 Volume 4 Chapter 3 of A Simple Story. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Joyce Martin. A Simple Story by Elizabeth Inchbald. Volume 4 Chapter 3 Volume 4 Chapter 3 of A Simple Story. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Joyce Martin. A Simple Story by Elizabeth Inchbald. Volume 4 Chapter 3 Lord Elmwood had now allowed Rushbrook along vacation in respect to his answer upon the subject of marriage, and the young man vainly imagined his intentions upon that subject were entirely given up. One morning, however, as he was attending him in the library, Henry, said the uncle with applause at the beginning of his speech, which indicated that he was going to say something of importance. Henry, you have not forgot the discourse I had with you a little time previous to your illness. Henry hesitated, for he wished to have forgotten it, but it was too strongly impressed upon his memory. Lord Elmwood resumed, What, equivocating again, sir? Do you remember it or do you not? Yes, my lord, I do. And are you prepared to give me an answer? Rushbrook paused again. In our former conversation continued the earl. I gave you but a week to determine. There has, I think, elapsed since that time half a year. About as much, sir. Then surely you have now made up your mind? I had done that at first, my lord, if it had met with your concurrence. You wished to lead a bachelor's life, I think you said? Rushbrook bowed. Contrary to my will? No, my lord, I wished to have your approbation. And you wished for my approbation of the very opposite thing that I proposed, but I am not surprised, such is the gratitude of the world and such is yours. My lord, if you doubt my gratitude, give me proof of it, Henry, and I will doubt no longer. Upon every other subject but this, my lord, heaven is my witness, your happiness. Lord Elmwood interrupted him. I understand you, upon every other subject, but the only one, my content requires. You are ready to obey me, I thank you. My lord, do not torture me with this suspicion, it is so contrary to my desserts that I cannot bear it. Suspicion of your ingratitude? You judge too favorably of my opinion, it amounts to certainty. Then I convince you, sir, I am not ungrateful. Tell me who the lady is you have chosen for me, and here I give you my word. I will sacrifice all my future prospects of happiness, all for which I would wish to live, and become her husband as soon as you shall appoint. This was spoken with a tone so expressive of despair that lord Elmwood replied, And while you obey me, you take care to let me know it will cost you your future peace. That is, I suppose, to enhance the merit of the obligation, and I shall not accept your acquiescence on these terms. Then, in dispensing with it, I hope for your pardon. Do you suppose, Rushbrook, I can pardon and offence the sole foundation of which arises from a spirit of disobedience, for you have declared to me your affections are disengaged. In our last conversation, did you not say so? First I did, my lord, but you permitted me to consult my heart more closely, and I have since found that I was mistaken. You then own you at first told me a falsehood, and yet have all this time kept me in suspense without confessing it. I waited, my lord, till you should inquire. You have, then, sir, waited too long, and the fire flashed from his eyes. Rushbrook now found himself in that perilous state, that admitted of no medium of resentment, but by such dastardly conduct on his part as would wound both his truth and courage, and thus animated by his danger, he was resolved to plunge boldly at once into the depth of his patron's anger. My lord, said he, but he did not undertake this task without sustaining the trembling and convulsion of his whole frame. My lord, waiting for a moment the subject of my marriage, permit me to remind you that when I was upon my sick bed, you promised that on my recovery you would listen to a petition I should offer to you. Let me recollect, reply he. Yes, I do remember something of it, but I said nothing to warrant any improper petition. Its impropriety was not named, my lord. No matter that you must judge of an answer for the consequences. I would answer with my life willingly, but I own that I shrink from your anger. Then do not provoke it. I have already gone too far to recede, and you would of course demand an explanation if I attempted to stop here. I should? Then, my lord, I am bound to speak, but do not interrupt me, hear me out, before you banish me from your presence forever. Well, sir, replied he, preparing to hear something that would displease him, and yet determined to hear with patience the conclusion. Then, my lord, cried Rushbrook in the greatest agitation of mind and body, your daughter. The resolution Lord Elmwood had taken, and on which he had given his word to his nephew not to interrupt him, immediately gave way. The color rose in his face, his eye darted lightning, his hand was lifted up with the emotion that word created. You promised to hear, my lord, cried Rushbrook, and I claim your promise. He now suddenly overcame his violence of passion and stood silent and resigned to hear him, but with a determined look expressive of the vengeance that should ensue. Lady Matilda, resumed Rushbrook, is an object that rests from me the enjoyment of every blessing your kindness bestows. I cannot but feel myself as her adversary, as one who has supplanted her in your affections, whose supplies her place, while she is exiled a wanderer and an orphan. The Earl took his eyes from Rushbrook during this last sentence, and cast them to the floor. If I feel gratitude towards you, my lord, continued he, gratitude is innate in my heart, and I must also feel it toward her, who first introduced me to your protection. Again the color flew to Lord Elmwood's face, and again he could hardly restrain himself from uttering his indignation. It was the mother of Lady Matilda, continued Rushbrook, who was this friend to me, nor will I ever think of marriage or any other joyful prospect while you abandoned the only child of my beloved patroness and load me with rights which belong to her. Here Rushbrook stopped. Lord Elmwood was silent too, for near half a minute, but still his continence continued fixed with his unvaried resolves. After this long pause the Earl said with composure, but with firmness, Have you finished, Mr. Rushbrook? All that I dare to utter, my lord, and I fear I have already said too much. Rushbrook now trembled more than ever and looked pale as death for the ardor of speaking being over he waited his sentence with less constancy of mind than he expected he should. You disapprove my conduct, it seems, said Lord Elmwood, and in that you are but like the rest of the world, and yet among all my acquaintance you are the only one who has dared to insult me with your opinion, and this you have not done inadvertently but willingly and deliberately. But as it has been my fate to be used ill and severed from all those persons to whom my soul has been most attached, with less regret I can part from you than if this were my first trial. There was a truth and a pathetic sound in the utterance of these words that struck Rushbrook to the heart, and he beheld himself as a barbarian who had treated his benevolent and only friend within sufferable liberty and void of respect for those corroding sorrows which had embittered so many years of his life and in open violation of his most peremptory commands. He felt that he deserved all he was going to suffer and he fell upon his knees not so much to deprecate the doom he saw impending, as thus humbly to acknowledge it was his due. Lord Elmwood, irritated by this posture as a sign of the presumptuous hope he might be forgiven, suffered now as anger to burst all bounds and raising his voice he exclaimed in a rage, Leave my house, sir, leave my house instantly and seek some other home. Just as these words were begun, Sanford opened the library door and was witness to them and to the imploring situation of Rushbrook. He stood silent with amazement. Rushbrook arose, and feeling in his mind a presage that he might never from that hour behold his benefactor more as he bowed in token of obedience to his commands a shower of tears covered his face, but Lord Elmwood unmoved fixed his eyes upon him which pursued him with enraged looks to the end of the room. Here he had to pass Sanford, who for the first time in his life took hold of him by the hand and said to Lord Elmwood, My Lord, what is the matter? That ungrateful villain cried he, he dared to insult me. Leave my house this moment, sir. Rushbrook made an effort to go, but Sanford still held his hand and meekly said to Lord Elmwood, He is but a boy, my Lord, and do not give him the punishment of a man. Rushbrook now snatched his hand from Sanford and threw it with himself upon his neck, where he indeed saw up like a boy. You are both in league, exclaimed Lord Elmwood. Do you suspect me of partiality to Mr. Rushbrook, said Sanford, advancing nearer to the Earl? Rushbrook had now gained the point of remaining in the room, but the hope that privilege inspired, while he still harbored all the just apprehensions for his fate, gave birth perhaps to a more exquisite sense of pain than despair would have done. He stood silent, confounded, hoping that he was forgiven, fearing that he was not. As Sanford approached still nearer to Elmwood he continued, No, my Lord, I know you do not suspect me of partiality to Mr. Rushbrook. Has any part of my behavior ever discovered it? You now then only interfere to provoke me. If that were the case, returned Sanford, there have been occasions when I might have done it more effectively, when my own heart strings were breaking, because I would not provoke or add to what you suffered. I am obliged to you, Mr. Sanford, he returned mildly, and if, my Lord, I have provoked any merit in a late forbearance, reward me for it now, and take this young man from the depth of despair in which I see he is sunk, and say you pardon him. Lord Elmwood made no answer, and Rushbrook, drawing strong inferences of hope from his silence, lifted up his eyes from the ground and ventured to look in his face. He found it composed to what it had been, but still strongly marked with agitation. He cast his eyes away again in confusion. And which his uncle said to him, I shall postpone executing your obedience to my late orders, till you think fit once more to provoke them, and then not even Sanford shall dare to plead your excuse. Rushbrook bowed. Go, leave the room, sir. He instantly obeyed. Then Sanford, turning to Lord Elmwood, shook him by the hand and cried, My Lord, I thank you, I thank you very kindly, my Lord, I shall now begin to think I have some weight with you. You might indeed think so, did you know how much I have pardoned. What was his offence, my Lord? Such as I would not have forgiven you or any earthly being besides himself, but while you were speaking on his behalf I recollected that there was a gratitude so extraordinary in the hazards he ran that almost made him pardonable. I guess the subject then cried Sanford, and yet I could not have supposed it is a subject we cannot speak on, Sanford, therefore let us drop it. At these words the discourse concluded. End of chapter 3 of volume 4, recording by Joyce Martin. Volume 4, chapter 4 of A Simple Story. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Joyce Martin. A Simple Story by Elizabeth Inchbald. Volume 4, chapter 4. To the relief of Rushbrook, Lord Elmwood that day dined from home, and he had not the confusion to see him again till the evening. Previous to this, Sanford and he meant at dinner, but as the attendants were present nothing passed on either side respecting the incident in the morning. Rushbrook, from the peril which had so lately threatened him, was now in his perfectly cool and dispassionate senses, and not withstanding the real tenderness which he bore to the daughter of his benefactor, he was not insensible to the comfort of finding himself. He was more and more in the possession of all those enjoyments he had forfeited, and for a moment lost. As he reflected on this, to Sanford he felt the first tie of acknowledgement, but for his compassion he knew he should have been, at the very time of their meeting at dinner, away from Elmwood House forever, and bearing on his mind a still more painful recollection, the birthing of his kind patron's continual displeasure. Filled with these thoughts, all the time of dinner he could scarce look at his companion without tears of gratitude, and whenever he attempted to speak to him, gratitude choked his utterance. Sanford, on his part, behaved just the same as ever, and to show he did not wish to remind Rushbrook of what he had done, he was just as uncivil as ever. Among other things he said, he did not know Lord Elmwood dined from home, for if he had he should have dined in his own apartment. Rushbrook was still more obliged to him for all this, and the weight of obligations with which he was oppressed made him long for an opportunity to relieve himself by expressions. As soon therefore as the servants were all withdrawn he began. Mr. Sanford, whatever has been your opinion of me, I take pride to myself that in my sentiments toward you I have always distinguished you for that humane, disinterested character you have this day proved. Humane and disinterested replied Sanford, are flattering efflits indeed for an old man going out of the world and who can have no temptation to be otherwise. Then suffer me to call your actions generous and compassionate, for they have saved me. I know young man cried Sanford interrupting him. You are glad at what I have done and that you find a gratification in telling me you are, but it is a gratification I will not indulge you with. Therefore say another sentence on the subject and, rising from his seat, I'll leave the room and never come into your company again whatever your uncle may say to it. Rushbrook saw by the solemnity of his continence he was serious and positively assured him he would never thank him more, on which Sanford took his seat again but still frowned, and it was many minutes before he conquered his ill-humour. As his continence became less sour Rushbrook fell from some general topics he had eagerly started in order to appease him and said, How hard it is to restrain conversations from the subject of our thoughts, and yet amissed our dearest friends and among persons who have the same dispositions and sentiments as our own, their minds, too, fixed upon the self-same objects, is this constraint practiced and thus society, which was meant for one of our greatest blessings, becomes insipid, nay, often more wearisome than solitude. I think, young man, replied Sanford, you have made pretty free with your speech today and ought not to complain of the want of toleration on that score. I do complain, replied Rushbrook, for if toleration was more frequent the favour of obtaining it would be less. And your pride, I suppose, is above receiving a favour. Never from those I esteem and to convince you of it I wish this moment to request a favour of you. I dare say I shall refuse it, however what is it? Permit me to speak to you upon the subject of Lady Matilda. Never may no answer consequently did not forbid him, and he proceeded, For her sake, as I suppose Lord Elmwood may have told you, I this morning rashly threw myself into the predicament from whence you released me. For her sake I have suffered much. For her sake I have hazarded a great deal and am still ready to hazard more. But for your own sake do not return, Sanford, dryly. You may laugh at these sentiments as romantic, Mr. Sanford, but if they are, to me they are nevertheless natural. But of what service are they to be either to her or to yourself? To me they are painful and to her would be impertinent were she to know them. I shan't inform her of them, so do not trouble yourself to caution me against it. I was not going. You know I was not. But I was going to say that from no one so well as from you could she be told my sentiments without the danger of receiving offense. And what impression do you wish to give her from her becoming acquainted with them? The impression that she has one sincere friend, that upon every occurrence in life there is a heart so devoted to all she feels that she never can suffer without the sympathy of another, or can ever command him and all his fortunes to unite for her welfare without his ready, his immediate compliance. And do you imagine that any of your professions or any of her necessities would ever prevail upon her to put you to the trial? Perhaps not. What then are the motives which induce you to wish her to be told of this? Rushbrook paused. Do you think, continued Sanford, the indulgence will give her any satisfaction? Perhaps not. Will it be of any to yourself, the highest in the world? And so all you have been urging upon this occasion is, at last, only to please yourself. You wrong my meaning. It is her merit which inspires me with the desire of being known to her. It is her sufferings, her innocence, her beauty. Sanford started. Rushbrook proceeded. Nay, stop where you are, cried Sanford. You are arrived at the zenith of perfection in a woman, and to add one qualification more would be an anticlimax. Oh, cried Rushbrook with warmth. I loved her before I ever beheld her. Loved her, cried Sanford with astonishment. You are talking of what you did not intend. I am indeed returned he in confusion. I fell by accident on the word love. And by the same accident stumbled on the word beauty, and thus by accident am I come to the truth of all your professions. Rushbrook knew that he loved, and though his affection had sprung from the most laudable motives, yet he was ashamed of it as of a vice. He rose, he walked about the room, and he did not look Sanford in the face for a quarter of an hour. Sanford satisfied that he had judged rightly, and yet unwilling to be too hard upon a passion, which he readily believed must have had many noble virtues for its foundation, now got up and went away without saying a word in censor, though not a word in approbation. It was in the month of October, and just dark at the time Rushbrook was left alone, yet in the agitation of his mind arising from the subject on which he had been talking. He found it impossible to remain in the house, and therefore walked into the fields, but there was another instigation more powerful than the necessity of walking. It was the allurement of passing along that path where he had less seen Lady Matilda, and where, for the only time, she had condescended to speak to him divested of haughtiness, and with a gentleness that dwelled upon his memory beyond all her other endowments. Here he retraced his own steps repeatedly, his whole imagination engrossed with her idea, till the sound of her father's carriage returning from his visit roused him from the delusion of his trance, to the dread of the confusion and embarrassment he should endure on next meeting him. He hoped Sanford might be present, and yet he was now almost as much ashamed of seeing him as his uncle whom he had so lately offended. Loath to leave the spot where he was, as to enter the house, he remained there till he considered it would be ill-mannered in his present humiliated situation, not to show himself at the usual supper-hour, which was immediately. As he laid his hand upon the door of the apartment to open it, he was sorry to hear by Lord Elmwood's voice. He was in the room before him, for there was something much more conspicuously distressing in entering where he already was than had his uncle come in after him. He found himself, however, reassured by overhearing the earl laugh and speak in a tone expressive of the utmost good humor to Sanford who was with him. Yet again he felt all the awkwardness of his own situation. But making one courageous effort opened the door and entered. Lord Elmwood had been away half the day, had dined abroad, and it was necessary to take some notice of his return. Rushbrook therefore bowed humbly and what was more to his advantage, he looked humbly. His uncle made a slight return to the salutation, but continued the recital he had begun to Sanford, then sat down to the supper-table, supped, and passed the whole evening without saying a syllable or even casting a look in remembrance of what had passed in the morning. Or, if there was any token that showed he remembered the circumstance at all, it was the putting his glass to his nephews when Rushbrook called for wine and drinking at the time he did. End of Chapter 4, Volume 4, Recording by Joyce Martin Volume 4, Chapter 5 of A Simple Story This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Joyce Martin A Simple Story by Elizabeth Inchbald Volume 4, Chapter 5 A Simple Story by Elizabeth Inchbald Volume 5 The repulse Lord Margrave received did not diminish the ardor of his pursuit, for as he was no longer afraid of resentment from the earl, whatever treatment his daughter might receive, he was determined the anger of Lady Matilda, or of her female friend, should not impede his pretensions. Having taken this resolution, he laid the plan of an open violation of all right and that prize by force which no art was likely to procure. He concerted with two of his favorite companions, but their advice was, One struggle more of fair means. This was totally against his inclination, for he had much rather have encountered the piercing cries of a female in the last agonies of distress than the fatigue of her sentimental harangues, or elegant reproofs, such as her curiosity to answer. Stimulated, however, by his friends, to one more trial, in spite of the formal dismission he had twice received, he intruded another visit on Lady Matilda at the farm. Provoked beyond bearing at such unfeeling assurance, Matilda refused to come into the room where he was, and Miss Woodley alone received him and expressed her surprise at the little attention he had paid to her Madam, replied the nobleman, to be plain with you, I am in love. I do not the least doubt it, my Lord, replied Miss Woodley, nor ought you to doubt the truth of what I advance when I assure you that you have not the smallest reason to hope your love will be returned, for Lady Matilda is resolved never to listen to your passion. That man, he replied, is to blame who can relinquish his hopes upon the mere lady. And that lady would be wrong, replied Miss Woodley, who should entrust her happiness in the care of a man who can think thus mainly of her and of her sex. I think highly of them all, he replied, and to convince you in how high an estimation I hold her, in particular, my whole fortune is at her command. Your entire absence from this house, my Lord, she would consider as a much greater mark of your respect. The long conversation, as interesting as this, ensued. The unexpected arrival of Mr. Sanford put an end to it. He started at the sight of Lord Margrave, but the viscount was much more affected at the sight of him. My Lord, said Sanford boldly to him, have you received any encouragement from Lady Matilda to authorize this visit? None upon my honor, Mr. Sanford, but I hope you know a rational lover. A rational one, I do, but you, my Lord, are not of that class while you persecute the pretended object of your affection. Do you call it persecution that I once offered her a share of my title and fortune, and even now declare my fortune is at her disposal? Sanford was uncertain whether he understood his meaning. But Lord Margrave, provoked at his ill reception, fell thus. For the discarded daughter of Lord Elmwood cannot expect the same proposals which I made while she was acknowledged and under the protection of her father. What proposals, then, my Lord? asked Sanford hastily. Such replied he as the Duke of Avon made to her mother. Miss Woodley quitted the room that instant, but Sanford, who never felt resentment but against those in whom he saw you, calmly replied. My Lord, the Duke of Avon was a gentleman, a man of elegance and breeding, and what have you to offer in recompense for your defects and qualities like these. My wealth, replied he, opposed to her indulgence. Sanford smiled and answered. Do you suppose that wealth can be esteemed which has not been able to make you respectable? What is it makes wealth able, the pleasure of living in a fine house or of wearing fine clothes? These are pleasures, a Lord enjoys, but in common with his valet. It is the pleasure of being conspicuous which makes riches desirable, but if we are conspicuous only for our vice and folly, had we not better remain in poverty? You are beneath my notice. I trust I shall continue so and that your lordship will tend to come where I am. A man of rank condescends to mix with any society when a pretty woman is the object. My Lord, I have a book here in my pocket which I am eager to read. It is an author who speaks sense and reason. Will you pardon the impatience if I feel for such company and may permit me to call your carriage? Saying this he went hastily and beckoned to the servant and Lord Margrave ashamed to be exposed before his attendants and convinced of the inutility of remaining any longer where he was departed. Sanford was soon joined by the ladies and the conversation falling of course upon the nobleman who had just taken his leave. Sanford unwarily exclaimed, I wish Rushbrook had been here. Who? cried Lady Matilda. I do believe, said Miss Woodley, a great many returned Sanford mutteringly. Happy young man, cried Matilda, he is beloved by all those whose affection it would be my choice to possess beyond any other blessing this world could bestow. And yet I question if Rushbrook is happy, said Sanford. He cannot be otherwise returned Matilda if he is a man of understanding. He does not want understanding neither, replied Sanford, although he has certainly many indiscretions. But which, Lord Elmward, I suppose, that Matilda looks upon with tenderness. Not upon all his faults answered Sanford, for I have seen him in very dangerous circumstances with your father. Have you indeed, cried Matilda, then I pity him. And I believe, said Miss Woodley, that from his heart he compassionates you. I have heard you speak in his favor, and I once thought as indifferently of Mr. Rushbrook as you can do. Yet now I will venture to ask you whether you do not think he wishes Lady Matilda much happier than she is. I have heard him say so, answered Sanford. It is a subject, returned Lady Matilda, which I did not imagine you, Mr. Sanford, would have permitted him to have mentioned lightly in your presence. And your situation into ridicule? No, sir. But there is a sort of humiliation in the grief to which I am doomed that ought surely to be treated with the highest degree of delicacy by my friends. I don't think on what point you fix real delicacy. But if it consists in sorrow, the young man gives a proof he possesses it, for he shed tears when I last heard him mention your name. Perhaps so, but let me tell you, Lady Matilda, that your father might have preferred a more unworthy object. Still had he been to me, she cried an object of envy. And as I frankly confess my envy of Mr. Rushbrook, I hope you will pardon my malice, which is, you know, but a consequent crime. The subject now turned again upon Lord Margrave, and all of them being firmly persuaded this last reception would put any further intrusion from him. They treated his pretensions and himself with the contempt they inspired, but not with the caution that was requisite. Chapter 6 The next morning early Mr. Sandford returned to Elmwood House, but with his spirits depressed, and his heart overcharged with sorrow. He had seen Lady Matilda, the object of his visit, but he had beheld her considerably altered in her looks and in her eyes. She was become very thin, and instead of the vivid bloomed that used to adorn her cheeks her whole complexion was of a deadly pale. Her countenance no longer expressed hope or fear, but a fixed melancholy. She shed no tears, but was all sadness. He had beheld this, and he had heard her insulted by the licentious proposals of a nobleman, from whom there was no satisfaction to be demanded by his friend to vindicate her honour. Rushbrook, who suspected where Sandford was gone, and imagined he would return that day, took his morning's ride, so as to meet him on the road at the distance of a few miles from the castle, for, since his perilous situation with Lord Elmwood, he was so fully convinced of the general philanthropy of Sandford's character that in spite of his churlish manners he had formally given birth, and Sandford, on his part, believing he had formed an liberal opinion of Lord Elmwood's heir, though he took no pains to let him know that his opinion was changed, yet resolved to make him restitution upon every occasion that offered. Their mutual greetings when they met were unceremonious, but cordial, and Rushbrook turned his horse and rode back with respect and tenderness for Lady Matilda, rather than by fear of the rebuffs of his companion. He had not the courage to name her till the ride was just finished, and they came within a few yards of the house. Insided then by the apprehension he might not soon again enjoy so fit an opportunity, he said. Pardon me, Mr. Sandford, if I guess where you have gone. He named Miss Woodley first, to prolong the time before he mentioned Matilda, for though to name her gave him extreme pleasure, yet it was a pleasure accompanied by confusion and pain. They are both very well replied Sandford, at least they did not complain they were sick. They are not in spirits, I suppose, said Rushbrook. No indeed, replied Sandford, for it was plain to see Sandford's spirits were unusually cast down. Nothing new returned to accept the insolence of a young nobleman. What nobleman cried Rushbrook? A lover of Lady Matilda's replied Sandford. Rushbrook was petrified. Who? What lover Mr. Sandford explained? They were now arrived at the house, and Sandford she has come a long way this morning, take care of her. This interruption was tortured to Rushbrook, who kept close to his side in order to obtain a further explanation, but Sandford, without attending to him, walked negligently into the hall, and before they advanced many steps they were met by Lord Elmwood. All further information was put an end to for the present. How do you do, Sandford? Mr. Elmwood with extreme kindness as if he thanked him for the journey which it was likely he suspected he had been taking. I am indifferently well, my lord replied he with a face of deep concern and a tear in his eye, partly in gratitude for his patron's civility, and partly in reproach for his cruelty. It was not now till the evening that Rushbrook had an opportunity of renewing the conversation which had been in the evening no longer able to support the suspense into which he was thrown, without fear or shame he followed Sandford into his chamber at the time of his retiring and entreated of him with all the anxiety he suffered to explain his illusion when he talked of a lover and of insolence to Lady Matilda. Sandford, seeing his emotion, was angry with himself that he had inadvertently mentioned the subject and putting on an air of surly desire if he had any business with him that he would call in the morning. Exasperated at so unexpected a reception and at the pain of his disappointment Rushbrook replied, he treated him cruelly nor would he stir out of his room till he had received a satisfactory answer to his question. Then bring your bed, replied Sandford, for you must pass your whole night here. He found it vain to think of my threats. He therefore said in a timid and persuasive manner, Did you, Mr. Sandford, hear Lady Matilda mention my name? Yes, replied Sandford, a little better reconciled to him. Did you tell her what I lately declared to you? He asked, with still more diffidence. No, replied Sandford, it is very well, sir, returned he vexed to the heart, yet again wishing to soothe him. Mr. Sandford, know what is for the best, yet I entreat you will give me some further account of the nobleman you named. I know what is for the best, replied Sandford, and I won't. Rushbrook bowed and immediately left the room. He went, apparently submissive, but the moment he showed the submission he took the resolution of paying a visit himself to the farm at which Lady Matilda resided and of learning either from Miss Little of the House, the neighbors or perhaps from Lady Matilda s own lips the secret which the obstinacy of Sandford had withheld. He saw all the dangers of this undertaking, but none appeared so great as the danger of losing her he loved by the influence of a rival, and though Sandford had named insolence he was in doubt whether what had appeared so to him was in reality or would be so considered by her. Without the cause of his absence being suspected by Lord Elmwood he immediately called his groom, ordered his horse, and giving those servants concerned a strict charge of secrecy with some frivolous pretence to apologize for his not being present at breakfast. Resolving to be back by dinner he set off that night and arrived at an inn about a mile from the farm at break of day. The joy he felt when he found himself so near to the beloved made him thank Sandford in his heart for the unkindness which had set him thither. But new difficulties arose how to accomplish the end for which he came. He learned from the people of the inn that the Lord with a fine equipage have visited at the farm but who he was or for what purpose he went no one could inform him. Dragging to return with his doubts unsatisfied and yet afraid of proceeding to extremities distraught into presumption, he walked disconsolently almost distractedly about the fields looking repeatedly at his watch and wishing the time would stand still till he was ready to go back with his errand completed. Every field he passed brought him nearer to the house on which his imagination was fixed. But how, without forfeiting every appearance of that respect which he so powerfully felt could he attempt to enter it? He saw the Inducorum resolve not to be guilty of it and yet walked on till he was within but a small orchard of the door. Could he then retreat? He wished he could, but he found that he had proceeded too far to be any longer master of himself. The time was urgent. He must either behold her and venture her displeasure or by diffidence during one moment give up all his hopes, perhaps forever. With that same disregard and disregard to consequences which actuated him when he dared to supplicate Lord Elmwood in his daughter's behalf he at length went eagerly to the door and wrapped. A servant came. He asked to speak with Miss Woodley if she was quite alone. He was shown into an apartment and Miss Woodley entered to him. She started when she beheld who it was. But as he did not see her frown upon her face he caught hold of her hand and said to her, Miss Woodley, do not be offended with me. If I am mean to offend you may I forfeit my life in atonement. Poor Miss Woodley, glad in her solitude to see anyone from Elmwood House forgot his visit was an offence till he put her in mind of it. She then said, with some reserve, tell me the purport of your coming, sir, and perhaps I may have no reason to complain. It was to see Lady Matilda, he replied, or to hear of her health. It was to offer her my services. It was, Miss Woodley, to convince her if possible of my esteem. Had you no other methods, sir, said Miss Woodley, with the same reserve, none, replied he, or with joy I should have embraced it. And if you can inform me of any other tell me I beseech you instantly and I will immediately be gone and pursue your directions. Miss Woodley hesitated. You know of no other means, Miss Woodley, cried. And yet I cannot commend this, said she. Nor do I. Do not imagine, because you see me here, that I approve my conduct, but reduced to this necessity, pity the motives that have urged it. Miss Woodley did pity them, but as she would not own that she did, she could think of nothing else to say. At that instant a bell rung from the chamber above. That is Lady Matilda's bell, said Miss Woodley. She is coming to take a short walk. Do you wish to see her? Though it was the first wish of his heart, he paused and said, Will you plead my excuse? As the flight of stairs was but short, which Matilda had to come down, she was in the room with Miss Woodley and Mr. Rushbrook, just as that sentence ended. She had stepped beyond the door of the apartment, when perceiving a visitor she hastily withdrew. Rushbrook animated, though trembling at her presence, she cried, Lady Matilda, do not avoid me till you know that I deserve such a punishment. She immediately saw who it was and returned back with a proper pride and yet a proper politeness in her manner. I beg your pardon, sir, said she. I did not know you. I was afraid I entreated upon Miss Woodley and a stranger. You do not then consider me a stranger, Lady Matilda, and that you do not requires my warmest acknowledgments. She sat down as if overcome by ill spirits and ill health. Miss Woodley now asked Rushbrook to sit, for till now she had not. No madam, replied he with confusion, not unless Lady Matilda gives me permission. She smiled and pointed to a chair, and all the kindness which Rushbrook during his whole life had received from Lauren Elmwood never inspired half the gratitude with which this one instance of his daughter excited. He sat down with the confession of the obligation upon every feature of his face. I am not well, Mr. Rushbrook, said Matilda languidly, and you must excuse any want of etiquette at this house. While it you excuse me, madam, what can I have to complain of? She appeared absent while he was speaking and turning to Miss Woodley said, do you think I had better walk today? No, my dear, answered Miss Woodley. The ground is damp and the air cold. You are not well, indeed, Lady Matilda said Rushbrook gazing upon her with the most tender respect. She shook her head and the tears, without any effort either to impel or constrain them, ran down her face. Rushbrook rose from his seat and with an accent and manner the most expressive said, we are cousins, Lady Matilda, we were brought up together. We were beloved by the same mother, fostered by the same father. Oh, cried she, interrupting him with a tone which indicated a bitterest anguish. Nay, do not let me add to your uneasiness, he resumed. While I am attempting to alleviate it, instruct me what I can do to show my esteem and respect rather than permit me thus unguided to rush upon what you may construe into insult and arrogance. Miss Woodley went to Matilda, took her hand, then wiped the tears from her eyes while Matilda reclined against her entirely regardless of Rushbrook's presence. If I have been in the least instrumental in this sorrow, said Rushbrook, with a face as much agitated as his mind, no, said Miss Woodley in a low voice, you have not, she is often thus. Yes, said Matilda, raising her head, I am frequently so weak that I cannot resist the smallest incitement of grief. But do not make your visit long, Mr. Rushbrook. For I was just then thinking that should Lord Elmwood hear of this attention you have paid me, it might be fatal to you. Here she wept again as bitterly as before. There is no probability of his hearing of it, madam, Rushbrook replied, or if there was, I am persuaded that he would not resent it. For today, when I am confident that Mr. Sanford had been to see you, he received him on his return with unusual marks of kindness. Did he? said she. And again she lifted up her head, her eyes for a moment beaming with hope and joy. There is something which we cannot yet define, said Rushbrook, that Lord Elmwood struggles with, but when time shall have eradicated, before he could proceed further, Matilda was once more sunk into despondency and scarce than he was saying. Miss Woodley, observing this, said, Mr. Rushbrook, let it be a token we shall be glad to see you hereafter, that I now use the freedom to beg you, will put an end to your visit. You send me away, madam, return to you with the warmest thanks for the reception you have given me, and this last assurance of your kindness is beyond any other favor you could have bestowed. Lady Matilda, added he, suffer me to take your hand at parting, and let it be a testimony that you acknowledge me for a renation. She put out her hand, which he knelt to receive, but did not raise to his lips. He held the boon to sacred, and looking earnestly upon it, as it lay pale and wan in his, he breathed one sigh over it and withdrew. End of Chapter 6, Volume 4, recording by Joyce Martin. Volume 4, Chapter 7, of A Simple Story. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org A Simple Story by Elizabeth Inchbold. Volume 4, Chapter 7. Sorrowful and affecting as this interview had been, Rushbrook, as he wrote home, reflected upon it with the most inordinate delight, and had he not seen decline of health in the looks and behavior of Lady Matilda, his velocity had been unbounded. Entranced in the happiness of her society, the thought of his rival never came once to his mind while he was with her. A want of recollection, however, he by no means regretted as her whole appearance contradicted every suspicion he could possibly entertain, and had he remembered he would not have dared to name the subject. The time ran so swiftly while he was away that it was beyond the dinner hour at Elmwood House when he returned. Heated his dress and his hair disordered, he entered the dining room just as the dessert was put upon the table. He was confounded at his own appearance and at the falsehoods he should be obliged to fabricate his appearance. There was yet that which engaged his attention beyond any circumstance relating to himself, the features of Lord Elmwood, of which his daughters, whom he had just beheld, had the most striking resemblance, though hers were softened by sorrow while his were made astare by the self-same cause. Where have you been? said his uncle with a frown. Ah, hers chase, my lord, I beg your pardon, but a pack of dogs I unexpectedly met, for in the hackneyed art of lying without injury to anyone, Rushbrook, to his shame, was proficient. His excuses were received and the subject ceased. During his absence that day Lord Elmwood had called Sanford apart and said to him that as the malevolence which he once observed between him and Rushbrook had he perceived subsided, he advised him if he was a well-wisher to the young man to sound his heart and counsel him not to act against the will of his nearest relation and friend. I myself am too hasty, continued Lord Elmwood, and, unhappily, too much determined upon what I have once, though perhaps rashly, said to speak upon a topic where it is probable I shall meet with opposition. You, Sanford, can reason with moderation, for after all that I have done for my nephew it would be a pity to forsake him at last, and yet that is but too likely if he provokes me. Sir, replied Sanford, I will speak to him. Yet, added Lord Elmwood sternly, do not urge what you say for my sake, but for his. I can part from him with ease, but he may then repent, and you know, repentance always comes too late with me. My Lord, I will exert all the efforts in my power for his welfare, but what is the subject on which he has refused to comply with your desires? Matrimony, have I not told you? Not a word. I wish him to marry, that I may then conclude the deeds in respect to my estate, and the only child of Sir William Winterton, a rich heiress, was the wife I meant to propose, but from his indifference to all I have said on the occasion I have not yet mentioned her name to him, you may. I will, my Lord, and use all my persuasion to engage his obedience, and you shall have at least a faithful account of what he says. Sanford the next morning saw an opportunity of being alone with Rushbrook. Then he plainly repeated to him what Lord Elmwood had said and saw him listen to it all, and heard him answer with the most tranquil resolution, that he would do anything to preserve the friendship and patronage of his uncle, but marry. What can be your reason? asked Sanford, though he guessed. A reason I cannot give to Lord Elmwood. Then do not give it to me, for I have promised to tell him everything you say to me. And everything I have said, asked Rushbrook hastily, as to what you have said, I don't know whether it has made impression enough on my memory to enable me to defeat it. I am glad it has not. And my answer to your uncle is to be simply that you will not obey him. I should hope, Mr. Sanford, that you would express it in better terms. Tell me the terms, and I will be exact. Rushbrook struck his forehead and walked about the room. Am I to give him any reason for your disobeying him? I tell you again that I dare not name the cause. How are you ashamed to own? I am not ashamed. I glory in it. Are you ashamed of your esteem for Lady Matilda? Oh, if she is the cause of your disobedience, be assured I shall not mention it, for I am forbidden to name her. And surely, as that is the case, I need not fear to speak plainly to you. I love Lady Matilda. Or perhaps, unacquainted with love, what I feel may be only pity. And if so, pity is the most pleasing passion that ever possessed a human heart, and I would not change it for all her father's estates. Pity, then, gives rise to very different sensations, for I pity you, and that sensation I would gladly exchange for abrobation. If you really feel compassion for me, and I believe you do, contrive some means by your answers to Lord Elmwood to pacify him, without involving me in ruin. Hint at my affections being but not to whom, and add that I have given my word, if he will allow me a short time, a year or two only, I will, during that period, try to disengage them, and use all my power to render myself worthy of the union for which he designs me. And this is not only your solemn promise, but your fixed determination. Nay, why will you search my heart to the bottom when the surface ought to content you? If you cannot resolve on what you have proposed, why do you ask this time of your uncle? For should he allow at you, at the expiration, your disobedience to his commands will be less pardonable than it is now. Within a year, Mr. Sanford, who can tell what strange events may not occur to change all our prospects? Even my passion may decline. In that expectation, then, the failure of which yourself must answer for, I will repeat as much of this discourse as shall be proper. Here Rushbrook communicated his having been to see Lady Matilda for which Sanford reproved him. But in a less rigorous terms than he generally used in his reproofs, and Rushbrook by his entreaties now gained the intelligence who the nobleman was who addressed Matilda and on what views, but was restrained to patience by Sanford's arguments and threats. On the subject of this marriage, Sanford met his patron, without having determined exactly what to say, but rested on the temper in which he should find him. At the commencement of the conversation, he said, Rushbrook begged for time. I have given him time, have I not? cried the Lord Elmwood. What can be the meaning of his thus trifling with me? Sanford replied, my Lord, young men are frequently romantic in affection, where their own inclinations do not first point out the choice. If he is in love, answered Lord Elmwood, let him take the object and leave my house and me forever. Nor under this destiny can he have any claim to pity, for genuine love will make him happy in banishment, in poverty, or in sickness. It makes the poor man happy as the rich, the fool blessed as the wise. The sincerity with which Lord Elmwood was expressed more than in words, as he said this. Your lordship is talking, replied Sanford, of the passion in its most refined and predominant sense, while I may be possibly speaking of a mere phantom that has led this young man astray. Whatever it be, returned Lord Elmwood, let him and his friends weigh the cause well and act for the best. So shall I. His friends, my Lord, what friends or what friend has he upon earth but you. Then why will he not submit to my advice, or himself give me a proper reason why he cannot. Because there may be friendship without familiarity and so it is between him and you. That cannot be, for I have condescended to talk to him in the most familiar terms. To condescend, my lord, is not to be familiar. Then come, sir, let us be on an equal footing through you and now speak out his thoughts freely and hear mine in return. Why, then, he begs a respite for a year or two. On what pretense? To me it was preference of a single life, but I suspect it is what he imagines to be love and for some object whom he thinks your lordship would disapprove. He has not then actually confessed this to you? If he has, it was drawn from him by such means that I am not warrantied to say it in direct words. I have entered into no contract, no agreement on his account with the friends of the lady I have pointed out, said lord Elmwood. Nothing beyond implications have passed betwixt her family and myself at present, and if the person on whom he has fixed his affections should not be in a situation absolutely contrary to my wishes, I may perhaps confirm his choice. That moment Sanford's courage prompted him to name Lady Matilda but his discretion opposed. However, in the various changes of his countenance from the conflict it was plain to discern that he wished to say more than he dared. On which lord Elmwood cried, Speak on Sanford what are you afraid of? Of you my lord. He started. Sanford went on. I know no tie, no bond, no innocence, that is a protection when you feel resentment. You are right here, applied significantly. Then how, my lord, can you encourage me to speak on when that which I perhaps would say might offend you to hear? To what and whither are you changing our subject? cried lord Elmwood. But sir, if you know my resentful and relentless temper, you surely know how to shun it. Not, and speak plainly. Then dissemble. No, I'll not do that, but I'll be silent. A new parade of submission, you are more tormenting to me than anyone I have about me, constantly on the verge of disobeying my commands that you may recede and gain my goodwill by your forbearance. But no, Mr. Sanford, that I will not suffer this much longer. If you choose in every conversation we have together, though the most remote from such a subject, to think of my daughter, you must either banish your thoughts or conceal them. Nor by one sign, one item, remind me of her. Your daughter, did you call her? Can you call yourself her father? I do, sir, but I was likewise the husband of her mother, and as that husband I solemnly swear. He was proceeding with violence. Oh, my lord, cried Sanford, interrupting him with his hands clasped in the most fervent supplication. Oh, do not let me draw upon her one oath more of your eternal displeasure. I'll kneel to beg that you will drop the subject. The inclination he made with his knees bent towards the ground, stopped Lord Elmwood instantly. But though it broke in upon his words, it did not alter one angry look. His eyes darted and his lips trembled with indignation. Sanford, in order to appease him, bowed and offered to withdraw, hoping to be recalled. He wished in vain. Lord Elmwood's eyes followed him to the door, expressive of rejoicing and his absence. End of Volume 4, Chapter 7 Volume 4, Chapter 8 of A Simple Story This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The LibriVox recording by Kate Mackenzie. A Simple Story By Elizabeth Inchbold Volume 4, Chapter 8 The companions and councillors of Lord Margrave, who had so prudently advised gentle methods in the pursuit of his passion, while there was left any hope of their success, now convinced there was none, a strenuously commended open violence, and sheltered under the consideration that their depredations were to be practised upon women who had not one protector, except an old priest, the subject of their ridicule. Assured likewise from the influence of Lord Margrave's wealth that all inferior consequences could be overborn, they saw no room for fears on any side and what they wished to execute with care and skill premeditated. When their scheme was mature for performance, three of his chosen companions and three servants trained in all the villainous exploits of their masters, set off to the habitation of poor Matilda and arrived there about the twilight of the evening. Near four hours after that time, just as the family were going to bed, they came up to the door of the house and, wrapping violently, gave the alarm of fire, conjuring all the inhabitants to make their way out immediately as they would save their lives. The family consisted of few persons, all of whom ran instantly to the doors and opened them, on which two men rushed in, and with saving Lady Matilda from the pretended flames, caught her in their arms and carried her off. While all the deceived people of the house running eagerly to save themselves paid no regard to her till looking for the cause for which they had been terrified, they perceived the stratagem and the fatal consequences. Amidst the complaints, the sorrow and the affright of the people of the farm Miss Woodley's sensations wanted a name. Terror and anguish give but a fake description of what she was. Something like the approach of death stole over her senses and she sat like one petrified with horror. She had no doubt who was the perpetrator of this wickedness. But how was she to follow? How effect to rescue? The circumstances of this event, as soon as the people had time to call up their recollection, were sent to a neighbouring magistrate, but little could be hoped from that. Who was to swear to the robber? Who undertake to find him out? Miss Woodley thought of Rushbrook of Sanford of Lord Elmwood. But what could she hope from the want of power in the two former? What from the latter for the want of will? Now stupefied and now distracted, she walked about the house incessantly, begging for instructions how to act or how to forget her misery. A tenant of Lord Elmwood's who occupied a little farm near to that where Lady Matilda lived and who was well acquainted with the whole history of hers and her mother's misfortunes from a neighbouring fair just as this inhuman plan was put in execution. He heard the cries of a woman in distress and followed the sound till he arrived at a chaise in waiting and saw Matilda placed in it by the side of two men who presented pistols to him as he offered to approach and expostulate. The farmer, uncertain who this female was, yet went to the house she had been taken from as the nearest with the tale of what he had seen, and there, being informed it was Lady Matilda he had beheld, this intelligence joined to the powerful effect her screams had on him, made him resolve to take horse immediately and with some friends follow the carriage till they should trace the place to which she was conveyed. The anxiety, the firmness discovered in determining on this understanding somewhat alleviated the agony Miss Woodley endured and she began to hope timely assistance might yet be given to her beloved charge. The man set out, meaning at all events to attempt her release. But before he had proceeded far the few friends that accompanied him began to reflect on the improbability of their success against a nobleman surrounded by servants with other attendants likewise and perhaps even countenance by the father of the lady whom they presumed to take from him or if not while Lord Elm would beheld the offence with indifference that indifference gave it a sanction they might in vain oppose. These cool reflections tending to their safety had their weight with the companions of the farmer they all rode back, rejoicing at their second thoughts and left him to pursue his journey and prove his valour by himself. End of volume 4 chapter 8 Volume 4 chapter 9 of A Simple Story This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kate McKenzie A Simple Story by Elizabeth Inchbull Volume 4 chapter 9 It was not with Sanford as it had lately been with Rushbroke under the displeasure of Lord Elmwood to the latter he behaved as soon as their dissension was passed as if it had never happened but to Sanford it was otherwise the resentment which he had repressed at the time of the offence lurked in his heart and dwelt upon his mind for several days during which he carefully avoided exchanging a word with him and gave every other demonstration of his anger. Sanford though experienced in the cruelty and ingratitude of the world yet could not without difficulty brook this severity, this contumely from a man for whose welfare ever since his infancy he had laboured and whose happiness was more dear to him in spite of all his faults than that of any other person even Lady Matilda was not so dear to Sanford as her father and he loved her more that she was Lord Elmwood's child than for any other cause sometimes the old priest incensed beyond bearing was on the point of saying to his patron how in my age dare you thus treat the man whom in his youth you respected and revered sometimes instead of anger he felt the tear he was ashamed to own steel to his eye and even fall down his cheek sometimes he left the room half determined to leave the house but these were all half determinations for he knew him with whom he had to deal too well not to know that he might be provoked into yet greater anger and that should he once rashly quit his house the doors most probably would be shut against him forever in this humiliating state for even many of the domestics could not but observe their lord's displeasure Sanford passed three days and was beginning the fourth when sitting with Lord Elmwood and Rushbrook just after breakfast a servant entered saying as he opened the door to somebody who followed you must wait till you have my lord's permission this attracted their eyes to the door and a man meanly dressed walked in following close to the servant the latter turned and seemed again to desire the person to retire but in vain he rushed forward regardless of his opposer and in great agitation cried my lord if you please I have business with you provided you will choose to be alone lord Elmwood struck with the intruders earnestness made the servant leave the room and then said to the stranger you may speak before these gentlemen the man instantly turned pale and trembled then to prolong the time before he spoke went to the door to see if it was shut returned yet still trembling seemed unwilling to say his errand what have you done cried lord Elmwood that you are in this terror what have you done man nothing my lord but I am afraid I am going to offend you well no matter he answered carelessly only go on and let me know your business the man's distress increased and he cried in the voice of grief in a fright your child my lord Rushbuck in Sanford started and looking at lord Elmwood saw him turn white as death in a tremulous voice he instantly cried what of her and rose from his seat encouraged by the question and the agitation of him who asked it the man gave way to his feelings and answered with every sign of sorrow I saw her my lord taken away by force too roughy and seized and carried her away while she screamed in vain to me for help and tore her hair in distraction man what do you mean cried the earl Lord Margrave replied the stranger we have no doubt this form this plot he has for some time passed beset the house where she lived visits were refused he threatened this besides one of his servants attended the carriage I saw and knew him Lord Elmwood listened to the last part of this account with seeming composure and turning hastily to Rushbuck he said where are my pistols Harry Sanford rose from his seat forgetting all the anger between them caught hold of the earl's hand and cried will you then prove yourself a father Lord Elmwood only answered yes and left the room and begged with all the earnestness he felt to be permitted to accompany his uncle while Sanford shook hands with the farmer a thousand times and he in his turn rejoiced as if he had already seen Lady Matilda restored to liberty Rushbuck in vain and treated Lord Elmwood he laid his commands upon him not to go a step from the castle while the agitation of his own mind was too great to observe the rigor of this sentence on his nephew during the hasty preparations for the earl's departure Sanford received from Miss Woodley the sad intelligence of what had happened but he returned an answer to recompense her for all she had suffered on the occasion within a few hours Lord Elmwood set off accompanied by his guide the farmer and other attendants furnished with every requisite to ascertain the success of their enterprise while poor Matilda little thought of a deliverer now much less that her deliverer should prove her father End of Volume 4 Chapter 9 Volume 4 Chapter 10 of a simple story this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Joyce Martin a simple story by Elizabeth Inchbald Volume 4 Chapter 10 Lord Margrave Black is this incident of his life must make him appear to the reader still nursed in his conscience a reserve of specious virtue to keep him in peace still nursed in his conscience a reserve of specious virtue to keep him in peace with himself it was his design to plead to argue to implore nay even to threaten long before he put his threat in force and with this and the following reflection he reconciled as most bad men can what he had done not only to the laws of humanity but to the laws of honor I have stolen a woman certainly said he to himself but I will make her happier than she was in that humble state from which I have taken her I will even said he now that she is in my power win her affections and when in fondness here after she hangs upon me how will she thank me for this little trial through which I shall have conducted her to happiness thus did he hush his remorse while he waited impatiently at home in expectation of his prize have expiring with her sufferings of body as well as of mind about twelve o'clock the next night after she was born away Matilda arrived and felt her spirits revived by her superior sufferings that awaited her for her increasing terrors roused her from the death-like weakness brought on by fatigue Lord Margrave's house to which he had gone previous to this occasion was situated in the lonely part of a well-known forest not more than twenty miles distant and rarely visited and as he had but few servants here it was a place which he supposed would be less the object of suspicion in the present case than any other of his seats to this then Lady Matilda was conveyed a superb apartment allotted her and one of his confidential females placed to attend upon her with all respect and assurances of safety Matilda looked in this woman's face and seeing she bore the features of her sex while her own knowledge reached none of those worthless characters of which this person was a specimen she imagined that none of those could look as she did and therefore found consolation in her seeming tenderness she was even prevailed upon by her promises to sit by her side and watch to throw herself on the bed and suffer sleep for a few minutes for sleep to her was suffering fears giving birth to dreams terrifying as her waking thoughts more weary than refreshed with her sleep she rose a break of day and refusing to admit of the change of an article in her dress she persisted to sit in the torn discarded habit in which she had been dragged away nor would she taste a morsel of all the delicacies that were prepared for her her attendant for some time observed the most reverential awe but finding this had not the effect of gaining compliance with her advice she varied her manners and began by less submissive means to attempt an influence she said her orders were to be obedient while she herself was obeyed at least in circumstances so material as the lady's health of which she had the charge as a physician and expected equal compliance with her physician food and fresh apparel she prescribed as the only means to prevent death and even threatened her invalid with something worse a visit from Lord Margrave if she continued obstinance now loathing her for the deception she had practiced more than she had received her thus first Matilda hid her eyes from the sight of her and when she was obliged at her duty to wait upon her worthy employer and inform him the young lady in her trust would certainly die unless there were means employed to oblige her to take some nourishment Lord Margrave glad of an opportunity that might apologize for his intrusion upon Lady Matilda went with eagerness to her apartment and throwing himself at her feet conjured her if she would save his life as well as her own to submit to be consoled the extreme disgust and horror his presence inspired caused Matilda for a moment to forget all her want of power her want of health her weakness and rising from the place where she sat she cried with her voice elevated leave me my lord or I'll die in spite of all your care I'll instantly expire with grief if you do not leave me accustomed to the tears and reproaches of the sex though not of those like her he treated with contempt these menaces of anger and seizing her hand carried it to his lips enraged and overwhelmed with sorrow at the affront she cried forgetting every other friend she had oh my dear Miss Woodley why are you not here to protect me nay return Lord Margrave stifling a fit of laughter I should think the old priest would be as good a companion as the lady the remembrance of Sandford with all his kindness now rushed so forcibly on Matilda's mind that she shed a shower of tears on thinking how much he felt and would continue to feel for her situation once she thought on Rushbrook and even thought he would be sorry for her of her father she did not think she dared not to comment that thought intruded but she hurried it away it was too bitter it was now again quite night and near to that hour when she first came to the house Lord Margrave though at some distance from her remained still in her apartment while her female companion had stolen away his insensibility to her lamentations the agitated looks he sometimes cast upon her her weak and defenseless state all conspired to fill her mind with horror he saw her apprehensions in her distracted face disheveled hair and the whole of her forlorn appearance yet not withstanding his former resolutions he could not resist the desire of fulfilling all her dreadful expectations he once again approached her and again was going to seize her hand the report of a pistol and a confused noise of persons assembling toward the apartment prevented him he started but looked more surprised than alarmed her alarm was augmented for she supposed this torment was some experiment to intimidate her into submission she wrung her hands and lifted up her eyes to heaven in the last agony of despair when one of Lord Margrave's servants entered hastily and announced Lord Elmwood that moment her father entered and with all the unrestrained fondness of a parent bolded her in his arms her extreme her excess of joy on such a meeting and from such anguish rescued was in part repressed by his awful presence the apprehensions to which she had been accustomed kept her timid and doubtful she feared to speak and turned for his embrace but falling on her knees clung round his legs and bathed his feet with her tears these were the happiest moments she had ever known perhaps the happiest he had ever known Lord Margrave on whom Lord Elmwood had not even cast a look now left the room but as he quitted it called out my lord Elmwood if you have any demands on me would you make me an executioner the law shall be your only antagonist Matilda quite exhausted yet upheld by the sudden transport she had felt was led by her father out of this wretched dwelling more despicable than the beggar's hobble End of Chapter 10 Volume 4 Recording by Joyce Martin Volume 4 Chapter 11 of A Simple Story This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Joyce Martin A Simple Story by Elizabeth Inchebald Volume 4 Chapter 11 Overcome with the want of rest for two nights from her distracting fears and all those fears now hushed Matilda soon after she was placed in the carriage with lord Elmwood dropped fast asleep and thus insensibly surprised leaned her head against her father in the sweetest slumber that imagination can conceive When she awoke instead of the usual melancholy seen before her she beheld her father and heard the voice of the once dreaded lord Elmwood tenderly saying We will go no further tonight the fatigue is too much for her order beds here directly and some proper person to sit up and attend her She could only turn to him with a look of love and duty her lips could not utter a sentence In the morning she found her father by the side of her bed he inquired if she was in health sufficient to pursue her journey as she was I am able to go with you she answered instantly Ney replied he perhaps you ought to stay here till you are better I am better said she and ready to go with you have afraid that he meant to send her from him He perceived her fears and replied Ney if you stay so shall I and when I go I shall take you along with me to my house to Elmwood house eagerly no to my house in town where I intend to be all the winner and where we shall live together she turned her face on the pillow to conceal tears of joy but her sobs revealed them calm said he this kiss is a token you have nothing to fear and he kissed her affectionately I shall send for Miss Woodley too immediately continued he overjoyed to see her my lord and to see Mr. Sanford and even Mr. Rushbrook do you know him said Lord Elmwood yes she replied I have seen him two or three times the Earl hoping the air might be a means of reestablishing her strength and spirits now left the room and ordered his carriage to be prepared while she arose attended by one of his female servants for whom he had sent to town the changes of apparel as were requisite when Matilda was ready to join her father in the next room she felt a tremor seize her that made it almost impossible to appear before him no other circumstance now impending to agitate her heart she felt more forcibly its embarrassment at meeting on terms of easy intercourse with him of whom she had never been used to think but with that distant reverence her fear which his severity had excited and she knew not how she should dare to speak to or look on him with that freedom her affection warranted after several efforts to conquer these nice and refined sensations but to no purpose she at last went to his apartment he was reading but as she entered he put out his hand and drew her to him her tears wholly overcame her he could have intermingled his but assuming a grave continence he commanded her to desist from exhausting her spirits and after a few powerful struggles she obeyed before the morning was over she experienced the extreme joy of sitting by her father's side as they drove to town and of receiving during his conversation a thousand proofs of his love and tokens of her lasting happiness it was now the middle of November and yet as Matilda passed along never to her did the sunshine so bright as upon this morning never did her imagination comprehend that the human heart could feel happiness true and genuine as hers on arriving at the house there was no abatement of her felicity all was respect and duty on the part of the domestics all paternal care of Lord Elmwood and she would have been at that summit of her wishes which annihilates hope but that the prospect of seeing Miss Woodley and Mr. Sanford still kept this passion in existence End of Chapter 11 Volume 4 Recording by Joyce Martin Volume 4 Chapter 12 of A Simple Story This is a LibriVox Recording All LibriVox Recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Joyce Martin A Simple Story by Elizabeth Inchbald Volume 4 Chapter 12 Rushbrook was detained at Elmwood House during all this time more from persuasions than the prayers of Sanford than the commands of Lord Elmwood He had, but for Sanford, followed his uncle and exposed himself to his anger sooner than have endured the most piercing inequity which he was doomed to suffer till the news arrived of Lady Matilda's safety. He indeed had little else to fear from the known, firm, courageous character of her father and the expedition with which he undertook his journey to Elmwood House but that Matilda's peace of mind might be forever destroyed before she was set at liberty. The summons from Lord Elmwood for their coming to town was received by each of this party with delight. But the impatience to obey it was in Rushbrook so violent it was painful to himself and extremely troublesome to Sanford who wished from his regard to Elmwood House rather to delay than hurry their journey. You are to blame said he to him and Miss Woodley to wish by your arrival to divide with Lord Elmwood that tender bond which ties the good who confer obligations to the object of their benevolence. At present there is no one with him to share in the care and protection of his daughter and he is under the necessity of discharging that duty himself. This habit may become so powerful that he cannot throw it off even if his former resolution should urge him to it while we remain here therefore Lady Matilda is safe with her father but it would not surprise me if on our arrival especially if we are precipitate he should place her again with Miss Woodley at a distance. To this forcible conjecture they submitted for a few days and then most gladly set out for town. On their arrival they were met even at the street door by Lady Matilda and with an expression of joy they did not suppose her features could have worn. She embraced Miss Woodley hung upon Sanford and to Mr. Rushbrook who from his conscious love only bowed at a humble distance she held out her hand with every look and gesture of the tenderest esteem. When Lord Elmwood joined them he welcomed them all sincerely but Sanford the most with whom he had not spoken for many days before he left the country for his allusion to the wretched situation of his daughter and Sanford with his fellow travelers now saw him treat that daughter with an easy and natural fondness as if she had lived with him from her infancy. He appeared however at times under the apprehension that the propensity of man to jealousy might give Rushbrook a pang at this dangerous rival in his love and fortune. For though Lord Elmwood remembered well the hazard he had once ventured to befriend Matilda yet the present unlimited reconciliation was something so looked for it might be a trial too much for his generosity to remain wholly disinterested in the event. Slight as was this suspicion of Rushbrook injustice. He loved Lady Matilda too sincerely. He loved her father's happiness and her mother's memory too faithfully not to be rejoiced at all he witnessed nor could the secret hope that whispered him their blessings might one day be mutual increase the pleasure he found in beholding Matilda happy. Unexpected affairs in which Lord Elmwood had been for some time engaged his attention for a while from the marriage of his nephew nor did he at this time find his disposition sufficiently severe to exact from the young man a compliance with his wishes at so cruel an alternative as that of being forever discarded he felt his mind by the late incident too much softened for such harshness he yet wished for the alliance he had proposed for he was more consistent with his daughter's peril had awakened to derange those plans which he had long projected never even now for a moment did he indulge for perhaps it would have been an indulgence the idea of replacing her exactly in the rites of her birth to the disappointment of all his nephew's expectations yet milder at this crisis in his temper than he had been for years before and knowing he could be no longer irritated by his daughter he once more resolved to trust himself in a conference with rushbrook on the subject of marriage meaning at the same time to mention Matilda as an opponent from which he had nothing to fear but for some time before rushbrook was called to this private audience he had by his unwirried attention endeavored to impress upon Matilda's mind the softest sentiments in his favor but not as he wished she loved him as her friend her cousin, her foster brother but not as a lover the idea of love never once came to her thoughts and she would sport with rushbrook like the most harmless child while he all impassioned could with difficulty resist telling her what she made him suffer at the meeting between him and Lord Elmwood to which he was called for his final answer the subject would had once nearly proved so fatal to him after a thousand fears much confusion and embarrassment he at length frankly confessed his heart was engaged and had been so long before his uncle offered to direct his choice Lord Elmwood desired to know on whom he had placed his affections I dare not tell you my lord returned he infinitely confused but Mr. Sandford can witness their sincerity and how long they have been fixed fixed cried the earl immovably fixed my lord and yet the object is as unconscious of my love to this moment as you yourself have been and I swear ever shall be so without your permission name the object said lord Elmwood anxiously my lord I dare not the last time I named her to you you abandoned me for my arrogance Lord Elmwood started my daughter would you marry her but with your approbation my lord and that before he could proceed a word further his uncle left the room hastily and left Rushbrooke all terror for his approaching fate Lord Elmwood went immediately into the apartment where Sandford, Miss Woodley and Matilda were sitting and cried with an angry voice and with his anger Rushbrooke has offended me beyond forgiveness go Sandford to the library where he is and tell him this instant to quit my house and never dare to return Miss Woodley lifted up her hands inside Sandford rose slowly from a seat to execute the office while Lady Matilda who was arranging her music books upon the instrument stopped from her employment suddenly with her face bathed in tears a general silence ensued till Lord Elmwood resuming his angry tone cried did you hear me Mr. Sandford Sandford now without word and reply made for the door but there Matilda impeded him and throwing her arms about his neck cried dear Mr. Sandford do not how exclaimed her father she saw the impending frown and rushing toward him took his hand fearfully and knelt at his feet Mr. Rushbrooke is my relation she cried in a pathetic voice my companion my friend before you loved me he was anxious for my happiness and often visited me to lament with and console me I cannot see him turned out of your house without feeling for him what he once felt for me Lord Elmwood turned aside to conceal his sensations then raising her from the floor do you know what he has asked of me no answered she in the utmost ignorance and with the utmost innocence painted on her face but whatever it is my lord though you do not grant it yet pardon him for asking perhaps you would grant him what he has requested said her father most willingly was it in my gift it is replied he go to him in the library and hear him say for on your will his fate shall depend like lightning she flew out of the room while even the grave Sanford smiled at the idea of their meeting Rushbrooke with his fears all verified by the manner in which his uncle had left him sat with his head reclined against the bookcase and every limb extended with the despair that had seized him Matilda nimbly opened the door to comfort you that you have always done said he rising in rapture to receive her even in the midst of all his sadness what is it you want said she what have you asked of my father that he has denied you I have asked for that replied he which is dearer to me than life be satisfied then return she for you shall have it dear Matilda it is not in your power to bestow but he has told me it shall be in my power and has desired me to give or to refuse it you at my own pleasure Oh heavens cried Rushbrooke in transport has he he has indeed before Mr. Sanford and Miss Woodley now tell me what you petitioned for I asked him cried Rushbrooke trembling for a wife her hand which had just then taken hold of his in the warmth of her wish to serve him now dropped down as with the stroke of death her face lost its color and she leaned against the desk by which they were standing without uttering a word what means this change said he do you not wish me happy yes she exclaimed heaven is my witness but it gives me concern to think we must part then let us be joined cried he falling at her feet till death alone can part us all the sensibility the reserve the pride with which she was so amply possessed returned to her that moment she started and cried could not Lord Elm would know for what he sent me he did cried Rushbrooke I boldly told him of my presumptuous love and he has given to you alone the power over my happiness or misery oh do not doom me to the ladder whether the heart of Matilda such as it had been described could sentence him to misery the reader is left to surmise and if he supposes that it could not he has every reason to suppose that their wedded life was a life of happiness he has beheld the pernicious effects of an improper education in the destiny which attended the unthinking Miss Milner on the opposite side what may not be hoped from that school of prudence though of adversity in which Matilda was bred and Mr. Milner Matilda's grandfather had better have given his fortune to a distant branch of his family as Matilda's father once meant to do so that he had given to his daughter a proper education end of chapter 12 volume 4 recording by Joyce Martin end of a simple story by Elizabeth Inchbald