 Book 8, Chapter 4 of the Female Quilte, Vol. 2. In which Mr. Glanville makes an unsuccessful attempt upon Arabella? Arabella, when she had finished these words, which banished in part Mr. Glanville's confusion, went to her own apartment, followed by Miss Glanville, to whom she had made a sign for that purpose, and throwing herself into a chair burst into tears which greatly surprising Miss Glanville she pressed her to tell her the cause. Alas, replied Arabella, have I not caused to think myself extremely unhappy? The deplorable death of Mr. Glanville, the despair to which I see your brother reduced, with the fatal consequences which may attend it, fills me with immortal uneasiness. Well, said Miss Glanville, your ladyship may make yourself quite easy as to both these matters, for Mr. Selvin is not dead, nor is my brother in despair that I know of. What do you say Miss, interrupted Arabella, is not Mr. Selvin dead? Was the wound he gave himself not mortal then? I know of no wound that he gave himself, not I, said Miss Glanville. What makes your ladyship suppose he gave himself a wound? Lord bless me, what strange thoughts come into your head. Truly I am rejoiced to hear it, replied Arabella, and in order to prevent the effects of his despair I'll instantly dispatch my commands to him to live. I dare answer for his obedience, Medan, said Miss Glanville smiling. Arabella then gave orders for paper and pens to be brought her, and seeing Mr. Glanville enter the room very formally acquainted him with her intention, telling him that he ought to be satisfied with the banishment to which she had doomed his unhappy rival, and not require his death, since he had nothing to fear from his pretensions. I assure you, madam, said Mr. Glanville, I am perfectly easy upon that account, and in order to spare you the trouble of sending to Mr. Selvin, I may venture to assure you that he is in no danger of dying. Tis impossible, sir, replied Arabella, according to the nature of things, tis impossible, but he must already be very near death. You know the rigor of my sentence, you know. I know, madam, said Mr. Glanville, that Mr. Selvin does not think himself under a necessity of obeying your sentence, and has the impudence to question your authority for banishing him from his native country. My authority, sir, said Arabella, strangely surprised, is sounded upon the absolute power he has given me over him. You denies that, madam, said Glanville, and says that he neither can give nor you exercise an absolute power over him, since you are both accountable to the king, whose subjects you are, and both restrained by the laws under whose sanction you live. Arabella's apparent confusion at these words, giving Mr. Glanville hopes that he had fallen upon a proper method to cure her of some of her strange notions, he was going to pursue his arguments, when Arabella looking a little sternly upon him. The Empire of Love, said she, like the Empire of Honor, is governed by laws of its own, which have no dependence upon or relation to any other. Pardon me, madam, said Glanville, if I presume to differ from you. Our laws have fixed the boundaries of honor, as well as those of love. How is that possible? replied Arabella, when they differ so widely, that a man may be justified by the one, and yet condemned by the other. For instance, pursued she, you are not permitted by the laws of the land to take away the life of any person whatever, yet the laws of honor applied you to hunt your enemy through the world in order to sacrifice him to your vengeance. Since it is impossible, then, for the same actions to be at once just and unjust, it must necessarily follow that the law which condemns it, and that which justifies it, is not the same, but directly opposite. And now, added she, after a little pause, I hope I have entirely cleared up that point to you. You have indeed, madam, replied Mr. Glanville, proved to a demonstration that what is called honor is something distinct from justice, since they command things absolutely opposite to each other. Arabella, without reflecting on this inference, went on to prove the independent sovereignty of love, which, said she, may be collected from all the words and actions of those heroes who were inspired by this passion. We see it in them, pursued she, try and think not only over all natural and avowed allegiance, but superior even to friendship, duty, and honor itself. This, the actions of orondites, artisirks, spittrities, and many other illustrious princes sufficiently testify. Love requires a more unlimited obedience from its slaves than any other monarch can expect from his subjects, an obedience which is circumscribed by no laws whatever, and dependent upon nothing but itself. I should live, madam, says the renowned prince of Saivia to the divine Stotira, I shall live, since it's your command I should do so, and death can have no power over a life which you are pleased to take care of. Say only that you wish I should conquer, said the great Juba to the incomparable Cleopatra, and my enemies will be already vanquished. Victory will come over to the side of your favor, and an army of a hundred thousand men will not be able to overcome the man who has your commands to conquer. How mean and insignificant, pursued she, are the titles bestowed on other monarchs, compared with those which dignity the sovereigns of hearts, such as divine arbiters of my fate, visible divinity, earthly goddess, and many others equally sublime. Mr. Glanville, losing all patience at her obstinate folly, interrupted her here, with a question quite foreign to the subject she was discussing, and soon after quitting her chamber, retired to his own, more than ever despairing of her recovery. Mr. Glanville, whose envy and dislike of her lovely cousin was heightened by her suspicions, that she disputed with her the possession of Sir George's heart, she having been long in reality, a great admirer of that gay gentleman, was extremely delighted with the ridicule her absurd behavior had drawn upon her at bat, which she found by inquiry was through Mr. Tinsel's representation, grown almost general. In order, therefore, to be at liberty to go to the public places, uneclipsed by the superior beauty of Arabella, she acquainted her father and brother with part of what she had heard, which determined them to prevent that young lady's appearance in public, while they stayed at bat. This being no difficult matter to bring about, since Arabella only went to the rooms or parade in compliance with the invitation of her cousins. Mr. Glanville, being by these means brid of arrival, too powerful even to contend with, went with more than usual gaiety to the assembly, where the extravagancies of Arabella afforded a perpetual font for diversion. Her more than passive behavior upon this occasion, banishing all restraint among those she conversed with, the jest circulated very freely at Arabella's expense. Nor did Ms. Glanville fail to give new poignancy to their sarcasm by artfully disclosing the bent of her cousin's studies and enumerating the many absurdities they had made her guilty of. Arabella's uncommon beauty had gained her so many enemies among the ladies that composed this assembly, that they seemed to contend with each other who should ridicule her most. The celebrated countess of Blank, being then at bat, approached a circle of these fair, defamers, and listening a few moments of the contemptuous jests they threw out against the absent beauty, declared herself in her favor. Such was the force of her universally acknowledged merit, and the deference always paid to her opinion, silenced every pretty impertinent around her. This lady, who, among her own sex, had no superior in wit, elegance, and ease, was inferior to very few of the other in sense, learning, and judgment. Her skill in poetry, painting, and music, though incontestably great, was numbered among the least of her accomplishments. Her candor, her sweetness, her modesty, and benevolence, while they secured her from the darts of envy, rendered her superior to praise, and made the one as unnecessary as the other ineffectual. She had been a witness of the surprise Arabella's extraordinary appearance had occasioned, and struck with that as well as the uncommon charms of her person had pressed near her with several others of the company, when she was discoursing in the manner we have related. A person of the countess's nice discernment could not fail of observing the wit and spirit which, though obscured, was not absolutely hid under the absurdity of her notions. And this discovery, adding esteem to the compassion she felt for the fair visionary, she resolved to rescue her from the ill-natured railery of her sex. Praising therefore her understanding, and the beauty of her person with the sweetness and generosity peculiar to herself, she accounted in the most delicate manner imaginable for the singularity of her notions, from her studies, her retirement, her ignorance of the world, and her lively imagination, and to obeyed the keenness of their sarcasm acknowledged that she herself had, when very young, been deep-read in romances. And, but for an early acquaintance with the world, and being directed to other studies, was likely to have been as much a heroine as Lady Bella. Ms. Glanville, though, who was secretly vexed at this defence of her cousin, was, however, under a necessity of seeming oblige to the countess for it. And that Lady expressing a desire to be acquainted with Lady Bella, Ms. Glanville respectfully offered to attend her cousin to her lodgings, which the countess as respectfully declined, saying, as Lady Bella was a stranger, she would make her the first visit. Ms. Glanville at her return gave her brother an account of what had happened at the assembly, and filled him with an inconceivable joy at the countess's intention. He had always been a zealous admirer of the Lady's character, and flattered himself that the conversation of so admirable a woman would be of the utmost use to Arabella. That very night he mentioned her to his beloved cousin, and after enumerating all her fine qualities, declared that she had already conceived a friendship for her, and was solicitous of her acquaintance. I think myself extremely fortunate, replied Arabella, in that I have, though questionless, undeservedly, acquired the amity of this lovely person, and I beg you, pursued she to Ms. Glanville, to tell her that I longed with impatience to embrace her, and to give her that chair in my heart, which her transcendent marriage deserves. Ms. Glanville only bowed her head in answer to this request, giving her brother at the same time a significant lure, who, though used to Arabella's particularities, could not help being a little confounded at the heroic speech she had made. Containing something which at first sight may possibly puzzle the reader. The Countess was as good as her word, and two days after sent a card to Arabella, importing her design to wait on her that afternoon. Our heroine expected her with great impatience, and the moment she entered the room, flew towards her with a graceful eagerness, and straining her in her arms embraced her with all the fervour of a long absent friend. Sir Charles and Mr. Glanville were equally embarrassed at the familiarity of this address, but observing that the Countess seemed not to be surprised at it, but rather to receive it with pleasure, they were soon composed. You cannot imagine, lovely stranger, said Arabella to the Countess as soon as they were seated, with what impatience I have longed to behold you since the knowledge I have received of your rare qualities, and the friendship you have been pleased to honour me with. And I may truly protest to you, that such is my admiration of your virtues, that I would have gone to the farthest part of the world to render you that which you with so much generosity have consented to bestow upon me. Sir Charles stared at this extraordinary speech, and not being able to comprehend the word of it was concerned to think how the lady to whom it was addressed would understand it. Mr. Glanville looked down, and bit his nails in extreme confusion, but the Countess, who had not forgot the language of romance, returned the compliment in a strain as heroic as hers. The favour I have received from Fortune, said she, in bringing me to the happiness of your acquaintance, charming Arabella, is so great that I may rationally expect some terrible misfortune will befall me, seeing that in this life our pleasures are so constantly succeeded by pains that we hardly ever enjoy the one without suffering the other soon after. Arabella was quite transported to hear the Countess express herself in language so conformable to her own. But Mr. Glanville was greatly confounded, and began to suspect she was diverting herself with his cousin's singularities, and Sir Charles was within a little of thinking her as much out of the way as his niece. Miss Fortune's, Madam, said Arabella, are too often the lot of excellent persons like yourself. The sublimest among mortals, both for beauty and virtue, have experienced the frowns of fate, the sufferings of the divine Statira or Cassandra, for she bore both names, the persecutions of the incomparable Cleopatra, the distresses of the beautiful Candice, and the afflictions of the fair and generous Madonna, are proofs that the most illustrious persons in the world have felt the rage of calamity. It must be confessed, said the Countess, that all those fair princesses you have named, for a while extremely unfortunate. Yet in the catalogue of these lovely and afflicted persons, you have forgot one who might with justice dispute the priority of sufferings with them all. I mean the beautiful Eliza, Princess of Parthia. Pardon me, Madam, replied Arabella. I cannot be of your opinion. The Princess of Parthia may indeed justly be ranked among the number of unfortunate persons, but she can by no means dispute the melancholy precedence with the divine Cleopatra. For in fine, Madam, what evils did the Princess of Parthia suffer, which the fair Cleopatra did not likewise endure, and some of them happily in a greater degree? If Eliza, by the tyrannical authority of the king her father, saw herself upon the point of becoming the wife of a prince she detested, was not the beautiful daughter of Antony, by the more justifiable tyranny of Augustus, likely to be forced in the arms of Tiberius, a proud and cruel prince, who was odious to the whole world as well as to her? If Eliza was for some time in the power of pirates, was not Cleopatra captive to an inhuman king, who presented his sword to the fair breast of that divine princess, worthy the adoration of the whole earth? And in fine, if Eliza had the grief to see her dear Artaban imprisoned by the order of Augustus, Cleopatra beheld with mortal agonies her beloved Coriolanus enclosed amidst the guards of that enraged prince and doomed to a cruel death. To certain, Madam, replied the Countess, that the misfortunes of both these princesses were very great, though as you have showed me with some inequality, and when one reflects upon the dangerous adventures to which persons of their quality were exposed in those times, one cannot help rejoicing that we live in an age in which the customs, manners, habits, and inclinations differ so widely from theirs, that is impossible such adventures should even happen. Such is the strange alteration of things, that some people, I daresay at present, cannot be persuaded to believe there ever were princesses wandering through the world by land and sea in mean disguises, carried away violently out of their fathers' dominions by insolent lovers. Some discovered sleeping in forests, others shipped wrecked on desolate islands, confined in castles, bound in chariots, and even struggling amidst the tempestuous waves of the sea, into which they had cast themselves to avoid the brutal force of their ravishers. Not one of these things, having happened within the compass of several thousand years, people unlearned in antiquity would be apt to deem them idle tales, so improbable do they appear at present. Arabella, though greatly surprised at this discourse, did not think proper to express her thoughts of it. She was unwilling to appear absolutely ignorant of the present customs of the world, before a lady whose good opinion she was ardently desirous of improving. Her prepossessions in her silence and downcast eyes gave the countess to understand part of her thoughts, who, for fear of alarming her too much for that time, dropped the subject, and turning the conversation on others more general gave Arabella an opportunity of mingling in it with that wit and vivacity which was natural to her when romances were out of the question. The Female Quixote, Volume 2, by Charlotte Lennox, Book 8, Chapter 7 In which, if the reader has not anticipated it, he will find an explanation of some seeming inconsistencies in the foregoing chapter. The countess, charmed with the wit and good sense of Arabella, could not conceal her admiration, but expressed it in terms the most obligingly imaginable, and Arabella, who was excessively delighted with her, returned the compliments she made her with the most respectful tenderness. In the midst of these mutual civilities, Arabella, in the style of romance, entreated the countess to favour her with the recital of her adventures. At the mention of this request, that lady conveyed so much confusion into her countenance that Arabella, extremely embarrassed by it, though she knew not why, thought it necessary to apologise for the disturbance she seemed to have occasioned in her. Pardon me, madam, replied the countess, recovering herself, if the uncommonness of your request made a moment's reflection necessary to convince me that a young lady of your sense and delicacy could mean no offence to decorum by making it. The word adventures carries in it so free and licentious a sound in the apprehensions of people at this period of time that it can hardly with propriety be applied to those few and natural incidents which compose the history of a woman of honour. And when I tell you, pursued she with a smile, that I was born and christened, had a useful and proper education, received the addresses of my lord, through the recommendation of my parents, and married him with their consents and my own inclination, and that since we have lived in great harmony together, I have told you all the material passages of my life, which upon inquiry you will find differ very little from those of other women of the same rank, who have a moderate share of sense, prudence, and virtue. Since you have already, madam, replied Arabella blushing, excuse me for the liberty I took with you, it will be unnecessary to tell you it was grounded upon the customs of ancient times, when ladies of the highest rank and sublimest virtue were often exposed to a variety of cruel adventures which they imparted in confidence to each other when chance brought them together. Custom, so the count is smiling, changes the very nature of things, and what was honourable a thousand years ago may probably be looked upon as infamous now. A lady in the heroic age you speak of would not be thought to possess any great share of merit if she had not been many times carried away by one or other of her insolent lovers, whereas a beauty in this could not pass through the hands of several different ravishers without bringing an imputation upon her chastity. The same actions which made a man a hero in those times would constitute him a murderer in these, and the same steps which led him to a throne, then, would infallibly conduct him to a scaffold now. But custom, madam, said Arabella, cannot possibly change the nature of virtue or vice, and since virtue is the chief characteristic of a hero, a hero in the last age will be a hero in this, though the natures of virtue or vice cannot be changed, replied the countess, yet they may be mistaken, and different principles, customs, and education may probably change their names if not their natures. Sure, madam, said Arabella, a little moved, you do not intend by this inference to prove orondites, artisirks, juba, artaban, and the other heroes of antiquity, bad men, judging them by the rules of Christianity and our present notions of honor, justice, and humanity, they certainly are, replied the countess. Did they not possess all the necessary qualifications of heroes, madam, said Arabella, and each in superlative degree, was not their valor invincible, their generosity unbounded, and their fidelity inviolable? It cannot be a denied, said the countess, but that their valor was invincible, and many thousand men less courageous than themselves felt the fatal effects of that invincible valor, which was perpetually seeking after occasions to exert itself. Orondites gave many extraordinary proofs of that unbounded generosity so natural to the heroes of his time, this prince being sent by the king, his father, at the head of an army, to oppose the Persian monarch, who had unjustly invaded his dominions, and was destroying the lives and properties of his subjects. Haven't taken the wives and daughters of his enemy prisoners, had by these means an opportunity to put a period to a war so destructive to his country. Yet out of a generosity truly heroic, he released them immediately without any conditions, and falling in love with one of those princesses secretly quitted his father's court, resided several years in that of the enemy of his father and country, engaged himself to his daughter, and when the war broke out again between the two kings fought furiously against an army in which the king, his father, was in person, and shed the blood of his future subjects without remorse. Though each of those subjects, we are told, would have sacrificed his life to save that of their prince. So much was he beloved. Such are the actions which immortalize the heroes of romance, and are by the authors of those books styled glorious, godlike, and divine. Yet judging of them as Christians, we shall find them in pious and base, and directly opposite to our present notions of moral and relative duties. To certain, therefore, madam, added the countess with a smile, that was virtue in those days, is vice and ours. And to form a hero according to our notions of them at present, tis necessary to give him qualities very different from orondities. The secret charm in the countenance, voice, and manner of the countess joined to the force of her reasoning, could not fail of making some impression on the mind of Erebello. But it was such an impression as came far short of conviction. She was surprised, embarrassed, perplexed, but not convinced. Heroism, romantic heroism, was deeply rooted in her heart. It was her habit of thinking, a principle imbibed from education. She could not separate her ideas of glory, virtue, courage, generosity, and honor from the false representations of them in the actions of orondities, juba, artisirks, and the rest of the imaginary heroes. The countess's discourse had raised a kind of tumult in her thoughts, which gave an air of perplexity to her lovely face, and made that lady apprehensive she had gone too far, and lost that ground in her esteem, which she had endeavored to acquire by a conformity to some of her notions and language. In this, however, she was mistaken. Erebello felt a tenderness for her that had already the force of a long contracted friendship, and an esteem little less than veneration. When the countess took leave, the professions of Erebello, though delivered in the language of romance, were very sincere and affecting, and were returned with an equal degree of tenderness by the countess, who had conceived more than an ordinary affection for her. Mr. Glanfil, who could have almost worshiped the countess for the generous design he saw she had entertained, took an opportunity, as he handed her to her chair, to entreat in a manner as earnestly as polite, that she would continue the happiness of her acquaintance to his cousin, which with a smile of mingled dignity and sweetness she assured him of. For more information or to volunteer, please visit liberalbox.org. Recording by Diana Meilinger. Mr. Glanfil, at his return to the dining-room, finding Erebello retired, told his father in the rapture of joy, that the charming countess would certainly make a convert of Lady Bella. Many things, said the baronet, she has as strange whims in her head as my niece. Etz heard what a deal of stuff she did talk about, a parcel of heroes as she called them, which confounded hard names. In my mind she is more likely to make Lady Bella worse than better. Mr. Glanfil, a little vexed at his father's misreprehension, endeavored with as much delicacy as he could, to set him right with regard to the countess, so that he brought him at last to confess she managed the thing very well. The countess, who resolved to take Erebello openly into her protection, was thinking on means to engage her to appear at the assembly, with her she proposed to accompany her in a modern dress. But her good intentions towards her lovely heroine were suspended by the account she received of her mother's indisposition, which commanded her immediate attendance to her at her seat in. Her sudden departure gave Erebello an extreme uneasiness, and proved a cruel disappointment to Mr. Glanfil, who had founded all his hopes of her recovery on the conversation of that lady. Sir Charles, having affairs that required his presence in London, proposed to his niece the leaving bath in the few days to which she consented, and accordingly they set out for London in Erebello's coach on six, attended by several servants on horseback, her women having been sent away before in the stage. Nothing very remarkable happened during this journey, so we shall not trouble our readers with several small mistakes of Erebello's, such as her supposing a neat country girl, who was riding behind a man, to be some lady or princess in disguise, forced away by a lover she hated, and in treating Mr. Glanfil to attempt her rescue, which occasioned some little debate between her and Sir Charles, who could not be persuaded to believe it was as she said, and forbid his son to meddle in other people's affairs. Several of these sorts of mistakes, as we said before, we omit, and will therefore, if our reader pleases, bring our heroine without further delay to London. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Ms. Glanfil, whose spirits were greatly exhilarated at their entrance into London, that seat of magnificence and pleasure, congratulated her cousin upon the entertainment she would receive from the new and surprising objects which every day for a considerable time would furnish her with, and ran over the catalogue of diversions with such a volubility of tongue, as drew a gentle reprimand from her father, and made her keep a sullen silence till they were set down in St. James Square, the place of their residence in town. Sir Charles, having ordered his late lady's apartment to be prepared for the accommodation of his niece, as soon as the first civilities were over, she retired to her chamber, where she employed herself in giving her women directions for placing her books, of which she had brought a moderate quantity to London, in her closet. Ms. Glanfil, as soon as she had dispatched away some hundred cards to her acquaintance, to give them notice she was in town, attended Arabella in her own apartment, and as they sat at the tea she begun to regulate the diversions of the week, naming the drawing room, park, concert, reina la, lady blank assembly, the duchess of rant, voxel, and along, etc., of visits, at which Arabella, with an accent that expressed her surprise, asked her if she supposed she intended to stay in town three or four years. Law cousin, said Ms. Glanfil, all this is but the amusement of a few days. Amusement, do you say, replied Arabella, me thinks it seems to be the sole employment of those days, and what you call the amusement must of necessity be the business of life. You are always so grave, cousin, said Ms. Glanfil, one does not know what to say to you. However, I shan't press you to go to public places against your inclination, yet you'll condescend to receive a few visits, I suppose. Yes, replied Arabella, and if among the ladies whom I shall see I find any like the amiable countess of blank, I shall not scruple to enter into the most tender amity with them. The countess of blank is very well to be sure, said Ms. Glanfil, yet I don't know how it is, she does not suit my taste. She is very particular in a great many things, and knows too much for a lady, as I heard my lord fribbles say one day. Then she is quite unfashionable. She hates cards, keeps no assembly, is seen but seldom at public places, and, in my opinion, as well as in a great many others, is the dullest company in the world. I'm sure I met her at a visit a little before I went down to your seat, and she had not been a quarter of an hour in the room before she set a whole circle of ladies o' yawning. Arabella, though she had a sincere contempt for her cousin's manner of thinking, yet always politely concealed it, and vexed as she was at her sneers upon the countess, she contented herself with gently defending her, telling her at the same time that till she met with the lady who had more merit than the countess possessed, she should always possess the first place in her esteem. Arabella, who had from youth adopted the resentments of her father, refused to make her appearance at court, which Sir Charles gently intimated to her, yet being not wholly divested of the curiosity natural to her sex, she condescended to go in cog to the gallery on a ball-night, accompanied by Mr. Glanville and his sister, in order to behold the splendor of the British court. As her romances had long familiarized her thoughts to objects of grandeur and magnificence, she was not so much struck as she might have been expected, with those that now presented themselves to her view, nor was she a little disappointed to find that among the men she saw none whose appearance came up to her ideas of the air and port of an artabahn, orondates, or juba, or any of the ladies who did not, in her opinion, fall short of the perfections of Eliza, Mandana, Statira, etc. It was remarkable, too, that she never inquired how often the princesses had been carried away by captivated monarchs, or how many victories the king's sons had gained, but seemed the whole time she was there to have suspended all her romantic ideas of glory, beauty, gallantry, and love. Mr. Glanville was highly pleased with her composed behavior, and a day or two after, and treated her to allow him the honor of showing her what was remarkable and worthy of her observation in this great metropolis. To this she also consented, and for the greater privacy began their travels in a hired coach. Part of several days were taken up in this employment, but Mr. Glanville had the mortification to find she was full of illusions to her romances upon every occasion, such as her asking the person who shows the armory at the tower the names of the knights to whom each suit belonged, and wondering there were no devices on the shields or plumes of feathers in the helmets. She observed that the lion Lycemicus killed was, according to the history of that prince, much larger than any of those she was showed in the tower, and also much fiercer. Took notice that St. Paul's was less magnificent in the inside than the temple in which Cyrus, when he went to Mandana, heard her return thanks for his supposed death, inquired if it was not customary for the king and his whole court to sail in barges upon the Thames, as Augustus used to do upon the Tiber, whether they had not music and collations in the park, and where they celebrated the jousts and tournaments. The season for Voxel being not yet over, she was desirous of once seeing a place which by the description she had heard of it, greatly resembled the gardens of Lucullus at Rome, in which the emperor, with all the princes and princesses of his court, were so nobly entertained, and where so many gallant conversations had passed among those admirable persons. The singularity of her dress, for she was covered with her veil, drew a number of gazers after her, who pressed round her with so little respect that she was greatly embarrassed, and had thoughts of quitting the place, delightful as she owned it, immediately, when her attention was wholly engrossed by an adventure in which she soon interested herself very deeply. An officer or Frank in the sea service had brought his mistress disguised in a suit of man's or rather boy's clothes and a hat and feather into the gardens. The young creature being a little intoxicated with the wine she had taken too freely was thrown so much off her guard as to give occasion to some of the company to suspect her sex, and a gay fellow in order to give them some diversion at her expense, pretending to be affronted at something she said, drew his sword upon the disguised fair one, which so alarmed her that she shrieked out she was a woman and ran for protection to her lover who was so disordered with liquor that he was not able to defend her. Miss Glanville, ever curious and inquisitive, demanded the cause why the company ran in crowds to that particular spot, and received for answer that a gentleman had drawn his sword upon a lady disguised in a man's habit. Oh heavens, cried Arabella, this must certainly be a very notable adventure. The lady has doubtless some extraordinary circumstances in her story, and happily upon inquiry her misfortunes will be found to resemble those which obliged the beautiful as Spacia to put on the same disguise, who was by that means murdered by the cruel Xenodorus, in a fit of jealousy at the amity his wife expressed for her. But can I not see this unfortunate fair one, added she, pressing in spite of Mr. Glanville's entreaty through the crowd, I may happily be able to afford her some consolation. Mr. Glanville, finding his persuasions were not regarded, followed her with very little difficulty. For her veil falling back in her hurry she did not mind to replace it, and the charms of her face joined to the majesty of her person, and singularity of her dress, attracting every person's attention and respect, they made way for her to pass, not a little surprised at the extreme earnestness and solemnity that appeared in her countenance upon an event so diverting to everyone else. The disguised lady whom she was endeavouring to approach had thrown herself upon a bench in one of the boxes, trembling still with the apprehension of the sword, though her antagonist was kneeling at her feet, making love to her in mock heroics for the diversion of the company. Her hat and perook had fallen off in her fright, and her hair which had been turned up under it hung now loosely around her neck, and gave such an appearance of woe to a face, which notwithstanding the paleness that terror had overspread it with was really extremely pretty, that Arabella was equally struck with compassion and admiration of her. Lovely unknown, said she to her with an air of extreme tenderness, though I am a stranger both to your name and history, yet your aspect persuading me your quality is not mean, and the condition and disguise in which I behold you, showing that you are unfortunate, permit me to offer you all the assistances in my power, seeing that I am moved there too by my compassion for your distress, and that esteem which the sight of you must necessarily inspire. Mr. Glanville was struck dumb with confusion at this strange speech, and at the whispers and scoffs it occasioned among the spectators. He attempted to take hold of her hand in order to lead her away, but she disengaged herself from him with a frown of displeasure, and taking no notice of Miss Glanville, who whispered with great emotion, Lord Cousin, how you expose yourself! pressed nearer to the beautiful disguise, and again repeated her offers of service. The girl being perfectly recovered from her intoxication by the fright she had been in, gazed upon Arabella with the look of extreme surprise, yet being moved to respect by the dignity of her appearance, and strange as her words seem to be by the obliging purport of them, and the affecting earnestness with which they were delivered, she rose from her seat and thanked her with an accent full of regard and submission. Fair maid, said Arabella, taking her hand, let us quit this place where your discovery may probably subject you to more dangers. If you will be pleased to put yourself into my protection, and acquaint me with the history of your misfortunes, I have interest enough with a valiant person who shall undertake to free you from your persecutions, and re-establish the repose of your life. The kneeling hero, who as well as everyone else that were present, had gazed with astonishment at Arabella during all this passage, perceiving she was about to rob him of the disguised fare, seized hold of the hand she had at liberty, and swore he would not part with her. Mr. Glanville almost mad with vexation, endeavored to get Arabella away. Are you mad, madam? said he in a whisper, to make all this route about a prostitute. Do you see how everybody stares at you? What will they think? For heaven's sake let us be gone. What, sir? replied Arabella in a rage. Are you base enough to leave this admirable creature in the power of that man who is questionless her ravisher, and will you not draw your sword in her defense? Hey, day! cried the sea officer, waked out of his stupid dose by the clamour about him. What's the matter here? What are you doing? Where's my Lucy? Soon! Sir! said he to the young fellow who held her. What business have you with my Lucy? And uttering a dreadful oath, drew out his sword and staggered towards his gay rival, who, observing the weakness of his antagonist, flourished with his sword to show his courage and frighten the ladies, who all ran away screaming. Arabella, taking Miss Glanville under the arm, cried out to Mr. Glanville as she left the place to take care of the distressed lady, and while the two combatants were disputing for her to carry her away in safety. But Mr. Glanville, without regarding this injunction, hastened after her, and to pacify her, told her the lady was rescued by her favourite lover, and carried off in triumph. What are you sure? said Arabella. It was not some other of her ravishers who carried her away, and not the person whom she has happily favoured with her affection. May not the same thing have happened to her, as did to the beautiful Candice, Queen of Ethiopia, who, while two of her ravishers were fighting for her, a third whom she took for her delivery came and carried her away. But she went away willingly, I assure you, Madam, said Mr. Glanville. Pray don't be in any concern about her. If she went away willingly with him, replied Arabella, to his probable it may not be another ravisher, and yet if this person that rescued her happened to be an armour, and the visor of his helmet down, she might be mistaken as well as Queen Candice. Well, well, he was not an armour, Madam, said Mr. Glanville, almost beside himself with vexation at her folly. You seem to be disturbed, sir, said Arabella, a little surprised at his peevish tone. Is there anything in this adventure which concerns you? Nay, now I remember, you did not offer to defend the beautiful unknown. I am not willing to impute your inaction upon such an occasion, to want of courage or generosity. Perhaps you are acquainted with her history, and from this knowledge refuse to engage in her defence. Mr. Glanville, perceiving the company gather from all parts to the walk they were in, told her he would acquaint her with all he knew concerning the disguised lady, when they were in the coach on their return home, and Arabella impatient for the promised story proposed to leave the gardens immediately, which was gladly complied with by Mr. Glanville, who heartily repented his having carried her thither. The Female Quixote, Volume 2, by Charlotte Lennox, Book 9, Chapter 2 Which ends with a very unfavourable prediction for our heroine. As soon as they were seated in the coach, she did not fail to call upon him to perform his promise, but Mr. Glanville, excessively out of humour at her exposing herself in the gardens, replied, without considering whether he should not offend her, that he knew no more of the disguised lady than anybody else in the place. How, sir, replied Arabella, did you not promise to relate her adventures to me, and would you have me believe you knew no more of them than the rest of the cavaliers and ladies in the place? Upon my soul, I don't, madam, replied Glanville. Yet what I know of her is sufficient to let me understand she was not worth the consideration you seemed to have for her. She cannot sure be more indiscreet than the fair and unfortunate Hermione, replied Arabella, who, like her, put on man's apparel through despair at the ill success of her passion for Alexander, and certain it is that though the beautiful Hermione was guilty of one great error which lost her the esteem of Alexander, yet she had a high and noble soul, as was manifest by her behaviour and words when she was run through by the sword of Demetrius. Oh death, cried she, as she was falling, how sweet do I find thee, and how much and how earnestly have I desired thee? O Lord, O Lord, cried Mr. Glanville, hardly sensible of what he said, was there ever anything so intolerable? Do you pity the unhappy Hermione, sir? said Arabella, interpreting his exclamation her own way. Indeed, she is well worthy of your compassion, and if the bare recital of the word she uttered at receiving her death's wound affects you so much, you may guess what would have been your agonies, had you been Demetrius that gave it to her. Here Mr. Glanville groaning aloud through impatience at her absurdities. This subject affects you deeply, I perceive, said Arabella. There is no question but you would have acted in the same circumstance as Demetrius did, yet let me tell you, the extravagancy of his rage and despair for what he had innocently committed was imputed to him as a great imbecility, as was also the violent passion he conceived soon after for the fair didemia. You know the accident which brought that fair princess into his way. Indeed, I do not, madam, said Glanville, peevishly. Well, then I'll tell you, said Arabella, but pausing a little. The recital I have engaged myself to make, as it she, will necessarily take up some hours' time, as upon reflection I have found. So if you will dispense with my beginning it at present, I will satisfy your curiosity tomorrow, when I may be able to pursue it without interruption. To this Mr. Glanville made no other answer than a burr with his head, and the coach a few moments after arriving at their own house, he led her to her apartment, firmly resolved never to attend her to any more public places, while she continued in the same ridiculous folly. Sir Charles, who had several times been in doubt whether Arabella was not really disordered in her senses. Upon Miss Glanville's account of her behavior at the gardens concluded she was absolutely mad, and held a short debate with himself, whether he ought not to bring a commission of lunacy against her, rather than marry her to his son, whom he was persuaded, could never be happy with a wife so unaccountably absurd. Though he only hinted at this to Mr. Glanville in a conversation he had with him, while his dissatisfaction was at his height concerning Arabella, yet the bare supposition that his father ever thought of such a thing, threw the young gentleman into such agonies that Sir Charles, to compose him, protested he would do nothing in relation to his knees that he would not approve of. Yet he expostulated with him on the absurdity of her behavior, and the ridicule to which she exposed herself wherever she went, appealing to him whether in a wife he could think those folly supportable, which in a mistress occasioned him so much confusion. Mr. Glanville, as much in love as he was, felt all the force of his inference, and acknowledged to his father that he could not think of marrying Arabella, till the whims her romances had put into her head, were erased by a better knowledge of life and manners, but he added with a sigh that he knew not how this reformation would be affected, for she had such a strange facility in reconciling every incident to her own fantastic ideas that every new object added strength to the fatal deception she labored under. A lovely heroine had not been about a fortnight in London before the gross air of that smoky town affected her health so much that Sir Charles proposed to her to go for a few weeks to Richmond, where he hired a house elegantly furnished for her reception. Ms. Glanville had been too long out of that darling city to pay her the compliment of attending her constantly at Richmond, yet she promised to be as often as possible with her, and Sir Charles, having affairs that could not dispense with his absence from town, placed his steward in her house, being a person whose prudence and fidelity he could rely upon, and he, with her women and two or three other menial servants, made up her equipage. As it was not consistent with decorum for Mr. Glanville to reside in her house, he contented himself with writing to Richmond generally every day, and as long as Arabella was pleased with that retirement, he resolved not to press her return to town till the Countess of Blank arrived. In whose conversation he grounded all his hopes of her care. At that season of the year Richmond not being quite deserted by company, Arabella was visited by several ladies of fashion, who charmed with her affability, politeness, and good sense were strangely perplexed, how to account for some peculiarities in her dress and manner of thinking. Some of the younger sort from whom Arabella's extraordinary beauty took away all pretensions to equality on that score, made themselves extremely merry with her oddnesses, as they called them, and gave broad intimations that her head was not right. As for Arabella, whose taste was as delicate sentiments as refined and judgment as clear as any persons could be who believed the authenticity of Scudery's romances, she was strangely disappointed to find no lady with whom she could converse with any tolerable pleasure, and that instead of Clellias, Statiras, Mindanas, etc., she found only Miss Glanville among all she knew. The comparison she drew between such as these and the charming Countess of Blank, whom she had just begun to be acquainted with at Bath, increased her regret for the interruption that was given to so agreeable a friendship. And it was with infinite pleasure, Mr. Glanville heard her repeatedly wish for the arrival of that admirable lady as she always called her in town. Not being able to relish the insipid conversation of the young ladies that visited her at Richmond, her chief amusement was to walk in the park there, which because of its rural privacy was extremely agreeable to her inclinations. Here she indulged in contemplation, leaning on the arm of her faithful Lucy, while her other women walked at some distance behind her, and two men's servants kept her always in sight. One evening when she was returning from her usual walk, she heard the sound of a woman's voice, which seemed to proceed from a tuft of trees that hid her from view, and stopping a moment, distinguished some plaintive accents, which increasing her curiosity, she advanced towards the place, telling Lucy she was resolved if possible to discover who the distressed lady was, and what was the subject of her affliction. As she drew nearer with softly treading steps, she could distinguish through the branches of the trees, now despoiled of great part of their leaves. Two women seated on the ground, their backs toward her, and one of them with her head gently reclined on the other's shoulder, seemed by her mournful action to be weeping, for she often put her handkerchief to her eyes, breathing every time a sigh, which as Arabella phrased it, seemed to proceed from the deepest recesses of her heart. This adventure, more worthy indeed to be styled an adventure than all our fair heroine had ever yet met with, and so conformable to what she had read in romances, filled her heart with eager expectation. She made a sign to Lucy to make no noise, and creeping still closer towards the place where this afflicted person sat, she heard her distinctly uttered these words, which however were often interrupted with her sighs. Ah, area menis, whom I to my misfortune have too much loved, in whom to my misfortune I fear I shall never sufficiently hate, since that heaven in thy cruel ingratitude hath ordained that thou shalt never be mine, and that so many sweet and dear hopes are forever taken from me, return me at least ungrateful man, return me those testimonies of my innocent affection which were sometimes so dear and precious to thee, return me those favours which all innocent as they were are become criminal by thy crime, return me cruel man, return me those relics of my heart which thou detainest in despite of me, at which notwithstanding thy infidelity I cannot recover. Here her tears interrupting her speech, Arabella being impatient to know the history of this afflicted person, came softly round to the other side and showing herself occasioned some disturbance to the sad unknown, who rising from her seat with her face averted as if ashamed of having so far disclosed her sorrows in a stranger's hearing, endeavored to pass by her unnoticed. Arabella perceiving her design stopped her with a very graceful action, and with a voice all composed of sweetness earnestly conjured her to relate her history. Think not lovely unknown, said she, for she was really very pretty, that my endeavours to detain you proceed from an indiscreet curiosity, just true some complaints which have fallen from your fair mouth have raised in me a desire to be acquainted with your adventures. But this desire has its foundation, and that compassion your complaints have filled me with. And if I wish to know your misfortunes, it is only with a view of affording you some consolation. Pardon me, madam, said the fair afflicted, gazing on Arabella with many signs of admiration, if my confusion at being overheard in a place I had chosen to bewail my misfortunes made me be guilty of some appearance of rudeness, not seeing the admirable person I wanted to avoid, but pursued she, hesitating a little. Those characters of beauty I behold in her face, and the gracefulness of your deportment convincing me that you can be of no ordinary rank, I will the less scruple to acquaint you with my adventures, and the cause of those complaints you have heard proceed from my mouth. Arabella assuring her that whatever her misfortunes were, she might depend upon all the assistance in her power, seated herself near her at the foot of the tree she had been sitting, and giving Lucy orders to join the rest of her woman, and stay at a distance till she made a sign to them to advance. She prepared to listen to the adventures of the fair unknown, who after some little pause began to relate them in this manner. The Female Coyote by Charlotte Lennox, Volume 2, Book 9, Chapter 4. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Female Coyote, Volume 2, by Charlotte Lennox, Book 9, Chapter 4. In which is related the history of the Princess of Gaul. My name, madam, is Sinisha, my birth illustrious enough, seeing that I am the daughter of a sovereign prince, who possesses a large and spacious territory in what is now called ancient Gaul. But, madam, interrupted Arabella, are you a princess then? Questionless I am, madam, replied the lady, and a princess happy and prosperous till the felicity of my life was interrupted by the perfidious Aramenes. Pardon me, madam, interrupted Arabella again, that my ignorance of your quality made me deficient in those respects which are due to your high birth and which notwithstanding those characters of greatness I might read in the lineaments of your visage I yet neglected to pay alas. Madam, said the stranger, that little beauty which the heavens bestowed on me only to make me wretched, as by the event it has proved, has long since taken its flight, and together with my happiness. I have lost that which made me unhappy, and certain it is grief has made such ravages among what might once have been thought tolerable in my face, that I should not be surprised if my being no longer fair should make you with difficulty believe I ever was so. Arabella, after a proper compliment and answer to this speech, entreated the princess to go on with her history, who, hesitating a little, complied with her request. Be pleased to know, then, madam, said she, that being bred up with all imaginable tenderness in my father's court, I had no sooner arrived to my sixteenth year than I saw myself surrounded with lovers, who, nevertheless, such was the severity with which I behaved myself, concealed their passions under a respectful silence. Well-knowing banishment from my presence was the least punishment they had to expect, if they presumed to declare their sentiments to me. I lived in this fashion, madam, for two years longer, rejoicing in the insensibility of my own heart and triumphing in the sufferings of others. When my tranquility was all at once interrupted by an accident which I am going to relate to you, the princess stopped here to give vent to some size, which a cruel remembrance forced from her, and continuing in a deep muse for five or six minutes resumed her story in this manner. If being my custom to walk in a forest adjoining to one of my father's summer residences, attended only by my women, one day when I was taking this amusement, I perceived at some distance a man lying on the ground, and impelled by a sudden curiosity I advanced towards this person, whom upon a nearer view I perceived to have been wounded very much, and fainted away through loss of blood. His habit being very rich, I concluded by that he was of no mean quality, but when I had looked upon his countenance, pale and languishing as it was, he thought there appeared so many marks of greatness, accompanied with a sweetness so happily blended that my attention was engaged in an extraordinary manner, and interested me so powerfully in his safety that I commanded some of my women to run immediately for proper assistance and convey him to the castle, while I directed others to throw some water in his face and to apply some linen to his wounds to stop the bleeding. These charitable cares restored the wounded stranger to his senses. He opened his eyes, and turning them slowly to the objects around him, fixed at last their languishing looks on me. When moved, as it should seem, to some respect by what he saw in my countenance, he rose with some difficulty from the ground in bowing almost down to it again, but that action seemed to pay me his acknowledgments for what he supposed I had done for his preservation. His extreme weakness, having obliged him to creep towards a tree against the back of which he supported himself, I went nearer to him, and having told him the condition in which I found him, and the orders I had dispatched for assistance, requested him to acquaint me with his name and quality and the adventure which had brought him into that condition. My name, madam, answered he, is Arya Menes. My birth is noble enough. I have spent some years in my travels and was returning to my native country when passing through this forest I was seized with an inclination to sleep. I had tied my horse to a tree, and retiring some few paces off, stretched myself at the foot of a large oak, whose branches promised me in agreeable shade. I had not yet closed my eyes when the slumber I invited was dissipated by the sound of some voices near me. A curiosity not natural to me made me listen to the discourse of these persons, whom by the tone of their voices, though I could not see them, I knew to be men. In short, madam, I was a witness to a most horrible scheme which they concerted together. My weaknesses will not permit me to enter into an exact detail of all I heard. The result of their conference was to seize the princess of this country and carry her off. Here, pursued Sainisha, I interrupted the stranger with a loud cry, which, giving him to understand whom I was, he apologized in the most graceful manner imaginable for the little respect he had hitherto paid me. I then entreated him to tell me if he had any opportunity of hearing the name of my designed ravisher, to whom he replied that he understood it to be Taksandar. This man, madam, was one of my father's favorites, and had long been secretly in love with me, and had been long secretly in love with me. Arya Menes then informed me that, being inflamed with rage against these impious villains, he rose from the ground, remounted his horse, and defied the two traitors aloud, threatening them with death, unless they abandoned their impious design. Taksandar made no answer but rushed furiously upon him, and had the baseness to suffer his wicked associate to assist him. But the valiant Arya Menes, though he spoke modestly of his victory, yet gave he to understand that he had made both the villains abandon their wicked enterprise with their lives. And that dismounting, in order to see if they were quite dead, he found himself so faint with the wounds he had received from them both, that he had not the strength to remount his horse. The crawling on, in hopes of meeting with some assistance, feigned away at last through weariness and lost blood. While he was giving me this account, the chariot I had sent for arrived, and having made such acknowledgments as the obligation I had received from him demanded, I caused him to get into the chariot, and sending one with him to appoint the prince, my father, with all that had happened, in the merit of this valiant stranger, I returned the same way I came with my women, my thoughts being wholly engrossed by this unknown. The service he had done me filled me with a gratitude and esteem for him, which prepared my heart for those tender sentiments I afterwards entertained to the ruin of my repose. I will not retire your patience, madame, with a minute detail of all the succeeding passages in my story. It shall suffice to tell you that Arya Meniz was received with extraordinary marks of esteem by my father, that his cure was soon completed, and that having vowed himself to my service, and declared an unalterable passion for me, I permitted him to love me, and gave him that share in my heart, which I fear not all his infidelities will ever deprive him of. His attachment to me was soon suspected by Taksandra's relations, who having secretly vowed his ruin endeavored to discover if I had admitted his addresses, and having made themselves masters of our secrets, by means of the treachery of one of my women, procured information to be given to my father of our mutual passion. Alas, what mischiefs did not this fatal discovery produce. My father, enraged to the last degree at this intelligence, confined me to my apartments, and ordered Arya Meniz to leave his dominions within three days. Spare me, madame, the repetition of what passed at our last said interview, which by large bribes to my guards he obtained. His fears, his agonies, his vows of everlasting fidelity, so soothed my melancholy at parting with him, and persuaded me of his constancy that I waited for several months with perfect tranquility for the performance of the promise he made me. To do my father such considerable services in the war he was engaged in with one of his neighbors, I should oblige him to give me to him for his reward. But alas, two years rolled on without bringing back the unfaithful Arya Meniz, my father died, and my brother who succeeded him, being about to force me to marry a prince whom I detested, I secretly quitted the court, and attended only by this faithful confident, whom you behold with me, and some few of my trusty domestics. I came hither in search of Arya Meniz, he having told me this country was the place of his birth. Polinor, the most prudent and faithful of my servants, undertook to find out the ungrateful Arya Meniz, whom yet I was willing to find excuses for, but all his inquiries were to no effect. The name of Arya Meniz was not known in this part of the world. Tired out with unsuccessful inquiries, I resolved to seek out some obscure plan, where I might in secret lament my misfortunes and expect the end of them in death. My attendants found me out such a retreat as I wanted in a neighboring village, which they called Twickenham, I think, from whence I often make excursions to this park, attendant only as you see, and here indulge myself in complaints upon the cruelty of my destiny. Sawful Sinisha here ended her story, to which in the course of her relation she had given a great many interruptions through the violence of her grief. And Arabella, after having said everything she could think on to alleviate her affliction, earnestly entreated her to accept of an asylum at her house, where she should be treated with all the respect due to her illustrious birth. The afflicted lady, though she respectfully declined this offer, yet expressed a great desire of commencing a strict amity with our fair heroine, who on her part made her the most tender protestations of friendship, the evening being almost closed they parted with great reluctancy on both sides, mutually promising to meet in the same place the next day. Sinisha, having enjoined her new friend absolute secrecy, Arabella was under a necessity of keeping this adventure to herself. And though she longed to tell Mr. Glanville, who came to visit her the next day, that the Countess was extremely mistaken when she maintained there were no more wandering princesses in the world, yet the engagement she had submitted to kept her silent. End of Book 9, Chapter 4. The Female Coyote, Volume 2 by Charlotte Lennox. Book 9, Chapter 5. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Female Coyote, Volume 2, Book 9, Chapter 5. A very mysterious chapter. Arabella, who impatiently longed for the hour of meeting the fair princess, with whom she was extremely delighted, consulted her watch so often, and discovered so much restlessness and anxiety that Mr. Glanville began to be surprised, and the more, as she preemptively commanded him not to attend her in her evening walk. This prohibition, which, though he durst not dispute, he secretly resolved to disobey, and as soon as she set out for the park with her usual attendance, he slipped out by a back door and keeping her in his sight, himself unseen, he ventured to watch her motions. As he had expected to unravel some great mystery, he was agreeably disappointed to find she continued her walk in the park with great composure, and though she was soon joined by the imaginary princess, yet conceiving her to be some young lady, with whom she had commenced an acquaintance at Richmond, his heart was at rest, and for fear of displeasing her he took a contrary path from that she was in, that he might not meet her, yet resolved to stay till he thought she would be inclined to return, and then show himself and conduct her home, a solicitude for which she did not imagine she need be offended. The two ladies being met after reciprocal compliments, the princess and treated Arabella to relate her adventures, who not being willing to violate the laws of romance, which require an unbounded confidence upon these occasions, began very succinctly to recount the history of her life, which as she managed it contained events almost as romantic and credible as any in her romances, winding them up with a confession that she did not hate Mr. Glanville, who she acknowledged to be one of the most faithful and zealous of lovers. Sinesia, with a sigh, congratulated her upon the fidelity of the lover, who by her description was worthy the place he possessed in her esteem, expressing a wish that she could see, unobserved by him, this gallant and generous person, Arabella, who that moment aspired him at a distance, yet advancing towards them told her, with a blush that overspread all her face, that her curiosity might be satisfied in the manner she wished for. Yonder added, she is the person we have been talking of. Sinesia, at these words, looking toward the place where her fair friend had directed, no sooner cast her eyes upon Mr. Glanville than giving a loud cry she sunk into the arms of Arabella, who, astonished and perplexed as she was, eagerly held them out to support her. Finding her in a swoon, she dispatched Lucy, who was near her, to look for some water to throw on her face. But that lady, breathing a deep sigh, opened her languishing eyes and fixed a melancholy look upon Arabella. Ah, madam, said she, wonder not at my affliction and surprise, since, in the person of your lover, I behold the ungrateful Arya Menes. O heavens, my fair princess, replied Arabella, what is it you say? Is it possible Glanville can be Arya Menes? He cried the afflicted princess with a disordered accent. He, whom I now behold, in whom you call Glanville, was once Arya Menes, she purgered, the ungrateful Arya Menes. Ado, madam, I cannot bear this sight. I will hide myself from the world forever, nor need you fear a rival or an enemy in your unfortunate Sainesha, who, if possible, will cease to love the unfaithful Arya Menes and will never hate the beautiful Arabella. Saying this, without giving her time to answer, she took hold of her confident by the arm and went away with so much swiftness that she went out of sight before Arabella was enough recovered from her astonishment to be able to entreat her stay. Our charming heroine, ignorant till now of the true state of her heart, was surprised to find it assaulted at once by all the passions which attended her disappointed love. Grief, rage, jealousy, and despair made so cruel a war on her gentle bosom that, unable either to express or to conceal the strong emotions with which she was agitated, she gave way to a violent burst of tears, leaning her head upon Lucy's shoulder, who wept as hardly as her lady, though ignorant of the cause of her affliction. Mr. Glanville, who was now near enough to take notice of her posture, came running with eager heart to see what was the matter, when Arabella roused from her ecstasy of grief by the sound of his steps, stood up her head and seeing him approach. Lucy cried she, shumbling with the violence of her resentment, tell that traitor to keep out of my sight, tell him I forbid him ever to appear before me again, and tell him, added she with a sigh that shook her whole tender frame, all the blood in his body is too little to wash away his guilt or to pacify my indignation, then hastily turning away she ran towards her other tendons, who were at some distance, and joining her women proceeded trekkly home. Mr. Glanville, amazed at this action, was making after her as fast as he could, when Lucy, crossing in his way, cried out to stop him. My lady, said she, did me tell you, traitor. Hey, day, interrupted Glanville, what the devil does the girl mean? Pray, sir, said she, let me deliver my message, I shall forget if you speak to me till I have said it all. Stay, let me see what comes next, no more traitor, I hope, said Glanville. No, sir, said Lucy. But there was something about washing and blood, and you must keep out of her sight, and not appear before the nation. Oh, dear! I forgot it half. My lady was in such a piteous taking, I forgot it. I believe as soon as she said it. What shall I do? No matter, said Glanville. I'll overtake her and ask. No, no, sir, said Lucy. Pray don't do that, sir. My lady will be very angry. I'll venture to ask her to tell me over again and come back and let you know it. But tell me, replied Glanville, was anything the matter with you, lady? She was in a piteous taking, you say. Oh, dear, yes, sir, said Lucy. But I was not bid to say anything about that. To be sure, my lady did cry sadly, inside as if her heart would break. But I don't know what was the matter with her. Well, said Glanville, excessively shocked at this intelligence, go to your lady. I am going home. You may bring me her message to my own apartment. Lucy did as she was desired. And Mr. Glanville, impatient as he was to unravel the mystery, yet dreading with his presence, should make Arabella be guilty of some extravagance before the servants who were with her. He followed slowly after her, resolving, if possible, to procure a private interview with the lovely visionary, for whose sorrow, though he suspected it was only to some ridiculous cause, he could not help being affected. CHAPTER VI. NOT MUCH PLANER THAN THE FORMER. Arabella, who had walked as fast as her legs would carry her, got home before Lucy could overtake her, and retiring to her chamber gave way to a fresh burst of grief, and bewailed the infidelity of Glanville in terms befitting Eclulia or Mandana. As soon as she saw Lucy enter, she started from her chair with great emotion. "'Thou comest,' said she, "'I know, to intercede for that ungrateful man, whose infidelity I am weak enough to lament. But open not thy mouth, I charge thee in his defense.' "'No indeed, madam,' said Lucy. "'Nor bring me any account of his tears, his desperation or his despair,' said Arabella, since questionless he will feign them all to deceive me.' Here Glanville, who had watched Lucy's coming and had followed her into Arabella's apartment, appeared at the door. "'O heavens!' cried Arabella, lifting up her fine eyes. Can it be that this disloyal man, unawed by the discovery of his guilt, again presumes to approach me? "'Dearest cousin,' said Glanville, "'what is the meaning of all this? How have I disobliged you? What is my offense? I beseech you tell me.' "'Ask the inconstant Arya-menes,' replied Arabella, the offense of the ungrateful Glanville. The betrayer of Sainisha can best answer that question to the deceiver of Arabella, and the guilt of the one can only be compared to the crimes of the other.' "'Good God!' interrupted Mr. Glanville, fretting excessively. What am I to understand by all this? On my soul, madam, I don't know the meaning of one word you say.' "'Oh, dissembler,' said Arabella, "'is it thus that thou wouldst impose upon my credulity? Does not the name of Arya-menes make thee tremble, then? And canst thou hear that of Sainisha without confusion?' "'Dear Lady Bella,' said Glanville, smiling, "'what are these names to me?' "'False man,' interrupted Arabella, "'dust thou presume to sport with thy crimes, then? Are not the treacheries of Arya-menes the crimes of Glanville? Could Arya-menes be false to the princess of Gaul, and can Glanville be innocent towards Arabella?' Mr. Glanville, who had never heard her in his opinion talk so ridiculously before, was so amazed at the incomprehensible stuff she uttered with so much emotion that he began to fear her intellects were really touched. His thought gave him a concern that spread itself in a moment over his countenance. He gazed on her with a fixed attention, dreading, yet wishing, she would speak again, equally divided between his hopes that her next speech would remove his suspicion and his fears that it might more confirm them. Arabella, taking notice of his pensive posture, turned away her head, lest by beholding him she should relent and treat him with less severity than she had intended, making at the same time a sign to him to be gone. "'Indeed, Lady Bella,' said Glanville, who understood her perfectly well, "'I cannot leave you in this temper. I must know how I have been so unfortunate as to offend you.' Arabella, no longer able to contain herself, burst into tears at this question. With one hand she made repeated signs to him to be gone, with the other she held her handkerchief to her eyes, vexed and ashamed at her weakness. But Mr. Glanville excessively shocked at this site, instead of leaving her, threw himself on his knees before her, and taking her hand, which she tenderly pressed to his lips. "'Good God, my dearest cousin,' said he, "'how you distract me by this behavior? Sure, something extraordinary must be the matter. What can it be that thus afflicts you? Am I the cause of these tears? Can I have offended you so much? Speak, dear madam, let me know my crime. Yet may I perish if I am conscious of any towards you.' "'Disloyal man,' said Arabella, disengaging her hand from his, "'Does then the crime of Arya-minis seem so light in thy apprehension that thou canst hope to be thought innocent by Arabella? No, no, ungrateful man, the unfortunate Sainisha shall have no cause to say that I will triumph in her spoils. I myself will be the minister of her revenge, and Glanville shall suffer for the crime of Arya-minis.' "'Who the devil is this Arya-minis?' cried Glanville, rising in a passion. "'And why am I to suffer for his crime, pray? For heaven's sake, dear cousin, don't let your imagination wander thus. Upon my soul I don't believe there is any such person as Arya-minis in the world.' "'Viol equivocator,' said Arabella, "'Arya-minis, though dead to Sainisha, is alive to the deluded Arabella. The crimes of Arya-minis are the guilt of Glanville, and if the one has made himself unworthy of the princess of Gaul by his perfidy and ingratitude, the other by his baseness and deceit merits nothing but contempt and detestation from Arabella.' "'Frenzy by my soul,' cried Glanville mutteringly between his teeth. "'This is downright frenzy. What shall I do?' "'Hence, for my presence,' resumed Arabella, "'false and ungrateful man, persecute me no more with the hateful offers of thy love. From this moment I banish thee from my thoughts forever, and neither as Glanville or as Arya-minis will I ever behold thee more. "'Today, dear cousin,' said Glanville, holding her, for she was endeavouring to rush by him, unwilling he should see the tears that had overspread her face as she pronounced those words. "'Hear me, I beg you, but one word. Who is it you mean by Arya-minis? Is it me? Tell me, madam, I beseech you. This is some horrid mistake. You have been imposed upon by some villainous artifice. Speak, dear Lady Bella, is it me you mean by Arya-minis? For so your last words seem to hint.' Arya, without regarding what he said, struggled violently to force her hand from his, and finding him still earnest to detain her, told him with an enraged voice that she would call for help if he did not unhand her directly. Poor Glanville, at this menace, submissively dropped her hand, and the moment she was free she flew out of the room and locking herself up in her closet, sent her commands to him by one of her women, whom she called to her, to leave her apartment immediately. CHAPTER VII. Being indeed no great matters, but being a prelude to greater. Mr. Glanville, who stood fixed like a statue in the place where Arabella had left him, was roused by this message, which though palliated a little by the girl that delivered it, who was not quite so punctual as Lucy, nevertheless filled him with extreme confusion. He obeyed, however, immediately, and retiring to his own apartment, endeavored to recall to his memory all Lady Bella had said. The ambiguity of her style, which had led him into a suspicion he had never entertained before, her last words had partly explained, if as he understood she did, she meant him by Arya Meniz. Taking this for granted, he easily conceived some plot grounded on her romantic notions had been laid to pre-possess her against him. Sir George's behavior to her rushed that moment into his thoughts. He instantly recollected all his fooleries, his history, his letter, his conversation, all apparently copied from those books she was so fond of, and probably done with a view to some other design upon her. These reflections joined to his new-awake suspicions that he was in love with her, convinced him he was the author of their present misunderstanding, and that he had imposed some new fallacy upon Arabella in order to promote a quarrel between them. Fired almost to madness at this thought, he stamped about his room, vowing revenge upon Sir George, execrating romances and cursing his own stupidity for not discovering Sir George was his rival, and knowing his plotting talent, not providing against his artifices. His first resolutions were to set out immediately for Sir George's seat, and force him to confess the part he had acted against him. But a moment's consideration convinced him that was not the most probable place to find him in, since it was much more likely he was waiting the success of his schemes in London, or perhaps at Richmond. Next to satiating his vengeance, the pleasure of detecting him in such a manner that he could not possibly deny or paliate his guilt was next his heart. He resolved therefore to give it out, that he was gone to London to make Lady Bella believe it was in obedience to her commands that he had left her, with a purpose not to return till he had cleared his innocence, but in reality to conceal himself in his own apartment, and see what effects his reputed absence would produce. Having thus taken his resolution, he sent for Mr. Roberts, his father's steward, to whose care he had entrusted Lady Bella in her retirement, and acquainting him with part of his apprehensions with regard to Sir George's attempts upon his cousin, he imparted to him his design of staying concealed there in order to discover more effectually those attempts, and to preserve Lady Bella from any consequence of them. Mr. Roberts approved of his design, and assured him of his vigilance and care, both in concealing his stay and also in giving him notice of everything that passed. Mr. Glanville then wrote a short billet to Arabella, expressing his grief for her displeasure, his departure in obedience to her orders, and his resolution not to appear in her presence, till he could give her convincing proofs of his innocence. This letter he sent by Roberts, which Arabella condescended to read, but would return no answer. Mr. Glanville then mounting his horse, which Roberts had ordered to be got ready, rode away, and leaving him at a house he sometimes put up at, returned on foot, and was led in by Mr. Roberts at the garden door, and conducted unseen to his chamber. While he passed that night and great part of the next day, meditating on the treachery of Sir George, and soothing his uneasiness with the hopes of revenge, Arabella, no less disquieted, mused on the infidelity of her lover, the despair of Sinisha, and the impossibility of her ever being happy. Then ransacking her memory for instances in her romances of ladies equally unfortunate with herself, she would sometimes compare herself to one lady, sometimes to another, adapting their sentiments and making use of their language in her complaints. Great part of the day being spent in this manner, the uneasy restlessness of her mind made her wish to see Sinisha again. She longed to ask her a hundred questions about the unfaithful Aryamenis, which the suddenness of her departure and her own astonishment prevented her from doing, when she made that fatal discovery which had cost her so much uneasiness. Sometimes a faint hope would arise in her mind that Sinisha might be mistaken through the great resemblance that possibly was between Aryamenis and Glanville. She remembered that Mandana had been deceived by the likeness of Cyrus to Spitridates, and concluded that illustrious prince in constant, because Spitridates, whom she took for Cyrus, saw her carried away without offering to rescue her. Dwelling with eagerness upon this thought, because it afforded her a temporary relief from others more tormenting, she resolved to go to the park, though she had but little hopes of finding Sinisha there, supposing it but too probable that the disturbance which the sight or fancied sight of Aryamenis had given her would confine her for some days to her chamber. Yet however small the probability was of meeting with her, she could not resist the impatient desire she felt of going to seek her. Dispensing therefore with the attendance of any other servant but Lucy, she left her apartment with the design of resuming her usual walk, when she was met at her stepping out of the door by Lady El's three daughters, who had visited her during her residence at Richmond, and another young lady. These ladies, who to vary the scene of their rural diversions, were going to cross over to Twickenham and walk there, pressed Lady Bella to accompany them. Our melancholy heroine refused them at first, but upon their repeated importunity, recollecting that the princess of Gaul had informed her she resided there, she consented to go in hopes some favorable chance might bring her in their way, or discover the place of her retreat, when she could easily find some excuse for leaving her companions and going to her. Mr. Roberts, who according to his instructions, narrowly watched Erebellus' motions, finding she did not command his attendance as usual, resolved however to be privately of this party. He had but just time to run up and acquaint Mr. Glanville, and then followed the ladies at a distance, who, taking boat, passed over to Twickenham, which he also did as soon as he saw them landed. BOOK NINE CHAPTER VIII Mr. Glanville, who did not doubt but Roberts would bring him some intelligence, sat waiting with anxious impatience for his return. The evening drew on a pace, he numbered the hours, and began to grow uneasy at Erebellus' long stay. His chamber window looking into the garden, he thought he saw his cousin, covered with her veil as usual, hastened down one of the walks. His heart leapt at this transient view. He threw up the sash, and, looking out, saw her very plainly strike into a crosswalk, and a moment after saw Sir George, who came out of a little summer house at her feet. Transported with rage at this sight, he snatched up his sword, flew down the stairs into the garden, and came running like a madman up the walk in which the lovers were. The lady observing him first, for Sir George's back was towards him, shrieked aloud, and not knowing what she did ran towards the house, crying for help, and came back as fast, yet not time enough to prevent mischief. For Mr. Glanville, actuated by an irresistible fury, cried out to Sir George to defend himself, who had but just time to draw his sword and make an ineffectual pass at Mr. Glanville when he received his into his body and fell to the ground. Mr. Glanville, losing his resentment insensibly at the sight of his rival's blood, threw down his sword and endeavored to support him, while the lady who had lost her veil in her running, and to the great astonishment of Mr. Glanville, proved to be his sister, came up to them with tears and exclamations, blaming herself for all that had happened. Mr. Glanville, with a heart throbbing with remorse for what he had done, gazed on his sister with an accusing look as she hung over the wounded baronet with streaming eyes, sometimes wringing her hands, then clasping them together in an agony of grief. Sir George, having strength enough left to observe her disorder, and the generous concerns of Glanville, who holding him in his arms, entreated his sister to send for proper assistance. Dear Charles, said he, you are too kind. I have used you very ill. I have deserved my death from your hand. You know not what I have been base enough to practice against you, if I can but live to clear your innocence to Lady Bellola, and free you from the consequences of this action I shall die satisfied. His strength failing him at these words he fainted away in Mr. Glanville's arms, who though now convinced of his treachery, was extremely shocked at the condition he saw him in. As Glanville renewing her tears and exclamations at this site, he was obliged to lace her George gently upon the ground, and ran to find out somebody to send for a surgeon, and to help him to convey him into the house. In his way he was met by Mr. Roberts, who was coming to seek him, and with the look of terror and confusion told him, Lady Bellola was brought home extremely ill, that her life had been in danger, and that she was but just recovered from a terrible fainting fit. Mr. Glanville, though greatly alarmed at this news, forgot not to take all possible care of Sir George, directing Roberts to get some person to carry him into the house, and giving him orders to procure proper assistance, flew to Lady Bellola's apartment. Her women had just put her to bed, raving as in a strong delirium. Mr. Glanville approached her, and finding she was in a violent fever, dispatched a man and horse immediately to town to get physicians and to acquaint his father with what had happened. Mr. Roberts, upon the surgeon's report that Sir George was not mortally wounded, came to inform him of this good news, but he found him incapable of listening to him, and in agony's not to be expressed. T'was with difficulty they forced him out of Erebellus' chamber into his own, where, throwing himself upon his bed, he refused to see or speak to anybody, till he was told Sir Charles and the physicians were arrived. He then ran eagerly to hear their opinions of his beloved cousin, which he soon discovered by their significant gestures and half-pronounced words to be very bad. They comforted him, however, with hopes that she might recover, and insisting upon her being kept very quiet, obliged him to quit the room. While all the necessary methods were taken to abate the violence of the disease, Sir Charles, who had been informed by his steward of his son's duel with Sir George, was amazed to the last degree at two such terrible accidents. Having seen his son to his chamber and recommended him to be patient and composed, he went to visit the young baronet, and was not a little surprised to find his daughter sitting at his bed's head, with all the appearance of a violent affliction. Indeed Miss Glanville's cares were so wholly engrossed by Sir George's, that she hardly ever thought of her cousin Erebellus, and had just stepped into her chamber while the surgeons were dressing Sir George's wound, and renewed her attendance upon him as soon as that was over. Miss Glanville, however, thought proper to make some trifling excuses to her father for her solicitude about Sir George, and the young baronet, on whom the fear of death produced its usual effects, and made him extremely concerned for the errors of his past life, and very desirous of atoning for them if possible, assured Sir Charles that if he lived he would offer himself to his acceptance for a son-in-law, declaring that he had basely trifled with the esteem of his daughter, but that she had wholly subdued him to herself by her forgiving tenderness. Sir Charles was very desirous of knowing the occasion of his quarrel with his son, but Sir George was too weak to hold any further conversation upon which Sir Charles, after a short visit, retired, taking Miss Glanville along with him, that the reader, whose imagination is no doubt upon the stretch to conceive the meaning of these two extraordinary incidents, may be left no longer in suspense, we think proper to explain them both in the following chapter, that we may in the next pursue our history without interruption. End of book 9, chapter 8. Book 9, chapter 9 of the Female Quixote, volume 2. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Female Quixote, volume 2 by Charlotte Lennox. Book 9, chapter 9, which will be found to contain information absolutely necessary for the right understanding of this history. Our fair and afflicted heroine, accompanied by the ladies we have mentioned, having crossed the river, pursued their walk upon its winding banks, entertaining themselves with the usual topics of conversation among young ladies, such as their winnings and losings at Bragg, the prices of silks, the newest fashions, the best haircutter, the scandal at the last assembly, et cetera. Arabella was so disgusted with this, as she thought, in sippid discourse, which gave no relief to the anxiety of her mind, but added a kind of fretfulness and impatience to her grief, that she resolved to quit them and, with Lucy, go in quest of the princess of Gaoul's retreat. The ladies, however, insisted upon her not leaving them, and her excuse that she was going in search of an unfortunate unknown, for whom she had vowed a friendship, made them all immediately resolved to accompany her, extremely diverted with the oddity of the design, and sacrificing her to their mirth by sly leers, whispers, stifle laughs, and a thousand little sprightly sallies, which the disconsulate Arabella took no notice of, so deeply where her thoughts engaged. Though she knew not which way to direct her steps, yet concluding the melancholy Sainisha would certainly choose some very solitary place for her residence, she rambled about among the least frequented paths, followed by the young ladies, who ardently desired to see this unfortunate unknown. Though at Arabella's earnest request, they promised not to show themselves to the lady, who, she informed them, for very urgent reasons, was obliged to keep herself concealed. Fatiguing as this ramble was to the delicate spirits of Arabella's companions, they were enabled to support it by the diversion her behavior afforded them. Every peasant she met, she inquired if a beautiful lady, disguised, did not dwell somewhere there about. To some she gave a description of her person, to others an account of the domestics that were with her, not forgetting her dress, her melancholy, and the great care she took to keep herself concealed. These strange inquiries, with the strange language in which they were made, not a little surprised the good people to whom she addressed herself, yet moved to respect by the majestic loveliness of her person, they answered her in the negative, without any mixture of scoff and impertinence. How unfavorable is chance, said Arabella, fretting at the disappointment, to persons who have any reliance upon it, this lady that I have been in search of so long without success, may probably be found by others who do not seek her, whose presence she may wish to avoid, yet not be able. The young ladies, finding it grew late, expressed their apprehensions at being without any attendance, and desired Arabella to give over her search for that day. Arabella at this hint of danger inquired very earnestly if they apprehended any attempts to carry them away, and without staying for an answer urged them to walk home as fast as possible, apologizing for the danger into which she had so indiscreetly drawn both them and herself, yet added her hopes that if any attempt should be made upon their liberty, some generous cavalier would pass by who would rescue them, a thing so common that they had no reason to despair of it. Arabella construing the silence with which her companions heard these assurances, into a doubt of their being so favored by fortune, proceeded to inform them of several instances wherein ladies met with unexpected relief and deliverance from ravishers. She mentioned particularly the rescue of Statera by her own brother, whom she imagined for many years dead, that of the Princess Baroness by an absolute stranger, and many others whose names, characters, and adventures she occasionally run over, all which the young ladies heard with inconceivable astonishment, and the detail had such an effect upon Arabella's imagination, bewildered as it was in the follies of romance, that spying three or four horsemen riding along the road towards them, she immediately concluded they would all be seized and carried off. Possessed with this belief, she uttered a loud cry and flew to the waterside, which, alarming the ladies, who could not imagine what was the matter, they ran after her as fast as possible. Arabella stopped when she came to the waterside, and looking round about, and not perceiving any boat to waft them over to Richmond, a thought suddenly darted into her mind, worthy of those ingenious books which gave it birth, turning therefore to the ladies, who all at once were inquiring the cause of her fright. "'Tis now, my fair companions,' said she with a solemn accent, that the destinies have furnished you with an opportunity of displaying in a manner truly heroic, the sublimity of your virtue and the grandeur of your courage to the world. The action we have it in our power to perform will immortalize our fame and raise us to a pitch of glory equal to that of the renowned Clelia herself. Like her we may expect statues erected to our honor, like her be proposed as patterns to heroines in ensuing ages, and like her, perhaps, meet with sceptres and crowns for our reward. What that beautyous Roman lady performed to preserve herself from violation by the impious sex-tis let us imitate to avoid the violence our intended ravishers yonder come to offer us. Fortune which has thrown us into this exigence presents us the means of gloriously escaping, and the admiration and esteem of all ages to come will be the recompense of our noble daring. Once more, my fair companions, if your honor be dear to you, if an immortal glory be worth your seeking, follow the example I shall set you, and equal with me the Roman Clelia. Saying this, she plunged into the Thames, intending to swim over it, as Clelia did the Tiber. The young ladies who had listened with silent astonishment at the long speech she had made them, the purport of which not one of them understood, screamed out aloud at this horrid spectacle, and wringing their hands ran backwards and forwards like distracted persons, crying for help. Lucy tore her hair and was in the utmost agony of grief, when Mr. Roberts, who as we have said before, kept them always in sight, having observed Arabella running towards the waterside, followed them as fast as he could, and came time enough to see her frantic action. Jumping into the river immediately after her, he caught hold of her gown, and drew her after him to the shore. About that instant appearing, he put her into it, senseless, and to all appearance dead. He and Lucy supporting her. They were wafted over in a few moments to the other side. Her house being near the river, Mr. Roberts carried her in his arms to it, and as soon as he saw her show signs of returning life, left her to the care of the women, who made haste to put her into a warm bed, and ran to find out Mr. Glanville as we have related. The remains now only to account for Sir George and Miss Glanville's sudden appearance, which happened, gentle reader, exactly as follows. Miss Glanville, having set out pretty late in the afternoon, with the design of staying all night at Richmond. As her shades drove up Q Lane, saw one of her cousin's women, Deborah by name, talking to a gentleman, whom, not withstanding the disguise of a horseman's coat, and a hat slouched over his face, she knew to be Sir George Belmore. This sight alarming her jealousy, and renewing all her former suspicions, that her cousin's charms rivaled hers in his heart. As soon as she alighted, finding Arabella was not at home, she retired in great anguish of mind to her chamber, revolving in her mind every particular of Sir George's behavior to her cousin in the country, and finding new cause for suspicion in everything she recollected, and reflecting upon the disguise in which she saw him, and his conference with her woman, she concluded herself had all along been the dupe of his artifice, and her cousin the real object of his love. This thought throwing her into an extremity of rage, all her tenderest emotions were lost in the desire of revenge. She imagined to herself so much pleasure from exposing his treachery, and putting it out of his power to deny it, that she resolved whatever it cost her to have that satisfaction. Supposing therefore Debra was now returned, she rung her bell, and commanded her attendance on her in her chamber. The stern brow with which she received her frightened the girl, conscious of her guilt, into a disposition to confess all, even before she was taxed with anything. Miss Glanville saw her terror, and endeavored to heighten it by entering at once into complaints and exclamations against her, threatening to acquaint her father with her plots to betray her lady, and assuring her of a very severe punishment for her treachery. The girl terrified extremely at these menaces, begged Miss Glanville with tears to forgive her, and not to acquaint her Charles or her lady with her fault, adding that she would confess all, and never while she lived, do such a thing again. Miss Glanville would make her no promises, but urged her to confess. Upon which Debra, sobbing, owned that for the sake of the presence Sir George had made her, she consented to meet him privately from time to time, and give him an account of everything that passed with regard to her lady, not thinking there was any harm in it. That, according to his desires, she had constantly acquainted him with all her lady's motions, when, and where she went, how she had Mr. Glanville agreed, and a hundred other things which he inquired about. That that day, in particular, he had entreated her to procure him the means of an interview with her lady, if possible, and understanding Mr. Glanville was not at Richmond, she had let him privately into the garden, where she hoped to prevail upon her lady to go. What, said Miss Glanville, surprised, is Sir George waiting for my cousin in the garden then? Yes indeed, madam, said Debra, but I'll go and tell him to wait no longer, and never speak to him again if your ladyship will be but pleased to forgive me. Miss Glanville, having taken her resolution, not only promised Debra her pardon, but also a reward, provided she would contrive it so that she might meet Sir George instead of her cousin. The girl, having the true chambermaid spirit of intrigue in her, immediately proposed her putting on one of her lady's veils, which as it was now the close of the evening, would disguise her sufficiently, to which Miss Glanville transported with the thoughts of thus having an opportunity of convincing Sir George of his perfidy, and reproaching him for it, consented, and bid her bring it without being observed into her chamber. Debra informing her that Sir George was concealed in the summer house, as soon as she had equipped herself with Arabella's veil, she went into the walk that led to it. And Sir George, believing her to be that lady, hastened to throw himself at her feet, and had scarce got through half a speech he had studied for his present purpose, when Mr. Glanville gave a fatal interruption to his heroics, in the manner we have already related. A short chapter indeed, but full of matter. Richmond was now a scene of the utmost confusion and distress. Arabella's fever was risen to such a height that she was given over by the physicians, and Sir George's wounds, though not judged mortal at first, yet by the great effusion of blood had left him in so weak a condition that he was thought to be in great danger. Sir Charles, almost distracted with the fears of the consequences of Sir George's death, entreated his son to quit the kingdom. But Mr. Glanville protesting he would rather die than leave Arabella in that illness, he was obliged to give bail for his appearance, in case Sir George died. This affair, notwithstanding all endeavours to prevent it, having made a great noise. Poor Sir Charles, oppressed as he was with the weight of all these calamities, was yet obliged to labour incessantly to keep up the spirits of his son and daughter. The subtle despair of the one, and the silent swelling grief of the other, cut him to the heart. He omitted no arguments his paternal affection suggested to him, to moderate their affliction. Mr. Glanville often endeavoured to assume a composure he was very far from feeling, in order to satisfy his father. But Miss Glanville, looking upon herself to be the cause of Sir George's misfortune, declared she should be miserable all her life if he died. Arabella in her lucid intervals, being sensible of her danger, prepared for death with great piety and constancy of mind, having solemnly assured Mr. Glanville of her forgiveness, who would not at that time enter into an explanation of the affair which had given her offence for fear of perplexing her. She permitted his presence often in her chamber, and desired with great earnestness the assistance of some worthy divine in her preparations for death. The pious and learned Dr. Blank, at Sir Charles' intimation of his niece's desire, came constantly twice a day to attend her. Her fever, by a favourable crisis, and the great skill of her physicians, left her in a fortnight. But this violent distemper had made such a ravage in her delicate constitution, and reduced her so low that there seemed very little probability of her recovery. Dr. Blank, in whom her unfaigned piety, her uncommon firmness of mind, had created a great esteem and tenderness for her, took all opportunities of comforting, exhorting, and praying by her. The occasion of her illness being the subject of everybody's conversation at Richmond, he gently hinted it to her, and urged her to explain her reasons for so extravagant an action. In the divine frame Arabello was then in, this action appeared to her rash and vain glorious, and she acknowledged it to be so to her pious monitor. Yet she related the motives which induced her to it, the danger which she was in of being carried away, the parody of her circumstances then with Clalia, and her emulous desire of doing as much to preserve her honor as that renowned Roman lady did for hers. The good doctor was extremely surprised at this discourse. He was beginning to think her again delirious, but Arabello added to this account such sensible reasoning on the nature of that fondness for fame, which prompted her to so rash and undertaking, that the doctor left her in strange embarrassment, not knowing how to account for a mind at once so enlightened and so ridiculous. Mr. Glanville, meeting him as he came out of her chamber, the doctor took this opportunity to acknowledge the difficulties Arabello's inconsistent discourse had thrown him into. Mr. Glanville, taking him into his own apartment, explained the nature of that seeming inconsistency, and expatiated at large upon the disorders Romances had occasioned in her imagination, several instances of which he recounted, and filled the doctor with the greatest astonishment and concern. He lamented pathetically the ruin such a ridiculous study had brought on so noble a mind, and assured Mr. Glanville he would spare no endeavours to rescue it from so shocking a delusion. Mr. Glanville thanked him for his good design, with the transport which his fears of his cousin's danger almost mingled with tears, and the doctor and he agreed to expect for some few days longer an alteration for the better in the health of her body before he attempted the cure of her mind. Mr. Glanville's extreme anxiety had made him in appearance neglect the repentant Sir George, contenting himself with constantly sending twice a day to inquire after his health, but had not yet visited him. No sooner had the physicians declared that Arabello was no longer in danger than his mind being freed from that tormenting load of suspense under which it had laboured while her recovery was yet doubtful, he went to Sir George's chamber, who by reason of his weakness, though he was also upon the recovery, still kept his bed. Sir George, though he ardently wished to see him, yet conscious of the injuries he had both done and designed him could not receive his visit without extreme confusion. But entering into the cause of their quarrel, as soon as he was able to speak, he freely acknowledged his fault and all the steps he had taken to supplant him in Arabello's affection. Mr. Glanville understanding by this means that he had bribed a young actress to personate a princess forsaken by him, and had taught her all that heap of absurdity with which she had imposed upon Arabello, as has been related, desired only by way of reparation that when his cousin was in a condition to be spoken to upon that subject, he would condescend to own the fraud to her, with Sir George faithfully promising an act of oblivion passed on Mr. Glanville's side for all former injuries, and a solemn assurance from Sir George of inviolable friendship for the future. An assurance, however, which Mr. Glanville would willingly have dispensed with, for though not of a vindictive temper it was one of his maxims, that a man who had once betrayed him, it would be an error in policy ever to trust again.