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HERMIONE, OR THE ORPHAN SISTERS.

A NOVEL.

IN FOUR VOLUMES.

VOL. IV.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR WILLIAM LANE, AT THE Minerva, LEADENHALL-STREET.

M.DCC.XCI.

HERMIONE.

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LETTER XIX. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

OH my dear friend, my aſtoniſhment and joy are unſpeakable. I had remained 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 gratification 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 aſtoniſhment 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 preſſing invitation to ſup here. The remembrance 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 unexpected, till Fanny in a low voice contrived 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 ſtraggling gentlemen continued to ſaunter about. Captain Bradſhaw, however, ſtill kept by her ſide; and Roatſley returning, heard with evident marks of diſappointment 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 agreeable way of returning; after which declaration 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 chagrin, by poor Mrs. Heathcote and the [4] five children, all wrapt up like ſo many Egyptian mummeys.

Roatſley however, with a politeneſs natural 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 reſiſtance; 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 parſonage.

[5]You cannot eaſily conceive, Sophia, after the train of ideas which had preceded 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 preſent, 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 perceive 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. Bradſhaw; 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 uncommon ſpirits; and Fanny, in the giddineſs of her mirth, let ſeveral little ſallies of naivete eſcape her which ſeemed extremely 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 entered with much reliſh into the natural ſimplicity of her character.

As yet, however, nothing had been hinted relating to the propoſed explanation. 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 preſumption for which he could not ſummon reſolution. Wholly unſuſpicious beſides how nearly he was himſelf intereſted 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 apprehend 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 murmur of the two gentlemen's voices below, who did not ſeparate till almoſt ſun riſe, engaged my conſtant attention; and a thouſand conjectures and reflections relating 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 ſiſter'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 circumſtantially and minutely every word that had paſſed.

The moment we had left the parlour, Roatſley addreſſing himſelf to Mr. Howard, 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 anxious 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 benevolence, 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 merits; 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, returned [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 Seymour I venture to make it; and allow me to premiſe, that without the ſanction of her approbation and conſent I certainly ſhould not have had the preſumption (however anxious) to demand particulars into which I have no title but from her indulgence and your's to penetrate. 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 reaſon 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 ſituation, 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 mortifications 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 nature, againſt which both my wife and ſiſter [13] have had to ſtruggle at a very early period of life, have wholly blunted and obliterated the little rubs of adverſe fortune.

I dare not venture to be inquiſitive, ſaid Roatſley, viſibly affected by the picture 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 herſelf permitted the enquiry, and if I miſtake not ſeemed aſtoniſhed it was yet to be made.

You ought not to wonder at a circumſtance 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 application made to his Lordſhip through the [14] medium and interference of Lady Linroſe 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 recovering himſelf—is it indeed poſſible that this amiable family, who ſo forcibly engaged my inteteſt and attachment almoſt in the inſtant that accident preſented them to my ſight, ſhould really prove the children of my late unfortunate uncle, 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 congratulate myſelf on this delightful information, and pray give me leave to flatter myſelf with the hopes of one day procuring [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 family ſo reſpected and ſo beloved? diſtracted and confounded by the moſt unjuſt repreſentations, dark ſuggeſtions, and at beſt vague and comfortleſs conjectures.

Who may have found either intereſt or pleaſure in fabricating or in circulating injurious reports of your innocent and amiable couſins, ſaid Mr. Howard, is not poſſible for me to conceive, neither 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 Roatſley 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 opinion, could not fail to ſhock and torment me; and if you can ſuppoſe a ſtate in which you could juſt ſo far credit an aſperſion 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 infinite trouble and attention have been beſtowed to warp your judgment and miſlead your ſentiments.

But my mother, you ſay, was in the ſecret. Pray how came ſhe to be informed, while I and the reſt of the family remained wholly ignorant and unſuſpicious 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 relations no ſecrecy was requiſite; and in regard to others, a temporary concealment was merely thought neceſſary, becauſe [18] it offered an eaſy method for eſcaping the impertinence of curioſity and inveſtigation; and they naturally deferred relinquiſhing the name by which they had always hitherto been known, till the ſanction and countenance of Lord Belmont 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 acknowledgment, 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 countenance 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 regular detail of every circumſtance.

Mr. Howard then beginning at the unhappy epocha of my dear father's misfortunes, related briefly yet with preciſion 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 ignorant. It may be naturally inferred that thoſe who could traduce the innocent offspring would not fail to load the parent'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, independent of the penitence and remorſe [20] which ſo powerfully extenuated and even obliterated his guilt, could not but miſlead 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 country.

I therefore dwelt with particular energy 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 virtuous and amiable ſentiment, as a barrier againſt the temptations and viciſſitudes of a world that from a too fatal experience he believed ſtrewed with dangers and replete with miſery: and in order [21] to enforce this relation, I promiſed to procure him a peruſal of the manuſcript written by your father's own hand, which, as he ſeeks not in it either to palliate or conceal his faults, but breathes in every line that horror which ever attended 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 occaſion, 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 defiance, Mr. Howard ſaid, to all powers of expreſſion. His perplexity, after reading 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 often to a total breach of family unanimity, has determined on concealing carefully from my knowledge every circumſtance of the application; yet I muſt acknowledge myſelf extremely diſpleaſed at a ſtep, which has been the means of retaining me ſo long in uneaſineſs and uncertainty, and the more I conſider the circumſtances of the whole tranſaction, the more I am aſtoniſhed and bewildered. To imagine that Lord Belmont, if properly apprized of the ſituation of his granddaughters, would allow an obſtinate 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 indeed labours under a cruel miſrepreſentation, 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 reports concerning them were all I concluded 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 Belmont'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 regarded [25] us in the light of relations who were likely to reflect diſhonour upon our family, and who could bring no conſolation to the deſolated boſom of our grandfather, it cannot be ſuppoſed that her mediation in our favour would prove fervent, nor that her anxiety for our ſucceſs could be as ſincere as if our conduct had ſupported our claims. Her cold reception 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 parent may yet liſten to truth and yield to the voice of nature.

Is it not ſurprizing, however, that the infamous deſigns of this wretch Brumpton 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 Linroſe muſt have learnt that we were unworthy 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 particulars; but during the ſhort interval between her arrival in town and her conference with Mr. Howard, our buſy enemies muſt have contrived to ſow the ſeeds of that contageous diſtruſt and diſguſt, which then proceeded to infect and influence 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 preſent 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, Roatſley [28] with open arms and a countenance in the higheſt degree expreſſive of kindneſs 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 embarraſſment, and even of diſtance, yes even of diſtance Sophia, which did not in the leaſt influence his addreſs to Mrs. Howard.

A variety of ſenſations, a conflict of [29] emotions, in defiance of all my ſummoned 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, behaviour muſt have had to all preſent. Without allowing myſelf therefore an inſtant for heſitation leaſt my ſpirit ſhould evaporate, I wiped my eyes and forced myſelf to return.

I bluſh for myſelf, ſaid I on re-entering the parlour; and my cheeks ſufficiently proved how true was the confeſſion; but as I have never before enjoyed the happineſs of knowing but one male [30] relation, it is no wonder that the acknowledged 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 deceit; 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 perceiving 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 feelings 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 efforts 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 hundred different topics were occaſionally touched upon; but not one purſued with any method or connexion. Fanny's mirth was giddy and unbounded; Roatſley himſelf appeared in uncommon ſpirits; 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 unfortunately 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 horſeback 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 conduct of Lady Linroſe and the unaccountable 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 difference 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 pleaſure 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 ironical tone, and I am afraid rather peeviſhly, 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 prodigious favourite ſince laſt night, and before, you know, he uſed to be ſo entirely [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 expence, when Mr. Howard returned. Pray Fanny, cried he, what is it that amuſes you?

Nay I dare not tell for my ears, returned ſhe, for Hermione will beat me; but ſmiling expreſſively, ſhe ſung theſe two lines from the entertainment of Midas:

My ſiſter, he kiſs'd her, but me he paſs'd by,
I'm jealous of the fellow's bad taſte and blind eye.

She needed not have ſtopped there, for words could not have contrived to explain 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 embarraſſment, [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 ſuſpicion, 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 enthuſiaſm which delighted me, though I hardly ventured to appear attentive, recapitulated 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 character 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 involved in conſequent difficulties, and that an application to Lord Belmont (I concluded for his intereſt towards obtaining a penſion) had proved unſucceſsful. My anxiety could not fail to be ſtrongly excited: 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 ſatisfy me; and in the mean while I determined 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 application. I ſeized the earlieſt moment I could lay hold of to mention the matter 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 admiration, had beſought my grandfather's intereſt towards procuring them an annuity 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 againſt 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 accounts would reflect but diſcredit upon thoſe who intereſted themſelves in their affairs.

[38]It was in vain, continued Mr. Roatſley, that I combated theſe unjuſt imputations 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 account even of the moſt flagrant improprieties of conduct in young girls committed to their charge, and that it was more than probable they had even impoſed on you with a borrowed appearance 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 romantically 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 miſconduct 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 between the ladies and their guardian was much too intimate for the diſtance required between a gentleman of character and his wards.

Shocked and confounded, though perfectly ſatisfied of the infamous falſhood of this ſcandalous aſperſion, I was determined 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 ambiguous and evaſive: and I ſoon perceived the character of the landlady was ſuch as muſt render all information from that quarter falſe and injurious. I therefore ſoon quitted her, firſt reprimanding her for the infamous aſperſions ſhe had expreſſed, and aſſuring her that the ladies 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 overthrow 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, although 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 informed of their real name and ſituation, ſhe was unwilling to ſtrengthen a prepoſſeſſion which might lead me to act contrary 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 extended to theſe amiable relations. Indeed ſhe might well dread the impetuoſity 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 converſation, 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.

H. SEYMOUR.

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 little 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 attitude, 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 importunities, [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 admit 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 calculated for ſoothing into a languor not unpleaſant, 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 importunities, I at length ſat down on one of the green ſeats, and pulling out a pencil began to trace a little rough ſketch which ſoon ſatisfied the child, who employed herſelf in running about gathering noſegays from the wood flowers that adorned the banks of the river.

Having the pencil in my hand, I began 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 attempts on the ſame ſubject, I had never before attained.

Charmed with my ſucceſs, I gazed with delight on the drawing which promiſed [46] to be the private companion of many a ſolitary hour; and ſo wholly abſorbed was I in contemplating my performance, 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 inſtantly 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 myſelf ſufficiently to affect unconcern, I uttered not a word, but followed the flying 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 obſtructed 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 poſſibly 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 command 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 abſurdity time enough to lament its effects.

We were both ſilent for a few moments. 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 paper in his hand.

Sir, cried I, with a ſpirit which the preſent exigency alone could have inſpired, and with all the firmneſs my terror 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 acknowledging the truth of his hint; it was allowing 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 ſudden 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 reſtore it; but he made no attempt to examine [50] it. I dare not riſk your diſpleaſure, cried he, with a countenance expreſſive 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 burning curioſity.

Give me the paper, cried I; it belongs to me—it is mine—

And is dear to you, interrupted he with a voice almoſt ſuffocated, and holding 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 altercation, [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 Roatſley. Yes that it muſt be, and the reſemblance 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 pronounced, alas! too plainly diſcovered the fatal ſecret. Scarce had they eſcaped my lips, when their too obvious meaning was apparent to myſelf. My feelings were then unutterable, but conſcious [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 Roatſley, too violently agitated to perceive the preſence of the child, ſuddenly ſeizing my hand, prevented me by throwing himſelf at my feet. Miſs Seymour, cried he, with an energy which muſt have ſurmounted all oppoſition had reſiſtance 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 perhaps too fatal preſumption to which it gives birth! For the ſake of heaven, allow 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 aſpiring folly as it deſerves.

Oh! Sophia, what were my ſenſations at this ſpeech. I tried in vain to diſengage my hand; and having at length effected it, I covered my face with both, and almoſt ſunk upon the ground. Roatſley, 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 ſuſpended ſhame, but ſoon my ſtrength returning, my confuſion redoubled with a violence unſpeakable. During this ſhort interval we were both ſilent, and Roatſley alternately kiſſed the hand he held in his and the drawing which he had now ventured to examine, and which he regarded as the aſſured pledge of my affection. Oh! my Sophia, feel for your [54] friend at this moment of emotion. Conceive if you can my ſenſations. But indeed that is wholly impoſſible. I was overwhelmed with ſhame, covered with bluſhes, and my pride moſt painfully wounded: the ſeverity of the mortification 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 chaſtened by a degree of diffidence that ſeemed to aim at reconciling me to myſelf.

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 circumſtance [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 weakneſs 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 inſtantly home. I ſhall be ſeriouſly diſpleaſed 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 amazement.

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 familiarity. 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 unwillingly 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 unexpected, we bowed in ſilence; and my ſiſter leading to the ſopha we all ſeated ourſelves.

I am now venturing on a ſtep, reſumed her Ladyſhip, which I have long ardently wiſhed it in my power to purſue, but which even at this moment is ſo dangerous and daring, that the exigency 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 opportunity 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 friendſhip and ſociety. No ſooner however was the veil taken from my eyes, than my mind became uneaſy till it had acknowledged its injurious prejudices; and ſome alarming circumſtances, to which I muſt entreat one quarter of an hour's attention, have at length determined 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 feelings.

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

I muſt in the firſt place ſincerely acknowledge, 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 quarter of the world entirely new, juſtly entitled you, eſpecially as it was not difficult 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 prepoſſeſſed 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 connexion; but indiſpenſible buſineſs had hurried him from me almoſt immediately upon his arrival, and time being given me for conſideration, I foreſaw how precarious 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 doubtful and my fears greatly overbalanced [62] my hopes as to the generoſity of his conduct. Theſe reflections, though combated by my ſecret wiſhes, determined me to ſtand aloof till his Lordſhip's reſolution 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 diſpleaſure 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 manage [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 agreeable, 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 diſreſpectful manner of expreſſing himſelf ſhocked and confounded me. The particulars 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 additional luſtre on the former: he ſome time afterwards added, that he had been informed at all hands you were light, doubtful, and indiſcreet; your principal, 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 imputations: 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 inconſiderate concluſions. 'Tis my vindication 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 opinion 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 ſtrongly 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 conduct 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 induce him to regard thoſe unfortunate relations 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 application 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 aſtoniſhment [68] muſt have been on finding myſelf unexpectedly introduced to you at Holtenham Abbey. Your countenance, your manner, and the ingenuous innocence which ſhone conſpicuous in both, opened my eyes, and unavoidably engaged my regard and admiration. Yet withheld from acknowledging myſelf to you in the manner I wiſhed, I was unwillingly 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 never 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 between 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 enabled 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 returned her Ladyſhip thanks for this candid and ingenuous explanation, which we ſincerely aſſured her entirely ſatisfied us as to every point of her behaviour. As matters ſtood, Sophia, it was undoubtedly 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 compaſſionate humanity, in eſpouſing ſo warmly our cauſe, had occaſioned with a parent to whoſe foreſight and maternal attentions he owed ſo much, and hoped it had proceeded no diſagreeable lengths.

[71]My ſon, ſaid her Ladyſhip, is poſſeſſed 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 ſupper. I had obſerved that he was grave and uneaſy the whole day; but no opportunity for an explanation had till then occurred. Though gentle to exceſs, his paſſions, when once rouſed, are by no means eaſily controuled. The circumſtances of your ſituation had naturally excited his compaſſion, and his knowledge of your amiable characters deprived 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 returned, 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 diſquiets to the innocent cauſe of them, and entreating their forgiveneſs for the mental injury I have done them.

My ſon avows his reſolution of applying 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 additional energy which admiration and regard muſt now produce; I cannot however avoid expreſſing my apprehenſions that Roatſley's interference will irritate rather than perſuade; and while to you he performs no eſſential ſervice, he is diſappointing and diſobliging his grandfather at the moſt critical moment perhaps of his life: for I will not conceal any thing from you: I make no doubt indeed you muſt already have been informed of it: my ſon is ſoon to be happily ſettled in life with a moſt amiable and valuable young lady; a tender affection 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 penetrating look with which Lady Linroſe regarded me. The agitating ſcene that had ſo recently paſſed between her ſon and myſelf flaſhed with redoubled anguiſh 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 preſently in part relieved by the entrance of my little teizing companion Charlotte, who had been playing on the green before 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 children [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 embarraſſing, 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 feature 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 painful exceſs to which ſhame and apprehenſion could arrive; but I was too ſoon taught how deplorably erroneous was this idea.

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

My ſiſter aſked the favour of her Ladyſhip's company to partake of a family dinner, if ſhe was not otherwiſe engaged. [77] I ſincerely regret, ſaid ſhe, that I promiſed my friend Lady Mary to be home by four o'clock: for as my viſits, my dear Mrs. Howard, muſt be few and privately ſtolen, I lament that I cannot indulge myſelf with a longer one at preſent: 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, Madam, 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 particular 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 enquiries—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 ſiſter in the walk; but it was not then in my power to join them, as I was employed procuring aſſiſtance to my old gardener, who has met with a very diſagreeable accident this morning.

You muſt have miſtaken ſome other perſon for Mr. Roatſley, ſaid Mrs. Howard, 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 another. 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 weakneſs. It is no longer concealed as hitherto in the ſecret receſſes of my heart. All the world knows it. Even his mother is no longer ignorant of the fatal ſecret; and what may ſhe not conclude from the circumſtances which have revealed 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 recollection 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 admittance. But I could not for ſome time prevail with myſelf to grant it; for although my heart is ſtrongly and tenderly attached to her, a diſſimilarity of diſpoſition, and the circumſtance of her being a married woman, which makes me apprehenſive 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 betray by the ſlighteſt hint the ſecrets repoſed 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 painting anxieties and ardours which were ſo wholly excluded her own courtſhip, and which may for that reaſon appear romantic and unaccountable.

I partly confeſſed however the diſagreeable ſituation in which I found myſelf 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 unſpeakable, I owned I had met with Roatſley that morning, and acknowledged the uneaſineſs which the little girl's raillery before his mother had occaſioned 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 miſtreſs 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 underſtand his behaviour.

Alas! thought I, I underſtand his behaviour but too well. It is my too apparent 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 opinion—I am humbled and miſerable.

There is but one ſtep to be taken, ſaid I to my ſiſter. To ſee Lady Linroſe again would be at preſent peculiarly diſagreeable; 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 occurred to me: I think of haſtening my viſit to our dear and valuable Lady Aubrey. 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 expect me.

My ſiſter, who has never been ſeparated from me for many years, and who diſlikes the idea of my leaving her even for a ſhort time, made ſome little objections to this plan, alledging that Lady Linroſe 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 myſelf to attentions that were (tho' I believed [84] unintentionally,) certainly an inſult to my character: and I ſoon perſuaded 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 pretence ſoon preſented itſelf: in the evening, while we were chatting on the occurrences 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 viſit 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 compliance, 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 agreeable, as it at once relieves me from my difficulties in regard to Mr. Howard, removes me from the chance of again meeting the man I ſo anxiouſly wiſh never more to behold, and offers me an opportunity 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 accompliſh 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.

[86]

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 apprehenſions on her part in regard to the fatigue 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, indicated 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 angelic woman, my amendment is wonderful: and how infinitely kind is it in my Hermione thus to ſoothe my heart by gratifying my ardent wiſhes for her company. 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 ſecluſion to which inclination ſtrongly impells me: on the contrary, I reſpect thoſe exactions which the rights of ſociety require, and the neglect of which I, who have perhaps a long life before me, may [88] yet live to regret. I intend to force myſelf therefore to make proper returns to the viſits and civilities paid me by my country neighbours; and have even already 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 drawing room, where we found a lady and gentleman engaged at picquet. She preſented me to both in the kindeſt manner. I ſhall ſay nothing, my dear Madam, 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 apprehenſions [89] by making her appearance at laſt.

Supper was announced immediately after; and as I was fatigued and exhauſted, 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 ſatisfaction, ſhe tenderly embraced me and wiſhed me good night.

Juſt as Lady Aubrey, her other gueſts, and myſelf were aſſembled this day at dinner, the arrival of the poſtman with [90] the newſpapers induced Mr. Berry, who is a great politician, to hurry it over in order to read them aloud to the company. His lady, who ſeemed little amuſed by the proſpect of the parliamentary orations, requeſted him to give us the news of the day before ſhe ſet off on her rambles; and in compliance with her deſire, he began the liſt of mortality, in which he ſuddenly read the death of the Right Honourable Lord Linroſe at Lyons. I was extremely ſhocked; though merely from compaſſion for the friends who muſt lament his loſs; and Mr. Berry ſeemed himſelf conſcious of having committed an impropriety in mentioning, in preſence of Lady Aubrey, a name that ſeemed deſtined never again to reach her ears; for I remarked that his voice changed as he read, tho' he had the preſence of mind not to make his thoughts evident by ſtopping before he had finiſhed the ſentence. Lady Aubrey [91] ſeemed ſo much affected by the paragraph that ſhe ſoon after left the room.

I wiſhed much to follow her: but recollecting that any private converſation at that moment muſt naturally have led to ſubjects which I wiſh as much as poſſible in future to avoid, I forebore my intention; and when ſhe returned ſome time after into the room, I rejoiced that I had not given way to my firſt impulſe, as though her eyes were red, ſhe converſed with a ſedate chearfulneſs which teſtified her determination of combating all melancholy retroſpections that might lead to repining and deſpondency, and ſoon after propoſed conducting me thro' the different apartments of this elegant abode (the morning having been employed at church) which infinitely ſurpaſſed my expectations in point of magnificence. It is much too ſpacious in my opinion for the reſidence of a ſingle, [92] ſolitary individual. However a large eſtabliſhment of ſervants, and a chearful ſituation, in a eat meaſure atone for this defect, which Lady Aubrey herſelf remarked to me while we were ſurveying it. It is the ſpot where my predeceſſors have reſided time immemorial, ſaid ſhe; and my grandfather made it an article in his will that I ſhould inhabit the houſe, and not ſuffer it to fall into decay.

There is a collection of moſt valuable pictures; and a large library, where I intend paſſing ſeveral hours every day, ſtored with the works of the beſt authors in all languages. I never was leſs in a mood for ſtudy; but for that very reaſon I muſt endeavour to force a reliſh for every employment that baniſhes muſing. At preſent, however, I am incapable of any exertion; for I am really far from well, and as much exhauſted as [93] if I had gone a journey of five hundred miles at leaſt.

Our gueſts left us to-day, which I regret much. Mrs. Berry ſeldom leaves her family even for ſo long a period as a few days, and her preſent viſit was a particular compliment to Lady Aubrey, to whom I ſuſpect ſhe and her huſband have peculiar obligations.

I have received a letter from Fanny, dated Saturday evening. She writes to inform me of Lord Linroſe's death, with which ſhe had been made acquainted a few hours after I left her, by a note from Mr. Roatſley, merely mentioning the event and the time it took place, as a piece of reſpect due to relations of the family. Mr. Howard, ſhe tells me, wrote a letter of condolence next morning, [94] to which he received a very kind reply, aſſuring him that nothing but the ſhock he has received would have prevented his being at Hubert Hill long before now. Lord Belmont, he ſays, who has been ſeverely wounded by this blow, meant to ſet off directly for England. He muſt be already on his journey, adds Mr. Roatſley; and as I intend meeting him at Calais, I flatter myſelf I ſhall ſoon merit his grateful acknowledgements for the eſſential ſervice I mean to confer upon him—that of conſoling him in a great meaſure for what death has ſnatched from his arms, by preſenting to him relations who muſt and who ought to be ſo dear to his heart.

Fanny tells me, likewiſe, that ſhe hears. Lady Linroſe and her family are ſoon to leave Holtenham Abbey, and to ſet out for Northamptonſhire. She makes no doubt, ſhe ſays, but Roatſley will call at Hubert Hill before his departure. Poor [95] Lady Linroſe, it ſeems, is much afflicted; and their ſtay with Lady Mary is to be no longer prolonged than till her Ladyſhip's ſpirits will admit of the exertion of a removal.

This letter, which I received laſt night in Lady Aubrey's preſence, and which I withdrew to a window to read, threw an air of ſuch depreſſion over my countenance, that on turning round ſhe enquired with anxious apprehenſion if all were well at Hubert Hill. This hint made me exert myſelf to appear chearful; but I fancy I could not boaſt of my ſucceſs. Since my arrival here Lady Aubrey has never recurred to thoſe painful ſubjects which burſt from her in the moments of agitation at Hubert Hill; and I could not have read my ſiſter's letter to her without calling back her thoughts to many diſmal reflections, the natural reſult of being told that Lord Belmont was on his way to England.

[96]

Our ſtyle of living here is ſo rational and ſerene, and Lady Aubrey's tenderneſs and attention towards me ſo unremitting and endearing, that I ſhould be happy in future to divide my time equally between Hubert Hill and Aubrey Caſtle. Lady Aubrey's converſation is a never failing ſource of intereſt and amuſement. Her heart is ſo benevolent, and her underſtanding ſo highly cultivated, that it is impoſſible ever to tire in her company or deſire other ſociety. I am only diſtreſſed that ſhe remarks my thoughtfulneſs; and is become ſo uneaſy about my loſs of appetite and palid colour, that ſhe quite tortures herſelf with uneaſy apprehenſions, for which I cannot convince her there is not the ſlighteſt cauſe.

[97]She begins to fear an approaching conſumption; though I have aſſured her my lungs are made of adamant, and never were ſuſpected of weakneſs in my life. This day ſhe has actually conſulted Doctor Elton, who has partly relieved her by declaring a journey to Briſtol wholly unneceſſary. He ſays my complaints are nervous, and adviſes me to try the effects of change of air and amuſement—in other words that he don't know what to make of them: and Lady Aubrey has reſolved that we ſhall ſet off in all haſte upon a viſit to Sir Aſhton and Lady Hilbury; the latter of whom is ſiſter to Sir William Meredith. Lady Aubrey has repeatedly rejected a number of preſſing invitations from this family, as ſhe had no intention of viſiting at ſuch a diſtance from home; but the notion of travelling, which ſhe imagines will be of ſervice to me, has determined her on going. There is a [98] vaſt reſort of company at Hilbury Lodge; and ſhe kindly flatters herſelf I ſhall be amuſed. But the very idea of leaving this place is diſagreeable to me; and the proſpect of a journey feels like an exertion that fatigues my ſpirits.

H. SEYMOUR.

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 number 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.

A ſervant who was ordered to remain behind on ſome buſineſs of Lady Aubrey's and to join us here to-day, has [100] brought me another letter from Fanny which arrived the day I left the Caſtle. I beſought her to write to me frequently, and ſhe has moſt conſcientiouſly performed her promiſe. She tells me that Lord Linroſe, as he muſt now be called, paid them that morning a viſit. He ſeems much affected by his brother's death, ſhe ſays, and looks extremely melancholy and depreſſed. He expreſſed in ſtrong terms his diſappointment at my abſence, and informed them he was to ſet off for Calais on the 12th of July, where he expected by that time to find Lord Belmont already arrived; if not, his Lordſhip had ſo ſettled his route that he ſhould probably meet with him a ſtage or two further on.

Lady Linroſe and the young ladies were next day to leave Holtenham Abbey. My ſiſter adds a circumſtance, for ſhe is very minute, which was before unknown to me: I always imagined [101] that Roatſley had made one of the family at Lady Mary's, but ſhe mentions that he has merely viſited there from time to time during the diſtreſs of his mother and ſiſters, having lodged at the houſe of his ſteward (his own manſion not yet being ready for his reception) who has a ſmall farm on his eſtate. I ſuppoſe ſome punctilio relating to his ſituation with Lady Elizabeth occaſions this diſtance and formality.

This letter was accompanied by one from Mr. Howard, dated the day after, in which he informs me that the evening before Sir Edward Sudbury had paid him a viſit. A compliment, ſays he, which is entirely to be laid to your account; for nothing could exceed his evident diſappointment and regret on finding you were from home. After expreſſing it in terms ſufficiently plain, he demanded a private conference with me, entreated my intereſt with you in [102] his favour, and requeſted permiſſion on your return to repeat his viſits as your declared admirer. I told him, continues Mr. Howard, that all I could promiſe him was my good wiſhes, as I was wholly ignorant of your ſentiments in regard to him; nor could I undertake to further his ſuit in any other manner than that of paving the way for his propoſal by preparing you for it. I likewiſe told him you was not expected home for many weeks, and perhaps might even remain abſent for a much longer period. Sir Edward eagerly caught at this propoſal; requeſting I would loſe no time in executing it, and deſiring me to acquaint you that he earneſtly entreats permiſſion to attend you at Aubrey Caſtle.

Regarding myſelf as Sir Edward's agent, concludes Mr. Howard, I cannot avoid adding, that poſſeſſed of an excellent character, an affluent fortune, and a [103] good figure and addreſs, any woman, whoſe affections are not otherwiſe engaged, muſt enjoy a fair proſpect of happineſs in an union with him.

I had ſcarce finiſhed reading this letter, when the bell ſummoned me to dinner. Our party, large as it was, had gained the addition of ſeveral fox hunting gentlemen, who ſat down to table in their boots, with their cropped hair quite free from powder, and in a dreſs that would have diſgraced their footmen. Being the firſt of this claſs I have ſeen, I was ſo much aſtoniſhed by their appearance, that I could not credit my ears, when Lady Hilbury, introducing one of them to me, called him Sir John ſomething or other, for I have forgot his ſurname.

[104]

The moment I was alone with Lady Aubrey laſt night, I mentioned to her the ſubſtance of Mr. Howard's letter. Well, my love, ſaid ſhe, and pray what are the objections to the match? Are there any deficiencies in point of fortune? If ſo, eaſily can theſe be removed; for is not my Hermione my own child; the child of my boſom; and ſhe embraced me affectionately.

I inſtantly ſatisfied her that the obſtacles againſt it reſulted merely from the feelings of my heart, which were wholly repugnant to the union; and a thouſand times I thanked her for the kind adoption; a tye which I told her, and told her with ſincerity, I had neither wiſh nor intention of weakening by any other that might divide my affections.

I am much miſtaken, ſaid ſhe ſmiling, [105] and looking me earneſtly in the face, if my Hermione's heart is formed for the reception of no warmer ſentiments than thoſe a fond mother can hope to excite.

A bluſh of conſcious confeſſion tinged my cheeks. I replied that Sir Edward, at leaſt, never would rival that dear mother in my heart; nor could I perſuade myſelf that any attachment, however violent, would for an inſtant diminiſh or interfere with that ſervent affection for her which conſtituted almoſt the firſt happineſs of my exiſtence: and indeed, Sophia, I did not exaggerate my feelings in expreſſing them thus warmly; for my unexpected intimacy with this angelic woman has produced an intereſt that ſupports my ſinking ſpirits and feels like the acquiſition of a new ſenſe that gives life and energy to all the others.

Well, my love, ſaid ſhe, I live in hopes of one day witneſſing that you make good your promiſe. If I loſe your [106] regard I loſe all that attaches me to my preſent ſtate of being. But I am not ſo ſelfiſh as to deſire to engroſs it wholly. Your felicity is my firſt and deareſt wiſh; and I would not ſecure my own at the price of diminiſhing yours. I hope therefore to ſee you happily ſettled, in that ſtate which undoubtedly is capable of producing, and often does beſtow, the higheſt degree of comfort.

I have written in the ſtrongeſt terms to Mr. Howard, requeſting him to inform Sir Edward that it is impoſſible for me to grant permiſſion for a viſit which would put him to the trouble of a fruitleſs and unneceſſary journey.

This houſe is by much too gay for an invalid. Different viſitors ſucceed each other daily; and the ſame obſervation is [107] repeatedly made—"I'm afraid, Ma'am, you a'nt well." I am quite teazed with it. Lady Aubrey has conſulted an able phyſician here, who has aſſured her there is nothing in the leaſt alarming in my complaint, and has preſcribed early hours, regularity of living, and aſſes milk, which reſtoratives are to be procured with much greater eaſe and convenience at Aubrey Caſtle, than in this hoſpitable family; where the conſtant buſtle of a number of people, and the neceſſity of ſubmitting to the eſtabliſhed hours, prevents that compoſure and quiet ſo ſalutary to weak health. Lady Aubrey I am ſure finds it equally uncomfortable, and has readily agreed to my requeſt of ſhortening our viſit

After ſundry remonſtrances, and innumerable preſſing intreaties to prolong our [108] ſtay, Lady Aubrey has at length made her point good, and we are to depart on Monday.

Were I in better ſpirits, I might divert you not a little with an account of the different people I have met with ſince our abode here, particularly with this fox hunting baronet, Sir John Bennet, who profeſſes himſelf my admirer, tho' our acquaintance has not been of above a few days ſtanding, and who makes downright love to Lady Aubrey, in hopes ſhe will give him an invitation to Aubrey Caſtle. I wonder any man can think of me, when Lady Aubrey is preſent. It is amazing that every man who ſees her is not diſtractedly in love with her. She is not yet thirty ſix; and tho' the ſtile of dreſs in which ſhe indulges, indicates a more advanced period, her countenance is uncommonly youthful.

[109]

I was quite aſtoniſhed to-day on entering the drawing room to find Sir Edward Sudbury. As it was ſcarce poſſible he could have been made acquainted with the contents of my reply to Mr. Howard's letter, which was only ſent away on Friday laſt, I knew not what to make of this viſit, which he ſoon took an opportunity of inſinuating had been the ſudden conſequence of his being accidentally informed that I was at Hilbury Lodge, with which family he is intimately acquainted. I ſuppoſe he muſt have conſidered permiſſion to wait on me at Aubrey Caſtle at leaſt as very precarious; and I imagine regarded this circumſtance as a favourable opportunity for urging his ſuit without unpoliteneſs or impropriety.

[110]I endeavoured, by the gravity and reſerve with which I attended to him, to explain what reception his propoſal was likely to receive, and if poſſible to deter him from a purſuit that could only be ſucceeded by mortification and uneaſineſs; but Sir Edward was in unbounded ſpirits, and would take no hint that ſeemed repugnant to his wiſhes. When our departure to-morrow however was accidentally mentioned by Lady Hilbury in the courſe of the evening, a cloud ſuddenly overcaſt poor Sir Edward's countenance, his vivacity forſook him, and with a very ſubmiſſive but melancholy countenance he ſeized a moment while the company were ſettling their card parties, to requeſt leave to have the honour of attending us, and beſought that I would allow him to entreat Lady Aubrey's permiſſion.

I told him gravely that it was wholly out of my power to grant his requeſt. [111] The apprehenſion of deceiving him, and the deſire of putting a ſpeedy period to hopes which deluded only to render the diſappointment more painful, made me pronounce theſe few words in a voice ſo determined, that my heart inſtantly reproached me for the pain I was conſtrained to inflict; while it's ſecret feelings explained to me ſo powerfully what Sir Edward's muſt prove. I therefore added, tho' with equal ſteadineſs, that I ſhould always remain ſenſible of the favour he intended me.

Having forced myſelf to be thus explicit, diſtreſſing as it was, I haſtily turned away; and Sir Edward, thunderſtruck at my prohibition, inſtantly left the room. He did not appear for ſome hours; and during the whole evening repeated enquiries of where he could be, and expreſſions of wonder what he could have done with himſelf, were made by the whole company.

[112]Sir Edward at length entered; but not till we were all ſeated at ſupper. He ſupported the general attack with much embarraſſment; and ſaid in excuſe for his abſence, that he had been enjoying this delightful evening along the ſide of the canal. This occaſioned much mirth. The refinement of his taſte was admired, his neglect of the ladies at the card party heartily laughed at, and finally it was determined that, as the ſole excuſe his failure in politeneſs would admit of, he muſt make a formal acknowledgment to the company that he was deeply involved in a hopeleſs paſſion, in which caſe only the ladies agreed to accord him their forgiveneſs.

How Sir Edward looked, on this raillery, I know not, for I was little leſs confuſed than himſelf, and did not once dare to throw my eyes that way. His awkwardneſs was matter of additional entertainment; and ſince he would not [113] make a verbal confeſſion, Lady Hilbury told him his ſilence ſhould be taken as proof poſitive.

Lady Aubrey, with her uſual humanity, diſtreſſed at this perſecution, fortunately relieved poor Sir Edward by hinting a wiſh to retire early on account of our journey to-morrow; and we ſeparated at leaſt an hour ſooner than uſual.

I attended her to her dreſſing room where diſmiſſing her maid—I cannot help being rather ſurpriſed, my dear, ſaid ſhe. This Sir Edward appears a very amiable young man, and his behaviour this evening convinces me that he is tenderly attached to you. Is your determination ſtill to reject him? does your heart ſay nothing in his favour?

Oh! nothing, nothing indeed, cried I. I pity and feel for his diſappointment; but to be his wife would render me miſerable for ever.

I ſpoke with ſuch unneceſſary warmth, when I had been liſtening to no arguments [114] that could have rouſed my oppoſition, and had no ſolicitations to apprehend from the tenderneſs of my dear Lady Aubrey, that ſhe looked at me ſome moments with a face of perplexity. Then heaven forbid you ſhould be his wife, my love. I do not mean to become the advocate of a man of whom I have ſeen ſo little. I am too conſcious of the ineſtimable value of my Hermione's heart, not to be as nice in my choice of the man on whom ſhe is to beſtow it, as ſhe can poſſibly be for herſelf. I am only ſurpriſed that a heart, young, warm, and enthuſiaſtic, which has been in a manner ſecluded from intercourſe with mankind, and which cannot for that reaſon have been either tainted with the vanity of general admiration or deluded with the deſtructive idea that in high birth and titles a gratification is to be ſought, unattainable in a more moderate ſphere: I am ſurpriſed, I repeat, that a heart like [115] yours ſhould have remained unmoved by the aſſiduities of a man, whoſe outward appearance ſpeaks ſo highly in his favor, and whoſe character you allow to be eſtimable and even amiable.

To this obſervation I could make no anſwer. To a friend ſo dear, ſo reſpectable, ſo kindly and warmly intereſted in my felicity, to have given an evaſive and diſingenuous reply, was impoſſible. Gratitude and affection condemned the very idea. Yet to make a confeſſion of the ſtate of my affections, to avow that a ſecret and hopeleſs attachment devoured my peace, deſtroyed my health, and ſteeled my heart againſt the ſolicitations of all men but one, was equally impracticable. Oh Sophia! ſuch an avowal muſt have been ſo humiliating, ſo painfully ſevere, it muſt have led beſides to a train of particulars ſo interwoven with Lady Aubrey's misfortunes, that this act of confidence might have given no leſs pain to her feelings than it muſt have [116] conveyed to mine. After heſitating therefore for a moment, whether from reſpect due to the beloved friend who honoured me with the name of daughter, I ſhould not throw myſelf into her arms and inſtantly confeſs my weakneſs, I found that love was to her a ſubject I could not force myſelf to mention.

Theſe ideas, which paſſed with the velocity of lightning through my mind, ſealed up my lips; and Lady Aubrey perceiving that I was embarraſſed, expreſſed a deſire to go to reſt, and kindly wiſhed me a good night, which afforded me an opportunity of retiring. I am convinced however, that painful as might have been the communication, I ſhould undoubtedly have avowed all at that moment had not the above mentioned apprehenſion deterred me.

On entering my chamber, I perceived a letter directed for me; which I found was the fruits of Sir Edward's moonlight [117] meditations, and muſt have conſiderably ſhortened his walk. I ſuppoſe he had bribed one of the maids to lay it on my toilet.

Adieu, my dear, dear Sophia. My eyes are quite ſunk with ſleep.

H. SEYMOUR.

LETTER XXIII. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

WE are returned here, to my inexpreſſible ſatisfaction; and if the perturbation of my ſpirits will allow of any kind of method or connexion in my narrative, 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 unalterable.

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 preſented 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 expected 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 conveyed an idea into the good woman that probably the letter contained bills for money; which ſuſpicion induced her, inſtead of ſending it by poſt to Hilbury Lodge, on finding our ſtay prolonged, to lock it carefully in her drawer till our arrival ſhould put it in her power to diſcharge 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 immediately on my arrival.

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

When I conſider that perhaps at this moment Miſs Seymour does me the injuſtice to imagine me the moſt inſenſible, the moſt ungrateful of mankind, I tremble to addreſs her; and when I reflect, that from an unhappy fatality of events it is not impoſſible but that to theſe accuſations, cruel and injurious, may be ſuperadded thoſe of inconſiſtency and duplicity, I am wholly bereft of the compoſure with which I ſhould wiſh to enter on an explanation of my conduct.

Ah! Madam, is it then poſſible that [121] you ſuſpect not only the tenderneſs of my heart but its honour and integrity; that you conclude me ſo devoid of principle, ſo loſt to ſhame, as to offer vows to you which are the right of another. Ah! lovelieſt, moſt amiable of women! ſink me not in my own eſtimation by acknowledging I was ever for an inſtant depraved ſo low in your's. Believe me not capable of a deed ſo baſe; a deed— for which violence of paſſion and force of temptation, even of ſuch temptation as in that caſe I muſt have had to encounter, afford but impotent and feeble palliations. No, Madam, had I been fettered by the ſlighteſt ties, had my heart ſought to inſinuate itſelf into the boſom of ſenſibility, and ſucceſs afterwards ungratefully ſickened me at the purſuit, my love, my adoration of Miſs Seymour, might have tortured my boſom, but never ſhould it have paſſed my lips.

A chain of particulars, too intricate, [122] too tedious for diſtant diſcuſſion, has led to the unfortunate and miſtaken notion of my approaching union—particulars which, when I have the honour of ſeeing you, I hope you will have the goodneſs to allow me to explain; in the mean while, for the ſake of heaven, permit me to exiſt by the flattering hope, that the cruel and ſudden reverſe in your behaviour, from ſoftneſs the moſt captivating, the moſt angelic, to the coldeſt ſeverity and moſt barbarous reſerve, owed its ſource ſolely to this perplexing report. Forgive me, Miſs Seymour, for recalling your thoughts to recollections, which, daſhed as they are with bitterneſs, dwell on my memory with ſenſations of delight, gratitude, and exultation, that never, but with my laſt expiring ſigh can be eraſed from my heart: yet what a painful allay ſucceeded to this moment of happineſs! your downcaſt look, and ſilent haſte to eſcape from me, were not [123] the bluſhing effects of the timid and diffident regret with which you reflected on the ſoftneſs you could not wholly and cruelly diſguiſe from the man who adored you, and who, ſupplicating at your feet, claimed ſurely ſome little ſenſibility to a paſſion that has ſo long proved the deſtruction of his peace. Ah no! theſe amiable ſufferings had already inflicted too much pain, had already encreaſed if poſſible my enthuſiaſtic admiration, even while I lamented their poignancy and partook of the uneaſineſs they occaſioned you. No! you ſuſpected my honour, you believed me unworthy of your ſlighteſt regard; and a rigour the moſt inflexible taking place of ſofter emotions, barred every avenue to your heart and rendered it inacceſſible to all my prayers and entreaties.

Why this vindication was not earlier attempted may probably ſurpriſe you. But while your behaviour perplexed and [124] tormented me, this explanation of its ſeverity never once occurred to my imagination; till it was this day happily ſuggeſted, from having been informed that the rumours reſpecting my engagements were ſo ſerious and ſo current as to gain univerſal credit.

Miſs Seymour may believe, that after par [...]ing from her at a moment ſo arduous, I did not mean to allow twenty four hours to elapſe without imploring her to acquaint me wherein I had had the misfortune to offend her: on the contrary I intended to have written from Holtenham Abbey, where I was engaged to ſpend the day, to have demanded my accuſation and juſtified myſelf in her opinion; but on my arrival there, which was not till late, what a ſcene awaited me—my mother and ſiſters had juſt received the account of my brother's death; and in the firſt moments of deſpair, were weeping over the letter that [125] had announced this fatal intelligence. To Miſs Seymour, I am not afraid to confeſs, that this ſevere ſtroke drove for ſome time all other ideas from my thoughts; even her beloved image was obſcured, and every tender recollection ſupplanted by grief: but reflections ſo long cheriſhed, ſo dear to the heart, cannot long lie dormant in the mind; and I ſoon found that the amiable ſource of all my hopes and expectations of happineſs in life, could alone heal the wounds which death had inflicted.

In acquainting my friends at Hubert Hill with this misfortune, I imagined I offered a ſufficient apology both for my ſilence and my abſence: but what was my concern this day, upon viſiting them, to find that at near fifty miles diſtance, you muſt have remained for ſeveral days ignorant of the melancholy event that had rendered me incapable of paying you my devoirs. Ah! Madam, what muſt [126] your opinion of me have been during this interval? and how muſt this apparent neglect have augmented and confirmed every ſuſpicion of my guilt.

Forgive me, I entreat you, for having thus long treſpaſſed on your time and patience. But at preſent, alas! I have no other means of approaching you. My mother I cannot leave in her deep, heartfelt diſtreſs, till my journey to Dover, where I muſt be by the 12th, obliges me to depart. Yet have I a thouſand things to trouble you with. Will you allow me, in my way thither, to pay you my reſpects? Will you condeſcend to introduce me to the ineſtimable Lady Aubrey, the contemplation of whoſe character elevates my mind? and will you deign to hear me at your feet implore the continuance of your favour to him who has the honour of ſubſcribing himſelf

your moſt obedient and devoted ſervant, LINROSE.

[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 ſurpriſed by Lady Aubrey, who entered the drawing room while I was ſo wholly abſorbed in ſecret gratitude and delight, that unconſcious of obſervation, I repeated aloud, claſping my hands together, 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 faculties. 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 expreſſion; 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 indulgence to the weakneſs which in a moment 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 oppreſſed; and I am certain your goodneſs will allow of ſome excuſe in the ſudden, ſoothing relief it has ſo unexpectedly received.

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 forbore 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 rendered 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 boſom. Ah! no! diffidence and baſhfulneſs alone at firſt deterred me from entering 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 curioſity. 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 couſin; 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 ſecretly 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 Hermione, continued ſhe, muſt ever have poſſeſſed my warmeſt regard, but I ſhall not love him leſs, for the many recollections—

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 affection 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 brightens 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 Linroſe has been concerned.

Lady Aubrey liſtened with the kindeſt and moſt anxious ſolicitude, and entered with intereſt into all my emotions. She felt for my diſappointments, rejoiced 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 ſubject to few weakneſſes, poſſeſſes little indulgence for errors it never knew. His benevolence is warm, and his feelings but too keen. Where they have ſuffered 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 principles, which are founded on ſtrict juſtice and unbiaſſed integrity. It leads me to imagine that ſome previous prepoſſeſſion 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 advocate 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 concluded my narrative, acknowledging my aſtoniſhment and perturbation on receiving an explanation ſo unlooked for of the ſeeming inconſiſtencies in Lord Linroſe's conduct, when a note was brought me from him. He was, as I had ſuſpected 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 Lordſhip, and to requeſt in her name the favour of his company to-morrow at breakfaſt.

I then withdrew to my dreſſing room to anſwer it. Glad of a pretext for being a few moments alone, I threw myſelf into a chair, and gave way to a reverie of the moſt enchanting nature. What a revolution in my mind had a few hours effected! What a reverſe, from the depreſſion that had but that very morning almoſt wholly overpowered me! My ſpirits were elated to a degree of enthuſiaſm; and I thanked the Almighty with a fervour 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 declared in terms of ſuch warmth. Here is what I was obliged to reſt ſatisfied with at laſt.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD LINROSE.

I muſt confeſs my aſtoniſhment on having a letter from Lord Linroſe put this evening into my hands immediately upon my return to Aubrey Caſtle. I will not affect a reſerve ſo foreign to my feelings, and ſo injurious to the favourable ſentiments with which your Lordſhip honours me, as to deny that my ſurpriſe at its contents was not unmixed with pleaſure, and that the peruſal relieved me from much perplexity and even uneaſineſs.

[137]Lady Aubrey, of whoſe elevated qualities you have formed ſo juſt an idea, anxiouſly deſires the pleaſure of knowing you. She requeſts your Lordſhip's company at breakfaſt to-morrow: and permit me to aſſure you of a favourable reception from all the preſent inhabitants of her reſidence.

H. SEYMOUR.

Having diſpatched my note, I returned 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 ſupplanted by the proſpect of my approaching happineſs. She aſked me a thouſand queſtions in regard to Lord Linroſe, [138] made me minutely deſcribe his perſon, and inſiſted on my ſhewing her a little ſketch on ivory, which at Hilbury Lodge ſoothed many a melancholy hour, but which I had at length determined to deſtroy as it afforded an inſinuating 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 obſerve, ought to have been the firſt ſtep. I grant it; but indeed you muſt be preciſely in my ſituation before you can prove an adequate judge of the difficulties 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 ſleeping; 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 apprehenſion. 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.

I had no inclination to ſleep when I gave over writing laſt night, but I began to conſider that if I did not contrive to get a few hours reſt after the mental and bodily fatigues of the preceding day, I ſhould look ſtill more like a ghoſt than I already do; and really you never beheld any thing ſo pale and ſo ugly as I am grown of late.

I ſuſpect however my complexion was ſufficiently florid this morning, when Lord Linroſe entered the breakfaſting parlour; where dreading the formality [140] of being called down to him, I rather choſe to be ready to receive him.

Lady Aubrey was not yet ſtirring, ſo that we were tete a tete. But I cannot give you all the particulars of our converſation. A love interview, except to the parties immediately concerned, is always abſurd; but I fancy you will ſhrewdly ſuſpect that I found nothing extremely ridiculous in the eager urgency with which Lord Linroſe, after an explanation the moſt impaſſioned, entreated my permiſſion to apply to Lord Belmont for his conſent and approbation, the inſtant he found a favourable opportunity for intereſting himſelf in my affairs, tho' my confuſion during part of the ſcene might perhaps have afforded you ſome amuſement.

He ſpoke with ſuch feeling of my ſeverity, as he called it, and of my condeſcention with ſo many expreſſions of gratitude and obligation, that he half baniſhed [141] the ſhame which the recollection recalled; but I beſought him never more to mention, and if poſſible to forget, all that had paſſed

I think, cried he ſmiling, I ſhall find it no eaſy matter to comply with that injunction; for I have abſolutely exiſted upon the remembrance ever ſince I had the happineſs of ſeeing you; and undoubtedly you cannot have the cruelty to wiſh to deprive me of the memory of one bleſſed moment that recompenſed me for the anguiſh of the tedious hours that ſucceeded. Oh! Miſs Seymou [...]! added he, how could you leave me with ſuch frigid abruptneſs? how could you poiſon and embitter the joy with which the delightful diſcovery of your pitying ſympathy had overwhelmed me? Yet what muſt your opinion have been of me during the unhappy period of my ſilence? how muſt you have deſpiſed the man, who one day vowing eternal fidelity at [142] your feet with all the urgency of paſſionate affection, could the next apparently relinquiſh his hopes, and abandon a purſuit to which a reward, a prize is annext, that may well fix the moſt fickle and animate the moſt phlegmatic lover, that ever pretended to the paſſion. Alas! you knew not the blow, which from overpowering my ſpirits rendered me for ſome little time wholly incapable even of explaining myſelf on this intereſting ſubject; till a viſit from Bradſhaw, a few days after, led me in the confidence of friendſhip partly to confeſs to him my ſituation in regard to you. I owned that a fortunate moment had inſpired me with courage to declare the paſſion, which he well knew had ſo long tormented me with all the miſery of continual apprehenſion, doubt, and uneaſineſs. I acknowledged that Miſs Seymour had liſtened to me with angelic ſoftneſs; but that her behaviour had all at once betrayed [143] a diſpleaſure for which ſhe had not deigned to aſſign a cauſe; and that ſhe had left me with abrupt haſte, notwithſtanding my moſt earneſt intreaties only for a few moments ſtay.

Bradſhaw at once cleared up my doubts, enabled me to comprehend what had appeared ſo unaccountably myſterious, and by informing me of the credit with which the report of my marriage has been circulated (a report, he told me, which even Miſs Seymour herſelf had once hinted to him) enabled me by an immediate explanation to relieve my own mind and convince her's of the injuſtice of her ſuſpicions.

His Lordſhip then entered more fully into the particulars which have given riſe to this idea. Circumſtances, ſaid he, have lately diſcovered to me that Lord Mortonbury and my grandfather very early formed the plan of a connection between Lady Elizabeth and myſelf. [144] The young lady's rank, fortune, and accompliſhments, undoubtedly render her an object of ſingular importance to thoſe who look in matrimony for nothing beyond ſuch advantages; and Lord Belmont flattered himſelf the friendſhip which ſubſiſted between the two families, by affording opportunities for frequent intercourſe, would facilitate his wiſhes. This plan however, like moſt others which reſt on adventitious events, failed of ſucceſs; my early intimacy with Lady Elizabeth, far from promoting warmer ſentiments, merely ſerved to diſcover to me thoſe little foibles which in a leſſer or greater degree pervade every human character, but which in her no tender partiality on my part either palliated or concealed. Lady Elizabeth's errors, though not of a more unamiable nature than thoſe of moſt women of her rank who have received a ſimilar education, were particularly ill ſuited to my [145] diſpoſition, and to thoſe views of domeſtic felicity to which, even in my moſt diſſipated moments, my wiſhes have invariably pointed; and ſoon ſuſpicious of my grandfather's views, which muſt have utterly deſtroyed all my future proſpects of happineſs and which I found every individual of the family ſo anxiouſly deſired, ſince my laſt return from the Continent, I have uniformly endeavoured by the moſt reſpectful diſtance to demonſtrate that I did not preſume to regard myſelf as entitled to offer my addreſſes to one of the firſt heireſſes in England.

Some weeks ago, however, I received a letter from Lord Belmont, in plain terms propoſing the match to my conſideration, and repreſenting it to me in all thoſe glowing colours which a favourite plan ever receives from the pen of the contrivers. My mother too, who had often before hinted to me her wiſhes on the ſame ſubject and to whom my [146] Lord had written at the ſame time, uſed all her rhetoric to point out the ſplendid advantages that muſt reſult from this union.

Ah! why, my Lord, cried I interrupting him—why then have you ſolicited my conſent to an application, which if ſuch are Lord Belmont's views, never can prove ſucceſsful.

Deareſt Miſs Seymour, cried he warmly, how can you form a concluſion ſo alarming and ſo perfectly unjuſt, merely from a ſimple explanation which you force me to give you. If you will only liſten to me, you will find theſe apprehenſions quite imaginary, and wholly void of foundation. Had fate indeed placed you in that ſituation, in which till ſo lately I beheld you doomed to remain, unconnected and unknown, obſcure in rank, and diſtinguiſhed only by your elegance, your merit, and accompliſhments; in this caſe, though you [143] muſt ever have continued the firſt and deareſt object of my affections, yet my friends I allow might have objected; and the certainty that Lord Belmont's approbation was not to be hoped for where no circumſtances of birth or fortune preſented themſelves, has not only tortured my boſom ever ſince the moment in which I was favoured with your acquaintance, but has been the origin of all that inconſiſtency of conduct which muſt have often perplexed and even ſometimes perhaps offended you. Determined at one moment to conquer an attachment that I knew muſt involve me in all the difficulties of diſunion with my family, I ſedulouſly avoided you with fortitude and forbearance; conſcious the next of my utter inability to ſtruggle againſt a paſſion which inſinuated itſelf into my heart beyond all power of reſiſtance, I ſought with avidity what I had before ſhunned with apprehenſion, [148] and gave myſelf wholly up to the delightful illuſions of hope and tenderneſs. Such being the fluctuating ſtate of my mind for many months paſt, what was the relief, the exultation I experienced, on the diſcovery I made at Hubert Hill. The knowledge of your real rank and ſituation at once relieved me from all the miſery of this continual conteſt between inclination and principle. My whole ſoul was in a tumult of joy. Lord Belmont's approbation I conſidered as ſecured; and from that inſtant eagerly watched an opportunity for pouring out at your feet the feelings with which it was overwhelmed. When, there, too, I found the ſympathetic ſoftneſs of my Hermione—

Oh ſtop! for heaven's ſake! cried I, interrupting him impatiently. Would to God you had never found the moment you deſired. I foreſee a world of trouble and miſery from my unpardonable [149] folly and weakneſs. Oh! what on earth could make me ſo unguarded! Lord Belmont, inflexible in his determinations and prepoſſeſſions, never will be induced to relinquiſh his hopes of an alliance on which his views have ſo long and ſo invariably reſted, and muſt receive with augmented prejudice and unconquerable repugnance, the grandchild who ſo unpropitiouſly appears to interrupt his ſchemes and diſappoint his wiſhes. Of this, my Lord, you muſt yourſelf be convinced, even while you labour to perſuade me of the contrary.

Shocked at the alarming proſpect which preſented itſelf ſo forcibly to my apprehenſion that I could not conceal my fears, my Lord exerted himſelf powerfully and ſucceſsfully to diſpel the notion of my grandfather's inflexibility; and I ſoon began to forget the idea that had given me ſo much pain. He repreſented to me that it was extremely unnatural and improbable [122] to ſuppoſe, that his Lordſhip, when ſatisfied as to the propriety and decorum of our paſt conduct, would receive, otherwiſe than with open arms and delighted ſatisfaction, children who ſeemed ſent as from heaven for the comfort and ſupport of his old age. That his Lordſhip had hitherto rejected and diſowned us, could merely be attributed, he ſaid, to ſome miſtaken prejudice which muſt have found its way to his mind even on the Continent. To ſuſpect him now of an obſtinacy ſo hardened, without any apparent motive except the cruelty and injuſtice of his nature, was to accuſe him of a ſavage diſpoſition extremely oppoſite to his benevolent temper, and indeed almoſt below human nature itſelf.

I longed extremely to aſk him if Lady Linroſe was yet acquainted with the declaration he had made to me; and if ſo, in what manner ſhe had received it; but the entrance of Lady Aubrey, who however [123] did not appear till long after her uſual hour, interrupted all further private converſation between us.

She received his Lordſhip with the moſt inſinuating kindneſs, and with that flattering eaſe which ſo agreeably diſcards the cold ceremony of a firſt interview. Immediately after breakfaſt, during which Lady Aubrey entertained her gueſt with the polite freedom due to an eſteemed and long known friend, his Lordſhip told us he was conſtrained to ſet off without further delay. I muſt make up for this indulgence, ſaid he, by travelling with the utmoſt expedition; yet with all the celerity I can effect, I think my Lord Belmont will have to wait my arrival at Calais; for as I did not apprehend the diſappointment of finding you abſent, I made no proviſion for the laſt day I ſpent on the road.

He then took leave, recommending, in a low voice, but with a look which [152] teſtified how ſanguine were his expectations, the ſucceſs of this important journey to my beſt wiſhes; and Lady Aubrey, who overheard him, told him with an expreſſive ſmile that her prayers attended his expedition.

After he was gone, ſhe expreſſed her admiration of him in terms ſo ſtrong as to gratify me beyond meaſure. His figure, ſhe ſaid, ſeemed formed to captivate, and the pleaſing intelligence of his countenance demonſtrated that nature had not reſted his merit ſolely on external ſuperiority. She was enchanted with his addreſs. From what I have heard of him, ſaid ſhe, with infinite kindneſs, and from what I have ſeen, I am convinced that he is not unworthy of my dear child.

I can hardly believe, Sophia, that four and twenty hours have effected ſuch a revolution in my mind. My proſpects have undergone ſo great a change, that I almoſt [153] imagine I am in a dream. I am indeed in Fairy Land, and all things ſmile around me. To find myſelf the object of Lord Linroſe's fondeſt partiality, to know that the moſt material obſtacles to our mutual happineſs never exiſted but in my own apprehenſions, and to perceive a probable ray of hope of ſoon finding myſelf ſurrounded by friends and relations, diſpoſed to love, and willing to be beloved by me—oh! Sophia! what a bleſſed reverſe from our late friendleſs, ſolitary ſtate!

I have juſt had a note from Fanny, intimating that ſhe and Mr. Howard (having got all his matters adjuſted) will be with us on Thurſday.

Adieu, my beloved Sophia. I think with delight on the pleaſure the peruſal of this packet will give to your warm ſympathetic heart.

H. SEYMOUR.

LETTER XXIV. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

[154]

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 explaining to them the preſent poſture of affairs. Mr. Howard was overjoyed, but leſs aſtoniſhed than Lady Aubrey expected; for he had long been conſcious, he told her, that a mutual attachment ſubſided between Lord Linroſe [155] and me; and however unaccountable his Lordſhip's conduct had ſometimes appeared, 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 inſtantly 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 ſalute 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 perhaps, ſaid Mr. Howard, (ſmiling, while [154] [...] [155] [...] [156] he obeyed her commands) but I have long wiſhed our dear ſiſter from the bottom 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 perceive, 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 appearance as with the ſuperior elegance of his manners and converſation.

Our little party laſt night was in uncommon ſpirits, and Fanny quite giddy with mirth. We talked over and over every fancied circumſtance of the meeting which muſt have by this time taken place between the travellers, with an intereſt 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 ſenſation of mournful ſatisfaction that ſoothed and gratified her. He always demonſtrated 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 intercourſe 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 England, 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 happineſs; and I ſhall never allow myſelf to ſigh too bitterly for paſt ſorrows, while the preſent affords me friends that excite my warmeſt ſenſibility.

I have impatiently expected letters from Calais theſe two days paſt; Lord Linroſe having promiſed to write the moment he had ſeen Lord Belmont; but none have arrived; which I own both diſappoints and ſurpriſes me.

[159]

No letters ſtill. By this time, if no interruption has retarded their journey, Lord Belmont and his grandſon might have been arrived in town in their way to Belmont, which is in —ſhire. But I imagine his Lordſhip has not travelled with ſuch expedition as he propoſed; and probably Lord Linroſe did not get up with him ſo ſoon as was intended. Lord Belmont's health, though much improved by a ſalutary climate, is but lately reeſtabliſhed; and I fear the ſhock of his ſon's death may have occaſioned a relapſe. The weather has been ſo ſerene that apprehenſion on the ſcore of their paſſage would be ridiculous, yet I cannot avoid being uneaſy.

[160]

Lady Aubrey, whoſe aſtoniſhment at the ſilence of Lord Linroſe fully equalled mine, ſent her ſervant yeſterday evening to wait the arrival of the poſt; and while ſhe, Mr. Howard, and my ſiſter, were ſat down to ombre, my anxiety and impatience led me to ſteal away to meet the returning meſſenger. I had ſtrolled towards the great road at the extremity of the park, which is near a mile from the houſe, before I ſaw him; and having haſtily looked over the letters, perceived with redoubled regret that none were either directed for me or written by the hand of Lord Linroſe.

Diſappointed and perplexed, I bade the man go forwards; and returning ſlowly, was ruminating moſt uncomfortably on the unaccountable cauſe of this diſappointment, when I heard the trampling [161] of horſes behind me; and turning round, perceived Lord Linroſe on horſeback, attended by his ſervant. I had now got almoſt within ſight of the houſe. He rode quietly up to me; and inſtantly. diſmounting, gave his horſe to his ſervant, and approached me with a mixture of pleaſure and uneaſineſs in his countenance that inſtantly told me ſomething diſagreeable was to follow. He took my hand, and tenderly congratulated me on my improved looks ſince he had laſt ſeen me. But the ſolemnity with which he ſpoke alarmed me; and I imagined he had not courage to proceed.

I am afraid, my Lord, ſaid I at length with a forced ſmile, things have not turned out happily. Lord Belmont I perceive will not acknowledge his grandchildren.

Oh! he is determined and immovable, cried he. He is deaf to my entreaties, and wholly inſenſible to the voice of nature, [162] to compaſſion, to humanity, or even to that cool diſpaſſioned reaſon which he recommends to me perpetually as the only ſafe and rational rule of conduct. I have attempted every human method of prevailing, I have exhauſted every poſſible argument of perſuaſion, and ſaid all that man can ſay where his laſt and deareſt hopes of bliſs are at ſtake; but oh! he is impenetrable! neither to be ſoftened into pity nor influenced by juſtice; and he declares himſelf deliberately reſolved on no account whatever either privately to ſee or publicly to acknowledge his grandchildren. He has even forcibly and abſolutely proteſted —

That we never more muſt meet, ſaid I ſteadily, while he heſitated to proceed. Well, my Lord, if ſuch is his reſolution, it is your Lordſhip's duty as well as mine implicitly to ſubmit.

Submit! exclaimed he with warmth, throwing himſelf paſſionately at my feet. [163] No! never, never will I ſubmit to a deciſion ſo barbarous, unreaſonable, and inhuman. Lord Belmont undoubtedly has a right within certain bounds to preſcribe to me my conduct, but I on my part poſſeſs one equally potent to expert from his juſtice reaſon and moderation. Wherever in thoſe points he fails, ſo far he cancels the mutual bonds of obligation and duty that exiſt between us, and ſets me free to act for myſelf. Had he prohibited a connection which could not have been conſidered as diſhonourable, but merely as mortifying to his views and degrading to his dignity, even in this caſe had my heart been torn to death I ſcarce think I could have gratified my own wiſhes at the expence of torturing him with the diſappointment of hopes, which however blindly, have invariably ſought my happineſs as their ultimate foundation, and I think, Miſs Seymour, a ſhort review of my paſt conduct may convince [164] you of the truth of this aſſertion; but when, without the ſlighteſt grounds for diſapprobation, he objects, when he forbids an alliance where every gratification of reaſon and even of vanity preſent themſelves; when fortune has made you at leaſt my equal, and nature created you ah! how infinitely my ſuperior, theſe obligations of duty end; Lord Belmont muſt thank himſelf for the ſtep he obliges us to take; and we are no longer bound to gratify that caprice which rigorouſly demands the ſacrifice of our whole happineſs.

Ah! my Lord, cried I ſorrowfully, all this is mere ſophiſtry. The real ſtate of the matter is quite different. Lord Belmont rejects me as his grandchild either by blood or alliance; and never, never will I be prevailed with to grant an independent conſent, though my grandfather's behaviour towards me may in your Lordſhip's opinion ſee us free from theſe [165] obligations of duty which otherwiſe he muſt undoubtedly claim: yet ſurely you cannot be either ignorant of or inſenſible to the powerful motives that reſtrain me. How many painful minutes have the diſobedience of his children occaſioned to Lord Belmont. Diſappointed in his ſanguine expectations of their happineſs, diſtracted with the conduct of one ſon and diſpleaſed, however unjuſtly, with the connection formed by the other, he now finds himſelf deprived for ever of both, and ſeeks in his grandſon the completion of thoſe expectations which have hitherto proved only a ſource of vexation, uneaſineſs, and mortification to his boſom. Oh! my Lord! ought we to render this unfortunate old man ſtill more miſerable? ought we to blaſt his laſt hopes, and teach him that while he had the generoſity to place his happineſs in the proſperity of his children, however blindly he judged of the means, diſappointment [166] and ingratitude were all the return they afforded him.

Ah! Miſs Seymour! in what a light you place Lord Belmont's conduct! But pray liſten, I entreat you, with equal patience and attention, to a fair and candid examination of the matter from me. Let not a romantic generoſity warp your judgment and baniſh your compaſſion where it ought more naturally to exert itſelf. Great, I allow, would be the weight of your arguments, were Lord Belmont's miſery the natural conſequence of our happineſs; but this is ſo far from being the real caſe, that the moſt certain comfort and moſt aſſured ſatisfaction muſt flow from his being a witneſs of our mutual felicity, where no one obſtacle, but thoſe of caprice and prepoſſeſſion are alledged. How is it to be reaſonably ſuppoſed they will reſt on his mind, when all hope of another alliance, which at preſent ſupports his inflexibility, is wholly [167] and for ever ſuppreſt. No; be aſſured my grandfather's eyes will then be opened to his error; with the moſt ſincere regret he will abjure his own, and pardon ours, and taking my Hermione to his boſom, will experience in her duty and affection, and in the enjoyment he muſt derive from my unſpeakable felicity, all the comfort, happineſs, and delight, of which, by a falſe generoſity and ill judged adherence to the rigors of duty, you would wholly deprive him in his old days.

Ah! my Lord! cried I, ſoftened at this ſoothing repreſentation, and terrified at my own weakneſs, I have liſtened too long. I can hear no more. It grows late. I haſtened on; but Lord Linroſe perſiſted in detaining me, and ſeizing my hand, implored me for the ſake of heaven to think on what he had urged.

No, cried I, I muſt think of it no more. But tell me, what ſaid Lord Belmont? [168] of what did he accuſe us? what excuſe did he offer for this cruel prepoſſeſſion?

None. When I entered on the ſubject, I found him thoroughly well informed, and to all appearance even prepared for my application. Linroſe, ſaid he, I know what you are going to propoſe: but let me ſave you the fatigue of intreaties that are fruitleſs, and the pain of hopes that muſt be ſucceeded by diſappointment. The young women for whom you interceed, be aſſured I never will acknowledge. I have my own reaſons for this conduct—reaſons which, accountable to none, ſhall die in my own breaſt. But hear my final determination on this head: if you trifle with my reſentment, and dare form a connexion ſo repugnant to my wiſhes, I ſolemnly declare— But why ſhould I repeat to you a denunciation evidently the conſequence of ſome ſecret prepoſſeſſion, foſtered heaven knows [169] how, but which is rooted ſo deeply in his mind, that ſome inhuman, officious hand I am convinced ſtill ſupports the prejudice it has originally implanted.

What ſecret enemy has done us an injury ſo irreparable I have not yet been able to diſcover. My Lord would not even hear me on the ſubject; and when I ſeriouſly inſiſted, that as your only ſurviving parent he was bound in honour to afford you his countenance and protection, or to ſatisfy you and the world why both were withheld, he told me with an indignant ſmile that his motives would exculpate his conduct both to the world and to his own heart. I perceived, I replied, that he laboured under the injurious miſtake which had for ſome time, owing to a variety of circumſtances that a few moments could explain, prevailed to your diſadvantage, and inſtantly entered on the ſeveral points that had ſo unfortunately led to this idea.

[170]He liſtened in contemptuous ſilence. I am perfectly ſatisfied, ſaid he ironically, as to the conduct of the young ladies. I accuſe them of nothing: but I abſolutely deſire that I may hear nothing further on a ſubject that fatigues me, and which entirely embitters the enjoyment I had vainly flattered myſelf this meeting would have given me.

This converſation took place during the evening on which we met at Calais; and next day, while we travelled from Dover to town, I renewed the ſubject, and endeavoured to work on his Lordſhip's feelings, finding all attempts to convince his reaſon unſucceſsful. An accident however occurred, which all the malice of ill fortune could not have introduced at a more unlucky moment. We encountered Lord Mortonbury at the ſtage where we dined, and he eaſily perſuaded my Lord to ſpend a few days at his country ſeat, which lies in our way [171] to Belmont. A rencontre ſo ill fated could ſcarce have happened. The ſight of his old friend could not fail to ſtrengthen and augment his Lordſhip's obduracy, and confirm his determination in favour of an alliance that has ſo long been his favourite wiſh. For ſome time therefore I carefully avoided exciting his reſentment by touching on a topic, which I perceived, from ſome diſagreeable hints he occaſionally let fall, would now be liſtened to with leſs temper than ever.

In this ſtate, to write to you was impoſſible. I could tell you nothing but what I wiſhed eternally to forget, and I could only have made you a ſharer in the uneaſineſs that weighed down my own ſpirits. Teazed and worn out, I could no longer ſupport with patience the miſerable uncertainty of my ſituation, and at length ventured to riſk a renewal of this topic of contention. I began by imprudently aſſuring his Lordſhip that my [172] reſolutions in regard to Lady Elizabeth were fixed and unalterable. My ill judged warmth provoked and exaſperated him; and I found, that inſtead of gaining ground, my arguments were received with augmented diſpleaſure, and if poſſible with more determined repugnance than before.

Convinced that all hopes of prevailing were at an end, I then determined to contrive an eſcape for one day, which the pretext of viſiting a friend, who reſides in this county eaſily afforded me; and to endeavour if poſſible to reconcile you to a ſtep, which, however alarming on the firſt view, be aſſured, lovelieſt Hermione, preſents no real danger. You determine before you have fairly weighed and conſidered the circumſtances of the caſe. You are ſcared with the notion of diſobedience, ere you reflect that from you Lord Belmont claims no duty; and the idea of a private marriage ſhocks you [173] as an indelicacy and terrafies you as daring, merely becauſe you have been accuſtomed to regard it in that light, without reflecting on the ſingularity of your ſituation, and the ſatisfaction which muſt reſult even to Lord Belmont from this temporary diſappointment, We leave Morton Hall to-morrow evening; at which place I muſt by that time be, in order to accompany my grandfather to Belmont, where he has ſome buſineſs to ſettle previous to a viſit he means to pay my mother in Northamptonſhire. But oh! Miſs Seymour, with what alacrity, with what delight ſhall I return to him, if you will but raiſe me from this ſtate of deſpair, if you will but animate me to life and hope, and generouſly promiſe to be mine, without an approbation that is not to be obtained.

We had now reached the houſe, and it began to be very late. Stay but for an inſtant, cried he, and relieve me from this agony of uncertainty.

[174]No, no, cried I, pulling away my hand, I muſt liſten no longer, I muſt hear no more; and entering the hall, I ran up to my own apartment in ſpite of all his efforts to detain me.

Oh! Sophia! I carried thither all the inſinuating arguments to which I had been attending with ſo much irreſolution; and I found, that while my judgment remained unconvinced, and my delicacy revolted at the idea of a clandeſtine connexion, ſo contrary to that open dignity of conduct which I had flattered myſelf with the hope of ſupporting invariably thro' life, my heart died within me at the cruel ſacrifice I made to principle. Even ſelf applauſe ſuſtained not my ſpirits. Pride was ſubdued by ſoftneſs; and I found that one moment longer would have given to Lord Linroſe all he wiſhed.

Involved in this miſt of paſſion, I yet began at length to perceive how providential [175] was that eſcape which at firſt I had almoſt regretted; and I conſidered, with a thankfulneſs that half bordered on ſatisfaction, what mortification muſt have ever attended the recollection of a ſtep which I could not but have conſidered as derogatory to the character I have ever wiſhed and endeavoured to maintain.

This idea ſomewhat conſoled me; and reſolving to ſtruggle with feelings which I could not in private indulge without in a great meaſure betraying them to Lord Linroſe, and rendering them obvious to the reſt of the family, I forced myſelf into ſeeming compoſure, and went down ſtairs.

Lady Aubrey and my ſiſter were together. Mr. Howard, I found, had been ſent for to another room to Lord Linroſe, of whoſe arrival they were yet ignorant. I had the diſagreeable taſk therefore of diſcloſing to them the ſcene that had juſt taken place. Poor Fanny's chagrin kept [176] pace with her late exultation, and Lady Aubrey's countenance was clouded with the moſt friendly diſappointment.

Who can be ſuch a fiend, cried Fanny, as to perſecute us in this cruel manner without the ſlighteſt provocation? who upon the face of the earth can find either intereſt or pleaſure in blaſting our reputations, and perſuading Lord Belmont that we are unworthy of his regard? and who could poſſibly have dreamt that he would have proved thus obſtinate and determined, when all the reſt of the family are now our friends; when even Lady Linroſe herſelf profeſſes to love us, and wiſhes to ſee us reinſtated in his favour.

So her Ladyſhip is pleaſed to ſay, cried I; but from what Lord Linroſe let fall this evening, I think there is great reaſon to ſuſpect that her wiſhes have a very contrary direction. From her repreſentation only can Lord Belmont have imbibed [177] the prepoſſeſſions that retain ſuch faſt hold on his mind, ſince from no other perſon could he poſſibly have received intelligence concerning us.

I ſhould be ſorry, ſaid Lady Aubrey, to accuſe Lady Linroſe, or to ſuſpect her of a conduct below her character; but I own I have had my doubts of her on this occaſion from the beginning. Her motives, tho' mean and deſpicable, are ſufficiently obvious, and I have been told by my aunt, Lady Meredith, that ſhe is a woman of a very unamiable character, and generally diſliked.

The entrance of Lord Linroſe and Mr. Howard prevented her proceeding. The former was viſibly depreſſed; and appeared to exert himſelf to converſe upon the indifferent topics which enſued, but which were very languidly diſcuſſed by the company during the whole evening.

Supper was ſoon after announced; and being ſeated by him at table, he intreated [178] me in a low voice to give him an opportunity for one half hour's converſation before he left us, which muſt be early in the morning.

I told him ſteadily that he muſt not expect me to liſten to a repetition of arguments, which without Lord Belmont's ſanction could lead to nothing, If any favourable moment occurs, ſaid I, in which you can flatter yourſelf with the hope of ſetting your plans in ſuch a point of view as will obtain my Lords approbation, I believe your Lordſhip hardly doubts of mine. But why ſhould you even wiſh to ſoften me into a compliance which, wanting the concurrence of my reaſon, and wholly oppoſite to my ideas of propriety, would but lower me in my own eſtimation, and render me too unhappy to enable me to—

I was afraid of my voice, and ventured not to proceed. Lord Linroſe preſt my hand unobſerved, and whiſpered a thouſand [179] expreſſions of gratitude and acquieſcence. At leaſt, ſaid he, I promiſe to acquieſce till every poſſible ſource of trial has been attempted in vain. In the mean time, you cannot ſurely have the barbarity to refuſe allowing me to correſpond with you. To this requeſt I can take no denial.

I agreed for the preſent to the propoſal becauſe I could not prevail with myſelf to refuſe all he aſked; but I am much afraid even this is an indulgence that muſt ſoon be relinquiſhed.

When we ſeparated for the night, Lady Aubrey remained ſome time behind in converſation with my Lord and Mr. Howard. His Lordſhip uſed every argument to prevail with them to approve of an immediate marriage; and mentioned the fortune he inherited from Sir Thomas Roatſley, which ſecured him a competency; all, he was certain, for which I would be ſolicitous till a reconciliation [180] with Lord Belmont took place. But Lady Aubrey told him, that tho', had ſuch been the reſult of my deliberations, ſhe ſhould not have oppoſed a meaſure which undoubtedly, from the peculiarity of our ſituation, afforded ſome excuſe, yet ſhe would not adviſe what ſhe could not approve, and on the contrary muſt ever admire the ſteadineſs of my reſolution, which having it's foundation in delicacy and principle, whatever was the anguiſh it occaſioned me, ſhe was convinced I would ſtrictly adhere to.

Ah! my dear Madam! cried I, penetrated with ſhame while ſhe repeated to me this part of their converſation, ſteadily will I adhere to this reſolution, ſince it is ſanctioned with your applauſe. But much anguiſh has it occaſioned to my heart, and much I fear your opinion of my heroiſm would be infinitely diminiſhed, did you know how near I was incurring your contempt by yielding to my Lord's wiſhes.

[181]My contempt, my deareſt Hermione? Be aſſured that is a ſentiment my heart never can feel for you. Had you given way to the ſolicitations of your lover, believe me I ſhould have ſoothed and comforted inſtead of condemning you. I wiſh you to aſſume the heroine to Lord Linroſe; but I am far from either deſiring or expecting you to appear one to me. On the contrary, I think I ſhould love you leſs were you different in any point from what I find you.

Oh! Sophia! ought not the affection of this beloved friend to conſole me for every diſappointment.

I received this day the following letter from Lord Linroſe.

TO MISS SEYMOUR.

How ſhall I ſummon reſolution to acknowledge to the lovelieſt of women, [182] that my ſole hope of becoming the happieſt and moſt envied of men, reſts on a plan, the mention of which I tremble to remember ſhocked and ſtartled her ſo ſeverely. Lord Belmont, I am unwillingly conſtrained to own, is more determined, more infatuated if poſſible than ever; and without dwelling on ungrateful particulars, I am forced to tell you, that of any alteration in his preſent ſentiments I dare no longer entertain the ſlighteſt hope.

But is it the neceſſary conſequence of Lord Belmont's inflexibility, that I muſt be doomed to unmitigated miſery, and you be rendered unhappy? And why ought we to prove a ſacrifice to caprice, where not one reaſonable obſtacle obſtructs our union? no duty ſurely is owing to that parent who denies the title and diſowns all claim to obedience. Yet if you will perſiſt in regurding him in that ſacred light, give him, I intreat, the [183] moſt lively proof of your affection: oblige him in his own deſpite. Make me the happieſt of mankind; and gratify the firſt wiſh of the old man's heart, by allowing him to witneſs the, unſpeakable felicity which, you and you only can confer upon his grandſon.

In regard to fortune, I am convinced you are by no means apprehenſive. Mine, independent of my grandfather, were Hermione to ſhare it with me, would ſurpaſs my own wiſhes, and I am convinced ſatisfy hers. The motive of her reſiſtance, I am certain, is too generous to allow for a moment, of ſuch conſiderations. She trembles to wound a heart that has ſo long and ſo ſeverely bled; but be aſſured you will heal inſtead of augment his ſorrows—you will ſooth inſtead of torture his boſom, you will conſole him for all he has ſuffered, and a momentary diſappointment will be ſucceeded by unceaſing conſolation.

[184]I have more than once ſounded my Lord as to the ſecret author of this prepoſſeſſion, which, without the aſſiſtance of ſome intermeddling ſlanderous tongue, never could have found its way into his mind; but on this ſubject his caution baffles all my penetration. I even began moſt unjuſtly to accuſe my mother, as the only perſon on whom I could contrive to reſt my ſuſpicions with any ſhadow of probability; but I now heartily repent the injurious idea which induced me to write her upon the ſubject with much acrimony, for my heart was too much tortured either to expreſs myſelf with calmneſs or to think with reaſon. She had the goodneſs however to pardon my impetuoſity; and condeſcended to account for her behaviour in a manner that made me bluſh for my own.

Revolve, lovely Hermione, for the ſake of heaven revolve, I entreat, on all I have ſaid. We are ſtill at Morton [185] Hall; my grandfather having been confined with a ſlight fit of the gout, which will probably detain him ſome days longer. Conſider the reaſon, the juſtice, the perfect propriety, nay the duty and humanity of the ſcheme I propoſe, and favour me with one propitious line, to alleviate the diſtreſs of your eternally grateful and obedient ſervant,

LINROSE.
JULY 28.

The peruſal of this letter has indeed plunged me into a ſea of troubles; and on the firſt reading, I thought only of acceding to Lord Linroſe's propoſal. I conſidered nothing but the ſad alternative, either of hazarding every inconvenience and yielding at once to his entreaties, or of relinquiſhing him for ever. I forgot the repugnance of my own heart to a meaſure ſo bold and ſo dangerous, and which recurred with painful force [186] the inſtant the perturbation of my mind began to abate. I remembered not the applauſe which had in my cool moments attended my former refuſal, nor the conſolation which I had derived from that of my dear and ever reſpected Lady Aubrey, whoſe approbation of my conduct is eſſential to my peace. I conſidered not the peculiar ſituation of Lord Linroſe; whoſe rank in the world, and habits of living muſt, with the beſt diſpoſition in the world, render him particularly unfit for the circumſcribed oeconomy and ſecluſion of which his own independent fortune would admit. Mr. Howard tells me it does not exceed five or ſix hundred a year; and to this limited income, which I make no doubt has hardly hitherto ſerved for the little incidental charges of pocket money, Lord Linroſe would be forced to ſubmit probably during the life time of Lord Belmont, for as to the hopes of ſoftening [187] him into forgiveneſs, even Lady Aubrey, it is eaſy to perceive, builds little on that circumſtance.

Stern and unrelenting when once thoroughly exaſperated, it is infinitely more probable, ſhe ſays, that ſubmiſſion and time may ſoften him in our favour than that he ſhould ever be prevailed with to pardon an act of open defiance. The very idea that Lord Linroſe, from now conſidering himſelf as the ſole and natural heir of his title and wealth, may with leſs apprehenſion dare to brave his diſpleaſure, is a circumſtance the moſt likely to induce him to let his grandſon feel the whole weight of his indignation in every way he can deviſe, and as long as he lives to puniſh his diſobedience.

Some of the moſt prudent of theſe conſiderations you will ſuſpect, Sophia, were not wholly the ſuggeſtions of my own mind. At leaſt at firſt, though my reaſon could not but entirely acquieſce [188] with the force, juſtice, and probability of all thoſe concluſions, the moment they either occurred to myſelf or were ſuggeſted to me by the apprehenſive tenderneſs of my dear Lady Aubrey, that difficulty which had impreſſed me with the leaſt alarm became, from her prudent repreſentation, the motive that weighed the moſt forcibly againſt my compliance. The idea of involving Lord Linroſe perhaps for a period of years, (for Lord Belmont, though advanced in life, may ſurvive a long time) in all the inconveniences of a narrow fortune, for which he muſt be ſo peculiarly ill calculated, is a meaſure I find I could not ſummon reſolution to hazard.

I have therefore written to him. I have deſired him to think of me no more till his propoſals are authorized by Lord Belmont's conſent. But I believe I have not been able to conceal the poignant regret with which I make the [189] ſacrifice; and indeed if it will ſerve to ſoften his diſappointment, I wiſh not to deny how deeply I partake in the ſufferings I am conſtrained to inflict.

With what infinite tenderneſs and ſympathy Lady Aubrey enters into all my feelings on this occaſion. She ſooths my uneaſineſs, with a pity that draws my confidence and claims my warmeſt gratitude. I no longer conceal from her the regret I experience in giving pain to Lord Linroſe, and diſappointing his hopes. I even confeſs it to her with an eaſe that lulls my diſtreſs and fortifies my mind.

My ſiſter's gaiety has quite deſerted her, ſince this ſad reverſe took place. Mr. Howard too muſt naturally experience ſome perſonal diſappointment. [190] The advantages reſulting from a reconciliation with Lord Belmont are of no trifling importance to the intereſts of an encreaſing family. But I doubt if Fanny carries her ideas ſo far. Her mortification is merely excited by her feelings for mine and that regret which it is natural to ſuffer on being forced finally to relinquiſh a favourite proſpect that has been long and fondly cheriſhed.

I exert myſelf to appear chearful tho' the means by which I ſupport my ſeeming heroiſm but prepares me perhaps for freſh uneaſineſs. I cannot help ſecretly flattering myſelf that if an interview were by any means to take place between Lady Aubrey and Lord Belmont, ſhe might with ſome probability of ſucceſs undertake our defence, and extirpate [191] thoſe deep-rooted prejudices that have been productive of conſequences ſo unhappy. Such a propoſal, however, it is impoſſible for me to ſuggeſt; particularly as ſhe now never mentions any intention of ſoliciting a renewal of Lord Belmont's acquaintance, and ſeems to have merely regarded that meaſure as the neceſſary reſult of the connection between them which my marriage muſt have produced. This I own ſurpriſes me; but I ſuppoſe her courage having failed her as the moment ſeemed approaching, ſhe hardly regrets a ſatisfaction which muſt have been purchaſed at the price of ſo much agitation and apprehenſion.

I think continually in what manner and with what ſenſations Lord Linroſe has received my letter. I ſuppoſe I ſhall have his anſwer to-morrow or next day. I ſincerely hope he will reſign himſelf to my determination without any further [192] ſolicitations. I tremble leſt he ſhould take the reſolution of coming again hither.

This evening's poſt brought me my dear, dear Sophia's delightful packet, which has given me more pleaſure than I thought it poſſible I could have taſted in the preſent ſtate of my ſpirits. Oh what infinite comfort does the hopes, however diſtant, of one day embracing you infuſe into my heart. I think I ought not to complain of any calamity when heaven promiſes me a conſolation ſo powerful towards ſoothing every painful regret. This idea not only heals my uneaſineſs, but inſpires me with reſolution to ſtruggle againſt it. I am infinitely more reſigned ſince your letter arrived. Two others accompanied it, which I ſhould hardly have thought of mentioning did not one of them contain a piece of intelligence at which I cannot but feel ſincere pleaſure: it is from Miſs Parſons, [193] who informs me that ſhe is in a few weeks to give her hand to a gentleman who has lately paid her his addreſſes: he is a clergyman, a middle aged man, ſhe tells me, poſſeſſed of an excellent character, and a good living. My ſiſter and I are much pleaſed to find that a ſettlement ſo fortunate and ſo comfortable at laſt puts a final period to poor Miſs Jenny's mortifications and difficulties; for by ſome hints in her letter I ſuſpect that her ſituation in Lady Linroſe's family was by no means ſo comfortable as ſhe at firſt expected. There is a paragraph towards the end that ſtrongly corroborates our ſuſpicions of that lady's duplicity. It is as follows.

"I ſuppoſe you are not ignorant that Lord Belmont is returned to England. Heaven grant that you and your amiable ſiſter may derive the ſatisfaction from that event that my heart wiſhes you. He is moſt impatiently expected here by [194] her Ladyſhip, whoſe anxiety to ſee him would have carried her to meet him in town had he not prevented her by ſpending ſome time with my Lord Mortonbury. I fear much, my dear Miſs Seymour, that you entruſted not your cauſe to an unprejudiced advocate when you expected Lady Linroſe would mediate in your favour with his Lordſhip. I have never preſumed to repeat even your names in her preſence till the other morning, when a gentleman of this neighbourhood, who ſaw you in town, happening in the courſe of converſation to mention the ſuperior elegance of your appearance with many juſt encomiums, her Ladyſhip ſpoke of you with an indignant diſreſpect that aſtoniſhed and ſhocked me. I could no longer attend in ſilence to ſo much injuſtice, and defended you with a warmth that ended in a rupture between us. My approaching marriage, however, renders this a circumſtance [195] wholly immaterial, as my dear little charge is my only regret on quitting the family; and I am at preſent at the houſe of a friend, where I ſhall remain till I remove to that of Mr. Price."

This intelligence does not ſurpriſe me; neither, ſince it proves no material inconvenience to Miſs Parſons, does the diſcovery diſpleaſe me: for the diſguſt which has been implanted by miſrepreſentation and jealouſy is infinitely leſs formidable than that which might have been the reſult of inherent obſtinacy and caprice.

The other epiſtle is from Mrs. Hindon, who is returned from her expedition to Holland.

Read, my beloved Sophia, read and participate in the happy revolution which [196] this day, this propitious day has produced. I ſhall endeavour to inform you of the particulars with all the compoſure I can ſummon to my aid.

My ſiſter having been yeſterday a little indiſpoſed. Lady Aubrey propoſed taking her for an airing this morning immediately after breakfaſt, and entreated me to accompany them; but I excuſed myſelf on pretence of finiſhing a packet to my Sophia, which really was my intention. My ſpirits however were particularly languid, and being left to my own meditations, I found myſelf unfit for writing. I ſeated myſelf therefore on the window ſeat, liſtleſs and inactive, and was revolving in my mind, among other ſubjects of uneaſineſs, the implicit ſubmiſſion and ſilence with which Lord Linroſe had received my letter, when this reverie was ſuddenly interrupted by the appearance of a chariot and four, which drove full ſpeed up the [197] avenue; and while I was thinking with regret who this unwelcome viſitor could be, the door of the parlour opened and a ſervant announced Lord Linroſe.

My own perturbation, unſpeakable as it was, did not conceal from me the agitation that ſtruggled in his countenance; but my apprehenſion and aſtoniſhment on ſo unexpectedly beholding him, prevented me from diſcovering whether it was grief or pleaſure that occaſioned the hurry and emotion viſible in every feature. Hermione! Miſs Seymour! cried he, and ſeizing my hand, which he paſſionately kiſſed—Lovely and beloved Hermione, I come at laſt to claim you. Pronounce my happineſs. Tell me at once you will be mine: for now Lord Belmont no longer withholds his conſent to my wiſhes. His warmeſt approbation, his moſt fervent concurrence attends it, and he ſends you by me this [198] tender embrace and the paternal bleſſing of his heart.

Oh! Sophia! what were at this moment my ſenſations. Doubt, joy, and aſtoniſhment, all at once overpowering my ſenſes; my eyes cloſed; I became inſenſible; and leaned unconſciouſly on Lord Linroſe's ſhoulder; while apprehenſion rendered him almoſt incapable of ſupporting or of aſſiſting me; and he waited my recovery, which was inſtantaneous, in fearful ſilence.

The moment my ſenſes were reſtored, he poured upon me ſo many grateful acknowledgments for this proof of my ſenſibility, and accuſed himſelf ſo bitterly of imprudence in having ſo ſuddenly informed me of this ſurpriſing event, that I bluſhed for the weakneſs I had betrayed, and beſought him to talk of it no more, but to inform me to what we owed this change in Lord Belmont's ſentiments.

[199]To that angel of heaven, Lady Aubrey, cried he. It is ſhe who has opened Lord Belmont's eyes to his infatuation and injuſtice. It is ſhe who has juſtified your character in his good opinion, and effected this happy revolution in his mind. That ſhe alone could have produced a change ſo ſudden and ſo wonderful, he even himſelf acknowledges, while he obſtinately perſiſts in concealing the name of the perſon who has infuſed, like poiſon, the moſt injurious falſhoods into his imagination.

Whoever has done us this injury, cried I, I for my own part heartily forgive them; and I earneſtly entreat, as a proof of the truth of the profeſſions you have ſo repeatedly made me, that the recollection of it may never be the ſubject of the ſlighteſt reſentment. Oh! baniſh, I beſeech you, my Lord, baniſh all diſagreeable ſuſpicions, and every angry reflection from your thoughts, and [198] [...] [199] [...] [200] think only of what we owe to heaven and Lady Aubrey.

To this conciliating requeſt, ſaid my Lord, I certainly ſhould not heſitate to promiſe implicit obedience; but I will not aſſume merit with you on account of a compliance which Lord Belmont, dreading the conſequences of indignation ſo juſtly excited, has already exacted. The anxiety with which he laid his commands on me never to make this tranſaction a foundation either for inveſtigation or retaliation convinced me at once —that I muſt indeed enquire no farther—though never will it be in my power in future to honour or eſteem—

Hold for heaven's ſake! cried I, frightened at the vehemence with which he ſpoke, you already infringe your promiſe. Oh! think not of diſpleaſure; but tell me what means Lady Aubrey employed to produce this wonderful change.

[201]My Lord then put into my hands an open letter, which he took from his letter caſe. Here, cried he, is the invaluable performance, that has wrought with the force of magic, and not only poured conviction on Lord Belmont's mind, for that indeed is a point which time muſt naturally have of courſe effected, but with miraculous power has at once removed all thoſe barriers of prejudice and repugnance that have obſtructed my happineſs.

I inſtantly began to peruſe it; but the firſt lines affected me ſo violently, that I was unable ta proceed; and my Lord inſiſted I ſhould give over the attempt till I was leſs agitated. I would then have made my eſcape in order to recover ſome degree of compoſure; but he would not ſuffer me to withdraw, and detained me by relating the effect this pathetic letter had produced on Lord Belmont.

[202]Lord Linroſe ſaid he was not preſent when the letter was preſented to Lord Belmont; but having been an airing on horſeback, a ſervant who watched his return informed him that my Lord deſired to ſee him in his apartment.

On entering the chamber, he found his Lordſhip alone and much agitated. His features, on attempting to ſpeak, ſeemed almoſt convulſed, from the effort of ſuppreſſing his tears, which at length forced their way down his cheek. Lord Linroſe haſtily enquired the cauſe of his emotion, but for ſome moments he was unable to explain it. Linroſe, ſaid he at laſt, be not alarmed. Read that letter. It was ſufficiently explanatory, and hardly was it finiſhed when Lord Linroſe found himſelf in his grandfather's arms. I blame myſelf ſeverely, ſaid he; but I have been deceived and miſled in a moſt ungenerous manner, I ought not however [203] to have given implicit credit; but I will endeavour to atone for the injuſtice of my paſt conduct to theſe unfriended and neglected children, for whom you have ſo often interceded in vain.

I know, cried Lord Linroſe, haſtily firing at a ſuſpicion which he had ſo often diſmiſſed with much ſelf accuſation, it is my mother who has been ſecretly at the bottom of this affair; and I ſolemnly ſwear—

He was proceeding, he owns, in a ſtrain equally violent and improper, when Lord Belmont ſuddenly ſtopt him; and without abſolutely either affirming or denying the juſtice of the charge, told him that if he would not inſtantly give him his promiſe in the moſt ſacred manner never to attempt by any means to ſearch into the grounds of his behaviour, and whatever were his own private ſuſpicions never to dare to reſent it, his eternal diſpleaſure ſhould be the inevitable [204] conſequence: on the contrary, ſaid he, if I find you diſpoſed to oblige me in this particular, I ſhall obſtruct your wiſhes no more.

Intoxicated with joy, I inſtantly bound myſelf by the moſt ſolemn vow, ſaid Lord Linroſe, conſcientiouſly to adhere to this command. Lord Belmont had indeed taken a method ſo effectual for ſubduing my diſpleaſure, that three words from his lips had wholly baniſhed it from my memory, and threw me into an extacy of ſpirits that made me in charity with all mankind.

Lady Aubrey, ſaid Lord Belmont, again melting at the recollections that crouded on his mind, the amiable Lady Aubrey could make me no requeſt with which I ſhould not think myſelf bound to comply; and I conſider it as a ſingular felicity that I poſſeſs the ability of gratifying the wiſhes of the moſt benevolent of female hearts, which, thro' my [205] family was in the early pride of youth and beauty torn with diſtraction and loſt to the world. I loved and admired her with the tender partiality of a parent; and the circumſtance of her having afforded my granddaughters that friendſhip and protection which were denied them from a more natural quarter, convinces me they muſt be deſerving of the warm intereſt ſhe feels for them, and elevates her higher than ever in my eſtimation and regard.

Finding we were at Aubrey Caſtle, Lord Belmont willingly conſented to allow Lord Linroſe to ſet off early this morning, after a ſhort apology to Lord Mortonbury, which was afterwards to be followed by a fuller explanation; and having written an anſwer to Lady Aubrey's letter, to be preſented by his grandſon, promiſed to join him at this place on Wedneſday next.

Lord Linroſe having finiſhed his relation, [206] at length permitted me to retire for a few moments to read the propitious letter which had effected ſuch miracles, and gave me Lord Belmont's anſwer to preſent to Lady Aubrey on her return from her airing. Here is a faithful copy of the former.

TO THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF BELMONT.

After a tedious ſpace of ſixteen mournful years, will Lord Belmont allow a long forgotten friend to enquire, if time has wholly eraſed from his remembrance her whom once he honoured with the name of daughter; who once valued herſelf on poſſeſſing a diſtinguiſhed place in his eſteem and in his affections, and who has cheriſhed towards him, amidſt the pangs of miſery and the languor of a diſtant and melancholy ſolitude, that tender duty and filial regard, which, connected with a thouſand agonizing recollections, never can be effaced from her heart. Yes, my Lord, after a diſmal lapſe of time, [207] memory recalls your kindneſs, your paternal careſſes, with a gratitude and chaſtened pleaſure ſcarce inferior to that which they excited when I was indeed your child; and one of the moſt fervent wiſhes of my heart is, to be allowed to think I have a father, and gratified with the permiſſion of aſking on my knees his bleſſing.

That heart, my Lord, which, worn out with ſuffering and ſubdued by ſorrow, looked around the univerſe and beheld no ſingle remaining ſource of hope and conſolation, has lately diſcovered, by the mercy of a gracious providence, one little ſpot of reſt, one prop of ſupport, that tells me I have not been bereft of all; and which bids me be grateful and reſigned. The Almighty has vouchſafed me a tender bond of union, that binds me to life and connects me with mankind; He has granted me the tender intereſt of parental fondneſs, which with divine influence [208] heals the corroding remembrance of his leſs gracious diſpenſations, and preſents me with a ray of ſatisfaction even in this world. Heaven has ſent me two lovely and beloved daughters, dear to my ſoul and unrivalled in my admiration, and who claim the enthuſiaſtic adoration of a parent's heart: yet by him alone, who enjoys a right to that ſacred title, they are abandoned and diſowned; to him the ſame healing benefit is offered; but he diſdains its acceptance, he rejects the ſoothing comfort, and will not lay hold of thoſe alleviations which a pitying Providence beſtows.

What hidden and myſterious cauſe! what unaccountable and unmerited prepoſſeſſions, have baniſhed the warm benevolence and miſled the rectitude that formed the ruling principles of Lord Belmont's character? Ah! my Lord! whatever ſecret and malevolent enemy has poiſoned your mind with doubts and prejudices, [209] be aſſured they have not the ſlighteſt foundation in truth. Some ſelfiſh and ungenerous motive muſt have prompted theſe miſrepreſentations. Give not credit to ſo baſe a lie. Conſent but to behold your innocent, your amiable grandchildren, and every ſuſpicion will be refuted, all mediation uſeleſs, and perſuaſion at an end. Subdued and enchanted, you will take them to your paternal boſom, you will deſire to attach them to you by ſtill cloſer ties, by the ſpontaneous bonds of gratitude and obligation. You will love them with the fondneſs of a father: you will love them perhaps as I love them: and their unremitting and affectionate duty will give additional intereſt to your exiſtence, as it conſtitutes the ſole bleſſing of mine.

The youngeſt of theſe valuable young women, has already diſpoſed of her hand to a gentleman of ſingular worth, but whoſe fortune equals not his merit. The [210] eldeſt, whoſe charms are of the moſt inſinuating nature, beautiful and enchanting as an angel, unites with the moſt acute ſenſibility that diſintereſted generoſity and high ſenſe of honor, in which genuine virtue conſiſts. Adoring and adored by her couſin Lord Linroſe, ſhe heroically prefers the tranquillity of the parent who rejects her, and whoſe miſguided prepoſſeſſions ſhe muſt ever deplore, to the certain happineſs it was in her option to have enjoyed; and what, alas! required tenfold fortitude—which it was in her power to have conferred.

Will you, my Lord, allow a ſacrifice like this to remain unrewarded? Will you permit two amiable young people to continue diſappointed and unhappy, who but for a juſt ſenſe of filial piety would have been bleſſed in each other? Ah! no! your Lordſhip requires but the film that blinded you to be taken from your eyes, and I feel that I have already prevailed. [211] You will no longer deny yourſelf the delight of participating in the felicity you are enabled to beſtow, and your generous mind will experience ſatisfaction in affording a lively ſenſation of pleaſure, to her whoſe heart has ſo long bled for and now deeply partakes in the ſufferings of her young friends, but who ſhall ever remain, with implicit ſubmiſſion and the warmeſt regard,

Your Lordſhip's affectionate daughter and obedient ſervant, JULIA AUBREY.

I was not recovered from the emotion into which the peruſal of this affecting letter had thrown me, when I heard Lady Aubrey's foot on the ſtairs, followed by my ſiſter. Eager to inform them of what had taken place ſince the morning, I flew to the door juſt as they were paſſing in order to enter the adjoining drawing room; and incapable at that moment [212] either of calmly explaining the cauſe of my perturbation or of conquering its violence, I threw myſelf into the arms of the dear friend to whom I owed ſo much, and ſobbed upon her neck without being able to utter one word.

Fanny was terrified, and Lady Aubrey for an inſtant aſtoniſhed and alarmed: but her own letter, which I held open in my hand, and the knowledge, of Lord Linroſe's arrival, which ſhe had learnt below, ſoon relieved her fears and told her what I was unable to expreſs.

Lord Belmont has then yielded, my love, has he not? cried ſhe, warmly returning my embraces. Oh! I hoped much from the generous benevolence of that worthy man's diſpoſition. It was the apprehenſion of retaining you in a painful ſtate of ſuſpence, which I could not be certain would not have been ſucceeded by diſappointment, prevented me from acquainting you with this laſt and fortunate [213] attempt to ſoften him in your favour till I was informed of it's ſucceſs.

Fanny was in extacies, and wept and laughed by turns; but ſoon growing more compoſed, I delivered to Lady Aubrey the letter from Lord Belmont.

She ſeemed much affected even with the ſight of the writing. Her hand ſhook violently on receiving it from me, and ſhe inſtantly retired with it into her own chamber. Fanny then left me, to congratulate Lord Linroſe, whom ſhe was impatient to ſee; but I found it impoſſible to taſte ſatisfaction while my ever dear Lady Aubrey's generous participation in my happineſs was damped with ſo much pain, and mingled with ſo many contending feelings. I ventured not for ſome time to intrude on her retirement; but at length apprehenſion carried me to the door of her apartment, where I overheard her weeping with ſo much anguiſh that I took courage to make an attempt [214] to enter. It was faſtened on the inſide however, and I withdrew in reſpectful ſilence.

Short was this indulgence of ſorrow. In half an hour ſhe joined me wiih a placid and compoſed countenance, and having once more embraced and congratulated me, gave me Lord Belmont's letter to peruſe, and went to welcome Lord Linroſe.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE COUNTESS OF AUBREY.

MY DEAR MADAM,

Be aſſured it is in the power neither of time nor abſence to diminiſh that warm affection, which, founded on the higheſt eſteem and admiration, never while life and reaſon holds can be weakened in my boſom. The letter you have honoured me with has but augmented the enthuſiaſtic regard with which every tender recollection of Lady Aubrey has ever been [215] accompanied; and the humane and benevolent application it contains, while it gratifies my moſt anxious wiſh in affording me an opportunity of obliging her, leaves only this painful regret on my mind, that from credulity and remiſſion I have allowed ſuch an application to be made. To acknowledge and to protect theſe helpleſs young women, was the undoubted duty of a parent, and a duty, which, but for the miſrepreſentations of a ſecret enemy, ſhould have been long ere now conſcientiouſly diſcharged. But to bind them to me by ſtill cloſer ties, to allow of an alliance with my grandſon, the ſource of my deareſt hopes and expectations, to diſmiſs the proſpect of a long cheriſhed ſcheme, which muſt have ſecured to him connections of unbounded intereſt and importance, is a conceſſion which Lady Aubrey alone could have procured—a revolution, that ſhe of the whole world only could have effected. [216] When her enlarged and generous mind teaches me a leſſon ſo noble, prejudice is ſubdued, and that repugnance which aided my credulity, vaniſhes and is forgotten.

My grandſon deſires the honour of delivering this letter. He carries my bleſſing to all my children, accompanied with a requeſt that I may be allowed to embrace them on Wedneſday. Among the number, more numerous than I ever expected to behold them, none claims a warmer ſentiment of pleaſure at meeting than that beloved and eſteemed daughter to whom I have the unſpeakable ſatisfaction and the honor of ſubſcribing myſelf,

her affectionate father and moſt obedient ſervant, BELMONT.

Lady Aubrey returned juſt as I had done reading this kind epiſtle, telling me [217] that Lord Linroſe was reproaching me for having deſerted the company.

On joining it, the traces of tears were ſtill viſible on my countenance, and the conſciouſneſs of my betrayed emotions made me enter the drawing room with a degree of timidity. My Lord and Mr. Howard ſmiled affectionately on approaching me. I believe, cried the latter, my congratulations were rather premature ſome time ago, but I hope I may repeat them now with all ſafety. I am not a little vain, added he, turning aſide to Lord Linroſe, of my talent of preſcience, for I foreſaw this happy event, and no obſtacles or difficulties have been able to convince me that it would not one day take place.

When we parted laſt night, Lord Linroſe made me promiſe to walk out with [218] him this morning before breakfaſt. You know I generally riſe early; and to-day I was hot particularly late. We had a delightful walk, and a long and moſt intereſting converſation before any of the family were ſtirring.

Lady Aubrey ſeems much agitated with the thoughts of to-morrow's interview. It appears formidable even to me; but to her—ah! how much more painful muſt it prove! She has been very thoughtful all this day; and I obſerved often endeavoured to ſuppreſs a ſtarting tear, by covering it with a ſmile that but half performed it's duty. Were the firſt meeting over, I cannot help flattering myſelf that cuſtom will ſoon baniſh the painful reflexions with which the ſight of Lord Belmont cannot fail to be attended, and that lenient conſequences will flow from this re-union, ſo ſoothing and ſalutary to the tender and gentle nature of this amiable woman.

H. SEYMOUR.

LETTER XXV. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

[219]

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

Lady Aubrey's eyes, at breakfaſt, betrayed 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 poſſible in my grandfather's eyes, as an apology for the imprudence of Lord Linroſe's [220] attachment; and ſhe helped to adjuſt my dreſs with an eager anxiety that my uneaſineſs 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 arrived, having ſlept on the road, and travelled 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 receive him alone; and having made her ſwallow a few drops in water, we withdrew 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 conceived. [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 Aubrey'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 inſtantly rung with great violence.

My ſiſter and I, overpowered with terror 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 interview, and formidable as it had appeared, [222] I ſcarce regarded him; I almoſt forgot he was preſent; and flying to Lady Aubrey, I ſupported her head in my trembling 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 tenderneſs; 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 feelings, that when they burſt the reſtraints of fortitude, it appears a ſort of convulſion that is terrifying. Lady Aubrey, on perceiving the poignancy of his emotions, was inſtantly ſeized with an alarm which ſeemed to operate effectually in aiding her re-compoſure, or rather in inſpiring her with reſolution for ſtruggling to attain it. She was for a moment calm—Oh my Lord! I am wounding, I am deſtroying you, cried ſhe; but behold the all-powerful conſolation I promiſed you—behold your children!

She diſengaged herſelf from his embraces, and perhaps, Sophia, you will conclude that my ſiſter and I inſtantly fell at our grandfather's feet and implored his bleſſing; but though this behaviour might have been more becoming, [225] and perhaps in ſome people more natural, my feelings operated very differently. The tenderneſs of his manner to Lady Aubrey, and the benevolent expreſſion diffuſed over his aged countenance, had at the firſt glance deprived 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 relieved 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 affection; 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 preſent 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 momentary 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 extremely apprehenſive that this interview would be far from promoting the comfort 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 evidently 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 converſation on matters leſs affecting, but equally intereſting. He deſired a particular account 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 children, ſaid he, for my paſt behaviour in a way that I hope will baniſh it from their remembrance though the recollection 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 almoſt think he underſtood this ſilent token of gratitude, for he embraced me affectionately.

Lord Linroſe and Mr. Howard having allowed a ſufficient time for this explanatory 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 recalled 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 regard. 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 different 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 poſſeſſion between Lady Aubrey and me. You begin to monopolize before your time, Sir, ſaid he with a ſmile that covered me with bluſhes. He is indeed the moſt amiable old man I ever beheld, and muſt have been uncommonly handſome 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 benevolence. His reſemblance to my father 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 entirely gain my heart. Every look teſtifies the warmth of his admiration and reſpect; even the very tone of his voice on addreſſing her, is expreſſive of affection; 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 attentions 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 Belmont's arrival had univerſally diffuſed) ſhe exerted herſelf yeſterday evening to appear chearful; but the effort was apparent: ſhe converſed on indifferent topics 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 relieved than affected by it. My Lord acknowledged to her every circumſtance of the conduct of Lady Linroſe, but requeſted that particular care might be taken not to encreaſe the reſentment of her ſon by an open avowal of the ungenerous part ſhe has ſecretly acted.

Her behaviour, ſaid my Lord, has betrayed a degree of meanneſs, art, and duplicity, which convince me ſhe is capable 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 future; 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 exaſperate 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 pacific 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 already obliterated from her mind all reſentment in regard to Lady Linroſe; yet when ſhe recalls the comfortleſs, unconnected ſituation in which ſhe and her ſiſter found themſelves at the very moment 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 little merit in diſmiſſing indignation.

As an apology for the unkindneſs of [234] my conduct, ſaid my Lord, I muſt requeſt 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 contents as faithfully as her memory could retail them.

Lady Linroſe began by informing Lord Belmont that ſhe was about to acquaint 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 preſent by a profligate young man of fortune, 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 unexpected journey to England had been attended by conſequences ſtill more diſagreeable, 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 tedious to retail, added to their having retained [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 captivate him, in which ſhe had ſo entirely ſucceeded that he was blind to her imprudence, nor would liſten to any attempts made by his friends to open his eyes.

She had no doubt, her Ladyſhip continued, but the ladies would ſoon prevail 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 unfortunate circumſtance of his attachment, which abſolutely required every poſſible check and diſcouragement, it would doubtleſs have been a natural and humane 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 attentions afforded them would but give life to thoſe romantic hopes which the dependent 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 implicit ſubmiſſion; and requeſts that his Lordſhip may not on any account allow her ſon to ſuſpect that ſhe had ever entered with him on this ſubject, as it could ſerve no purpoſe but that of producing endleſs quarrels and altercations between them, and he would be apt to ſuſpect her (ſhe adds) of having prepoſſeſſed him againſt them. Her Ladyſhip, [238] after a great deal more to the ſame purpoſe, concludes with theſe words, which Lady Aubrey repeated verbatim, "the young ladies, I underſtand, intend addreſſing 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 informed Lady Aubrey, never had arrived, though Lady Linroſe in her next informed 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 rendered 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 family and theſe imprudent girls, whoſe ill conduct, added to my grandſon's infatuation, 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 interference of my aſſiſtance. Even this account, Linroſe tells me, was falſe; for the unlucky failure of their guardian rendered their circumſtances ſo uncomfortable 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 ſituation required no aid, ſhe was herſelf probably of that opinion. I muſt likewiſe obſerve, that though this account of their ſituation received from her pen all the exaggeration that art and prejudice 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 conſequence 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. Weldon, owing to that abandoned woman's having [241] art in getting admitted into very reſpectable 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 diſcovers the moſt deſpicable and ungenerous 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 obſerves 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 apprehenſions in regard to my grandſon, and repreſenting my granddaughters in this unfavourable point of view, ſhe evidently 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 preſerved 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 ſuſpicions, as affording her the means of ſeparating us from Lord Belmont with greater facility and leſs danger of detection; but unwilling to exaſperate where ſhe was certain I would wiſh to reconcile, 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 altercation 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 connected. [244] I ſhall endeavour therefore as much as is poſſible to keep all aggravating additions from Lord Belmont's knowledge, as well as to perſuade Lord Linroſe into conciliating meaſures; who, though he is withheld from openly teſtifying 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 approbation of his grandſon's choice, and ſpoke of me with a partial admiration that delighted 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 extremely [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 ſolemnity of the occaſion. Lord Belmont, it is not difficult to perceive, is not eaſily moved by perſuaſion to alter a determined purpoſe; but heaven grant that in this inſtance, as in ſo many ſtill more arduous, Lady Aubrey's unbounded influence may prevail.

Lord Linroſe and I, who contrive to ſteal a private walk, every morning before breakfaſt, had a violent diſpute during our early ramble to-day. He [247] inſiſted that there was no neceſſity for waiting the tedious forms of law, ſince they could go on at leiſure fully as well after as before the ceremony was performed; and to defer it till Dudley Mount was fitted up for our reception was, he ſaid, the moſt uſeleſs and abſurd formality, when ſo many kind friends were quarrelling who ſhould have the firſt viſit from us; and at all events we could take up our reſidence if we choſe it at Alton Park with Lord Belmont.

I did not wiſh to appear affected: yet ihe proſpect of an event that I had believed at the diſtance of ſome weeks, threw me into conſternation; and the urgency with which my Lord laboured to reconcile me to this haſty ſcheme, convinced me he would eaſily contrive to ſurmount any obſtacles that Lord Belmont might oppoſe to it.

I therefore entreated him to give over all thoughts of ſo precipitate a plan, and [248] to wait till every thing was quietly and properly adjuſted. In the mean while I told him I ſhould divide my time equally between Hubert Hill and Aubrey Caſtle; and as he muſt find himſelf equally at home at both thoſe places, we might contrive to be conſtantly together.

My arguments were without effect. He continued to perſuade and I to remonſtrate. I think, at length cried he laughing, no plan remains for me but one, and that one is ſo natural on the preſent occaſion, and muſt appear to all who hear of it ſo happy a termination to thoſe endleſs difficulties and punctilios, that though you may not approve of the ſcheme I make no doubt time and contrition might prevail with you to forgive it: at leaſt I may venture to hazard your diſpleaſure in a cauſe that would ſo amply recompence me for the utmoſt ſeventy of its effect. I ſhall have my [249] carriage and ſervants in waiting to carry you off ſome morning when you are walking, and my grandfather's chaplain will have no ſcruples to deter him from performing a ceremony that is merely deferred from motives of abſurd propriety.

He had ſcarce finiſhed this ſentence, when Lord Belmont ſuddenly joined us from the next walk. He ſmiled at my confuſion; but kindly taking my hand, had you really attempted this wild ſcheme ſome weeks ago, Linroſe, ſaid he, I might have been offended; but I think, conſidering the temptation, I could not poſſibly have been ſurpriſed; however you may now ſummon a little patience to your aid, and a few weeks will adjuſt every thing to your ſatisfaction.

A few weeks, my Lord! exclaimed Lord Linroſe. Your Lordſhip requires patience with a vengeance; but there is not the ſlighteſt chance that mine will hold out one third of the time.

[250]I implored him by a look to defer the ſubject, but it was with evident difficulty and reluctance he obeyed me.

Well, Linroſe, we ſhall ſee, cried Lord Belmont, and we ſoon after reached the houſe.

The family were juſt aſſembled at breakfaſt; and Lady Aubrey appeared in better looks and ſpirits than ſhe has enjoyed ſince the receipt of Lord Belmont's letter. The company were all gaiety; and Lord Linroſe having whiſpered to Mrs. Howard the circumſtance of Lord Belmont having detected our morning tete a tete, ſhe had the giddineſs to ſay aloud that ſhe underſtood an elopement was projected from Aubrey Caſtle, which ſhe doubted not would ſoon take place unleſs Lord Belmont interfered to protect the injured honour of his family.

Yes, ſaid my Lord, I muſt protect my daughter from the effects of an impetuoſity, which I ſuſpect will require all her [251] gentleneſs and good ſenſe to keep within proper bounds; but I ſee no method ſo well calculated for promoting this end as the one I am convinced ſhe will be apt on all occaſions to adopt—that of yielding the point. You and I, my dear Madam, added he to Lady Aubrey, will diſcuſs this matter afterwards.

The worſt of all ways of gaining a point, cried Fanny, and a moſt abominable precedent for married women. I hope at leaſt my ſiſter won't think of introducing it at Hubert Hill.

Lord Belmont, with whom ſhe is a great favourite, told her that he was convinced, as ſhe had got the ſtart of me in matrimony, I ſhould in ſo acting merely follow the example ſet me by my youngeſt ſiſter. I ſoon contrived to eſcape from this converſation, in which I found it impoſſible to join; and the moment I was gone, Lord Linroſe earneſtly entreated Lady Aubrey to endeavour to reconcile [252] me to a ſpeedy celebration. The matter being then debated in full council, it was at length determined that our marriage ſhould be concluded at Aubrey Caſtle; and that the day following the whole party ſhould ſet off together for Hubert Hill, the vicinity of which ſituation to Dudley Mount rendered it a convenient reſidence for Lord Linroſe as well as an agreeable one for all the others.

This being reſolved, though without my having been conſulted on the matter, Lord Linroſe flew to find me in order to communicate this ſudden change of meaſures. I was quietly ſeated in the library, though not very buſy at my ſtudies when he entered. My deareſt Miſs Seymour, cried he, a plan has been propoſed and univerſally approved of, which I hope you will not be ſo inhuman as to oppoſe by any cold and fruitleſs objections. Lord Belmont, Lady Aubrey, and in ſhort our whole friends, join in [253] opinion that the ſooner my happineſs is completed the better; and a thouſand reaſons, independent of my impatience, conſpire to render it not merely proper but neceſſary. Lady Aubrey, whoſe maternal affection juſtly entitles her to every maternal privilege, with her uſual unbounded goodneſs has condeſcended to name the very day of my happineſs; and Wedneſday next, my deareſt Hermione, will behold me the moſt envied of mankind. Oh! generouſly tell me that you will not invent unneceſſary delays—tell me that you heſitate no longer.

I did not affect a reluctance to oblige him: but agitated as I was, conſented with that ſoothing ſatisfaction that ever attends our compliance to the entreaties of thoſe we anxiouſly deſire to pleaſe. The gratitude of Lord Linroſe was as fervent as had been his urgency. But hearing ſome perſon on the ſtairs, I made [254] my eſcape to my own dreſſing room, where Lady Aubrey ſoon joined me.

She repeated to me the above information; and told me, that warmly experiencing the tender anxieties of a mother, ſhe had ventured to aſſume the rights of that character in fixing the day and may heaven, my Hermione, render every anniverſary of Wedneſday next more tranquil than that awful day can prove that unites us even to what our hearts hold moſt dear on earth, and if poſſible ſtill more happy.

Oh! Sophia! in four days my fate will be determined. Mr. Price, the huſband of our friend Miſs Parſons, who I find was originally tutor to Lord Linroſe and is particularly eſteemed by him, has it ſeems long indulged the hopes of performing one day the ſacred ceremony that muſt aſcertain his pupil's happineſs or miſery in life; and a meſſenger has been actually diſpatched to him, deſiring [255] his attendance here on Wedneſday. On this occaſion Lady Aubrey willingly conſented to Fanny's requeſt that Mrs. Price ſhould be invited to accompany her huſband; and as I thought our little friend would be gratified with the compliment, I did not oppoſe it.

Adieu, my beloved friend! for the firſt and laſt time of my aſſuming the name, let me ſubſcribe myſelf

your affectionate and ſincere friend, H. DUDLEY.

LETTER XXVI. TO MISS BEAUMONT.

ONCE more, my deareſt Sophia, I write from Hubert Hill. This delightful [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 excepted, from whom we parted on Thurſday 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 produced 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 cuſtomary 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 ſucceeding day will bring her additional comfort and ſatisfaction.

The company of Lady Linroſe, on this occaſion, you may ſuppoſe was neither expected nor deſired. Lord Linroſe had in a cold letter informed her of the event a few days before it took place; but the preſence of Lord Belmont, 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 particulars of her Ladyſhip's conduct, it was not in his power to ſolicit the honour of a viſit from her on the occaſion of an event which a multiplicity of miſrepreſentations [259] and miſtakes has unhappily 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 ſituation with an enthuſiaſtic admiration that evidently beſpoke ſome ſecret ſource of partiality. His looks however were ſufficiently 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 laughing 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, perſuaded Lady Aubrey to return with him to the houſe, and Mr. and Mrs. Howard attended them: but my Lord and I prolonged our walk for a full hour longer. Every object around afforded ſome intereſting ſubject for retracing paſt uneaſineſs and for contemplating with delighted [261] thankfulneſs the preſent happy contraſt. Every interview between us was remembered, every converſation where prudence on the one ſide and timidity on the other preſided, was annalized and inveſtigated, and the ſecret motives 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 received a letter from Lady Linroſe herſelf, who ſends me her felicitations with all the eaſe of a perſon who is unconſcious of ever having intended to injure me. Lord Linroſe coloured with indignation on peruſing it. This is effrontery with a vengeance, ſaid he: but the approach of Lord Belmont ſealed his lips.

I have anſwered her with polite reſerve. She expects, ſhe ſays, to be favoured 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 perſuade 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 devote 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 towards my ſiſter and me ſeems hourly to encreaſe, has preſented Fanny with ten thouſand pounds. This comfortable addition 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 enlarge my circle beyond what politeneſs and propriety demand.

Adieu! H. LINROSE.

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 impatient friend.

FINIS.
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Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 5266 Hermione or the orphan sisters A novel In four volumes pt 4. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-57A3-A