxiety could not fail to be ſtrongly ex⯑cited: yet as the opportunity in a large company was unfavourable for entering more fully on the ſubject, I intended, for farther information, to apply next day to Mrs. Hindon, when I hoped to find her diſengaged and at liberty to ſa⯑tisfy me; and in the mean while I deter⯑mined to enquire of my mother what ſhe knew of the affair, as I underſtood from [37] ſome words dropped by Mrs. Hindon, that ſhe had intereſted herſelf in the ap⯑plication. I ſeized the earlieſt moment I could lay hold of to mention the mat⯑ter to her, and next morning at breakfaſt aſked her if ſhe had ever been told that two young ladies of the name of Seymour, ladies whoſe names ſhe had often heard me repeat with every expreſſion of admi⯑ration, had beſought my grandfather's intereſt towards procuring them an an⯑nuity from government. My mother's anſwer I perfectly recollect. She told me ſhe believed ſuch a demand had been made by the ladies in queſtion, but that diſadvantageous reports circulated a⯑gainſt them had arreſted his Lordſhip's intended exertions in their behalf, nor could he think of applying publicly in favour of girls, whoſe conduct by all ac⯑counts would reflect but diſcredit upon thoſe who intereſted themſelves in their affairs.

[38]It was in vain, continued Mr. Roatſ⯑ley, that I combated theſe unjuſt imputa⯑tions with all the arguments in my power, and appealed to your character (as their guardian) ſo fully eſtabliſhed in the eyes of all favoured with your acquaintance. My mother coolly anſwered, that men even of the ſtricteſt probity were not likely to withdraw their protection on ac⯑count even of the moſt flagrant impro⯑prieties of conduct in young girls com⯑mitted to their charge, and that it was more than probable they had even im⯑poſed on you with a borrowed appear⯑ance of that merit which art could eaſily aſſume and beauty ſufficiently enforce. This, ſhe ſaid upon ſecond thoughts, ſeemed indiſputably the caſe, ſince a ſingle evening ſpent accidentally in their company had rendered me ſo warmly their friend, and had induced me ſo ro⯑mantically to eſpouſe their cauſe, though totally uninformed of their characters and [39] connexions. They were unknown in this country, even by my own account; (for I had mentioned that circumſtance as a motive of compaſſion) their ſame was dubious at beſt: and ſuch miſcon⯑duct had been laid to their charge, that even this phraſe was a charitable one.

I warmly demanded from whom this ſlanderous intelligence had been received, and was at length unwillingly informed, that the woman with whom you lodged when in town had acknowledged to my mother's maid that the connexion be⯑tween the ladies and their guardian was much too intimate for the diſtance re⯑quired between a gentleman of character and his wards.

Shocked and confounded, though per⯑fectly ſatisfied of the infamous falſhood of this ſcandalous aſperſion, I was deter⯑mined to have the matter fully explained, and inſtantly went to the woman's houſe, where having entered into converſation [40] with her I enquired particularly about her late gueſts. Her anſwers were am⯑biguous and evaſive: and I ſoon per⯑ceived the character of the landlady was ſuch as muſt render all information from that quarter falſe and injurious. I there⯑fore ſoon quitted her, firſt reprimanding her for the infamous aſperſions ſhe had expreſſed, and aſſuring her that the la⯑dies poſſeſſed friends who would loudly confute and rigorouſly puniſh thoſe who might utter them. I returned home furniſhed as I imagined with proofs and arguments more than ſufficient to over⯑throw the moſt determined prejudices. But my mother would hardly allow me to enter on the ſubject; and telling me neither herſelf nor I had any intereſt in the behaviour of two girls who were unknown to her even by ſight, and ſhe was afraid fully as unknown to me by character, al⯑though the acquaintance of a few hours had enabled me to judge ſo perfectly of [41] their diſpoſitions, poſitively declared ſhe ſhould on no account be prevailed with to intercede with Lord Belmont in their behalf. I now perceive her motive, concluded Mr. Roatſley, for retaining me in ignorance. Prejudiced herſelf againſt my couſins before ſhe was in⯑formed of their real name and ſituation, ſhe was unwilling to ſtrengthen a prepoſ⯑ſeſſion which might lead me to act con⯑trary to the commands of Lord Belmont, whoſe will in matters of the moſt trifling moment has ever been regarded as a law in our family, and who it ſeems has poſitively forbidden the protection or countenance of my mother to be ex⯑tended to theſe amiable relations. In⯑deed ſhe might well dread the impetu⯑oſity of my temper on ſuch an occaſion would but ill brook the conſtraint of a prohibition ſo unnatural, and well might ſhe know that no Lord Belmont on earth would have prevailed with me [42] to join in a meaſure, which reaſon and humanity muſt condemn, and the moſt inflexible prejudice only could adopt.

I ſhall not comment on this converſa⯑tion, Sophia. It ſpeaks for itſelf. Adieu my love. My packet is immenſe, but I reſt aſſured you do not complain of its length. I direct it to Avignon, as you deſired, me in your laſt; from which place I expect ſoon to receive a long volume of your journal.

LETTER XX. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

YESTERDAY I walked out as uſual in the morning, intending to ſtrole [43] through the wood, attended by one of the parſon's little girls, of whom my ſiſter is extremely fond, and who often finds her way up the hill and ſpends the day with us. She is a delightful child of five years old, with a countenance animated and blooming as the ſpring; her flaxen hair curls round her face in ringlets ſo pictureſque, that I imagined ſhe would be an admirable ſubject for my pencil, and have accordingly drawn her in crayons, careſſing a favourite lit⯑tle dog who always accompanies her in her viſits. The portrait has ſurpaſſed my hopes; for I have ſucceeded tolerably well, both in the reſemblance and atti⯑tude, and it makes a very ornamental piece of furniture for the drawing room. Since that period, the child had been continually teizing me to draw a little picture as a preſent for her doll; and as children, when they have got a whim in their heads, are unceaſing in their impor⯑tunities, [44] ſhe perſecuted me during our walk to ſet down to work on a ſheet of paper which ſhe had brought in her hand from the houſe for that purpoſe.

The ſcene here is romantic beyond imagination. The river, that murmurs below at the foot of a gentle deſcent, is ſhaded by the moſt venerable oaks, which ſometimes form a thicket wild and ſequeſtered, and in other places ad⯑mit views of a moſt fertile and beautiful country; which being embelliſhed with the plantations ſurrounding the ſplendid ſeats of ſeveral gentlemen of the county at a diſtance, and ornamented with a nearer ſight of the ſpire belonging to the pariſh church, exhibits a proſpect of gaiety as well, as grandeur. A walk that is cut in the ſlope of the bank, is my favourite reſort, and ſo well calcu⯑lated for ſoothing into a languor not un⯑pleaſant, any oppreſſion which reſts upon the mind, that I found it peculiarly [45] ſuited to the preſent ſtate of my ſpirits; and to rid myſelf of Charlotte's impor⯑tunities, I at length ſat down on one of the green ſeats, and pulling out a pen⯑cil began to trace a little rough ſketch which ſoon ſatisfied the child, who em⯑ployed herſelf in running about gather⯑ing noſegays from the wood flowers that adorned the banks of the river.

Having the pencil in my hand, I be⯑gan almoſt unconſciouſly to delineate upon the cover of a letter, features ſo deeply engraven on my mind, that I required not the preſence of the original to enable me to recollect every trait of expreſſion with accuracy; and a few ſtrokes, though incorrect and unfiniſhed, ſoon exhibited a reſemblance, to which, innumerable as have been my ſecret at⯑tempts on the ſame ſubject, I had never before attained.

Charmed with my ſucceſs, I gazed with delight on the drawing which pro⯑miſed [46] to be the private companion of many a ſolitary hour; and ſo wholly abſorbed was I in contemplating my per⯑formance, that I heard not the ſound of ſteps that approached me, till a voice almoſt at my ear ſaid—I hope I don't diſturb your meditations, Miſs Seymour: and ſuddenly looking up, I beheld Roatſley immediately behind me.

Conſcious apprehenſion made me in⯑ſtantly ſtart up in confuſion; and the paper dropping from my hand, a light breeze which juſt then ſeemed to riſe for the purpoſe of plunging me into difficulties, got hold of it, and quickly conveyed it down the ſlope of the bank below.

Uncertain whether he had a glimpſe of it or not, and unable to recover my⯑ſelf ſufficiently to affect unconcern, I ut⯑tered not a word, but followed the fly⯑ing cover with my eyes, in which anxiety and embarraſſment were ſo ſtrongly [47] painted, that Roatſley inſtantly added— what a world of miſchief have I been guilty of, and directly flew to recover it.

For heaven's ſake, exclaimed I in abſolute agonies, for heaven's ſake don't think about it. It is not of the ſlighteſt importance; it is a trifle, a drawing, not worth the trouble of picking up; and catching hold of his arm, (for I knew not what I was doing) juſt as he had arrived at the ſpot where a buſh ob⯑ſtructed its progreſs—For God's ſake come away, repeated I with a vehemence the moſt ill judged and abſurd, and ſo far beyond what the occaſion could poſ⯑ſibly require without the intereſt of ſome ſecret cauſe, that no wonder he ſtood with his eyes fixed upon me in mute aſtoniſhment. The look of perplexity and ſurpriſe with which he regarded me inſtantly diſcovered to me my fooliſh imprudence in giving way to an alarm that had in fact no real foundation, and [48] from which a ſmall degree of ſelf com⯑mand and preſence of mind might have relieved me. I then heartily repented my folly; but alas! it was too late, and I only diſcovered my unfortunate ab⯑ſurdity time enough to lament its effects.

We were both ſilent for a few mo⯑ments. At length —I cannot think any thing a trifle, ſaid he, with a fluſh on his countenance, that gives Miſs Seymour ſuch viſible uneaſineſs; eſpecially—a drawing too—added he heſitating. The ſubject of her ſolitary contemplation. Allow me at leaſt, Madam, to reſtore to you what appears of ſuch infinite value; and darting forward, he caught the pa⯑per in his hand.

Sir, cried I, with a ſpirit which the preſent exigency alone could have in⯑ſpired, and with all the firmneſs my ter⯑ror gave me courage to aſſume, only hear me: if you caſt one look on that paper, [49] never will I pardon, never will I ſee you more.

This ſpeech certainly was frantic in the higheſt degree. It was acknowledg⯑ing the truth of his hint; it was allow⯑ing him to conclude that the drawing was the reſemblance of ſome perſon dear to my heart, ſince my agitation appeared ſo uncontroulable; but my imprudent uneaſineſs from the beginning muſt I imagined have infuſed theſe ſuſpicions by this time ſtrongly into his mind; and ſhocked to the ſoul at the apprehenſion of my heart being thus laid open in a manner ſo mortifying, ſo dreadful, to the man on earth from whom I moſt wiſhed its weakneſs concealed, this ſud⯑den prohibition ſtruck me as the only poſſible means of preventing immediate detection.

He ſtill held the paper in his hand, and would not be prevailed with to re⯑ſtore it; but he made no attempt to exa⯑mine [50] it. I dare not riſk your diſplea⯑ſure, cried he, with a countenance ex⯑preſſive of uneaſineſs and ſuſpenſe. To be baniſhed from your ſight, and the object of your hate, are ideas too horrible, too inſupportable to be thought of; yet are they almoſt the only puniſhments that could at this inſtant ſo forcibly operate on my mind as to arreſt my impatience and deter me from ſatisfying my burn⯑ing curioſity.

Give me the paper, cried I; it be⯑longs to me—it is mine—

And is dear to you, interrupted he with a voice almoſt ſuffocated, and hold⯑ing it above my reach: ſay that it is dear to you, and I will indeed fly your ſight for ever.

No, cried I, 'tis nobody—'tis nothing —it is not of the leaſt: conſequence— only give it me, or I never will forgive you.

Little Charlotte perceiving this al⯑tercation, [51] juſt then came running up to us. Is it the pretty gentleman's picture, cried ſhe, for I had been imprudent enough to allow her to look over me while I was roughly ſketching it.

A gentleman's picture, repeated Roatſ⯑ley. Yes that it muſt be, and the reſem⯑blance of the moſt bleſt, the moſt envied of mankind.

No, cried I, with an imprudence which I ſhall deplore to my lateſt hour but of which my exhauſted ſpirits made me unconſciouſly guilty, I almoſt hate him at this inſtant, and (oh! Sophia, you will bluſh the deepeſt crimſon for me) I burſt into tears.

Theſe words, and the manner, the warmth with which they were pro⯑nounced, alas! too plainly diſcovered the fatal ſecret. Scarce had they eſcaped my lips, when their too obvious mean⯑ing was apparent to myſelf. My feel⯑ings were then unutterable, but con⯑ſcious [52] that my folly could not be recalled, I ſaw no conſolation but in flight, and turning away with all the expedition in my power, I was flying down the bank towards the Chineſe bridge, when Roatſ⯑ley, too violently agitated to perceive the preſence of the child, ſuddenly ſeiz⯑ing my hand, prevented me by throw⯑ing himſelf at my feet. Miſs Seymour, cried he, with an energy which muſt have ſurmounted all oppoſition had re⯑ſiſtance been in my power—lovely and adored Miſs Seymour, ſtay but for an inſtant. That ſecret paſſion which has proved the torment of my life ſo long, how ſhall I ſtifle or conceal in a moment like this? how ſhall I ſuppreſs the per⯑haps too fatal preſumption to which it gives birth! For the ſake of heaven, al⯑low me either to put an interpretation on your preſent agitation, which will overwhelm me with a tranſport almoſt too infinite to be ſupported, or at once, [53] by withdrawing your prohibition, daſh my deluſive hopes and puniſh my aſpir⯑ing folly as it deſerves.

Oh! Sophia, what were my ſenſations at this ſpeech. I tried in vain to diſen⯑gage my hand; and having at length effected it, I covered my face with both, and almoſt ſunk upon the ground. Roatſ⯑ley, alarmed at my ſituation, haſtily aroſe, and obliging me to lean on his arm, ſupported me almoſt fainting to a bench that encircled the trunk of an ancient ſycamore not far diſtant.

Weakneſs for a few moments ſuſ⯑pended ſhame, but ſoon my ſtrength re⯑turning, my confuſion redoubled with a violence unſpeakable. During this ſhort interval we were both ſilent, and Roatſ⯑ley alternately kiſſed the hand he held in his and the drawing which he had now ventured to examine, and which he re⯑garded as the aſſured pledge of my af⯑fection. Oh! my Sophia, feel for your [54] friend at this moment of emotion. Con⯑ceive if you can my ſenſations. But in⯑deed that is wholly impoſſible. I was overwhelmed with ſhame, covered with bluſhes, and my pride moſt painfully wounded: the ſeverity of the mortifica⯑tion I endured made me wiſh that I could ſink into the ground and for ever conceal myſelf from the eyes of Roatſley, who gazed on me with a delight chaſ⯑tened by a degree of diffidence that ſeemed to aim at reconciling me to my⯑ſelf.

Pardon me, lovelieſt of women, cried he the moment he ſaw me beginning to recover, which I no ſooner did than I attempted to riſe—pardon the man who adores you—who would ſacrifice his life, his happineſs, for your's.

Juſt as he pronounced theſe words with the moſt paſſionate warmth, little Charlotte, who had been preſent during the whole of this diſtreſſing ſcene, a cir⯑cumſtance [55] which our mutual agitation had prevented our diſcovering, came running forward, and ſurpriſing him upon his knees, ſtared at the ſingularity of his attitude with a look of curioſity and ſurpriſe that quickly reſtored both his recollection and mine.

Roatſley ſtarted from the poſture from which I had before repeatedly entreated him to riſe without effect, and inſtantly getting up to leave him, I declared that on no account I could remain longer; and unable to meet his eyes, quickened my ſteps towards the houſe.

Stay but for a few moments, ſaid he in a low voice, but in the moſt earneſt manner; leave me not in this agonizing ſuſpenſe I beſeech you.

My confuſion and perplexity having ſomewhat ſubſided, my heart began to taſte the felicity of knowing (diſtreſſing as had been the circumſtances to which I owed the diſcovery) that what I felt I had [56] not been incapable of inſpiring; but at this moment the recollection of Lady Elizabeth and his engagements ruſhing upon my mind, ſhame, reſentment, and anguiſh, all at once aſſailed me; and recalling with bitter regret the weak⯑neſs I had betrayed and the profeſſions which compaſſion perhaps alone had extorted, I pulled away the hand that Roatſley had again ſeized, and haſtily ſaid—you have egregiouſly deceived yourſelf Sir, and I own I am juſtly to blame in having partly given cauſe for the deception; but I deſire you will leave me, and allow me to return in⯑ſtantly home. I ſhall be ſeriouſly diſ⯑pleaſed if you perſiſt in detaining me; and having ſlightly curtſeyed to him, though without venturing to regard him, I redoubled my pace and arrived at the houſe, not having once looked back.

On entering the hall, my ſiſter ran to me. Hermione, cried ſhe, what have [57] you done with yourſelf all the morning. I have been ſending to the hut and all over the wood to find you: for pray who do you think is about to honour us with a viſit, but our condeſcending Right Honourable relation, Lady Linroſe.

Lady Linroſe! repeated I in amaze⯑ment.

Yes, her ſervant has been here with a card informing us that her Ladyſhip is on the road to wait on us, and entreats the favour of being allowed to ſee us one half hour in private.

Juſt as ſhe ſpoke a carriage and four drove up to the door; and ſcarce had we gained the parlour, when Lady Linroſe herſelf entered it.

She approached us with a look of the moſt engaging and affectionate familiar⯑ity. I may well dread the reception I ought to meet with, ſaid ſhe, taking a hand of each; but if the countenance is to be truſted, I will venture to hope [58] that a behaviour which I have been un⯑willingly conſtrained hitherto to ſupport will not, when its motives are candidly examined, utterly exclude me from the proſpect of obtaining your friendſhip.

Confounded by an addreſs ſo unex⯑pected, we bowed in ſilence; and my ſiſter leading to the ſopha we all ſeated ourſelves.

I am now venturing on a ſtep, re⯑ſumed her Ladyſhip, which I have long ardently wiſhed it in my power to pur⯑ſue, but which even at this moment is ſo dangerous and daring, that the exi⯑gency of the preſent occaſion, and a due regard to my own character only, can excuſe or palliate my imprudence. I have long moſt anxiouſly deſired the op⯑portunity of a moment like this, in which I could fairly and candidly lay before you the motives of a conduct which muſt doubtleſs have appeared to you harſh, cruel, and unfeeling. Alas! you knew [59] not, that while duty withheld from you the protection to which you ſo juſtly laid claim, ſlander and injuſtice united to render the prohibition on my part eaſy to fulfil. Lately, but very lately, was I made acquainted with the value of what, by the commands of a parent, I am deprived of enjoying—your friend⯑ſhip and ſociety. No ſooner however was the veil taken from my eyes, than my mind became uneaſy till it had ac⯑knowledged its injurious prejudices; and ſome alarming circumſtances, to which I muſt entreat one quarter of an hour's attention, have at length deter⯑mined me to hazard the danger of Lord Belmont's diſpleaſure, ſhould this act of diſobedience reach his ears, rather than continue to appear in a light ſo injurious to my heart, ſo contrary to my real feel⯑ings.

Having received a bow of acknow⯑ledgment from my ſiſter, and an aſſurance [60] from me that the preſent apology en⯑tirely obliterated all recollection of what once perhaps we might have conſidered as unkind, her Ladyſhip proceeded.

I muſt in the firſt place ſincerely ac⯑knowledge, continued ſhe, that I have no adequate apology to offer for having given credit to aſperſions which I have ſince found ſo perfectly ill founded and unjuſt; but perhaps you may be kind enough to admit ſome ſort of palliation from the utter ignorance in which I had been retained reſpecting you. That I had ſuch relations, was merely all I knew; and no ſooner had I received Mr. Howard's letter, than I determined in my own mind to afford you all the civility, kindneſs, and attention, to which your youth, ſex, and ſituation in a quar⯑ter of the world entirely new, juſtly en⯑titled you, eſpecially as it was not diffi⯑cult for me to perceive you were the ſame agreeable party which my ſon had [61] encountered on his journey, with whom he had been ſo much charmed and in whoſe favour he had ſo much prepoſ⯑ſeſſed me. Had he been with me at the moment of my receiving the letter, I ſhould undoubtedly have inſtantly yielded to the warmth of my compaſſion, and entruſted him, however imprudently, with the ſecret of your birth and con⯑nexion; but indiſpenſible buſineſs had hurried him from me almoſt immediately upon his arrival, and time being given me for conſideration, I foreſaw how pre⯑carious and perplexing was the part I had now to act. Lord Belmont's character was well known to me. Though rigid in principle and fervent in benevolence, his prejudices are rooted and immovable; and a prepoſſeſſion once fixed in his mind, allows neither reaſon nor humanity to interfere towards its extirpation. What ſteps he might purſue were doubt⯑ful and my fears greatly overbalanced [62] my hopes as to the generoſity of his con⯑duct. Theſe reflections, though com⯑bated by my ſecret wiſhes, determined me to ſtand aloof till his Lordſhip's re⯑ſolution was known; and if poſſible, by guarding the ſecret carefully from my family and more eſpecially from my ſon, whoſe warmth of feelings and impetuoſity I particularly dreaded, to preſerve them from the wrathful effects of a diſplea⯑ſure from which I myſelf have ſuffered too ſeverely not to apprehend it with terror.

I intended to haſten to town; but ſome previous buſineſs of real moment deferred my journey for ſome little time, and an alarming complaint, but of ſhort duration, confined me ſo cloſely for a few days after my arrival, that I had no opportunity for tranſacting the buſineſs that had occaſioned my removal, and which from the neceſſity of preſerving it a profound ſecret I was unable to ma⯑nage [63] by an agent. During this interval, anxious to get information through every poſſible means of the ſituation of my young relations, in regard to whom I felt myſelf extremely ſolicitous, it may be eaſily conjectured that I attempted every channel of intelligence, and made enquiry of every perſon whom friendſhip or intimacy allowed to viſit me during my confinement. I was conſtrained to mention you however merely as agreea⯑ble, accidental acquaintances, whom my ſon had repreſented to me in an engaging and favourable point of view, and your very names were unknown to all to whom I applied, my ſon's friend Mr. Bradſhaw excepted; who informed me that he had the honour of reſiding under the ſame roof with you, but whoſe light and diſ⯑reſpectful manner of expreſſing himſelf ſhocked and confounded me. The par⯑ticulars which I contrived to draw from him, though vague and void of proof, [64] I muſt acknowledge infuſed a portion of doubt and diſtruſt into my mind; but when I take the liberty of repeating what he ſaid, I hope you will in ſome meaſure excuſe and forgive me.

Your perſonal charms alone, he told me, were known to him; for to your private characters he was a ſtranger, tho' if appearances were to be truſted, the latter by no means conferred any addi⯑tional luſtre on the former: he ſome time afterwards added, that he had been in⯑formed at all hands you were light, doubtful, and indiſcreet; your princi⯑pal, if not your almoſt only aſſociate, being a woman of infamous character, at whoſe windows he himſelf had frequently beheld you. Though I was thunder-ſtruck at this intelligence, I did not give it implicit credit, but contrived to diſpatch my own maid, who has been long and deſervedly in my confidence, with orders to make private enquiries [65] reſpecting your conduct of the people with whom you lodged. Their accounts, ambiguous and perplexing, ſerved only to ſtrengthen and confirm my error.

Here I could not reſiſt making an attempt to interrupt Lady Linroſe, with the deſign of explaining the various and ſingular cauſes of theſe ſhocking imputa⯑tions: but perceiving my intention— hold, my dear Madam, ſaid ſhe warmly. Do me not the injuſtice to imagine I now require any particulars to convince me of your innocence, and of my own in⯑conſiderate concluſions. 'Tis my vindi⯑cation not your's that brought me hither; and if any doubt could have remained on my mind, after having been once in your company, my ſon's explanation muſt have wholly removed it. I have already engaged your attention too long: yet I muſt requeſt the indulgence of a few moments longer.

Such was the ſituation of affairs, when [66] I beſought the favour of a viſit from Mr. Howard; and in ſpite of the ill opi⯑nion I had imbibed of his wards, I wrote to Lord Belmont in their behalf with all the warmth they could have deſired; though to own the truth, the longer I reflected the more was I convinced that the ſucceſs of the application would be ſuch as it proved. The event juſtified my prudence in having concealed the matter from my ſon; his Lordſhip, amongſt other injunctions, having ſtrong⯑ly enjoined a continuation of ſecreſy. There is a certain portion of ſpirit in my grandſon's character, ſaid he in his letter, which leads me to dread his con⯑duct on this occaſion. While I admire and approve of a diſpoſition that is the ſource in general of noble and generous actions, in the preſent inſtance I fear the effects of its enthuſiaſm, which may in⯑duce him to regard thoſe unfortunate re⯑lations as objects of peculiar intereſt and [67] regard. I ſolemnly declare however that his interference in this point with my commands, ſhall for ever exclude him my favour and caſt him from my heart for ever.

Some time afterwards, my ſon one day unexpectedly demanded if I had ever been made acquainted with an applica⯑tion to Lord Belmont from thoſe ladies of the name of Seymour againſt whom I ſeemed to have taken a prepoſſeſſion ſo unaccountable? I evaded the queſtion; and, though not without difficulty, ſoon after waved the ſubject: for while his expreſſions ſhewed me that he knew but half the ſecret, his warmth convinced me his knowledge of the whole would prove deſtructive of that unanimity and affection which has ever ſubſiſted between him and his grandfather.

Such being my private ſentiments of you, and ſuch my ſituation with my ſon, you may eaſily conceive what my aſto⯑niſhment [68] muſt have been on finding my⯑ſelf unexpectedly introduced to you at Holtenham Abbey. Your countenance, your manner, and the ingenuous inno⯑cence which ſhone conſpicuous in both, opened my eyes, and unavoidably en⯑gaged my regard and admiration. Yet withheld from acknowledging myſelf to you in the manner I wiſhed, I was unwil⯑lingly conſtrained to aſſume the diſtance of a ſtranger; and I will candidly own, that as ſuch I muſt have ſtill continued, had not the preſent unhappy diſſention between my favourite ſon and myſelf obliged me to lay before you the private motives of my conduct—motives which I own only can excuſe it.

Her Ladyſhip was viſibly affected at theſe words; but having wiped her eyes, continued—Mr. Roatſley, I find, has been informed, I ſuppoſe by this family, of the whole affair; and diſpleaſed with the part which prudence perſuaded me [69] to perform, laſt night deſired from me an explanation of every particular. Finding all further ſecreſy impracticable, I readily and candidly acknowledged the truth; but this, inſtead of ſatisfying and convincing him, ſerved merely to heighten a reſentment that barely preſerved the reſpect which duty and affection has ne⯑ver yet allowed him to forget towards his mother. Shocked to the ſoul by this difference, the firſt that from the moment of his birth ever occurred be⯑tween us, I determined to open my heart to you; from the flattering hope, that knowing the ſecret ſpring of every part of my conduct, you might be ena⯑bled to do juſtice to my motives; and I truſt ſhould the ſubject ever again recur when my ſon viſits you, you will have the goodneſs and generoſity to convince him that in ſuch circumſtances, where the inflexible diſpleaſure of Lord Belmont [70] was at ſtake, it was the indiſpenſible duty of a parent to act as I did.

My ſiſter and I in warm terms re⯑turned her Ladyſhip thanks for this can⯑did and ingenuous explanation, which we ſincerely aſſured her entirely ſatisfied us as to every point of her behaviour. As matters ſtood, Sophia, it was un⯑doubtedly both prudent and natural for Lady Linroſe to conduct herſelf in the manner ſhe has done, and I now reflect with pain on the injurious opinion that chagrin and diſappointment induced us to entertain of a character which this one converſation developes in the moſt amiable and honourable point of view.

We expreſſed much uneaſineſs at the difference which Mr. Roatſley's compaſ⯑ſionate humanity, in eſpouſing ſo warmly our cauſe, had occaſioned with a parent to whoſe foreſight and maternal atten⯑tions he owed ſo much, and hoped it had proceeded no diſagreeable lengths.

[71]My ſon, ſaid her Ladyſhip, is poſ⯑ſeſſed of the moſt amiable diſpoſition in the world. The converſation I have juſt now mentioned, paſſed between us laſt night, when he aſked permiſſion to attend me in my dreſſing room after ſup⯑per. I had obſerved that he was grave and uneaſy the whole day; but no op⯑portunity for an explanation had till then occurred. Though gentle to exceſs, his paſſions, when once rouſed, are by no means eaſily controuled. The circum⯑ſtances of your ſituation had naturally excited his compaſſion, and his know⯑ledge of your amiable characters de⯑prived me of the only excuſe he would admit as a palliation of my conduct. Lord Belmont's prohibition, he ſaid, he could regard as none where honour and humanity were concerned. There was neither ſpirit nor principle in a ſlaviſh dependence on the will and opinions of others. In ſuch a moment, prudence [72] was ſelfiſhneſs, and obedience ſo implicit could only be deemed abject and ſervile.

He left me with theſe words; but ſoon after recollecting himſelf, he re⯑turned, not however with the intention of openly apologizing for his hear, but apparently from the wiſh of in ſome meaſure atoning for it by talking over the matter with calmneſs and temper.

This he did; and we parted at a late hour on good terms. What had paſſed however hung heavy on my ſpirits. I foreſaw a world of tumult and oppoſition from this unfortunate diſcovery, and I determined to eaſe my mind of part of its burthen by openly diſcloſing my diſ⯑quiets to the innocent cauſe of them, and entreating their forgiveneſs for the men⯑tal injury I have done them.

My ſon avows his reſolution of apply⯑ing to Lord Belmont in your favour, a determination, which far from diſſuading him from performing I highly approve [73] of and ſhall myſelf enforce with that ad⯑ditional energy which admiration and regard muſt now produce; I cannot however avoid expreſſing my apprehen⯑ſions that Roatſley's interference will irri⯑tate rather than perſuade; and while to you he performs no eſſential ſervice, he is diſappointing and diſobliging his grand⯑father at the moſt critical moment per⯑haps of his life: for I will not conceal any thing from you: I make no doubt indeed you muſt already have been in⯑formed of it: my ſon is ſoon to be hap⯑pily ſettled in life with a moſt amiable and valuable young lady; a tender af⯑fection ſubſiſts between them; the match is in every reſpect deſirable; but Lord Belmont's decided approbation can alone ſecure that of his young bride's family and connexions.

My heart, Sophia—oh! what did not my heart endure at theſe words? It died within me. I caſt my eyes on the ground, [74] and avoided with the utmoſt care the pe⯑netrating look with which Lady Linroſe regarded me. The agitating ſcene that had ſo recently paſſed between her ſon and myſelf flaſhed with redoubled an⯑guiſh on my thoughts; the recollection was miſery, and I felt as a culprit in his mother's preſence. From this ſtate of embarraſſment and diſtreſs, I was pre⯑ſently in part relieved by the entrance of my little teizing companion Charlotte, who had been playing on the green be⯑fore the houſe, and juſt at this moment appeared. Her Ladyſhip, not thinking it prudent to proceed in a ſubject of ſuch moment before the child, having now explained herſelf ſufficiently, ſhifted the converſation to leſs intereſting topicks; and being charmed with the little girl's beauty, began to chat with her.

Amongſt other queſtions ſuited to her age, Lady Linroſe, to ſet her a prattling, made the enquiry with which all chil⯑dren [75] have been ſo often importuned, viz. which did ſhe love beſt, Mrs. Howard or Miſs Seymour? and Charlotte, not in the leaſt at a loſs for a reply which delicacy even in infancy ſometimes renders em⯑barraſſing, inſtantly replied—oh Miſs Seymour certainly. Every body loves Miſs Seymour, and the gentleman loves her too, for I know that well enough.

We ſhall get at all your ſecrets, Miſs Seymour, cried Lady Linroſe, ſmiling at my unſpeakable confuſion. But pray, my dear, turning to the child, who is this admirer of Miſs Seymour's?

What does the child mean, cried I, with a look which I intended for ſurpriſe but which I am afraid partook infinitely more of alarm: pray don't be fooliſh Charlotte. But alas! I tried in vain to interrupt her; for delighted with being allowed to prate, and charmed with the importance of evidently diſtreſſing me, ſhe anſwered Lady Linroſe archly in a [76] loud whiſper—oh it muſt be her lover you know; for he kiſſed her hand juſt now again and again in the Filbert walk.

Conceive, if it is poſſible, my conſcious diſtreſs. Words can but faintly expreſs my ſituation. I dreaded that every fea⯑ture of my face would diſcover who this ſecret admirer was, and all ſpirit to rally it off forſook me. I thought at that moment this was certainly the moſt pain⯑ful exceſs to which ſhame and apprehen⯑ſion could arrive; but I was too ſoon taught how deplorably erroneous was this idea.

A ſhort and moſt diſtreſſing pauſe ſuc⯑ceeded to Charlotte's ſally of gaiety. Lady Linroſe, perceiving I ſuppoſe my uneaſineſs, politely forbore encreaſing it by proceeding in her enquiries, and look⯑ing at her watch, roſe to depart.

My ſiſter aſked the favour of her La⯑dyſhip's company to partake of a family dinner, if ſhe was not otherwiſe engaged. [77] I ſincerely regret, ſaid ſhe, that I pro⯑miſed my friend Lady Mary to be home by four o'clock: for as my viſits, my dear Mrs. Howard, muſt be few and pri⯑vately ſtolen, I lament that I cannot in⯑dulge myſelf with a longer one at pre⯑ſent: but we know not how things may turn out, added ſhe with great kindneſs —we may perhaps be more fortunate than we at preſent imagine.

Mr. Howard will regret not having ſhared in the honour of this viſit, Ma⯑dam, ſaid my ſiſter: and juſt as ſhe ſpoke, her huſband, who had been told who was with us, entered the parlour.

Lady Linroſe received him with par⯑ticular civility; and though on her way to the carriage, which had been ordered to the door, unfortunately turned back and ſat down again for a few minutes.

After the uſual compliments and en⯑quiries—I flattered myſelf Mr. Roatſley had accompanied your Ladyſhip, ſaid [78] Mr. Howard, as I ſaw him at a diſtance little more than an hour ago with my ſiſ⯑ter in the walk; but it was not then in my power to join them, as I was em⯑ployed procuring aſſiſtance to my old gardener, who has met with a very diſ⯑agreeable accident this morning.

You muſt have miſtaken ſome other perſon for Mr. Roatſley, ſaid Mrs. How⯑ard, for he has not favoured us with his company to-day.

Was he not here, ſiſter, cried Mr. Howard turning to me with a ſurpriſe which I fear my too apparent diſtreſs ſufficiently abated; for as if conſcious of having committed ſome miſtake, he left the ſentence unfiniſhed.

This was too dreadful. I believe Mr. Roatſley was walking to-day, ſaid I at length: but the anguiſh of my feelings made my voice faulter even during this ſhort ſentence; and Lady Linroſe roſe, before I had concluded it, curtſeyed in [79] ſilence to me, and taking her leave, was attended to the hall by Mr. Howard and my ſiſter.

Being left alone—oh God! cried I to myſelf, what a day of miſery has this been? My imprudence can only be equalled by my ſhame and deſpair. I was in agonies. I now perceived that Roatſley was inevitably devoted to ano⯑ther. The declaration, my Sophia, which burſt from his lips, his reaſon, his principles, even his heart, muſt condemn in the firſt moments of cool reflexion. The remembrance muſt wound him, and is an inſult to me. He knows my weak⯑neſs. It is no longer concealed as hi⯑therto in the ſecret receſſes of my heart. All the world knows it. Even his mo⯑ther is no longer ignorant of the fatal ſecret; and what may ſhe not conclude from the circumſtances which have re⯑vealed it to her knowledge. Would to heaven I could hide my confuſion and [80] folly for ever from the whole earth. But even if I could, how ſhall I ever conceal from myſelf the bitter, heart rending re⯑collection of my own imprudence.

I was almoſt frantic: and the moment I perceived the carriage drive off, I flew into my own room and ſhut myſelf up. Fanny ſoon followed, demanding admit⯑tance. But I could not for ſome time prevail with myſelf to grant it; for al⯑though my heart is ſtrongly and tenderly attached to her, a diſſimilarity of diſpo⯑ſition, and the circumſtance of her being a married woman, which makes me ap⯑prehenſive that her huſband will be a ſharer of all ſhe knows, renders my confidence in her neither ſo comfortable nor ſo undiſguiſed as it would otherwiſe prove. I am not ſo unjuſt as to ſuppoſe ſhe could ever be prevailed with to be⯑tray by the ſlighteſt hint the ſecrets re⯑poſed in her; but the openneſs of her diſpoſition renders me very ſuſpicious [81] that ſhe might be imprudent without being conſcious of her error; and though I am thoroughly ſatisfied that ſhe is as happy with Mr. Howard as it is poſſible for any woman to be in the married ſtate, yet I feel a degree of indelicacy in paint⯑ing anxieties and ardours which were ſo wholly excluded her own courtſhip, and which may for that reaſon appear roman⯑tic and unaccountable.

I partly confeſſed however the diſa⯑greeable ſituation in which I found my⯑ſelf involved; and without touching on the circumſtances of the drawing, and the declaration it had produced, which indeed I cannot recall to mind and could not have mentioned without anguiſh un⯑ſpeakable, I owned I had met with Roatſley that morning, and acknow⯑ledged the uneaſineſs which the little girl's raillery before his mother had oc⯑caſioned me.

I know not what to make of him, [82] ſaid Fanny: and undoubtedly this couſin of ours after all is a little unaccountable; for as Miſs Farnford obſerved, his miſ⯑treſs has ſurely ſome reaſon to complain of his attentions in another quarter; and what can the man mean if he is actually on the eve of wedlock? I don't under⯑ſtand his behaviour.

Alas! thought I, I underſtand his be⯑haviour but too well. It is my too ap⯑parent weakneſs and folly which have for a time produced in his heart a temporary inconſtancy. Oh, Sophia! how painful is this idea. All my pride of heart riſes againſt it. I am ſunk in my own opi⯑nion—I am humbled and miſerable.

There is but one ſtep to be taken, ſaid I to my ſiſter. To ſee Lady Linroſe a⯑gain would be at preſent peculiarly diſa⯑greeable; and tho' ſhe gave at parting no intimation of a ſpeedy return, ſhe may very poſſibly contrive to ſee us before ſhe leaves the county, which I own I [83] would wiſh to avoid, and a very ſimple and natural method of doing ſo has oc⯑curred to me: I think of haſtening my viſit to our dear and valuable Lady Au⯑brey. It is but ſetting off in a day or two inſtead of three weeks hence. I am ſure of finding her at home, and ſhall this very day write to prepare her to ex⯑pect me.

My ſiſter, who has never been ſeparat⯑ed from me for many years, and who diſ⯑likes the idea of my leaving her even for a ſhort time, made ſome little objections to this plan, alledging that Lady Lin⯑roſe had requeſted her viſit might be kept a ſecret, from which it was naturally to be inferred that it was not likely to be ſoon repeated.

I did not chuſe to own explicitly that it was the ſon ſtill more than the mother that I wiſhed to avoid, tho' I told her that I thought I ought not to expoſe my⯑ſelf to attentions that were (tho' I be⯑lieved [84] unintentionally,) certainly an in⯑ſult to my character: and I ſoon perſuad⯑ed her to acknowledge, if ſuch were my ſentiments, that I ought not to defer my journey.

The difficulty that now remained, was how to conceal my real motive from Mr. Howard: but happily a fortunate pre⯑tence ſoon preſented itſelf: in the even⯑ing, while we were chatting on the oc⯑currences of the day and the unexpected viſit we had received, a letter was brought me from our dear and reſpected friend, telling me that her impatience to embrace us had ariſen to ſuch a height, that ſhe intreated, if Mr. and Mrs. Howard's vi⯑ſit muſt ſtill be delayed, mine might be deferred no longer; requeſting leave to ſend her own carriage and ſervants to convey me ſately to Aubrey Caſtle.

This kind, maternal epiſtle, would at all events have determined my compli⯑ance, eſpecially as Lady Meredith and [85] Sir William, I find, have left the caſtle, having been ſuddenly recalled home: but at this time it is particularly agreea⯑ble, as it at once relieves me from my difficulties in regard to Mr. Howard, re⯑moves me from the chance of again meet⯑ing the man I ſo anxiouſly wiſh never more to behold, and offers me an oppor⯑tunity undiſturbed and at a diſtance, for combating the commotions of my mind.

I have written Lady Aubrey that I ſhall be with her on Saturday evening. Her ſeat is forty five miles diſtant; but by ſetting off very early, I hope to ac⯑compliſh my journey without ſleeping on the road, which I ſhould diſlike much. I have accepted the offer of her carriage and ſervants, which are to be here on Thurſday evening.

LETTER XXI. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

I Arrived here laſt night about nine in the evening. The moment I alighted, our dear Lady Aubrey ran out to meet me in the hall. She preſſed me to her boſom in the tendereſt manner, and tears accompanied her embraces.

She led me to her dreſſing room; where, after a thouſand anxious appre⯑henſions on her part in regard to the fa⯑tigue I had undergone in travelling, and as many kind enquiries after my ſiſter and Mr. Howard, I congratulated her with the moſt heartfelt ſatisfaction on the [87] happy improvement of her health, indi⯑cated ſo viſibly by the alteration in her looks.

The change is indeed ſtriking. That glow which health and tranquillity only can preſerve, now throws a luſtre over features, the intereſting beauty of which ſeemed before incapable of addition.

Both in mind and body, ſaid that an⯑gelic woman, my amendment is wonder⯑ful: and how infinitely kind is it in my Hermione thus to ſoothe my heart by gratifying my ardent wiſhes for her com⯑pany. My ſpirits, thank heaven, are calm and equal; and my frame, at no period robuſt, begins to feel the pleaſing effects of internal peace and compoſure. I do not allow myſelf to indulge the ſe⯑cluſion to which inclination ſtrongly im⯑pells me: on the contrary, I reſpect thoſe exactions which the rights of ſociety re⯑quire, and the neglect of which I, who have perhaps a long life before me, may [88] yet live to regret. I intend to force my⯑ſelf therefore to make proper returns to the viſits and civilities paid me by my country neighbours; and have even al⯑ready begun to form an intimacy with a very worthy couple, who have hitherto waved all ceremony, and who have been repeatedly my gueſts. They are at preſent with me; and though I ſhould have much prefered the happineſs of ſpending this evening tete a tete with you, I muſt ſubmit to allow them a ſhare of your company.

She then conducted me to the draw⯑ing room, where we found a lady and gentleman engaged at picquet. She preſented me to both in the kindeſt man⯑ner. I ſhall ſay nothing, my dear Ma⯑dam, ſaid ſhe to the lady, for leaving you my cards ſo long, as I bring my apology along with me in this amiable young friend, who has relieved my ap⯑prehenſions [89] by making her appearance at laſt.

Supper was announced immediately after; and as I was fatigued and ex⯑hauſted, Lady Aubrey, whoſe ſolicitude and anxiety made her watch every change of my countenance, inſiſted that I ſhould retire early to reſt; and making her excuſes to Mr. and Mrs. Berry, who ſeem very ſenſible, agreeable people, ſhe led me to the chamber allotted me, where having ordered her maid to attend me, and ſatisfied herſelf that every thing was prepared for my comfort and ſatis⯑faction, ſhe tenderly embraced me and wiſhed me good night.

LETTER XXII. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

WE arrived here laſt night after a pleaſant journey. The weather was very favourable, and the country thro' which we paſſed ſo beautiful, that I was much more pleaſed than I expected to have been. I am conſiderably ſtronger [99] ſince we ſet out, and but for a languor and depreſſion which ſtill hang upon me, would think myſelf quite well.

The family here conſiſts of Sir Aſhton, his lady, and a large party of viſitors. They reſide conſtantly in the country, and live in what is called the ſtyle of old Engliſh hoſpitality. They received us with much kindneſs and cordiality, and we ſat down to ſupper twenty in num⯑ber in a large hall, the walls of which are decorated with family portraits of ancient grandmothers and maiden aunts, dreſſed in the faſhions of their days, with a roſe in the hand and a ſmirk on the countenance of each.

LETTER XXIII. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

WE are returned here, to my inex⯑preſſible ſatisfaction; and if the pertur⯑bation of my ſpirits will allow of any kind of method or connexion in my nar⯑rative, pray receive the particulars which occurred immediately on our arrival.

We ſet off early on Monday laſt. Poor [118] Sir Edward! his uneaſineſs at ſeeing us depart was very apparent. But as I muſt haſten to more intereſting circumſtances, I ſhall merely tell you, that having in his letter deſired leave to receive his ſentence, as he called it, from Lady Aubrey's lips, I intreated her at once to put a final period to his ſuit; which ſhe accordingly contrived to do during a ſhort walk on the terrace after breakfaſt. He was much ſhocked, ſhe ſaid, but ſeemed to regard his diſmiſſion as poſitive and un⯑alterable.

We arrived pretty late at the caſtle. Lady Aubrey, after ordering tea, of which ſhe is particularly fond, left the room to give ſome family orders, and ſoon after the houſekeeper entered and pre⯑ſented to me a letter, which ſhe told me had been brought three days after my departure, by a ſervant, who finding I was from home, enquired when I was ex⯑pected to return; and being informed [119] that our abſence was only deſigned for a week at moſt, he left it in ſtrict charge to the houſekeeper, telling her it muſt be given into Miſs Seymour's own hands, and requeſting particular care might be taken of it.

This appearance of precaution con⯑veyed an idea into the good woman that probably the letter contained bills for money; which ſuſpicion induced her, in⯑ſtead of ſending it by poſt to Hilbury Lodge, on finding our ſtay prolonged, to lock it carefully in her drawer till our ar⯑rival ſhould put it in her power to diſ⯑charge her truſt faithfully.

A gentleman, ſhe added, had called that very morning, and having enquired for the houſekeeper, had aſked what was become of the letter given into her hands by a ſervant a fortnight before; and finding we were that day expected, had requeſted her to preſent it to me imme⯑diately on my arrival.

[120]This prelude alarmed me, tho' I knew not why. The woman withdrew: I open⯑ed it in trepidation: and what was my aſtoniſhment and agitation on perceiving the ſignature of Linroſe. I ſunk breath⯑leſs into a chair, and ſcarce credited the ſenſe which enabled me to peruſe the following lines.

[127]The tumult of my mind on peruſing this aſtoniſhing letter was unutterable. My ſenſes were almoſt annihilated; and a ſenſation of diſtruſt and conſternation half perſuaded me to doubt if what I read really came from the hands of Lord Linroſe.

In this ſtate of perturbation I was ſur⯑priſed by Lady Aubrey, who entered the drawing room while I was ſo wholly abſorbed in ſecret gratitude and delight, that unconſcious of obſervation, I re⯑peated aloud, claſping my hands toge⯑ther, good God! is it poſſible?

My dear, cried ſhe, approaching in haſte, ſurpriſed at the ſituation in which ſhe beheld me—for heaven's ſake tell me what is the matter?

This queſtion awakened me from the confuſion that had ſeized all my facul⯑ties. But unable to reply, I could only anſwer by preſſing the hand that had ſo kindly ſeized mine.

[128]My agitation aſtoniſhed and alarmed her: for the two extremes of pleaſure and diſtreſs, are upon a curſory view very ſimilar in their effects. She imagined ſome ſudden calamity had overwhelmed me; and preſſing me with ſympathetic tenderneſs to her boſom, entreated me to tell her what had given me ſo much pain.

I could not avoid ſmiling at the ex⯑preſſion; and haſtened to acquaint her that I had no ſubject for uneaſineſs. I bluſh for myſelf, deareſt Madam, ſaid I; but you I well know will be all indul⯑gence to the weakneſs which in a mo⯑ment of ſuch unſpeakable agitation I am unable to overcome. I have a long, long tale to diſcloſe to you. My heart has been humbled, mortified, and op⯑preſſed; and I am certain your goodneſs will allow of ſome excuſe in the ſudden, ſoothing relief it has ſo unexpectedly re⯑ceived.

That tale can never appear long to me, [129] of which my Hermione is the heroine. But do ſit down and compoſe yourſelf. I believe I can almoſt gueſs the moſt material points of the ſtory. Is there not a hero in the tale, my love? at leaſt ſo I have long ſuſpected; though I for⯑bore giving you the pain of ſoliciting your confidence, which I was certain would not have been denied me but for particular reaſons that muſt have ren⯑dered the communication diſtreſſing.

Oh! Madam, I will tell you all, cried I, penetrated with her goodneſs; and be aſſured no ungrateful doubt of your kind ſympathy and indulgence induced me to lock up my ſecret pangs in my own bo⯑ſom. Ah! no! diffidence and baſhful⯑neſs alone at firſt deterred me from en⯑tering upon ſo awkward a ſubject; and afterwards, ſince my reſidence here, I have not only anxiouſly wiſhed that all the world might remain in ignorance of what has paſſed, but that if poſſible I [130] might baniſh it for ever from my own remembrance.

But as your paſt uneaſineſs ſeems, if I may judge from the intelligence of your countenanance, to have given way to happier proſpects, I hope you are going to have the goodneſs to ſatisfy my cu⯑rioſity. The man who has created ſuch ravages in the boſom of my Hermione has no little reaſon to be vain, and I am convinced muſt merit the diſtinction, elſe he would not have enjoyed it; but pray tell me who is he? I cannot poſſibly have ſeen him, yet I feel I am already in his intereſts.

He is one of my relations, Madam, anſwered I, heſitating. He is my cou⯑ſin; and the grandſon—

Of Lord Belmont, interrupted Lady Aubrey. I have frequently heard of the young man while abroad, and his friends talked loudly in his favour; and though my connection with the family has been [131] long laid aſide, I have ever retained ſe⯑cretly in my heart a ſtrong and lively partiality for the good old man and all his children. A tear ruſhed into her eye as ſhe ſpoke. The huſband of Hermi⯑one, continued ſhe, muſt ever have poſ⯑ſeſſed my warmeſt regard, but I ſhall not love him leſs, for the many recollec⯑tions—

Oh! Madam! cried I, ſobbing in her arms, for the ſake of heaven baniſh all painful recollections. Let the paſt be ſunk in oblivion. Look only forward. Think of nothing but the conſolation, the ſalutary comfort which a heart like your's is formed to experience from the unalterable duty, gratitude, and affec⯑tion of thoſe highly favoured children of your adoption, who honour you with filial piety and love you with enthuſiaſtic fervour.

Be not diſtreſſed, my dear, ſaid ſhe, recovering her ſedate compoſure; my [132] heart is far from ſad at this moment. How indeed ſhould it be ſo at a moment when my daughter's countenance bright⯑ens with ſecret complacency through her tears.

She then once more entreated me to be explicit; and beginning at the epocha of our rencontre in the packet boat, I related ſincerely and without diſguiſe every circumſtance in which Lord Lin⯑roſe has been concerned.

Lady Aubrey liſtened with the kind⯑eſt and moſt anxious ſolicitude, and en⯑tered with intereſt into all my emotions. She felt for my diſappointments, re⯑joiced when any intervals of gratification ſeemed to afford me a recompence for my ſufferings, exulted at the generoſity of Lord Linroſe's conduct, and ſhed tears at Lord Belmont's cruelty. He is reckoned by many a rigid character, ſaid ſhe, but to me he was ever all gentleneſs and condeſcenſion; and even his faults I [133] am convinced have their origin in virtue. He is ſtrict, and perhaps may be eſteemed ſevere; but that ſeverity is the reſult of a rectitude of heart, which being ſub⯑ject to few weakneſſes, poſſeſſes little indulgence for errors it never knew. His benevolence is warm, and his feelings but too keen. Where they have ſuf⯑fered from the miſconduct of others, his reſentment is proportioned to what he has endured. But his conduct in regard to his grand children is by no means in tone with the general tenor of his prin⯑ciples, which are founded on ſtrict juſ⯑tice and unbiaſſed integrity. It leads me to imagine that ſome previous pre⯑poſſeſſion muſt have taken root in his mind; and it is not unlikely that Lady Linroſe (being herſelf deceived) may have occaſioned or at leaſt confirmed this diſguſt, even without the ſlighteſt deliberate deſign of injuring your cauſe. At all events, on his arrival all can be [134] eaſily and effectually explained; and you have now but little reaſon to dread his inflexibility while you poſſeſs an advo⯑cate ſo thoroughly well diſpoſed as Lord Linroſe, to exert all his rhetoric in your behalf.

I had juſt ſatisfied her in regard to the part Lady Linroſe has acted, and con⯑cluded my narrative, acknowledging my aſtoniſhment and perturbation on re⯑ceiving an explanation ſo unlooked for of the ſeeming inconſiſtencies in Lord Lin⯑roſe's conduct, when a note was brought me from him. He was, as I had ſuſ⯑pected from the houſekeeper's account, and as his own letter led me to imagine, on his way to Dover; and wrote from the inn, on the great road, about four miles from this place.

He laments his diſappointment on finding I was not yet returned when he called this morning, and requeſts leave [135] to be allowed to wait on me to-morrow morning.

The moment I had read this note, I gave it to Lady Aubrey, who deſired me to offer her compliments to his Lord⯑ſhip, and to requeſt in her name the fa⯑vour of his company to-morrow at break⯑faſt.

I then withdrew to my dreſſing room to anſwer it. Glad of a pretext for be⯑ing a few moments alone, I threw my⯑ſelf into a chair, and gave way to a reve⯑rie of the moſt enchanting nature. What a revolution in my mind had a few hours effected! What a reverſe, from the de⯑preſſion that had but that very morning almoſt wholly overpowered me! My ſpi⯑rits were elated to a degree of enthuſiaſm; and I thanked the Almighty with a fer⯑vour till now unfelt for the delightful proſpect that on all ſides ſurrounded me. I ſat down at length to my bureau. Had my pen followed the dictates of my heart, [136] I knew I ſhould have committed my note to the flames inſtead of ſending it away; yet I could not affect a cold ceremony, ſo oppoſite to my own feelings and to that affection which Lord Linroſe had de⯑clared in terms of ſuch warmth. Here is what I was obliged to reſt ſatisfied with at laſt.

Having diſpatched my note, I re⯑turned to Lady Aubrey. Oh! Sophia! how amiable, how exalted is this woman! Her ſpirits were this evening exhilerated even to gaiety, her eyes ſparkled with pleaſure, and the agonizing recollections, which remembrance might be ſuppoſed on this occaſion to have naturally renewed, were wholly ſuppreſſed or rather ſup⯑planted by the proſpect of my approach⯑ing happineſs. She aſked me a thou⯑ſand queſtions in regard to Lord Lin⯑roſe, [138] made me minutely deſcribe his perſon, and inſiſted on my ſhewing her a little ſketch on ivory, which at Hil⯑bury Lodge ſoothed many a melancholy hour, but which I had at length deter⯑mined to deſtroy as it afforded an inſinua⯑ting indulgence extremely ill adapted to that victory over my ſenſibility which I have ſo often attempted without ſucceſs. This preliminary towards conquering my weakneſs, you will perhaps ſagely ob⯑ſerve, ought to have been the firſt ſtep. I grant it; but indeed you muſt be pre⯑ciſely in my ſituation before you can prove an adequate judge of the difficul⯑ties of ſuch a ſacrifice.

We ſeparated early; and I have been writing while I ought to have been in bed. But I have little chance of ſleep⯑ing; though the weakneſs of my frame at preſent renders the agitations of the day ſo violent on my ſpirits, that I feel quite exhauſted, and think of to-morrow's [139] interview even with ſome degree of ap⯑prehenſion. Yes, Sophia; for is not there ſomething formidable in the idea of ſeeing Lord Linroſe after the weakneſs of my behaviour at our laſt meeting.

LETTER XXIV. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

MY ſiſter and Mr. Howard arrived yeſterday. I walked out in hopes of meeting their carriage; but they had taken another road, and had ſat half an hour with Lady Aubrey before I returned to the houſe.

This interval ſhe had employed in ex⯑plaining to them the preſent poſture of affairs. Mr. Howard was overjoyed, but leſs aſtoniſhed than Lady Aubrey expected; for he had long been con⯑ſcious, he told her, that a mutual attach⯑ment ſubſided between Lord Linroſe [155] and me; and however unaccountable his Lordſhip's conduct had ſometimes ap⯑peared, and however well authenticated the report of his marriage had been, he had ever ſuſpected the validity of its foundation, and foreſeen what in that caſe the iſſue would prove.

Fanny was quite intoxicated with joy. She kiſſed Lady Aubrey again and again for having communicated ſuch good news, and when I entered the room, I was obliged to entreat her by a look not in⯑ſtantly to bring on the ſubject. But my caution was quite unneceſſary. She ſeemed ready to dance from gaietè de caeur; and at length unable to contain herſelf longer —Mr. Howard, cried ſhe, you muſt ſa⯑lute Lady Linroſe once more, and wiſh her Ladyſhip joy. It is extremely rude to be ſo inattentive on the preſent joyful occaſion.

It may rather be called unkind per⯑haps, ſaid Mr. Howard, (ſmiling, while [154] [...] [155] [...] [156] he obeyed her commands) but I have long wiſhed our dear ſiſter from the bot⯑tom of my heart the enjoyment of that happineſs which I was convinced would one day prove her fate.

Our Hermione has many rivals, ſaid Lady Aubrey. Mrs. Howard, I per⯑ceive, is quite enthuſiaſtic about my Lord; and as for myſelf, though I had his picture faithfully delineated by the moſt able hand before I beheld him, yet I was quite charmed as well with his ap⯑pearance as with the ſuperior elegance of his manners and converſation.

Our little party laſt night was in un⯑common ſpirits, and Fanny quite giddy with mirth. We talked over and over every fancied circumſtance of the meet⯑ing which muſt have by this time taken place between the travellers, with an in⯑tereſt that ſeemed equally to animate the whole party, yet I always feel uneaſy on repeating before Lady Aubrey the [157] name of Lord Belmont, often as it has within theſe few days occurred in the courſe of converſation. She ſpoke of him this night herſelf however with an apparent tranquillity that partly relieved me; and when I attended her as uſual to her dreſſing room after ſupper, ſhe owned to me, that though the proſpect of ſeeing him agitated her not a little, ſhe felt for him the tender regard of a daughter, and thought of an interview with a ſen⯑ſation of mournful ſatisfaction that ſoothed and gratified her. He always demon⯑ſtrated a peculiar fondneſs for me, ſaid ſhe, which excited my warmeſt gratitude; and though an ill founded reſentment on my father's part obliged me during his life time wholly to break off all inter⯑courſe with the whole family, and after the misfortune of his death I had not courage to think of demanding a viſit from the kind old man before I left Eng⯑land, my wounds being then too recent [158] and my feelings unſubdued by time and patience, yet I always remembered him with tenderneſs; and I flatter myſelf, after the firſt meeting is over, I ſhall derive much ſatisfaction from a re-union which I have always ſo anxiouſly deſired. To enlarge the objects of our intereſt, is in fact to augment the ſcale of our hap⯑pineſs; and I ſhall never allow myſelf to ſigh too bitterly for paſt ſorrows, while the preſent affords me friends that ex⯑cite my warmeſt ſenſibility.

LETTER XXV. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

THIS interview, ſo anxiouſly and ſo long deſired, took place yeſterday.

Lady Aubrey's eyes, at breakfaſt, be⯑trayed how the night had been paſſed; and as for myſelf, I felt as if I was on the eve of an event, the conſequences of which were formidable and precarious. Fanny ſeemed to partake very little in theſe apprehenſions. All her anxiety was in regard to my appearance, which ſhe wiſhed to render as agreeable as poſ⯑ſible in my grandfather's eyes, as an apo⯑logy for the imprudence of Lord Linroſe's [220] attachment; and ſhe helped to adjuſt my dreſs with an eager anxiety that my un⯑eaſineſs on Lady Aubrey's account hardly rendered me capable of attending to.

My Lord and Mr. Howard had agreed to ride out, that they might not be in the way when Lord Belmont was introduced to us; and about one his Lordſhip ar⯑rived, having ſlept on the road, and tra⯑velled ſlowly.

My ſiſter and I trembled to leave Lady Aubrey in that ſtate of agitation into which even the ſight of his carriage at a diſtance had thrown her; but we obeyed the hint ſhe gave us to allow her to re⯑ceive him alone; and having made her ſwallow a few drops in water, we with⯑drew into the adjoining library, which is ſeparated from her dreſſing room only by a thin partition.

We had ſcarce tinne to enter it, when the found of ſteps aſcending the ſtairs threw me into a tremor not to be con⯑ceived. [221] The door of the dreſſing room was preſently after thrown open, and a ſervant pronounced the name of Lord Belmont and inſtantly withdrew.

A ſhort ſilence enſued, which terrified me with the apprehenſion of Lady Au⯑brey's having fainted. This alarm was but too ſoon confirmed, from hearing Lord Belmont call out, in a voice of hurry and afright—Who's there? Good God, who's there? and the bell was in⯑ſtantly rung with great violence.

My ſiſter and I, overpowered with ter⯑ror and forgetful of every thing but our dear and invaluable friend, then burſt into the room. She had ſunk upon the ſopha, and lay inſenſible, Lord Belmont hanging over her in all the deſpair of conſcious inability to afford her aſſiſtance.

What a moment, in which for the firſt time to behold our grandfather. Anxiouſly as I had expected this inter⯑view, and formidable as it had appeared, [222] I ſcarce regarded him; I almoſt forgot he was preſent; and flying to Lady Au⯑brey, I ſupported her head in my trem⯑bling arms, while Fanny and the maid, who had been ſummoned from below, adminiſtered ſalts and beſprinkled her face with lavender water.

Seeing her beginning to recover, my ſiſter had the preſence of mind to ſend away the maid, and Lady Aubrey ſoon after opened her lovely eyes. Returning recollection made her feebly raiſe her head, as if to ſeek Lord Belmont, who had prudently withdrawn behind from the fear that beholding him again too ſuddenly might occaſion a relapſe. But her emotions fortunately now took a leſs alarming turn; and claſping me in her arms as ſhe reclined upon my neck, the fullneſs of her heart got vent in tears and ſobs that ſeemed to rend her boſom; while the conflict of my feelings was ſo dreadful, that I cannot conceive how my [223] ſenſes ſtood the ſhock they ſuſtained at that inſtant.

Lord Belmont, extremely affected, had moved towards us; but apprehenſive of encreaſing the violence of Lady Aubrey's feelings, and wholly ſubdued by his own, he ſtood for a moment irreſolute whether or not he ſhould advance. At length burſting into a violent flood of tears— by heavens this is too much! cried he, and ſuddenly retreated as if unable to ſupport this ſcene.

Lady Aubrey, as yet ſcarce capable of articulating, prevented his withdrawing by holding out her hand to him, which he kiſſed with the moſt moving tender⯑neſs; and ſhe fell into his arms in an agony of pathetic ſorrow, which the moſt hardened and inſenſible could not have witneſſed without being melted with compaſſion. Lord Belmont's whole ſoul ſeemed ſoftened into pity, and he wept immoderately.

[224]There is ſomething peculiarly affecting in any violent expreſſions of grief in an old man: one is ſo little accuſtomed to behold them give way to the ſofter feel⯑ings, that when they burſt the reſtraints of fortitude, it appears a ſort of convul⯑ſion that is terrifying. Lady Aubrey, on perceiving the poignancy of his emo⯑tions, was inſtantly ſeized with an alarm which ſeemed to operate effectually in aiding her re-compoſure, or rather in inſpiring her with reſolution for ſtrug⯑gling to attain it. She was for a mo⯑ment calm—Oh my Lord! I am wound⯑ing, I am deſtroying you, cried ſhe; but behold the all-powerful conſolation I promiſed you—behold your children!

She diſengaged herſelf from his em⯑braces, and perhaps, Sophia, you will conclude that my ſiſter and I inſtantly fell at our grandfather's feet and im⯑plored his bleſſing; but though this behaviour might have been more be⯑coming, [225] and perhaps in ſome people more natural, my feelings operated very differently. The tenderneſs of his man⯑ner to Lady Aubrey, and the benevo⯑lent expreſſion diffuſed over his aged countenance, had at the firſt glance de⯑prived him of the ſtern aſpect with which my imagination had inveſted him, and a ſtrong and obvious look of my dear father, which ſtruck that moment at my heart with the force of an electrical ſhock, inſtead of throwing me on my knees conveyed me into his arms; where melted and ſubdued, had not ſobs re⯑lieved me, I muſt have fainted away.

My ſiſter followed my example the moment I had a little recovered myſelf. He embraced us both with infinite affec⯑tion; and Lady Aubrey's tears flowed with a freedom and profuſion that greatly relieved my apprehenſions and her own ſufferings.

Permit me to leave you for one half [226] hour, ſaid Lord Belmont. I ſhall be enabled preſently to behold my dear daughters with more compoſure, and their gentle hearts will be fortified by my abſence. Is there not a ſon too, to whom I have ſtill to be introduced. I will find Linroſe, and deſire him to pre⯑ſent me to Mr. Howard.

I perceive they are juſt returned, cried Fanny, who had ſeen them from the windows; and my Lord left us with precipitation under pretence of going to join them.

The inſtant he was gone, the momen⯑tary compoſure which Lady Aubrey had laboured to maintain entirely forſook her, and the violence of her perturbation was ſucceeded by a weakneſs, languor, and depreſſion, that ſeemed wholly to overpower her, and rendered me ex⯑tremely apprehenſive that this interview would be far from promoting the com⯑fort and tranquillity of her mind. By [227] the time that Lord Belmont returned, however, ſhe was ſedate and collected, yet both her health and looks have evi⯑dently ſuffered, though thank heaven not very materially, from this ſhock.

Eager to avoid any ſubject that might lead to mournful retroſpections, Lord Belmont anxiouſly entered into converſa⯑tion on matters leſs affecting, but equally intereſting. He deſired a particular ac⯑count of our ſituation in all reſpects from our arrival in England to my ſiſter's marriage, and expreſſed himſelf much pleaſed with Mr. Howard, to whom he had been introduced below. Both his expreſſion and his manner were kind to exceſs; and he blamed himſelf ſeverely for the part he had been induced to act. I muſt endeavour to atone to my chil⯑dren, ſaid he, for my paſt behaviour in a way that I hope will baniſh it from their remembrance though the recollec⯑tion ever muſt wound my own.

[228]I could have told him, had I been able to ſummon courage, that one word from his lips had already more than atoned for fifty times the uneaſineſs his rejection had occaſioned; but I could only preſs his hand, as he held mine in his. I al⯑moſt think he underſtood this ſilent token of gratitude, for he embraced me affec⯑tionately.

Lord Linroſe and Mr. Howard having allowed a ſufficient time for this expla⯑natory converſation, then entered. The appearance of the former for the firſt few minutes overwhelmed me with confuſion. I recollected the repugnance with which my grandfather had ſo long liſtened to his ſolicitations in my behalf, and re⯑called with pain the reluctant conſent which Lady Aubrey's interference had extorted. My confidence however was ſoon reſtored by the extreme affection and condeſcenſion of Lord Belmont; who, as if he had penetrated into my thoughts [229] and read my embarraſſment, ſeemed to make me the object of his peculiar re⯑gard. He received, with infinite marks of ſatisfaction, all the little attentions which the pleaſing idea of poſſeſſing a parent who claimed them excited from my ſiſter and myſelf, was delighted with the information of our progreſs in dif⯑ferent accompliſhments, ſuch as muſic, painting, &c. advantages which Lady Aubrey took care to diſplay with all the exaggeration of maternal partiality, and when we were ſeating ourſelves at table, ordered Lord Linroſe to give him up the place of which he was about to take poſ⯑ſeſſion between Lady Aubrey and me. You begin to monopolize before your time, Sir, ſaid he with a ſmile that co⯑vered me with bluſhes. He is indeed the moſt amiable old man I ever beheld, and muſt have been uncommonly hand⯑ſome I think in his youth; though I will not deny but that an air of conſcious [230] dignity, accompanied even with a look of auſterity, is diffuſed over it, that may not at firſt ſight prove prepoſſeſſing in the eyes of a ſtranger. But to his friends and to his children, he appears only what in fact he is, all condeſcenſion and be⯑nevolence. His reſemblance to my fa⯑ther is ſo obvious, that he recalls him every inſtant to my remembrance, and you may recollect how much you uſed to admire the noble expreſſion of his countenance.

Were his tenderneſs to my ſiſter and myſelf wholly out of the queſtion, his behaviour to Lady Aubrey would en⯑tirely gain my heart. Every look teſti⯑fies the warmth of his admiration and re⯑ſpect; even the very tone of his voice on addreſſing her, is expreſſive of af⯑fection; and on her part, though the agitating ſcene of the morning ſeemed to have unhinged her nerves and wholly exhauſted her ſtrength and ſpirits, his [231] Lordſhip's tenderneſs appears to have recruited both. She is truly ſenſible of his goodneſs; and receives all his at⯑tentions with a mournful pleaſure, which while it revives her ſorrows, and encreaſes her melancholy, ſooths and gratifies her heart.

Hurt by the idea of overclouding the happineſs (which however combated by ſympathy and compaſſion. Lord Bel⯑mont's arrival had univerſally diffuſed) ſhe exerted herſelf yeſterday evening to appear chearful; but the effort was ap⯑parent: ſhe converſed on indifferent to⯑pics with ſeeming intereſt; but it was eaſy to divine that her thoughts were not preſent; and at laſt ſhe inſiſted that I ſhould ſit down to the harpſichord and ſing to my grandfather a little French air, which he had ſaid he particularly admired. The firſt few notes however obliged her to leave the room, and I found it impoſſible to proceed.

[232]This day, thank heaven, I think her ſpirits are leſs depreſſed. She had a long private converſation in the morning with Lord Belmont, chiefly in regard to our affairs, and ſeems to have been more re⯑lieved than affected by it. My Lord acknowledged to her every circumſtance of the conduct of Lady Linroſe, but re⯑queſted that particular care might be taken not to encreaſe the reſentment of her ſon by an open avowal of the unge⯑nerous part ſhe has ſecretly acted.

Her behaviour, ſaid my Lord, has betrayed a degree of meanneſs, art, and duplicity, which convince me ſhe is ca⯑pable of any ſtep, however irregular, from which ſhe has hopes of attaining a favourite point. I ſhall myſelf therefore break off all connection with her in fu⯑ture; but I ſhould be ſorry to involve Linroſe in a difference with his mother, and if our Hermione be as amiable as her lovely countenance beſpeaks her, [233] ſhe will incline to ſoften rather than ex⯑aſperate an indignation too juſtly excited. Oh Sophia! how proud and how pleaſed did this partial compliment from my grandfather make me.

Lady Aubrey aſſured him of my paci⯑fic diſpoſition, and ſaid ſhe was certain I would be infinitely ſhocked with the apprehenſion of occaſioning a rupture between them. I am convinced, added ſhe, that her preſent happineſs has al⯑ready obliterated from her mind all re⯑ſentment in regard to Lady Linroſe; yet when ſhe recalls the comfortleſs, uncon⯑nected ſituation in which ſhe and her ſiſter found themſelves at the very mo⯑ment that ſhe ſo unfeelingly tranſmitted to them the account of your Lordſhip's determination, a determination which undoubtedly her own miſrepreſentations had effected, there is perhaps ſome lit⯑tle merit in diſmiſſing indignation.

As an apology for the unkindneſs of [234] my conduct, ſaid my Lord, I muſt re⯑queſt you, my dear Madam, to peruſe this letter, which I received from Lady Linroſe in December laſt.

Lady Aubrey immediately read it; and afterwards repeated to us the con⯑tents as faithfully as her memory could retail them.

Lady Linroſe began by informing Lord Belmont that ſhe was about to ac⯑quaint him with an affair that had given her infinite vexation, and which ſhe was afraid would involve his Lordſhip in much difficulty and uneaſineſs. She then tells him that his two granddaughters had taken the imprudent ſtep (without any previous application or advice) of coming over to England; where they had lately arrived merely attended by a gentleman, who it was ſaid was much devoted to them. After imprudently lodging all together in the houſe of a woman of very doubtful character, and [235] aſſociating almoſt ſolely with the famous Mrs. Weldon, with whom they had been intimate abroad, who was kept at pre⯑ſent by a profligate young man of for⯑tune, they had applied to her (Lady Linroſe) as a relation from whom they expected countenance and civilities; and to this, her Ladyſhip adds, they would juſtly have been entitled, had not the glaring impropriety of their conduct rendered any attention on her part, on account of her daughters, wholly out of the queſtion.

Theſe were circumſtances, ſhe ſaid, much to be regretted: but alas this un⯑expected journey to England had been attended by conſequences ſtill more diſ⯑agreeable, and indeed truly alarming: her ſon Roatſley had accidentally ſeen and was become paſſionately enamoured of the eldeſt of theſe girls; though from a ſingular train of particulars, too te⯑dious to retail, added to their having re⯑tained [236] the name by which they had been hitherto known, he was ſtill ignorant of the relationſhip that ſubſiſted between them. Artful, beautiful, and deſigning, this young woman had ſpread every ſnare of coquetry and inſinuation to cap⯑tivate him, in which ſhe had ſo entirely ſucceeded that he was blind to her im⯑prudence, nor would liſten to any at⯑tempts made by his friends to open his eyes.

She had no doubt, her Ladyſhip con⯑tinued, but the ladies would ſoon pre⯑vail with Roatſley to intercede with his Lordſhip in their favour, though as yet no explanation on that head ſeemed to have taken place between them; and added, that were it not for the unfortu⯑nate circumſtance of his attachment, which abſolutely required every poſſible check and diſcouragement, it would doubtleſs have been a natural and hu⯑mane act to have endeavoured to reſtrain [237] the conduct of the girls within the bounds of propriety and decency; and to effect this deſirable end, the notice and protection of their friends might have proved conducive: but at preſent ſhe was convinced any favour or atten⯑tions afforded them would but give life to thoſe romantic hopes which the de⯑pendent and unconnected obſcurity of their ſituation had hitherto ſuppreſſed.

She then deſires to have his Lordſhip's commands in what manner ſhe ſhould conduct herſelf on the occaſion, to which ſhe promiſes the moſt dutiful and impli⯑cit ſubmiſſion; and requeſts that his Lordſhip may not on any account allow her ſon to ſuſpect that ſhe had ever en⯑tered with him on this ſubject, as it could ſerve no purpoſe but that of pro⯑ducing endleſs quarrels and altercations between them, and he would be apt to ſuſpect her (ſhe adds) of having prepoſ⯑ſeſſed him againſt them. Her Ladyſhip, [238] after a great deal more to the ſame pur⯑poſe, concludes with theſe words, which Lady Aubrey repeated verbatim, "the young ladies, I underſtand, intend ad⯑dreſſing your Lordſhip in a letter, which I ſhall take particular care to diſpatch the moment it is committed to my charge."

This letter, however, my Lord in⯑formed Lady Aubrey, never had arrived, though Lady Linroſe in her next in⯑formed him that ſhe had ſent it off ſome days before. I was little ſolicitous, ſaid his Lordſhip, about the fate of an epiſtle which the alarm I had received from the intelligence of my grandſon's folly ren⯑dered me unwilling to peruſe; but I doubt if it was ever intended for my ſight, from the moment in which it reached the hands of that artful woman. At the time however no ſuſpicion even entered my thoughts. Shocked at the danger which threatened all my favourite ſchemes for Linroſe, I inſtantly deſired [239] his mother by every means in her power to diſcourage his paſſion, and to prevent the ſlighteſt intercourſe between her fa⯑mily and theſe imprudent girls, whoſe ill conduct, added to my grandſon's in⯑fatuation, determined me to renounce them; and I ordered her to aſſure them that my reſolution neither to behold nor acknowledge them was irrevocable. I made enquiry however in what ſituation they were in regard to fortune, and was pleaſed to find that their finances were in a ſituation that required not the inter⯑ference of my aſſiſtance. Even this ac⯑count, Linroſe tells me, was falſe; for the unlucky failure of their guardian rendered their circumſtances ſo uncom⯑fortable that an application was made to him by one of their friends for ſome aſſiſtance, which I believe he intended to convey in the moſt delicate manner he could contrive under the borrowed form of a penſion from government.

[240]On this head, ſaid Lady Aubrey, I muſt exculpate Lady Linroſe from blame; for the circumſtance of Mr. Benſeley's affairs I am convinced never, came to her knowledge; and when ſhe informed your Lordſhip that their ſitua⯑tion required no aid, ſhe was herſelf probably of that opinion. I muſt like⯑wiſe obſerve, that though this account of their ſituation received from her pen all the exaggeration that art and preju⯑dice could give it, yet it is poſſible that upon her firſt private enquiries in regard to them, ſhe might have conceived a very unjuſt and unfavourable opinion of their behaviour. A variety of injurious rumours were the diſagreeable conſe⯑quence of their imprudence in lodging with a woman of whoſe character they were not particularly informed; and the unlucky intimacy which for a ſhort time ſubſiſted between them and Mrs. Wel⯑don, owing to that abandoned woman's having [241] art in getting admitted into very reſpec⯑table ſociety abroad, muſt have confirmed her error.

Yes, Madam, ſaid Lord Belmont; but when ſhe was herſelf undeceived, then, in honour, in juſtice, ſhe was bound to have removed the diſguſt ſhe had implanted: but inſtead of purſuing this path, the whole of her conduct diſ⯑covers the moſt deſpicable and ungene⯑rous artifice. In a late letter dated from Holtenham Abbey, ſhe tells me that my grandchildren are behaving with greater propriety than could have been expected; that the youngeſt had lately married the gentleman who had attended them from the Continent, a circumſtance ſhe ob⯑ſerves that looked well; and that her ſiſter reſided with them in that county, where they lived with credit. As they were but lately arrived and little known, nobody there ſhe ſays ſeemed acquainted with their late levity of conduct. This [242] decorum, whether real or aſſumed merely for the purpoſe of deceiving Linroſe, was extremely alarming, ſhe adds, as they had acquired a reputation which youth and beauty, when attended with art, ſeldom found it difficult to obtain, where a favourite point was at ſtake. Thus, by working forcibly on my ap⯑prehenſions in regard to my grandſon, and repreſenting my granddaughters in this unfavourable point of view, ſhe evi⯑dently aimed at prepoſſeſſing me ſo ſtrongly againſt them, as to render me on my return neither particular in my enquiries nor in any way ſolicitous about them: while at the ſame time, ſhould at length the real truth tranſpire, ſhe pre⯑ſerved the ſalvo of having been herſelf deceived.

To theſe accuſations Lady Aubrey could have added the artful viſit ſhe made at Hubert Hill, and the feigned civilities and expreſſions of friendſhip [243] by which ſhe had endeavoured to gain our confidence and lull her ſon's ſuſpi⯑cions, as affording her the means of ſe⯑parating us from Lord Belmont with greater facility and leſs danger of detec⯑tion; but unwilling to exaſperate where ſhe was certain I would wiſh to recon⯑cile, Lady Aubrey forbore acquainting him with this part of her behaviour.

She diſcovered however, in the courſe of this converſation, that Lord Linroſe had partly hinted to him the approbation and admiration with which his mother had beheld us; but this having been followed by no particulars, and Lord Linroſe having merely advanced that circumſtance during the heat of their al⯑tercation as an argument in our favour, it had made no great impreſſion on Lord Belmont's mind. I ſhould be much diſtreſſed, Sophia, to be the means of occaſioning diviſions in a family with whom I am ſoon to be ſo intimately con⯑nected. [244] I ſhall endeavour therefore as much as is poſſible to keep all aggra⯑vating additions from Lord Belmont's knowledge, as well as to perſuade Lord Linroſe into conciliating meaſures; who, though he is withheld from openly teſti⯑fying his reſentment, cannot talk of his mother's conduct with patience, even while he is ignorant of the extent of her artifice.

After this full and candid explanation, my Lord expreſſed in the ſtrongeſt and moſt flattering terms his warm approba⯑tion of his grandſon's choice, and ſpoke of me with a partial admiration that de⯑lighted the heart of our invaluable friend; and on being faithfully repeated to me, filled mine with gratitude and pleaſure. Linroſe, he ſaid, was impatient to have matters concluded; and indeed, conſidering the happineſs that awaited him, his eagerneſs was both natural and excuſable; the ceremony therefore [245] ſhould be no longer delayed, than till the papers and ſettlements could be made out.

Having concluded this minute detail, I have one favour to requeſt of my Hermione, added Lady Aubrey, and I flatter myſelf ſhe will not refuſe me. It is that you will not think of leaving this houſe, my love, till you have given your hand to Lord Linroſe. Let me have the pleaſure of thinking, that as under this roof you have experienced the moſt painful moments that hopeleſs love could ſend, under this roof your future happineſs has he ſecured as far as the affection, gratitude, and admiration of a tender huſband can ſecure it.

To this kind requeſt you may believe I gave a grateful and willing aſſent, provided Lord Belmont approved of the propoſal. I even entreated that ſhe would endeavour if poſſible to prevail with him to agree to it; for I am ex⯑tremely [246] apprehenſive, from a hint he let drop this morning, that he has got the frightful intention of giving to this affair the air of a formal celebration, by inviting diſtant relations of the family, and introducing pomp and ceremonials where privacy with a very few friends is ſo much more ſuitable to the awful ſo⯑lemnity of the occaſion. Lord Belmont, it is not difficult to perceive, is not eaſily moved by perſuaſion to alter a deter⯑mined purpoſe; but heaven grant that in this inſtance, as in ſo many ſtill more arduous, Lady Aubrey's unbounded in⯑fluence may prevail.

LETTER XXVI. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

ONCE more, my deareſt Sophia, I write from Hubert Hill. This delight⯑ful [256] little abode, where, accompanied by the happy party from Aubrey Caſtle, I arrived on Friday forenoon.

Your Hermione, in preſence of theſe dear and amiable friends, gave her hand to Lord Linroſe on Wedneſday laſt. No addition was made to the family on that occaſion, Mr. and Mrs. Price ex⯑cepted, from whom we parted on Thurſ⯑day morning, as this little manſion could not have contained more viſitors than at preſent are its inhabitants.

We were charmed to perceive the agreeable alteration which an eaſy mind and comfortable circumſtances have pro⯑duced in the looks of Mrs. Price. Her huſband is a very amiable man; and her ſituation is in all reſpects as happy as it lately was the reverſe. Mrs. Hindon, ſhe told us, had received her, now her affairs no longer require her aid, with prodigious kindneſs, and had given her and Mr. Price an invitation to ſpend ſome [257] weeks at her houſe; but though I ſhall always continue on good terms with my aunt, ſaid ſhe, I have had enough of her family, and ſhall not be in haſte to accept her offer.

The formidable day, my Sophia, was paſſed in our uſual way. Lady Aubrey, who always judges with peculiar good ſenſe and propriety, would allow of no forms. Every thing went on as it had done on the preceding day, excepting that the ſervants and tenants had a ball and plentiful dinner provided for them in the hall; but as there was no neceſſity for my making my appearance, I merely partook of their mirth from hearing the diſtant ſound of the fiddles from below.

A licence having been procured, Mr. Price performed the ceremony; after which we ſat down as uſual to our cuſ⯑tomary employments, and cards and backgammon divided the evening. Lady Aubrey's agitation during the ſervice [258] almoſt equalled mine; but thank heaven her ſpirits of late have been chearful and compoſed, and I truſt every ſuc⯑ceeding day will bring her additional comfort and ſatisfaction.

The company of Lady Linroſe, on this occaſion, you may ſuppoſe was nei⯑ther expected nor deſired. Lord Lin⯑roſe had in a cold letter informed her of the event a few days before it took place; but the preſence of Lord Bel⯑mont, who had written her in a very deciſive manner that they muſt meet no more, afforded an eaſy pretext for not requeſting that of her Ladyſhip. All the notice Lord Linroſe took of this rupture was, to tell her that as his grandfather appeared offended by ſome private par⯑ticulars of her Ladyſhip's conduct, it was not in his power to ſolicit the ho⯑nour of a viſit from her on the occaſion of an event which a multiplicity of miſ⯑repreſentations [259] and miſtakes has unhap⯑pily too long deferred.

On the evening of the day on which we got hither we all walked out, to ſhew Lord Belmont the beauties of this charming place; and oh! Sophia! what an altered aſpect every object wore, from the languor that ſo lately inveſted them. Lord Linroſe led the way to the ſpot by the ſide of the river, once the ſcene of ſo much confuſion and perplexity to me, when he ſtole upon me unperceived and firſt made the diſcovery of my affections. He had the delicacy however to make no other obſervation on the occaſion than to talk of the romantic beauty of the ſitua⯑tion with an enthuſiaſtic admiration that evidently beſpoke ſome ſecret ſource of partiality. His looks however were ſuf⯑ficiently expreſſive; and he preſſed the hand that leaned on his arm with all the fervour of gratitude. Pray, cried he ſmiling, what is become of the pretty [260] little child that uſed to pay you frequent viſits here.

I could not recall the teizing curioſity of Charlotte's behaviour without laugh⯑ing heartily from that pleaſed ſenſation with which one recollects paſt vexations, now converted into enjoyment by the preſent happy reverſe; and I related to my Lord, as we walked, the additional anguiſh which the little girl's perſecution had given me during his mother's viſit. Oh! with what gratitude did I raiſe my heart to heaven for the innumerable bleſſings that ſurrounded me.

As it grew late, Lord Belmont, who dreaded the damps of the evening, per⯑ſuaded Lady Aubrey to return with him to the houſe, and Mr. and Mrs. Howard attended them: but my Lord and I pro⯑longed our walk for a full hour longer. Every object around afforded ſome in⯑tereſting ſubject for retracing paſt un⯑eaſineſs and for contemplating with de⯑lighted [261] thankfulneſs the preſent happy contraſt. Every interview between us was remembered, every converſation where prudence on the one ſide and ti⯑midity on the other preſided, was anna⯑lized and inveſtigated, and the ſecret mo⯑tives of every action acknowledged.

When at length we returned to the houſe, we found cards of congratulation from Lady Mary Lawrence and Lady Elizabeth; and this morning I have re⯑ceived a letter from Lady Linroſe her⯑ſelf, who ſends me her felicitations with all the eaſe of a perſon who is uncon⯑ſcious of ever having intended to injure me. Lord Linroſe coloured with indig⯑nation on peruſing it. This is effrontery with a vengeance, ſaid he: but the ap⯑proach of Lord Belmont ſealed his lips.

I have anſwered her with polite re⯑ſerve. She expects, ſhe ſays, to be fa⯑voured with a viſit from her ſon and his amiable bride, as ſoon as the parade [262] of receiving viſits is at an end; but I fear it will not be in my power to per⯑ſuade Lord Linroſe to condeſcend to this, at leaſt for ſome time; and I have told her that as we have eſcaped for the preſent the diſagreeable ceremonials ſhe mentions, by taking up our reſidence with my brother and ſiſter, we muſt de⯑vote ſome weeks to theſe duties when Dudley Mount becomes our reſidence, for which reaſon it is not in our power to fix any determined period for waiting upon her Ladyſhip. I have deſired to be particularly remembered to the ſweet Lucy; and indeed I promiſe myſelf much pleaſure from cultivating her friendſhip. Her brother is paſſionately attached to her; and means if poſſible to prevail with her to join our family, as the unaccountable preference given by Lady Linroſe to Miſs Dudley renders home extremely unpleaſant, and his [263] mother, he ſays, he is convinced will have no objection to part with her.

Lord Belmont, whoſe affection to⯑wards my ſiſter and me ſeems hourly to encreaſe, has preſented Fanny with ten thouſand pounds. This comfortable ad⯑dition to Mr. Howard's fortune gives them every thing they deſire to poſſeſs; for now that Lord Linroſe and I are about to ſettle within four miles of them, Fanny has not a wiſh beyond the limits of the county, and her huſband's taſte leads him wholly to the enjoyment of a country life. His Lordſhip's ſettlements upon his grandſon and me are noble; but as I am very little ſolicitous about theſe matters, I ſhall wave particulars. My Lord, who is fond of rural ſports, intends that we ſhall ſpend great part of the year at Dudley Mount; a reſolution which gives me infinite pleaſure. He is ſick of the frivolous amuſements of London, and I have no pleaſure in them. [264] I now poſſeſs all my heart can wiſh, and happy in the ſociety of thoſe I ſincerely and fervently love, I wiſh not to en⯑large my circle beyond what politeneſs and propriety demand.

P. S. I have this inſtant received your letter. I imagined my happy ſituation would not eaſily admit of augmentation; but the hopes of ſo ſoon embracing and preſenting my beloved Sophia to my dear Lord Linroſe has overwhelmed me with additional gratitude and delight. Haſten, my Sophia, haſten to your im⯑patient friend.