 Chapter 26 Part 2 of Belinda—Mrs. Ormund, the lady whom he had engaged to take care of his Virginia was a widow, the mother of a gentleman who had been a tutor at college. Her son died, and left her in such narrow circumstances that she was obliged to apply to her friends for pecuniary assistance. Mr. Hervey had been liberal in his contributions. From his childhood he had known her worth, and her attachment to him was blended with the most profound respect. She was not a woman of superior abilities or of much information, but her excellent temper and gentle disposition won affection, though she had not any talents to excite admiration. Mr. Hervey had perfect confidence in her integrity. He believed that she would exactly comply with his directions, and he thought that her want of literature and ingenuity could easily be supplied by his own care and instructions. He took a house for her and his fair pupil at Windsor, and he exacted a solemn promise that she would neither receive nor pay any visits. Virginia was thus secluded from all intercourse with the world. She saw no one but Mrs. Ormund, Clarence Hervey, and Mr. Moriton, and elderly clergymen, whom Mr. Hervey engaged to attend every Sunday to read prayers for them at home. Virginia never expressed the slightest curiosity to see any other persons or anything beyond the walls of the garden that belonged to the house in which she lived. Her present retirement was not greater than that, to which she had long been accustomed, and consequently she did not feel her seclusion from the world as any restraint. With the circumstances that were altered in a situation she seemed neither to be dazzled nor charmed, the objects of convenience or luxury that were new to her, she looked upon with indifference, but with anything that reminded her of a former way of life, and of a grandmother's cottage she was delighted. One day Mr. Hervey asked her whether she should like better to return to that cottage or to remain where she was. He trembled for her answer. She innocently replied, I should like best to go back to the cottage, if you would go with me, but I would rather stay here with you than live there without you. Clarence was touched and flattered by this artless answer, and for some time he discovered every day fresh indications, as he thought, of virtue and abilities in his charming pupil. Her indifference to objects of show and ornament appeared to him an indisputable proof of her magnanimity and of the superiority of her unprejudiced mind. What a difference, thought he, between this child of nature and the frivolous, sophisticated slaves of art. To try and prove the simplicity of her taste and the purity of her mind he once presented to her a pair of diamond earrings and a moss rosebud, and asked her to take whichever she liked best. She eagerly snatched the rose, crying, Oh, it puts me in mind of the cottage, how sweet it smells! She placed it in a bosom, and then, looking at the diamond, said, They are pretty sparkling things. What are they? Of what use are they? And she looked with more curiosity and admiration at the manner in which the earrings shut and opened than at the diamonds. Clarence was charmed with her. When Mrs. Ormans told her that these things were to hang in her ears, she laughed and said, How? How can I make them hang? Have you never observed that I wear earrings? said Mrs. Ormans. I, but yours are not like these, and let me look. I never saw how you fastened them. Let me look. Oh, you have holes in your ears, but I have none in mine. Mrs. Ormans told her that holes could easily be made in her ears by running a steel pin through them. She shrunk back, defending her ear with one hand, and pushing the diamonds from her with the other, exclaiming, Oh, no, no, unless, added she, changing her tone, and turning to Clarence, unless you wish it, if you bid me, I will. Clarence was scarcely master of himself at this instant, and it was with the utmost difficulty that he could reply to her with that dispassionate calmness which became his situation and hers. And yet there was more of ignorance and timidity, perhaps, than of sound sense or philosophy in Virginia's indifference to diamonds. She did not consider them as ornaments that would confer distinction upon their possessor, because she was ignorant of the value affixed to them by society. Isolated in the world, she had no excitements to the love of finery, no competition, no means of comparison, or opportunistic use of display. Diamonds were consequently as useless to her as guineas were to Robinson Crusoe on his desert island. It could not justly be said that he was free from avarice, because he set no value on the gold, or that she was free from vanity because she rejected the diamonds. These reflections could not possibly have escaped a man of Clarence her visibilities. Had he not been engaged in defense of a favorite system of education, or if his pupil had not been quite so handsome? Virginia's absolute ignorance of the world frequently gave an error of originality to her most trivial observations, which made her appear at once interesting and entertaining. All her ideas of happiness were confined to the life she had led during her childhood, and as she had accidentally lived in a beautiful situation in the new forest, she appeared to have an instinctive taste for the beauties of nature and for what we call the picturesque. This taste Mr. Hervey perceived whenever he showed her prints and drawings, and was a fresh source of delight and self-complacency to him. All that was amiable or estimable in Virginia had a double charm from the secret sense of his penetration in having discovered and appreciated the treasure. The affections of this innocent girl had no object but himself and Mrs. Ormond, and they were strong, perhaps, in proportion as they were concentrated. The artless familiarity of her manner and her unsuspicious confidence, amounting almost to credulity, had irresistible power over Mr. Hervey's mind. He felt them as appeals at once to his tenderness and his generosity. He treated her with the utmost delicacy, and his oath was never absent from his mind, but he felt proudly convinced that if he had not been bound by any such solemn engagement, no temptation could have made him deceive and betray confiding innocence. Conscious that his views were honourable, anticipating the generous pleasure he should have in showing his superiority to all mercenary considerations and worldly prejudices in the choice of a wife, he indulged with a species of pride, his increasing attachment to Virginia, but he was not sensible of the rapid progress of the passion till he was suddenly awakened by a few simple observations of Mrs. Ormond. This is Virginia's birthday. She tells me she is seventeen today. Seventeen? She is only seventeen, cried Clarence, with a mixture of surprise and disappointment in his countenance. Only seventeen? Why, she is but a child still. Quite a child, said Mrs. Ormond, and so much the better. So much the worse, I think, said Clarence. But are you sure she is only seventeen? She must be mistaken. She must be eighteen, at least. God forbid. God forbid why, Mrs. Ormond? Because, you know, we have a year more before us. That may be a very satisfactory prospect to you, said Mr. Hervey, smiling. And to you, surely, said Mrs. Ormond, for I suppose you would be glad that your wife should, at least, know the common things that everybody knows. As to that, said Clarence, I should be glad that my wife ignorant of what everybody knows. Nothing is so tiresome to a man of any taste or abilities as what everybody knows. I am rather desirous to have a wife who has an uncommon understanding. But you would choose, would you not, said Mrs. Ormond, hesitating with an air of great deference, that your wife should know how to write. To be sure, replied Clarence, coloring, does not Virginia know how to write? How should she, said Mrs. Ormond? It is no fault of hers, poor girl. She was never taught. You know, it was her grandmother's notion that she should not learn to write, lest she should write love letters. But you promised that she should be taught to write, and I trusted to you, Mrs. Ormond. She has been here only two months, and all that time, I am sure, I have done everything in my power. But when a person comes to be sixteen or seventeen, it is our pill work. I will teach her myself, cried Clarence. I am sure she may be taught anything. By you, said Mrs. Ormond, smiling, but not by me. You have no doubts of her capacity, surely. I am no judge of capacity, especially of the capacity of those I love, and I am grown very fond of Virginia. She is a charming, open-hearted, simple, affectionate creature. I rather think it is from indolence that she does not learn, and not from want of abilities. All indolence arises from want of excitement, said Clarence. If she had proper motives, she would conquer her indolence. Why, I dare say, if I were to tell her that she would never have a letter from Mr. Hervey till she is able to write an answer, she would learn to write very expeditiously. But I thought that would not be a proper motive, because you forbade me to tell her your future views. And indeed it would be highly imprudent on your account, as well as hers, to give her any hint of that kind. Because you might change your mind, before she is old enough for you to think of her seriously, and then you would not know what to do with her. And after entertaining hopes of becoming your wife, she would be miserable, I am sure, with that affectionate, tender heart of hers, if you were to leave her. Now that she knows nothing of the matter we are all save, and as we should be. Though Clarence Hervey did not at this time foresee any great probability of his changing his mind, yet he felt the good sense and justice of Mrs. Ormond's suggestions, and he was alarmed to perceive that his mind had been so intoxicated as to suffer such obvious reflections to escape his attention. Mrs. Ormond, a woman whom he had been accustomed to consider as far his inferior in capacity, he now felt was superior to him in prudence, merely because she was undisturbed by passion. He resolved to master his own mind, to consider that it was not a mistress but a wife he wanted in Virginia, that a wife without capacity or without literature could never be a companion suited to him, let her beauty or sensibility be ever so exquisite and captivating. The happiness of his life and of hers were at stake, and every motive of prudence and delicacy called upon him to command his affections. He was, however, still sanguine in his expectations from Virginia's understanding, and from his own power of developing her capacity. He made several attempts, with the greatest skill and patience, and his fair pupil, though she did not by any means equal his hopes, astonished Mrs. Ormond by a comparatively rapid progress. "'I always believed that you could make her do anything, you pleased,' said she. "'You are a tutor who can work miracles with Virginia.' "'I see no miracles,' replied Clarence. "'I am conscious of no such power. I should be sorry to possess any such influence, until I am sure that it would be for our mutual happiness.' Mr. Hervey then conjured Mrs. Ormond by all her attachment to him and to her pupil, never to give Virginia the most distant idea that he had any intentions of making her his wife. She promised to do all that was in her power to keep this secret, but she could not help observing that it had already been betrayed, as plainly as Luke's could speak by Mr. Hervey himself. Clarence in vain endeavored to exculpate himself from this charge. Mrs. Ormond brought to his recollections so many instances of his indiscretion, that it was substantiated even in his own judgment, and he was amazed to find that all the time he had put so much constraint upon his inclinations, he had nevertheless so obviously betrayed them. His surprise, however, was at this time unmixed with any painful regret. He did not foresee the probability that he should change his mind, and nonewithstanding Mrs. Ormond assured him that Virginia's sensibility had increased, he was persuaded that she was mistaken, and that his pupil's heart and imagination were yet untouched. The innocent openness with which she expressed her affection for him confirmed him, he said, in his opinion. To do him justice, Clarence had none of the presumption which too often characterizes men who have been successful, as it is called, with a fair sex. His acquaintance with women had increased his persuasion that it is difficult to excite genuine love in the heart, and with respect to himself he was upon this subject astonishingly incredulous. It was scarcely possible to convince him that he was beloved. Mrs. Ormond peaked upon this subject, determined to ascertain more decisively her pupil's sentiments. My dear, said she, one day to Virginia, who was feeding her bullfinch. I do believe you are fonder of that bird than of anything in the world. Fonder of it, I am sure, than of me. Oh, you cannot think so, said Virginia, with an affectionate smile. Well, fonder than you are of Mr. Hervey, you will allow at least. No indeed, cried she, eagerly, how can you think me so foolish, so childish, so ungrateful as to prefer a little worthless bird to him? The bullfinch began to sing so loud at this instant that her enthusiastic speech was stopped. My pretty bird, said she, as it perched upon her hand, I love you very much. But if Mr. Hervey were to ask it, to wish it, I would open that window, and let you fly, yes, and bid you fly away far from me for ever. Perhaps he does wish it. Does he? Did he tell you so? cried she, looking earnestly in Mrs. Ormond's face, as she moved towards the window. Mrs. Ormond put her hand upon the sash, as Virginia was going to throw it up. Gently, gently, my love, whither is your imagination carrying you? I thought something by your look, said Virginia, blushing. And I thought something, my dear Virginia, said Mrs. Ormond, smiling. What did you think? What could you think? I cannot. I mean, I would rather not at present tell you. But do not look so grave. I will tell you some time or other. If you cannot guess. Virginia was silent, and stood abashed. I am sure my sweet girl, said Mrs. Ormond, I do not mean, by anything I said, to confuse or blame you. It is very natural that you should be grateful to Mr. Hervey, and that you should admire, and to a certain degree, love him. Virginia looked up, delighted, yet with some hesitation in our manner. He is indeed, said Mrs. Ormond, one of the first human beings. Which even I have always thought him. And I am sure I like you the better, my dear, for your sensibility, said she, kissing Virginia as she spoke. Only we must take care of it, or this tenderness might go too far. How so? said Virginia, returning her caresses with fondness. Can I love you and Mr. Hervey too much? Not me. Nor him, I am sure. He is so good, so very good. I am afraid that I do not love him enough. That she is sighing. I love him enough when he is absent, but not when he is present. When he is near, I feel a sort of fear mixed with my love. I wish to please him very much, but I should not quite like that he should show his love for me as you do, as you did just now. My dear, it would not be proper that he should. You are quite right not to wish it. Am I? I was afraid that it was a sign of my not liking him as much as I ought. Am I, poor child? You love him full as much as you ought. Do you think so? I am glad of it, said Virginia, with the look of such confinding simplicity that her friend was touched to the heart. I do think so, my love, said Mrs. Ormond, and I hope I shall never be sorry for it, nor you either, but it is not proper that we should say any more upon this subject now. Where are your drawings? Where is your writing? My dear, we must get forward with these things as fast as we can. That is the way to please Mr. Hervey, I can tell you. Confirmed by this conversation in her own opinion, Mrs. Ormond was satisfied. From delicacy to her pupil, she did not repeat all that had passed to Mr. Hervey, resolving to wait till the proper moment. She is too young and too childish for him to think of marrying her yet for a year or two, I thought she. And it is better to repress her sensibility till her education is more finished. By that time Mr. Hervey will find out his mistake. In the meantime she could not help thinking that he was blind, for he continued, steady in his belief of Virginia's indifference. To dissipate his own mind, and to give time for the development of hers, he now, according to his resolution, left his pupil to the care of Mrs. Ormond, and mixed as much as possible in gay and fashionable company. It was at this period that he renewed his acquaintance with Lady Delacour, whom he had seen and admired before he went abroad. He found that his gallantry on the famous day of the battle between the turkeys and pigs was still remembered with gratitude by her ladyship. She received him with marked courtesy, and he soon became a constant visitor at her house. Her wit entertained, her eloquence charmed him, and he followed, admired and gallanted her, without scruple, for he considered her merely as a coquette, who preferred the glory of conquest to the security of reputation. With such a woman he thought he could amuse himself without danger, and he everywhere appeared, the foremost in the public train of her ladyships admirers. He soon discovered, however, that her talents were far superior to what are necessary for playing the part of a fine lady. His visits became more and more agreeable to him, and he was glad to feel that, by dividing his attention, his passion for Virginia insensibly diminished, or, as he said to himself, became more reasonable. In conversing with Lady Delacour, his faculties were always called into full play. In talking to Virginia, his understanding was passive. He perceived that a large proportion of his intellectual powers and of his knowledge was absolutely useless to him in a company, and this did not raise her either in his love or esteem. Her simplicity and naivete, however, sometimes relieved him after he had been fatigued by the extravagant gaiety and glare of a ladyship's manners, and he reflected that the coquetry which amused him in an acquaintance would be odious in a wife. The perfect innocence of Virginia promised security to his domestic happiness, and he did not change his views, though he was less eager for the period of their accomplishment. I cannot expect everything that is desirable, said he to himself. A more brilliant character than Virginia's would excite my admiration, but could not command my confidence. It was whilst his mind was in this situation that he became acquainted with Belinda. At first the idea of her having been educated by the matchmaking Mrs. Stanhope prejudiced him against her, but as he had opportunities of observing her conduct this prepossession was conquered, and when she had secured his esteem he could no longer resist her power over his heart. In comparison with Belinda Virginia appeared to him but an insipid though innocent child. The one he found was his equal, the other his inferior. The one he saw could be a companion, a friend to him for life. The other would merely be his pupil or his plaything. Belinda had cultivated taste, an active understanding, a knowledge of literature, the power and the habit of conducting herself. Virginia was ignorant and indolent, she had few ideas and no wish to extend her knowledge. She was so entirely unacquainted with the world that it was absolutely impossible that she could conduct herself without discretion, which must be the combined result of reasoning and experience. Mr. Hervey had felt gratuitous confidence in Virginia's innocence, but on Belinda's prudence, which he had opportunities of seeing tried, he gradually learned to feel her different and the higher species of reliance, which it is neither in our power to bestow nor to refuse, the virtues of Virginia's frank from sentiment, those of Belinda from reason. Belinda by Maria Edgeworth, Chapter 26, Part 3 Clarence, whilst he made all these comparisons, became every day more wisely and more fondly attached to Belinda, and at length he became desirous to change the nature of his connection with Virginia, and to appear to her only in the light of a friend or a benefactor. He thought of giving her a suitable fortune and of leaving her under the care of Mrs. Ormond, till some method of establishing her in the world should occur. Unfortunately, just at the time when Mr. Hervey formed this plan, and before it was communicated to Mrs. Ormond, difficult to serose which prevented him from putting it into execution. Whilst he had been engaged in the gay world at Lady de la Course, his pupil had necessarily been left much to the management of Mrs. Ormond. This lady with the best possible intentions had not that reached a mind and variety of resource necessary to direct the exquisite sensibility and ardent imagination of Virginia. The solitude in which she lived added to the difficulty of the task. Without companions to interest her social affections, without real objects to occupy her senses and understanding, Virginia's mind was either perfectly indolent or exalted by romantic views and visionary ideas of happiness. As she had never seen anything of society, all her notions were drawn from books. The severe restrictions which her grandmother had early laid upon the choice of these seemed to have awakened her curiosity and to have increased her appetite for books. It was insatiable. Being indeed was now almost her only pleasure, for Mrs. Ormond's conversation was seldom entertaining, and Virginia had no longer those occupations which filled a portion of a day at the cottage. Mr. Harvey had cautioned Mrs. Ormond against putting common novels into her hands, but he made no objection to romances. These he thought breathed a spirit favorable to female virtue, exalted the respect for chastity, and inspired enthusiastic admiration of honor, generosity, truth, and all the noble qualities which dignify human nature. Virginia devoured these romances with the greatest eagerness, and Mrs. Ormond, who found her a prey to ennui when her fancy was not amused, indulged her taste, yet she strongly suspected that he contributed to increase her passion for the only man who could, in her imagination, represent a hero. One night Virginia found in Mrs. Ormond's room a volume of St. Pierre's Paul and Virginia. She knew that her own name had been taken from this romance. Mr. Harvey had her picture painted in this character, and these circumstances strongly excited her curiosity to read the book. Mrs. Ormond could not refuse to let her have it, for though it was not an ancient romance, he did not exactly come under the description of a common novel, and Mr. Harvey was not at hand to give his advice. Virginia sat down instantly to her volume, and never stirred from the spot till she had nearly finished it. What is it that strikes your fancy so much? What are you considering so deeply, my love? said Mrs. Ormond, observing that she seemed lost in thought. Let us see, my dear, continued she, offering to take the book which hung from her hand. Virginia started from her reverie, but held the volume fast. Will not you let me read along with you? said Mrs. Ormond. Won't you let me share your pleasure? It was not pleasure that I felt, I believe, said Virginia. I would rather you should not see just that particular part that I was reading, and yet if you desire it, added she, resigning the book reluctantly. What can make you so much afraid of me, my sweet girl? I am not afraid of you, but of myself, said Virginia sighing. Mrs. Ormond read the following passage. She thought of Paul's friendship more pure than the waters of the fountain, stronger than the united palms, and sweeter than the perfume of flowers, and these images in night and in solitude gave double force to the passion which she nourished in her heart. She suddenly left the dangerous shades and went to her mother to seek protection against herself. She wished to reveal her distress to her, she pressed her hands, and the name of Paul was on her lips, but the oppression of her heart took away all utterance, and, laying her head upon her mother's bosom, she only wept. And am I not a mother to you, my beloved Virginia? said Mrs. Ormond, though I cannot express my affection in such charming language as this. Yet believe me, no mother was ever fonder of a child. Virginia threw her arms round Mrs. Ormond and laid her head upon her friend's bosom, as if she wished to realize the illusion, and to be the Virginia of whom she had been reading. I know all you think and all you feel, I know, whispered Mrs. Ormond, the name that is on your lips. No, indeed you do not, you cannot! cried Virginia, suddenly racing her head and looking up in Mrs. Ormond's face with surprise and timidity. How could you possibly know all my thoughts and feelings? I never told them to you, for indeed I have only confused ideas floating in my imagination from the books I have been reading. I do not distinctly know my own feelings. This is all very natural and a proof of your perfect innocence and simplicity, my child. But why did the passage you were reading just now strike you so much? I was only considering, said Virginia, whether it was the description of love. And your heart told you that it was? I don't know, said she sighing, but of this I am certain that I had not the name which you were thinking of upon my lips. Ah, thought Mrs. Ormond, she has not forgotten how I checked her sensibility some time ago. Poor girl, she's become afraid of me and I have taught her to dissemble, but she betrays herself every moment. My dear, said Mrs. Ormond, you need not fear me. I cannot blame you. In your situation it is impossible that you could help loving Mr. Harvey. Is it? Yes, quite impossible, so do not blame yourself for it. No, I do not blame myself for that. I only blame myself for not loving him enough, as I told you once before. Yes, my dear, and the oftener you tell me so, the more I am convinced of your affection. It is one of the strongest symptoms of love that we are unconscious of its extent. We fancy that we can never do too much for the beloved object. That is exactly what I feel about Mr. Harvey. That we can never love him enough? Ah, that is precisely what I feel for Mr. Harvey. And what you ought, I mean what it is natural you should feel, and what he will himself, I hope, indeed, I dare say, sometimes or other wish and be glad that you should feel. Sometime or other, does not he wish it now? I, he, my dear, what a question is that? And how shall I answer it? We must judge what he feels by what he expresses. When he expresses love for you, it will then be time to show yours for him. He has always expressed love for me, I think, said Virginia, always till lately, continued she, but lately has been away so much, and when he comes home, he does not look so well pleased so that I was afraid he was angry with me and that he thought me ungrateful. Oh, my love, do not torment yourself with these vain fears, and yet I know that you cannot help it. Since you are so kind, so very kind to me, said Virginia, I will tell you all my fears and doubts, but it is late. There, the clock struck one. I will not keep you up. I am not at all sleepy, said the indulgent Mrs. Ormond. Nor I, said Virginia. Now then, said Mrs. Ormond, for these doubts and fears, I was afraid that perhaps Mr. Harvey would be angry if he knew that I thought of anything in the world but him. What else do you think of nothing else from morning till night that I can see? Ah, then you do not see into my mind. In the daytime I often think of those heroes, those charming heroes that I read of in the books you have given me. To be sure you do, and it's not that wrong, would not Mr. Harvey be displeased if he knew it. Why should he? Because they are not quite like him. I love some of them better than I do him, and he might think that ungrateful. How naturally love inspires the idea of jealousy, thought Mrs. Ormond. My dear, said she, you carry your ideas of delicacy and gratitude to an extreme, but it is very natural you should. However, you need not be afraid. Mr. Harvey cannot be jealous of those charming heroes that never existed, though they are not quite like him. I am very glad that he would not think me ungrateful, but if he knew that I dream of them sometimes, he would think you dream, as all people do, of what they think of in the daytime. And he would not be angry? I'm very glad of it, but I once saw a picture. I know you did well, said Mrs. Ormond, and your grandmother was frightened because it was the picture of a man, eh? If she was not your grandmother, I should say that she was a simpleton. I assure you, Mr. Harvey is not like her. If that is what you mean to ask, he would not be angry at your having seen fifty pictures. I'm glad of it, but I see it very often in my dreams. Well, if you had seen more pictures, you would not see this so often. It was the first you ever saw, and very naturally you remember it. Mr. Harvey would not be angry at that, said Mrs. Ormond, laughing. But sometimes in my dreams it speaks to me. And what does it say? The same sort of things that those heroes I read of say to their mistresses. And do you never in your dreams hear Mr. Harvey say these sort of things? No. And do you never see Mr. Harvey in these dreams? Sometimes, but he does not speak to me. He does not look at me with the same sort of tenderness, and he does not throw himself at my feet. No, because he has never done all this in reality. No, and I wonder how I come to dream of such things. So do I, but you have read and thought of them. It is plain. Now go to sleep. There is my good girl. That is the best thing you can do at present. Go to sleep. It was not long after this conversation that Sir Philip Badley and Mr. Rochefort scaled the garden wall to obtain a site of Clarence Harvey's mistress. Virginia was astonished, terrified, and disgusted by their appearance. They seemed to her a species of animals for which she had no name and of which she had no prototype in her imagination. That they were men, she saw, but they were clearly not Clarence Harvey's. They bore still less resemblance to the courteous knights of chivalry. Their language was so different from any of the books she had read and any of the conversations she had heard that they were scarcely intelligible. After they had forced themselves into her presence, they did not scruple to address her in the most unceremonious manner. Amongst other rude things they said, Damn my pretty dear, you cannot love the man that keeps your prisoner in this manner, hey? Dammy, you'd better come and live with one of us. You can't love this tyrant of a fellow. He's not a tyrant. I do love him as much as I detest you," cried Virginia, shrinking from him with looks of horror. Dammy, good actress! Put her on the stage when he's tired of her. So you won't come with us? Goodbye till we see you again. You'll write my girl to be upon your good behavior. Maybe you may get him to marry you, child. Virginia, upon hearing this speech, turned from the man who insulted her with a degree of haughty indignation, of which her gentle nature had never before appeared capable. Mrs. Ormond hoped that after the alarm was over, the circumstance would pass away from her pupil's mind. But on the contrary, it left the most forcible impression. Virginia became silent and melancholy, and whole hours were spent in reverie. Mrs. Ormond imagined that notwithstanding Virginia's entire ignorance of the world, she had acquired from books sufficient knowledge to be alarmed at the idea of being taken for Clarence Harvey's mistress. She touched upon this subject with much delicacy, and the answers that she received confirmed her opinion. Virginia had been inspired by romances with the most exalted notions of female delicacy and honor. But from her perfect ignorance, these were rather vague ideas than principles of conduct. We shall see Mr. Harvey tomorrow. He has written me word that he will come from town and spend the day with us. I shall be ashamed to see him after what has passed, said Virginia. You have no cause for shame, my dear. Mr. Harvey will try to discover the persons who insulted you, and he will punish them. They will never return here. You need not fear that. He is willing and able to protect you. Yes, of that I am sure. But what did that strange man mean when he said, What, my dear, that perhaps Mr. Harvey would marry me? Virginia pronounced these words with difficulty. Mrs. Ormond was silent, for she was much embarrassed. Virginia, having conquered her first difficulty, seemed resolute to obtain an answer. You do not speak to me. You do not tell me, dear Mrs. Ormond, said she, hanging upon her fondly. What did he mean? What he said, I suppose. But he said that if I behaved well, I might get Mr. Harvey to marry me. What did he mean by that? said Virginia in an accent of offended pride. He spoke very rudely and improperly, but it is not worthwhile to think of what he said or what he meant. But dear Mrs. Ormond, do not go away from me now. I never so much wish to speak to you in my whole life, and you turn away from me. Well, my love, well, what would you say? Tell me one thing, only one thing, and you will set my heart at ease. Thus Mr. Harvey wished me to be his wife. I cannot tell you that, my dearest Virginia. Time will show us. Perhaps his heart has not yet decided. I wish it would decide, said Virginia sighing deeply, and I wish that strange man had not told me anything about the matter. It has made me very unhappy. She covered her eyes with her hand, but the tears trickled between her fingers and rolled fast down her arm. Mrs. Ormond quite overcome by the sight of her distress was no longer able to keep the secret which he had been entrusted by Clarence Harvey. And after all thought she, Virginia will hear it from himself soon. I shall only spare her some unnecessary pain. It is cruel to see her thus and to keep her in suspense. Besides, her weakness might be her ruin in his opinion if it were to extinguish all her energy and deprive her of the very power of pleasing. How wan she looks, and how heavy are those sleepless eyes. She is not indeed in a condition to meet him when he comes to us tomorrow. If she had some hopes she would revive and appear with her natural ease and grace. My sweet child, said Mrs. Ormond, I cannot bear to see you so melancholy. Consider Mr. Harvey will be with us tomorrow and it will give him a great deal of pain to see you so. Will it? Then I will try to be very gay. Mrs. Ormond was so delighted to see Virginia smile that she could not forebear adding. The strange man was not wrong in everything he said, but you will one of these days be Mr. Harvey's wife. That I am sure, said Virginia, bursting again into tears, that I am sure I do not wish unless he does. He does, he does, my dear. Do not let this delicacy of yours which has been wound up too high make you miserable. He thought of you, he loved you long and long ago. He is very good, too good, said Virginia sobbing. Nay, what is more, for I can keep nothing from you. He has been educating you all this time on purpose for his wife, and he only waits till your education is finished and till he is sure that you feel no repugnance for him. I shall be very ungrateful if I felt any repugnance for him, said Virginia, I feel none. Oh, that you need not assure me, said Mrs. Ormond, but I do not wish to marry him, I do not wish to marry. You are a modest girl to say so, and this modesty will make you ten times more aimable, especially in Mr. Harvey's eyes. Heaven forbid that I should lessen it. The next morning Virginia, who always slept in the same room with Mrs. Ormond, wakened her by crying out in her sleep with a voice of terror. Oh, save him, save Mr. Harvey, Mr. Harvey, forgive me, forgive me. Mr. Ormond drew back the curtain and saw Virginia lying fast asleep, her beautiful face convulsed with agony. He is dead, Mr. Harvey, cried she in a voice of exquisite distress. Then, starting up and stretching out her arms, she uttered a piercing cry and a vow. My love, you have been dreaming frightfully, said Mrs. Ormond. Is it all a dream? cried Virginia, looking round fearfully. All a dream, my dear, said Mrs. Ormond, taking her hand. I am very, very glad of it. Let me breathe. It was indeed a frightful dream. Your hand still trembles, said Mrs. Ormond. Let me put back this hair from your poor face, and you will grow cool and forget this foolish dream. No, I must tell it you. I ought to tell it you. But it was all so confused. I can recollect only some parts of it. First I remember that I thought I was not myself, but the Virginia that we were reading of the other night, and I was somewhere in the Isle of France. I thought the place was something like the forest where my grandmother's cottage used to be. Only there were high mountains and rocks and cocoa trees and plantains, such as you saw in the prints of that book. Yes, only beautiful, beautiful beyond description. And it was moonlight, brighter and clearer than any moonlight I ever before had seen, and the air was fresh yet perfumed, and I was seated under the shade of a plain tree beside Virginia's fountain. Just as you are in your picture? Yes, but Paul was seated beside me. Paul? said Mrs. Ormond, smiling. That is Mr. Harvey? No, not Mr. Harvey's face, though it spoke with his voice. This is what I thought that I must tell you. It was another figure. It seemed a real living person. It knelt at my feet and spoke to me so kindly, so tenderly, and just as it was going to kiss my hand, Mr. Harvey appeared, and I started terribly, for I was afraid he would be displeased and that he would think me ungrateful, and he was displeased and he called me ungrateful Virginia and frowned, and then I gave him my hand, and then everything changed. I do not know how suddenly, and I was in a place like the great print of the cathedral which Mr. Harvey showed me, and there were crowds of people. I was almost stifled. You pulled me on as I remember, and Mr. Morton was there, standing upon some steps by what you called the altar, and then we knelt down before him, and Mr. Harvey was putting a ring on my finger, but there came suddenly from the crowd that strange man who was here the other day, and he dragged me along with him. I do not know how or where, swiftly down precipices, whilst I struggled and at last fell. Then all changed again, and I was in a magnificent field, covered with cloth of gold, and there were beautiful ladies seated under canopies, and I thought it was a tournament such as I have read of, only more splendid, and two knights clad in complete armor and mounted on fiery steeds, were engaged in single combat, and they fought furiously, and I thought they were fighting for me. One of the knights wore black plumes in his helmet, the other white, and, as he was passing by me, the visor of the knight of the white plumes was raised, and I saw it was Clarence Harvey, said Mrs. Ormond. No, still the same figure that knelt to me, and I wished him to be victorious, and he was victorious, and he unhorsed his adversary and stood over him with his strong sword, and then I saw that the knight in the black plumes was Mr. Harvey, and I ran to save him, but I could not. I saw him welltering in his blood, and I heard him say, Perfidious, ungrateful Virginia, you are the cause of my death, and I screamed, I believe, and that awakened me. Well, it is only a dream, my love, said Mrs. Ormond. Mr. Harvey is safe, get up and dress yourself, and you will soon see him. But was it not wrong and ungrateful to wish that the knight in the white plumes should be victorious? Your poor little head is full of nothing but these romances and love for Mr. Harvey. It is your love for him that makes you fear that he will be jealous, but he's not so simple as you are. He will forgive you for wishing that the knight in the white plumes should be victorious, especially as you did not know that the other knight was Mr. Harvey. Come, my love, dress yourself and think no more of these foolish dreams, and all will go well. 26. Red by Lars Rolander Chapter 27, Part 1 of Belinda This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Reading by Lars Rolander Belinda by Maria Edgeworth Chapter 27, Part 1 A Discovery Instead of the open childish affectionate familiarity with which Virginia used to meet Clarence Harvey, she now received him with reserved timid embarrassment, struck by this change in her manner, and alarmed by the dejection of her spirits, which she vainly strove to conceal, he eagerly inquired from Mrs. Ormond into the course of this alteration. Mrs. Ormond's answers and her account that had passed during his absence increased his anxiety. His indignation was rushed by the insult which Virginia had been offered by the strangers who had scaled the garden wall. All his endeavours to discover who they were proved ineffectual, but, lest they should venture to repeat their visit, he removed her from Windsor and took her directly to Twickenham. Here he stayed with her and Mrs. Ormond some days to determine, by his own observation, how far the representations that had been made to him were just. Till this period he had been persuaded that Virginia's regard for him was rather that of gratitude than of love, and with this opinion he thought that he had no reason seriously to reproach himself for the imprudence with which he had betrayed the partiality that he felt for her in the beginning of their acquaintance. He flattered himself that even should she have discerned his intentions her heart would not repine at any alteration in his sentiments, and if her happiness were uninjured his reason told him that he was not in honour bound to constancy. The case was now altered, unwilling as he was to believe, he could no longer doubt. Virginia could neither meet his eyes nor speak to him without a degree of embarrassment which he had not sufficient art to conceal. She trembled whenever he came near her, and if he looked grave or for bore to take notice of her she would burst into tears. At other times, contrary to the natural indolence of her character she would exert herself to please him with surprising energy. She learned everything that he wished, and her capacity seemed suddenly to unfold. For an instant, Clarence flattered himself that both her fits of melancholy and of exertion might arise from a secret desire to see something of that world from which she had been secluded. One day he touched upon this subject to see what effect it would produce, but contrary to his expectations she seemed to have no desire to quit her retirement. She did not wish, she said, for amusements such as he described, she did not wish to go into the world. It was during the time of his passion for her that Clarence had her picture painted in the character of St. Pierre's Virginia. It happened to be in the room in which they were now conversing, and when she spoke of loving a life of retirement Clarence accidentally cast his eyes upon the picture, and then upon Virginia. She turned away, sighed deeply, and when in the tone of kindness he asked her if she were unhappy, she hid her face in her hands and made no answer. Mr. Hervé could not be insensible to her distress or to her delicacy. He saw her bloom fading daily, her spirits depressed, her existence a burden to her, and he feared that his own imprudence had been the cause of all this misery. I have taken her out of a situation in which she might have spent her life usefully and happily. I have excited false hopes in her mind, and now she's a wretched and useless being. I have won her affections, her happiness depends totally upon me, and can I forsake her? Mrs. Orman says that she's convinced Virginia would not survive the day of my marriage with another. I am not disposed to believe that girls often die or destroy themselves for love, nor am I cockscomb enough to suppose that love for me must be extraordinarily desperate. But here's a girl who is of a melancholy temperament, who has a great deal of natural sensibility, whose affections have all been concentrated, who has lived in solitude, whose imagination has dwelt for a length of time upon a certain set of ideas, who has but one object of hope. In such a mind, and in such circumstances, passion may rise to a paradoxism of despair. Pity, generosity, and honour made him resolved not to abandon this unfortunate girl, though he felt that every time he saw Virginia, his love for Belinda increased. It was this struggle in his mind betwixt love and honour, which produced all the apparent inconsistency and irresolution that passeth Lady de la Cour and perplexed Belinda. The look of beautiful hair which so unluckily fell at Belinda's feet was for Tinias. He was going to take it to the painter who had made the hair in her picture considerably too dark. This picture got into the exhibition must now be explained. Whilst Mr. Harvey's mind was in that painful state of doubt, which has just been described, a circumstance happened that promised him some relief from his embarrassment. Mr. Morton, the clergyman who used to read prayers every Sunday for Mrs. Ormond and Virginia did not come one Sunday at the usual time. The next morning he called on Mr. Harvey with a face that showed he had something of importance to communicate. I have hopes, my dear Clarence, said he, that I have found out your Virginia's father. Yesterday a musical friend of mine persuaded me to go with him to hear the singing at the asylum for children in St. George's Fields. There is a girl there who has indeed a charming voice, but that's not the present purpose. After church was over I happened to be one of the last that stayed for I am too old to love bustling through a crowd. Perhaps as you are impatient you think that's nothing to the purpose and yet it is as you shall hear. When the congregation had almost left the church I observed that the children of the asylum remained in their places by order of one of the governors and a middle-aged gentleman found amongst the elder girls examined their countenances with care and inquired with much anxiety their ages and every particular relative to their parents. The stranger held a miniature picture in his hand with which he compared each face. I was not near enough to him, continued Mr. Morton, to see the miniature distinctly but from the glimpse I caught of it I thought that it was like your Virginia although it seemed to be the portrait of a child but four or five years old. I understand that this gentleman will be at the asylum again next Sunday. I heard him express a wish to see some of the girls who happened last Sunday to be absent. Do you know this gentleman's name or where he lives? said Clarence. I know nothing of him, replied Mr. Morton, except that he seems fond of painting for he told one of the directors who was looking at his miniature that it was remarkably well-painted and that in his happier days he had been something of a judge of the art. Impatient to see the stranger who he did not doubt was Virginia's father, Clarence Harvey went the next Sunday to the asylum. But no such gentleman appeared and all that he could learn respecting him was that he had applied to one of the directors of the institution for Lee to see and question the girls in hopes of finding amongst them his lost daughter that in the course of the week he had seen all those who were not at the church the last Sunday. None of the directors knew anything more concerning him but the porter remarked that he came in a very handsome coach and one of the girls of the asylum said that he gave her half a guinea because he was a little like his poor Rachel who was dead but that he had added with a sigh this cannot be my daughter for she is only 13 and my girl if she be now living must be nearly 18. The age the name every circumstance confirmed Mr. Harvey in the belief that this stranger was the father of Virginia and he was disappointed and provoked by having missed the opportunity of seeing or speaking to him. It occurred to Clarence that a gentleman might probably visit the foundling hospital and thither he immediately went to make inquiries. He was told that a person such as he described had been there about a month before and had compared the face of the oldest girls with a little picture of a child that he gave money to several of the girls but that they did not know his name or anything more about him. Mr. Harvey now inserted proper advertisements in all the papers but without producing any effect. At last recollecting what Mr. Morton told him of the stranger's love of pictures he determined to put his portrait of Virginia into the exhibition in hopes that the gentleman might go there and ask some questions about it which might lead to a discovery. The young artist who had painted this picture was under particular obligations to Clarence and he promised that he would faithfully comply with his request to be at Somerset House regularly every morning as soon as the exhibition opened that he would stay there till it closed and watch whether any other spectators were particularly struck with the portrait of Virginia. If any person should ask questions respecting the picture he was to let Mr. Harvey know immediately and to give the writer his address. Now it happened that the very day when Lady de la Cour and Belinda were at the exhibition the painter called Clarence aside and informed him that a gentleman had just inquired from him very eagerly whether the picture of Virginia was a portrait. This gentleman proved to be not the stranger who had been at the asylum but an eminent jeweler who told Mr. Harvey that his curiosity about the picture arose merely from its striking likeness to a miniature which had been lately left at his house to be new set. It belonged to a Mr. Hartley, a gentleman who had made a considerable fortune in the West Indies but who was prevented from enjoying his affluence by the loss of an only daughter of whom the miniature was a portrait taken when she was not more than four or five years old. When Clarence heard all this he was extremely impatient to know where Mr. Hartley was to be found but the jeweler could only tell him that the miniature had been called for the preceding day by Mr. Hartley's servant who said his master was leaving town in a great hurry to go to Porthmouth to join the West India fleet which was to sail with the first favorable wind. Clarence determined immediately to follow him to Porthmouth. The moment to spare for the wind was actually favorable and his only chance of seeing Mr. Hartley was by reaching Porthmouth as soon as possible. This was the course of his taking leave of Belinda in such an abrupt manner. Painful indeed were his feelings at that moment and great the difficulty felt in parting with her without giving any explanation of his conduct which must have appeared to her capricious and mysterious. He was aware that he had explicitly avowed to Lady Delacour his admiration of Miss Portman and that in a thousand instances he had betrayed his passion. Yet of her love he dare not trust himself to think whilst his affairs were in this doubtful state. He had, it is true, some faint hopes that a change in Virginia situation might produce an alteration in her sentiments and he resolved to decide his own conduct by the manner in which she should behave if her father should be found and she should become heiress to a considerable fortune. New views might then open to her imagination. The world, the fashionable world in all its glory would be before her. Her beauty and fortune would attract a variety of admirers thought that perhaps her partiality for him might become less exclusive when she had more opportunities of choice. If her love arose merely from circumstances, with circumstances it would change. If it were only disease of the imagination induced by her seclusion from society, it might be cured by mixing with the world and then he should be at liberty to follow the dictates of his own heart and declare his attachment to be leaned down. But if he should find that change of situation made no alteration in Virginia's sentiments, if her happiness should absolutely depend upon the realization of those hopes which he had imprudently excited, he felt that he should be bound to her by all the laws of justice and honor, laws which no passion could tempt to break. Full of these ideas he hurried to Porchmouth in pursuit of Virginia's father. The first question he asked upon his arrival there may easily be guessed. Has the West India fleet sailed? No, it sails tomorrow morning, was the answer. He hastened instantly to make inquiries for Mr. Hartley. No such person could be found. No such gentleman was to be heard of anywhere. Hartley was sure was the name which the Euler mentioned to him, but it was in vain that he repeated it. No, Mr. Hartley was to be heard of at Porchmouth, except a pawnbroker. At last a steward of one of the West India men recollected that a gentleman of that name came over with him in the Effingham, and that he talked of returning in the same to the West Indies if he should ever leave England again. But we have heard nothing of him since, sir, said the steward. No passage is taken for him with us. On my life to China Orange cried the sailor who was standing by. He's gone to Kingdom Come or more likely to Bedlam for this, for he was plaguing crazy in his timbers, and his head wanted writing. I take it if it was he, Jack, who wished to walk the deck, you know, with a bit of a picture in his hand to which he seemed to be mumbling his prayers from morning to night. There's no use in sounding for him, muster, he's down in Davis locker long ago, or stowed into the tight waistcoat before this time of day. Notwithstanding this knowing sailor's opinion, Clarence would not desist from his sounding because having so lately heard of him at different places, he could not believe that he was gone either into Davis locker or to Bedlam. He imagined that by some accident Mr. Hartley had been detained upon the road to Portsmouth and in the expectation that he would certainly arrive before the fleet should sail. Clarence waited with tolerable patience, he waited, however, in vain. He saw the Effingham and the whole fleet sail. As he hailed one of the boats of the Effingham which was throwing out with some passengers who had been too late to get on board, his friend the sailor answered, Why now, crazy man here? I told you, master, he'd never go out no more in the Effingham. He's where I said, master, you'll find or nowhere. Mr. Harvey remained some day at Portsmouth after the fleet had sailed in hopes that he might yet obtain some information, but none could be had, neither could any further tidings be obtained from the jeweler who had first mentioned Mr. Hartley. Despairing of success in the object of his journey, he, however, determined to delay his return to town for some time, in hopes that absence might efface the impression which had been made on the heart of Virginia. He made a tour along the coasts of Dorset and Devonshire, and it was during this excursion that he wrote the letters to Lady Delacour which have so often been mentioned. He endeavored to dissipate his thoughts by new scenes and employments, but all his ideas involuntarily centered in Belinda. If he saw new characters, he compared them with hers, or considered how far she would approve or condemn them. The books that he read were produced with a constant reference to what she would think or feel, and during his whole journey he never beheld any beautiful prospect, without wishing that it could at the same instant be seen by Belinda. If her name were mentioned, but once in his letters, it was because he did not trust himself to speak of her. She was forever present to his mind, but while he was writing to Lady Delacour, her idea pressed more strongly upon his heart. He recollected that it was she who first gave him a just insight into her Ladyship's real character. He recollected that she had joined with him in the benevolent design of reconciling her to Lord Delacour, and of creating in her mind a taste for domestic happiness. This remembrance operated powerfully to excite him to fresh exertions, and the eloquence which touched Lady Delacour so much in these edifying letters, as she called them, was in fact inspired by Belinda. Whenever he thought distinctly upon his future plans, Virginia's attachment, and the hopes which he had imprudently inspired, appeared in superable obstacles to his union with Miss Portman, but in more sanguine moments he flattered himself with a confused notion that these difficulties would vanish. Great were his surprise and alarm when he received the letter of Lady Delacour in which she announced the probability of Belinda's marriage with Mr. Vincent. In consequence of his moving from place to place in the course of his tour, he did not receive this letter of fortnight after it should have come to his hands. The instant he received it he set out on his way home. He traveled with all that expedition which money can command in England. His first thought and first wish when he arrived in town were to go to Lady Delacour's but he checked his impatience and proceeded immediately to Twickenham to have his fate decided by Virginia. It was with the most painful sensations that he saw her again. The accounts which he received from Mrs. Orman convinced him that absence had produced none of the effects which he expected on the mind of her pupil. Mrs. Orman was naturally both of an affectionate disposition and a timid temper. She had become excessively fond of Virginia and her anxiety was more than in proportion it sometimes balanced and even overbalanced her regard and respect for Clarence Harvey himself. When he spoke of his attachment to Belinda and of his doubts respecting Virginia she could no longer restrain her emotion. Oh indeed Mr. Harvey said she this is no time for reasoning and doubting no man in his senses no man who is not willfully blind could doubt being distractedly fond of you. I'm sorry for it said Clarence and why oh why Mr. Harvey don't you recollect the time when you were all impatient to call her yours when you thought her the most charming creature in the whole world. I had not seen Belinda Portman then and I wished to heaven you never had seen her but oh surely Mr. Harvey you will not desert my Virginia must her health her happiness her reputation all be the sacrifice reputation Mrs. Ormond reputation Mr. Harvey you do not know in what light she is considered here nor did I till lately but I tell you her reputation is injured fatally injured it is whispered in more than whispered everywhere she is your mistress a woman came here the other day with a bullfinch and she looked at me and spoke in such an extraordinary way that I was shocked more than I can express I need not tell you all the particulars it is enough that I have made inquires and I'm sure too sure of what I say that nothing but your marriage with Virginia can save her reputation or Mrs. Ormond stopped short but this instant Virginia entered the room walking in her slow manner as if she were in a deep reverie since my return St. Clarence in an embarrassed voice I have scarcely heard a syllable from Miss St. Pierre's lips Miss St. Pierre he used to call me Virginia said she turned into Mrs. Ormond he is angry with me he used to call me Virginia but you were a child then you know my love said Mrs. Ormond and I wish I was still a child said Virginia then after a long pause she approached Mr. Harvey with extreme timidity and opening a portfolio which lay on the table she said to him if you are at Lesher if I do not interrupt you would you look at these drawings worth your seeing except as proofs that I can conquer my natural indolence the drawings were views which she had painted from memory of scenes in the new forest near her grandmother's cottage that cottage was drawn with an exactness that proved how fresh it was in her remembrance many recollections rushed forcibly into Clarence Harvey's mind at the site of this cottage the image of Virginia as it first struck his fancy the smile, the innocent smile with which she offered him the finest rose in her basket the stern voice in which her grandmother spoke to her the prophetic fears of her protectors the figures of the dying woman the solemn promise he made to her all recurred in rapid succession to his memory you don't seem to like that said Virginia and then putting another drawing into his hands perhaps this may please you better they are beautiful they are surprisingly well done exclaimed he I knew he would like them I told you so cried Mrs. Ormond in a triumphant tone you see said Virginia that though you have heard scarcely silver from his St. Pierre's lips she has not been unmindful of your wishes in your absence you told her some time ago that you wished she would try to improve in drawing she has done her best but do not trouble yourself to look at them any longer said Virginia taking one of her drawings from his hand I merely wanted to show you that though I have no genius I have some her voice faltered so as the word gratitude Mrs. Ormond pronounced it for her and added I can answer for it that Virginia is not ungrateful ungrateful repeated Clarence who ever thought her so why did you put these ideas into her mind Virginia resting her head on Mrs. Ormond's shoulder wept bitterly end of chapter 27 Part 1 Read by Lash Rolander Chapter 27 Part 2 of Belinda This is a LibriVox recording or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org reading by Lash Rolander Belinda by Maria Edgeworth Chapter 27 Part 2 The possibility till you have made her miserable cried Clarence angrily Virginia listen to me look at me said he affectionately taking her hand but she pressed closer to Mrs. Ormond and would not raise her head Do not consider me as your master your tyrant do not imagine that I think you ungrateful oh I am I am I am ungrateful to you cried she sobbing but Mrs. Ormond never told me so do not blame her she has never worked upon my sensibility do you think said she looking up while a transient expression of indignation passed over her countenance do you think I cannot feel without having been taught Clarence uttered a deep sigh but if you feel too much my dearest Virginia if you give way to your feelings in this manner said Mrs. Ormond you will make both yourself and Mr. Harvey unhappy heaven forbid the first wish of my soul is she paused I should be the most ungrateful wretch in the world if I were to make him unhappy but if he sees you miserable Virginia shall not see it said she wiping the tears from her face to imagine that you were unhappy and that you conceal it from us would be still worse said Clarence but why should you imagine it replied Virginia you are too good too kind but do not fancy that I am not happy I am sure I ought to be happy do you regret your cottage Clarence these drawings show how well you remember it Virginia colored and with some hesitation answered is it my fault if I cannot forget you were happier then Virginia than you are now you will confess said Mrs. Ormond was not a woman of refined delicacy and who thought that the best chance she had of working upon Miss Harvey's sense of honour was to tell him how much her pupils of fictions were engaged Virginia made no answer to this question and her silence touched Clarence more than anything she could have said when Mrs. Ormond repeated her question he relieved the trembling girl by saying my dear Mrs. Ormond confidence must be won not demanded I have no right to insist upon confessions I know but I do not wish to conceal anything but I think sincerity is not always in our sex consistent with I mean I don't know what I mean what I say or what I ought to say cried Virginia and she sank down on a sofa in extreme confusion why will you agitate her Mrs. Ormond in this manner said Mr. Harvey it was an anger it was succeeded by a look of such tender compassion for Virginia that Mrs. Ormond rejoiced to have excited his anger at any price she wished to serve her beloved pupil do not be in the least apprehensive my dear Virginia that we should take ungenerous advantage of the openness and simplicity of your character said Mr. Harvey oh no, no I cannot see anything ungenerous from you you are you ever have been my best my most generous friend but I fear that I have not the simplicity of character the openness that you imagine and yet I am sure I wish from the bottom of my heart I wish to do right if I knew how but there is not one no, not one person in the whole world continued she her eyes moving from Mrs. Ormond to Mr. Harvey and from him to Mrs. Ormond again not one person in the whole world I dare I ought to lay my heart open to I have perhaps said more than is proper already but this I know added she in a firm tone rising and addressing herself to Clarence you shall never be made unhappy by me not think about my happiness so much said she forcing a smile I am I will be perfectly happy only let me always know your wishes your sentiments your feelings and by them I will as I ought regulate mine amable charming generous girl cried Clarence take care said Mrs. Ormond Virginia, lest you promise more than you can perform wishes and feelings and sentiments are not to be so easily regulated I did not I believe say it was easy but I hope it is possible replied Virginia I promise nothing but what I am able to perform I doubt it said Mrs. Ormond shaking her head you are you will be perfectly happy oh Virginia my love do not deceive yourself do not deceive us so terribly I am sorry to put you to the blush but not a word more my dear madam I beg I insist said Mrs. Harvey in a commanding tone but for the first time in her life regardless of him she persisted I only ask you to call to mind my dearest Virginia said she taking her hand the morning that you screamed in your sleep the morning when you told me the frightful dream were you perfectly happy then it is easy to force my thoughts from me said Virginia with drawing her hand from Mrs. Ormond but it is cruel to do so and with an air of offended dignity she passed them and quitted the room I wish to heaven exclaimed Mrs. Ormond this portman was married and out of the way I shall never forgive myself we have used this poor girl cruel amongst us she loves you too distraction and I have encouraged her passion and I have betrayed her oh fool that I was I told her that she would certainly be your wife you have told her so did I not charge you Mrs. Ormond yes but I could not help it I saw the sweet girl fading away and besides I am sure she thought it from your manner long and long before I told it to her do you forget how fond of her you were scarce one short year ago and do you forget how plainly you let her see your passion oh how can you blame her if she loves you and if she is unhappy I blame no one but myself cried Clarence I must abide by the consequences of my own folly unhappy she shall not be unhappy she does not deserve to be so he walked backward and forward with hasty steps for some minutes then sat down and wrote a letter to Virginia when he had finished it he put it into Mrs. Ormond's hands read it, seal it give it to her and let her answer be sent to town to me Mrs. Ormond left her hand in an ecstasy of joy as she glanced her eye over the letter for it contained an offer of his hand this is like yourself like what I always knew you to be dear Mr. Harvey she exclaimed but her exclamation was lost upon him when she looked up to repeat her praises she perceived he was gone after the effort which he had made he wished for time to tranquilize his mind before he should again see Virginia what her answer to this letter would be he could not doubt his fate was now decided and he determined immediately to write to Lady de la Cour to explain his situation he felt that he had not sufficient fortitude at this moment to make such an explanation in person with all the strength of his mind to exclude Belinda from his thoughts but curiosity for he would suffer himself to call it by no other name curiosity to know whether she were actually engaged to Mr. Vincent obtruded itself with such force that it could not be resisted from Dr. X he thought he could obtain full information and he hastened immediately to town when he got to Clifford Street he found that the doctor was not at home his servant said he might probably be met with at Mrs. Margaret de la Cour as he usually finished his morning rounds at her house dither Mr. Harway immediately went the first sound that he heard as he went up her stairs was the screaming of a macaw and the first person he saw through the open door of the drawing room was Helena de la Cour she was standing with her back to him leaning over the macaw's cage and he heard her say in a joyful tone yes though you do scream so frightfully my pretty macaw I love you as well as Marriott ever did when my dear goodness Portland sent this macaw my dear aunt here's Mr. Harway you were just wishing to see him Mr. Harway said the old lady with a benevolent smile your little friend Helena tells you truth we were just wishing for you I'm sure it will give you pleasure to hear that I'm at last a convert to your opinion of Lady de la Cour she has given up all those that I used to call a ranty pole acquaintance she has reconciled herself to her husband and to his friends and Helena is to go home to live with her here is a charming note I have just received from her dine with me on Thursday next and you will meet her ladyship and see a happy family party you have had some share in the reformation I know and that was the reason I wished that you should be with us on Thursday you see I'm not an obstinate old woman though I was crossed the first day I saw you at Lady Anne Percival's I found I was mistaken in your character and I am glad of it but this note of Lady de la Cour's seems to have struck you dumb there were indeed a few words in this note which depred him for some moments of all power of utterance the report you have heard unlike most other reports is perfectly well founded Mr. Vincent Belinda's admirer is here I will bring him with us on Thursday Mr. Harway was relieved from the necessity of accounting Mrs. de la Cour for his sudden embarrassment by the entrance of Dr. X and another gentleman of whom in the confusion of his mind Clarence did not at first take any notice Dr. X with his usual mixture of benevolence and bravery addressed himself to Clarence whilst the stranger took out of his pocket some papers and in a low voice entered earnestly into conversation now tell me if you can Clarence said Dr. X which of your three mistresses you like best I think I left you some months ago in great doubt upon this subject are you still in that philosophic state no said Clarence all doubts are over I am going to be married bravo but you look as if you were going to be hanged may I as it will soon be in the newspaper may I ask the name of the Fair Lady Virginia St. Pierre you shall know her history and mine when we are alone said Mr. Hardway lowering his voice you need not lower your voice said Dr. X for Mrs. de la Cour is as you see so much taken up with her own affairs that she has no curiosity for those of her neighbors and Mr. Hartley is as busy as Mr. Who Mr. Hartley did you say interrupted Clarence eagerly turning his eyes upon the stranger who was a middle-aged gentleman exactly answering the description of the person who had been at the asylum in search of his daughter Mr. Hartley yes what astonishes you so much said X calmly he is a West Indian I met him in Cambridge last summer at his friends Mr. Hortons he has been very generous to the poor people who suffered by the fire and he is now consulting with Mrs. de la Cour who has an estate joining to Mr. Hortons about her tenants whose houses in the village were burned now I have in as few words and parenthesis as possible told you all I know of Mr. Hartley's history but your curiosity still looks voracious I want to know whether he has a miniature said Clarence hastily introduce me to him for heaven's sake directly Mr. Hartley cried the doctor raising his voice give me lead to introduce my friend Mr. Hartley to you and to your miniature picture if you have one Mr. Hartley sighed profoundly as he drew from his bosom a small portrait which he put into Mr. Hartley's hand saying alas sir you cannot I fear give me any tidings of the original it is the picture of a daughter I have never seen since she was an infant whom I never shall see again Clarence instantly knew it to be Virginia but as he was upon the point of making some joyful exclamation he felt Dr. X touch his shoulder and looking up at Mr. Hartley he saw in his countenance such strong workings of passion that he prudently suppressed his own emotion and calmly said alas sir to give you false hopes it would kill me it would kill me sir or worse worse a thousand times worse cried Mr. Hartley putting his hand to his forehead what continually impatiently what was the meaning of the look you gave when you first saw that picture speak if you have any humanity did you ever see one that resembles that picture I have seen I think a picture said Clarence Hartley that has some resemblance to it when where my gods are said Dr. X let me recommend it to you to consider that there is scarcely any possibility of judging from the features of children or what their faces may be when they grow up nothing can be more fallacious between the pictures of children and grown up people Mr. Hartley's countenance fell but, added Clarence Hartley you will perhaps sort of think it worth your while to see the picture of which I speak you can see it at Mr. F's the painter in human street and I will accompany you whenever you please this moment if you would have the goodness my courage is at the door and Mrs. Delacour will be so kind to you oh make no apologies to me at such a time as this said Mrs. Delacour away with you gentlemen as soon as you please upon condition that if you have any good news to tell some of you will remember in the midst of your joy that such an old woman as Mrs. Margaret Delacour exists who loves to hear good news of those who deserve it it was so late in the day when they got to human street that they were obliged to light candles trembling with eagerness Mr. Hartley drew near while Clarence held the light to the picture it is so light said he looking at his miniature that I dare not believe my senses Dr. Ricks pray do you look my head is so dizzy and my eyes so what do you think sir what do you say doctor this is certainly striking but this seems to be a fancy piece a fancy piece repeated Mr. Hartley with terror why then did you bring me here a fancy piece no sir it is a portrait said Clarence and if you will be calm I will tell you more I will become only is she alive the lady of whom this is the portrait is alive who was applied to exert his utmost command over himself to maintain that composure which he saw was necessary the lady of whom this is the portrait is alive and you shall see her tomorrow oh why not now cannot I see her now I must see her tonight this instant sir it is impossible said Mr. Hartley that you should see her this instant a miles off at Twickenham it is too late to go dither now you cannot think of it Mr. Hartley continue Dr. X in a tone of command to which she yielded more readily than to reason Clarence had the presence of mind to recollect that it would be necessary to prepare poor Virginia for this meeting and he sent a messenger immediately to request that Mr. Sorman would communicate the intelligence with all the caution in her power the next morning Mr. Hartley and Mr. Harvey set off together for Twickenham in their way dither Clarence gradually confirmed Mr. Hartley in the belief that Virginia was his daughter by relating all the circumstances that he had learned from her grandmother and from Mrs. Smith the farmer's wife with whom she had formally been acquainted the name the age every particular it was disclosed heightened his security and his joy for some time Mr. Hartley's mind was so intent that he could not listen to anything but at last Clarence engaged his attention and suspended his anxiety by giving him a history of his own connection with Virginia from the day of his first discovering her in the new forest to the letter which he had just written to offer her his hand the reality which it was suspected Virginia felt for him was the only circumstance which he suppressed because notwithstanding all Mrs. Ormond had said and all he had himself heard and seen his obstinate incredulity required confirmation under her own hand or positively from her own lips he still fancied it was possible that change of situation might alter her views and sentiments and he earnestly entreated that she might be left entirely to her own decision it was necessary to make the stipulation with her father for in the excess of his gratitude for the kindness which Clarence had shown to her he protested that he should look upon her as a monster if she did not love him he added that if Mr. Hartley had not a farthing he should prefer him to every man upon earth he however promised that he would conceal his wishes and that his daughter should act entirely from the dictates of her own mind in the fullness of his heart he told Clarence all those circumstances of his conduct towards Virginia's mother which had filled his soul with remorse she was scarcely 16 when he ran away with her from a boarding school he was at that time a gay officer she a sentimental girl who had been spoiled by early novel reading her father had a small place at court lived beyond his fortune educated his daughter to whom he could give no portion as if she were to be arised to a large estate then died and left his widow absolutely in penury this widow was the old lady who lived in the cottage in the new forest it was just at the time of her husband's death and our own distress that she heard of the elopement of her daughter from school Mr. Hartley's parents were so much incensed by the match that he was prevailed upon to separate from his wife and to go abroad to push his fortune in the army his marriage had been secret his own friends disavowed it notwithstanding the repeated urgent entreaties of his wife and of her mother and of his surviving relation his wife on her deathbed wrote to urge him to take charge of his daughter and to make the appeal stronger to his feelings she sent him a picture of his little girl who was then about four years old Mr. Hartley however was intent upon forming a new connection with the rich widow of a planter in Jamaica he married the widow took possession of her fortune and were fixed upon a son for whom he formed even from the moment of his birth various schemes of aggrandisement the boy lived till he was about ten years old when he caught a fever which at that time raged in Jamaica and after a few days illness died his mother was carried off by the same disease and Mr. Hartley left alone in the midst of his wealth felt how insufficient it was to happiness remorse now ceased him he returned to England in search of his deserted daughter to this neglected child he now looked forward for the peace and happiness of the reminder of his life disappointment in all his inquiries for some months prayed upon his spirit to such a degree that his intellects were at times disordered this derangement was the cause of his not sooner recovering his child he was in confinement during the time that Clarence Harvys advertisements were inserted in the papers and his illness was also the cause of his not going to Portsmouth and sailing in the Effingham as he had originally intended the history of his connection with Mr. Horton would be uninteresting to the reader it is enough to say that he was prevailed upon by that gentleman to spend some time in the country with him for the recovery of his health and it was there that he became acquainted with Dr. X who introduced him as we have seen to Mrs. Margaret Delacour at whose house he met Clarence Harvys this is the most assumed account that we can give of him and his affairs his own account was ten times as long but we spare our readers his incoherences and reflections the cause perhaps they are in a hurry to get to Twickenham and to hear of his meeting with Virginia End of Chapter 27 Part 2 Read by Lars Rolander Chapter 27 Part 3 of Belinda This is a LibriVax recording All LibriVax recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVax.org Recording by Dana Meilinger Belinda by Maria Edgeworth Chapter 27 A Discovery Part 3 Mrs. Ormond found it no easy task to prepare Virginia for the sight of Mr. Hartley Virginia had scarcely ever spoken of her father but the remembrance of things which she had heard of him from her grandmother was fresh in her mind she had often pictured him in her fancy and she had secretly nourished the hope that she should not forever be a deserted child Mrs. Ormond had observed that in those romances of which she was so fond everything that related to children who were deserted by their parents affected her strongly The belief in what the French call a force de son was suited to her affectionate temper and ardent imagination and it had taken full possession of her mind The eloquence of romance persuaded her that she should not only discover but love her father with the intuitive filial piety and she longed to experience those yearnings of affection of which she had read so much The first moment that Mrs. Ormond began to speak of Mr. Clarence Hervey's hopes of discovering her father she was transported with joy My father How delightful that word father sounds My father May I say my father and will he own me and will he love me and will he give me his blessing and will he fold me in his arms and call me his daughter, his dear daughter Oh, how shall I love him I will make it the whole business of my life to please him The whole business said Mrs. Ormond, smiling Not the whole, said Virginia I hope my father will like Mr. Hervey Did you not say that he is rich I wish that my father may be very rich That is the last wish that I should have expected to hear from you, my Virginia But do you not know why I wish it that I may show my gratitude to Mr. Hervey My dear child, said Mrs. Ormond These are most generous sentiments and worthy of you but do not let your imagination run away with you at this rate Mr. Hervey is rich enough I wish he were poor said Virginia that I might make him rich He would not love you the better, my dear said Mrs. Ormond if you had the wealth of the Indies Perhaps your father may not be rich therefore do not set your heart upon this idea Virginia sighed fear succeeded to hope and her imagination immediately reserved a bright picture that it had drawn But I am afraid, said she that this gentleman is not my father how disappointed I shall be I wish you had never told me all this my dear Mrs. Ormond I would not have told it to you if Mr. Hervey has not desired that I should and you may be sure he would not have desired it unless he has good reason to believe that you would not be disappointed But he's not sure he does not say he's quiet sure and even if I were quite certain of his being my father how can I be certain that he would not disown me he who has deserted me so long my grandmother I remember often used to say that he had no natural affection Your grandmother was mistaken then for he has been searching for his child all over England Mr. Hervey says and he has almost lost his senses with grief and with remorse remorse Yes, remorse for having so long deserted you he fears that you will hate him Hate him? Is it possible to hate a father? said Virginia he dreads that you should never forgive him forgive him I have read of parents forgiving their children but I never remember to have read of a daughter forgiving her father forgive you should not have used that word I cannot forgive my father but I can love him and I will make him quite forget I mean all he saw was about me after this conversation Virginia spent her time in imagining what sort of person her father would be whether he was like Mr. Hervey what words he would say where he would sit whether he would sit beside her and above all whether he would give her his blessing I am afraid said she of liking my father better than anybody else no danger of that my dear said Mrs. Ormond smiling I am glad of it for it would be very wrong and ungrateful to like anything in this world so well as Mr. Hervey the carriage now came to the door Mrs. Ormond instantly ran to the window but Virginia had not power to move her heart beat violently is he come? said she yes, he is getting up to the carriage this moment Virginia stood with her eyes thoroughly fixed upon the door hark! said she laying her hand upon Mrs. Ormond's arm to prevent her from moving hush! let me hear his voice she was breathless no voice was to be heard they are not coming said she turning as pale as death an instant afterward her color returned she heard the steps of two people coming up the stairs his step to hear it is it my father Virginia's imagination was worked to the highest pitch and she could scarcely sustain herself Mrs. Ormond supported her at this instant her father appeared my child the image of her mother exclaimed he stopping short he sang upon a chair my father cried Virginia springing forward the voice of her mother said Mr. Hartley my daughter my long-lost child he tried to raise her but could not her arms were collapsed round his knee her face rested upon it and when he stopped to kiss her cheek he found it cold she had fainted when she came to her senses and found herself in her father's arms she could scarcely believe it was not her dream your blessing give me your blessing and I shall know that you are indeed my father cried Virginia nailing to him and looking up with an enthusiastic impression of filial piety in her countenance God bless you my sweet child said he laying his hand upon her and God forgive your father my grandmother died without giving me her blessing said Virginia now I have been blessed by my father happy, happy moment oh that she could look down from heaven and see us at this instant Virginia was so much astonished and overpowered by the sudden discovery of a parent and by the novelty of his first carousels that after the first violent effervescence of her sensibility was over she might, to an indifferent spectator have appeared stupid and insensible Mrs. Ormond, though far from indifferent spectator was by no means a penetrating judge of the human heart she seldom saw more than the external symptoms of feeling and she was apt to be rather impatient with her friends if theirs did not accord with her own Virginia, my dear, said she in rather her approachful tone Mr. Harvey, you see has left a room on purpose to leave you at full liberty to talk to your father and I'm going for so silent I have so much to say and my heart is so full, said Virginia yes I know you told me a thousand things that you had to say to your father before you saw him but now I see him, I have forgotten them all I can think of nothing but of him of him and Mr. Harvey said Mrs. Ormond I was not thinking of Mr. Harvey at the moment, said Virginia well, my love I will leave you to think and talk of what you please said Mrs. Ormond smiling significantly as she left her room Mr. Hartley folded his daughter in his arms with the fondest expressions of parental affection and he was upon the point of telling her how much he approved of the choice of her heart but he recollected his promise and he determined to sound her inclination farther before he even mentioned the name of Clarence Harvey he began by painting the pleasures of the world that word from which he had either to been secluded she heard him with simple indifference not even her curiosity was excited he observed that though she had no curiosity to see it was natural that she must have some pleasure in the thoughts of being seen what pleasure, said Virginia the pleasure of being admired and loved beauty and grace such as yours my child cannot be seen without command in admiration and love I do not want to be admired replied Virginia and I want to be loved by those only whom I love my dearest daughter you shall be entirely your own mistress I will never interfere either directly or indirectly in the disposal of your heart at these last words Virginia who had listened to all the rest and moved took her father's hand and kissed it repeatedly now that I have found you my darling child let me at least make you happy if I can it is the only atonement in my power it will be the only solace of my declining years all that wealth can bestow wealth interrupted Virginia then you have wealth yes my child may it make you happy that is all the enjoyment I expect from it it shall all be yours and may I do what I please with it oh then it will indeed make me happy I will give it all all to Mr. Hervey how delightful to have something to give to Mr. Hervey and had you never anything to give Mr. Hervey till now never never he has given me everything now oh joyful day I can prove to him that Virginia is not ungrateful dear generous girl said her father wiping the tears from his eyes what a daughter have I found but tell me my child continued he smiling do you think Mr. Hervey will be content if you give him only your fortune do you think that he would accept the fortune without the heart nay do not turn away that dear blushing face from me remember it is your father who speaks to you Mr. Hervey will not take your fortune without yourself I am afraid what shall we do must I refuse him your hand refuse him do you think that I could refuse him anything who has given me everything I should be a monster indeed there is no sacrifice I would not make no exertion of which I am not capable for Mr. Hervey's sake but my dear father said she changing her tone he never asked for my hand till yesterday but he had won your heart long ago I see, thought the father I have written an answer to his letter will you look at it and tell me if you approve of it I do approve of it my darling child I will not read it I know what it must be he has a right to the preference he has so nobly earned oh he has, he has indeed cried Virginia with an expression of strong feeling and now is the time to show him that I am not ungrateful how I love you for this, my child cried the father fondly embracing her this is exactly what I wished though I did not dare to say so till I was sure of your sentiments Mr. Hervey charged me to leave you entirely to yourself he thought that your new situation might perhaps produce some change in your sentiments I see he was mistaken I do approve of it but you are going to say something, my dear do not let me interrupt you I was only going to beg that you would give this letter, my dear father to Mr. Hervey it is an answer to one which he wrote to me when I was poor and deserted, she was near saying but she stopped herself I wish, continued she Mr. Hervey should know that my sentiments are precisely the same now that they have always been tell him, added she proudly that he did me injustice by imagining that my sentiments could alter with my situation he little knows Virginia Clarence at this moment entered the room and Mr. Hartley eagerly let his author to meet him take her hand, cried he you have her heart, you deserve it and she has just been very angry with me for doubting watch read the letter that will speak better of her to your satisfaction no doubt than I can Virginia hastily put the letter into Mr. Hervey's hand and, breaking from her father retired to her own apartment with all the trepidation of a person who feels that the happiness of his life is to be decided in a few moments Clarence tore open Virginia's letter and conscious that he was not able to commend his emotion he withdrew from her father's inquiring eyes Mr. Hartley, however saw nothing of this agitation but what he thought natural to a lover and he was delighted to perceive that his daughter had inspired so strong a passion Virginia's letter contained but these few lines most happy shall I be if the whole of my future life can prove to you how deeply I feel your goodness Virginia sent Pire end of S. Hervey's pocket an acceptance so direct left Clarence no alternative his fate was decided he determined immediately to force himself to see Belinda and Mr. Winslet for he fancied that his mind would be more at ease when he had conceived himself by ocular demonstration that she was absolutely engaged to another that's consequently even if he were free he could have no chance of gaining her affections there were moments when we desired a conviction which at another time we were overwhelmed with despair it was in this temper that Mr. Hervey paid his visit to Lady Delacour but we have seen that he was unable to support for many minutes that philosophic composure to which at his first entrance into the room he had worked up his mind the tranquility which he had expected would be the consequence of this visit he was smarter than even from obtaining the extravagant joy with which Lady Delacour received him and an indescribable something in her manner when she looked from him to Belinda and from Belinda to Mr. Winslet persuaded him her ladyship wished that he were in Mr. Winsons place the idea was so delightful that his soul was entranced and for a few minutes Virginia and everything that related to her vanished from his remembrance it was whilst he was in this state that Lady Delacour as the reader made recollect invited him into her lord's dressing room to tell her the contents of the packet which had not then reached her hands the request suddenly recalled him to his senses but he felt that he was not at this moment able to trust himself to her ladyship's penetration he therefore referred her to his letter for that explanation which he dreaded to make in person and he escaped from Belinda's presence resolving never more to expose himself to such danger what effect his packet produced on Lady Delacour's mind and on Belinda's we shall not at present stop to inquire but having brought up Clarence Harvey's affairs to the present day we shall continue his history End of Chapter 27