 40 It was very dark, but I could distinguish when my father drew in the linen and heard him shut the window. I then told my deliverer that I must beg a father-act of kindness from him, which was to see me safe to the street where I wanted to go. He readily complied, and leaving it to his comrade to carry away the plank, took me under the arm, and we got without being molested to the Mantua Maker's house. The family were all in bed, when, after repeated knocking, a maid looked out of an upstairs window and asked us what we wanted. I told her an acquaintance of her mistress had urgent business with her, and begged she would step down and speak to me from the parlor window. After keeping me along while waiting, she at length came down. I then gave the watchman the other guinea I had promised him, and dismissed him very well pleased with his night's adventure. After he was gone I told the woman my name, and begged she would let me in, which she immediately did. I, without scruple, acquainted her with the manner of my escape and the occasion of it. She was shocked and affected with my story, and promised to keep me concealed till my father should come to carry me to some place of greater safety, for, she said, as Mr. Ware's housekeeper was her acquaintance, I might be discovered at her house. This terrified me exceedingly, but the good-natured woman gave me the most solemn assurances that I should be safe for the short time she proposed I should stay with her. She invited me to part of her bed, as she told me she had never a spare one, and I readily accepted her offer. I remained all the next day in the utmost grief and anxiety at hearing nothing from my poor father. In the evening of the second day a porter brought a letter to the Mantua-maker, which served only as a cover for a note directed to me. Having it written my father's hand, I eagerly opened it. But oh, madam, how shall I tell you my grief and horror, when I saw it dated from a prison? My poor father told me that our cruel persecutor, enraged at my escape, which he did not discover till next day, had charged my father with it, who immediately acknowledged he had assisted in delivering me from ruin. But Mr. Ware, after treating him with the most injurious language, demanded payment of him for the sums he said he had lent him from time to time, since his father's death. To this, my father making no other reply, than that Mr. Ware knew he had not in his power to refund any of that money, which though it was a free gift, he would restore sooner than lie under any obligation to such a baseman. The villain was barbarous enough to have him arrested and sent to jail, where he said he should remain, till his stubborn spirit should be glad to yield up his daughter to him. My father desired me to come to him directly and to bring somebody with me to protect me by the way. I instantly obeyed, and sending for a hackney-coach, the Mantua-maker got her husband, a decent tradesman, and his apprentice, to accompany me. We drove directly to my poor father's melancholy habitation, where they delivered me safe into his hands. His joy at seeing me again made him, for a while, forget the sorrows which surrounded us. He told me, that after he had seen me get safe into the street, and had recommended me to the care of Providence, he had put everything out of the way which had assisted me in my escape, and putting out one of the candles left in my room, that the housekeeper when she came up might suppose me in bed, he then went to his own. He concluded that the woman when she went into my room supposed me asleep. Mr. Ware was at home the whole evening and had, before that, retired to rest, so that there was no discovery made that night. My father now informed me that Mr. Ware had said, when he first made the odious proposal to him, that if I complied, he would allow my father four hundred pounds a year, and settle the like-sum upon me for life, at the same time in case of refusal, insinuating the threat which he afterwards put in execution. Thinking no doubt he should, by this, intimidate my poor father so much, that upon reflection he would use his endeavours to prevail on me to comply, and it was for this wicked purpose he was permitted, or rather compelled, to pass the whole day with me. I would not, added my father, relate this particular to you, for fear your tenderness to me might shake your virtue, but the trial, God be praised, is now passed. You are here, my poor child, at least in safety. We have some money to support us for a while. Perhaps the wicked wretch may relent. If he gives me my liberty, I may still obtain a livelihood, and if I can get you received into some worthy family, that will protect you from his violence. I shall be contented. My father, unwilling to expose his ungrateful pupil, and thinking when he called a little he would be ashamed of his conduct and release him, resolved not to apprise any of his friends in Berkshire of his situation, but wrote a long expostulatory letter to Mr. Ware, which he concluded with requesting no other favour but his liberty. To this Mr. Ware wrote an answer, that he was still ready to make good his first proposals, and since he now found he had got his daughter with him, he should obtain his liberty on no other terms. My father, still loathed to believe him so lost to humanity, as to persist in this barbarous resolution, patiently waited another month, at the end of which he again wrote him a very affecting letter, but to this he received no answer, being told Mr. Ware was gone into Berkshire. He wrote to two or three gentlemen of his acquaintance there, informing them of his deplorable situation and begging them to use their influence with Mr. Ware in his behalf. He did not disclose the enormity of his behaviour, but only said that on a quarrel he had with him he had confined him under colour of a debt, which it was not in his power to discharge. This he did as much in tenderness to Mr. Ware's character as to avoid exasperating him more against him. He ordered me, at the same time to write to an old maid-servant, who took care of our little house in the country, to send me my clothes, my father's books, and such other things as belonged to him. As I had come to town but for a month, and was in deep mourning for my mother, I had left the best part of my apparel behind me, and I had taken nothing with me from Mr. Ware's but a little bundle of linen. My father had been permitted to carry his with him to the prison. As the furniture in this little house was of no great value, my father having purchased it as it stood in the house of the former curate, he made a present of it to his old servant, who had lived with him from the time he married. He received no answer to any of the letters he wrote to the gentleman, but I got a letter from this old servant, at the same time that she sent the things which I wrote for, and you will scarce believe, madam, to what a height this abandoned wretch carried his crimes. Not contented with having plunged my poor father and me into the deepest distress, he endeavoured to blast and destroy our characters in the country. He gave out that my father, taking advantage of his, Mr. Ware's, being a little overcome with wine one night, had put his daughter to bed with him, and would have insisted the next day that he had married them. To punish the ungrateful designing old rogue, he said, he had put him in jail, where he intended to keep him a month or two till he repented. Though the respectable character my father bore in his neighbourhood made this story incredible, yet Mr. Ware's power and influence was such that people seemed to believe it, and applauded Mr. Ware's clemency in my father's punishment. No wonder, then, that his letters were unanswered. They were shown to Mr. Ware, and laughed at. The old servant, who was sure we were both crawly belied, lamented our unhappy fate. But, poor creature, she could do nothing but lament. This last blow quite subdued my father's courage. He fell sick upon it, and languished many weeks, in a most melancholy condition. When he recovered a little from his sickness he was suddenly struck, with the dead palsy, on one side, by which he lost the use of his right hand, so that I am obliged to dress and undress him like a child. When the money which we had brought with us to the prison was spent, we were obliged to sell most of my father's books, and the best of my clothes. We had repeated messages from the merciless man, by his vile housekeeper, who used all her rhetoric to persuade us to compliance. But my father constantly repulsed her, with contempt and indignation, till at length Mr. Ware, tired, I believe, with persecuting us, left us to perish in peace. He supposed my father could not hold out long, and he then concluded I should be at his mercy, for as I never stirred out of the jail he had no hopes of getting me into his power, while my poor father lived. If I had even had a place of refuge to go to, I could not think of leaving him in the wretched helpless condition to which he was now reduced. I thought therefore of applying myself to something, by which I could obtain bread for our support. I set about making those little artificial flowers, which had formerly been one of my amusements, and a woman who was confined in the same prison with us and worked for some shops, undertook to dispose of them for me. She had a daughter who came often to see her, and used to carry her work and mine, to the people who bespoke it. In this manner we have languished, madam, near eighteen months. When hearing lately that Mr. Ware was gone to Bath, and the girl who used to visit her mother being sick, I ventured out myself with the work. The person who employs us did live in the city, but has lately taken a shop in this street, and though it is a journey from what I now call my dismal home, I have come to her once a week, for this month past, with the product of my own, and I may say my fellow prisoner's labours. She this day told me she was overstocked with such flowers as I brought her, and have picked out a few of the best of them. She left those which you see in the band box upon my hands. I was returning home very disconsolate, when to avoid your chariot which drew up close to the house, I stood up on one of the steps, not knowing it was going to stop, and something in your countenance, madam, I know not how encouraged me to offer my little ware to you. I have given you this affecting story, my Cecilia, pretty nearly in the girl's own words. I was much moved by it. If this be all fact, said I, what monsters are there among mankind? She replied it was all very true. Though the girl was very young, as I told you, had a modest and ingenuous look, yet, as I had seen such cheating faces before, I would not yield up my belief implicitly. This story might be invented to move compassion, at least the most material circumstances of it, and though I could not suppose she had contrived it on the spot, yet I did not know, but it might have been contrived for her. I have a mind to see your father, child, said I. She answered quite composed, then, madam, you will see an object that would greatly move your pity. She rose up as she spoke this, saying, her poor father would be very uneasy at her staying so long, and was preparing to go. I was seized with a strong inclination to visit this unhappy father directly. If, said I, the case be as she represents it, I cannot be too speedy in my relief, and if she has falsified it in anything, I shall probably detect her by not giving her an opportunity of seeing and preparing him first. It was not more than eleven o'clock, and I resolved not to defer the charity I intended. I desired the young woman to stay a while, and, ordering Patti to bring down a plain black silk hood and a scarf of her own, I made the poor girl to her great astonishment put them on. I then ordered a hackney-coat to be called, and said I would go with her to her father. She looked surprised, but not startled, which made a favourable impression on me. She appeared decent, and I desired her to get into the coach, which I ordered, according to her direction, to drive to the jail where her father was confined. When we arrived at this mansion of horror, for so it appeared to me, I let her go upstairs before me. She stopped at a door and said that was the room where her father lay. I bid her go in first. She entered, and I stood with outside the door, where, as the lobby was dark, I could not readily be perceived. I saw there a man of about sixty, and, as she had told me, her father was copulent, I did not at first take him to be the person, for he looked worn out, pale and emaciated. He wore his own grizzled hair, and had on a cassock girded about him with a silk sash. One of his hands was slung in a black crepe. He sat pensively leaning on a table with a book opened before him, which seemed to be the Bible. Upon his daughter's going into the room he lifted up his eyes to see who it was. He had a fine countenance, candour, and sincerity were painted on it. My dear, you made a long stay, said he, in a melancholy voice. I was afraid something had happened to you. What has detained you? Oh, sir, said she, looking towards the door, I believe I met with a good angel who has come to visit you in prison. I entered at these words. The venerable man rose. A good angel indeed, if her mind be like her face. He bowed respectfully. Pray, sir, keep your seat. I took a chair and placed myself by him. He did not seem in the least embarrassed, but gravely and modestly demanded to what it was that he owed the honour of a visit from a lady of my appearance, for, said he, affluence and prosperity seldom seek the dwellings of the wretched. I informed him that having met with his daughter by accident, she had given me a melancholy account of his situation, and that I wished to hear the particulars from his own mouth. He made an apology for the length of his story, but said, if I had patience he would relate it. I told him I had come for that purpose. He then repeated to me every particular, as I had before heard them from his daughter, enlarging on certain passages which she had but slightly touched upon. He showed me the copies of his two letters to Mr. Ware, and that gentleman's answer to the first, as also the old servant's letter to his daughter, which convinced me of the truth of everything he had said. I asked Mr. Price what Mr. Ware's demand on him might amount to. He said, four hundred pounds, which was what he had received from him since his father's death. Take courage, sir, said I. You shall not long remain here. Ah, madam, cried he, may God be the rewarder of your goodness, but my enemy is a hardened man. He is not to be influenced by honor or virtue. I perceived by this that the poor gentleman had no thought of my paying his debt, but supposed I would endeavour to soften Mr. Ware in his favour. Have a little patience, said I, and we will try what is to be done. I requested he would give me Mr. Ware's letter, wherein he promised to make good his first proposal if he would consent to yield up his daughter to him. I took my leave and slipped my purse, which had ten guineas in it, into his daughter's hand as I went downstairs. As soon as I returned home, I sent for Mr. Warner, and related to him, circumstantially, the distresses of this worthy father and child. His honest indignation burst forth against the base betrayer of them both. Honest I must call it, though he vented his wrath in oaths and execrations on his head. These are proper objects, said I, to exercise our humanity on. I mean to pay his debt, and make the remnant of his days comfortable. You are a good girl, said he. You know my purse is open to you. Oh, sir, said I, there is no need to tax your generosity upon this occasion. The two thousand pounds you so lately gave me is but little diminished. Sure, said he. I give you that to make ducks and drinks of it. It is not to go into the account. You know your quarter's income is commenced. You may have what you will. I begged he would immediately write to Mr. Ware, who is now at Bath, and make him a tender of his money, that we might get the poor man discharged from confinement as soon as possible. I gave him that vile fellow's letter, and advised him to let him know that he was acquainted with the whole truth of the story, which perhaps might frighten him into better terms than insisting on his whole demand. Mr. Warner said there was a merchant of his acquaintance at Bristol, to whom he would write immediately and order him to pay the money directly if it was insisted on. He said he knew his friend would readily undertake the thing and execute it as soon as possible. He called for pen, ink and paper, and wrote before me the following letter to his correspondent, which as he left it with me to seal and send it to the post office, I first copied. Dear sir, I beg immediately on the receipt of this you will take the trouble of riding to Bath, and there inquire for a man of fortune, one Ware, who is the greatest villain in England, and you may tell him I say so. He has kept a poor honest clergyman starving in jail this year-and-a-half, because he would not sell his daughter to him. He pretends the parson owes him four hundred pounds which is a lie, for though he received that sum from him it was paid him for value received by agreement. However, as the man can have no redress, I request you will immediately tender him that sum, and get a discharge, for I will have the poor fellow out. I herewith send you enclosed a letter which that scoundrel Ware wrote. Pray, show it to him, as a token that the parson's case is known, and that he has got friends to stand by him. Your speedy execution of this affair and answer will oblige your friend and servant, Edward Warner. To Mr. William Blow, merchant at Bristol, London, March the 14th, 1707. My honest kinsman desired I would immediately send this letter off. I suppose his correspondent will have more discretion than to let Mr. Ware see the contents, but I hope we shall have a good account of this negotiation. March the 22nd. I have been very impatient, my Cecilia, for an answer to Mr. Warner's odd letter, and this day he received one. His friend at Bristol, I take it for granted, acted very prudently, for he says that having waited on Mr. Ware, which word Mr. Warner took great exceptions to, he acquainted him with his commission, and at the same time produced his letter to Mr. Price by way of identifying the person, as Mr. Ware at first seemed not to recollect anything of the matter. He said Mr. Ware blushed upon seeing his own letter in the hands of a stranger. I, I remember the silly affair now, said he. The man is an old hypocrite and his daughter is a young one, but as I never meant to ruin him I will forgive him the debt, and accordingly wrote a full acquittal, which the merchant transmitted with his answer. Nothing now remained but to pay the usual fees and get the poor old gentleman out as fast as we could. Mr. Warner undertook to do what was proper on the occasion and instantly set about it with an alacrity that showed the goodness of his heart. How wonderfully shame operates on some minds! This wretched man Ware, whom neither the laws of God nor man could restrain, has by this single passion alone been subdued. He found his base conduct was known by people whom he could not impose on, and his forgiving the pretended debt, no doubt was meant as a bribe, to prevent his disgrace from being propagated, for though he could sit down and enjoy himself under the accumulated guilt of fraud, perfidy, cruelty, oppression, and ingratitude, he was not proof against the reproach and ridicule of the world. This shows at least that he was not long practised in crimes of this sort. March the twenty-fourth. I did not see Mr. Warner again till this morning, when he entered my room making flourishes with his hands. Mr. Price and his daughter were with him. Here they are for you, said he, and it is done my heart good to deliver such honest people from their misery. The good old man poured forth such fervent prayers and thanks for my kindness towards them that my heart exalted with rapture at being the means of conferring such happiness as this worthy parent and child seemed to enjoy. The young girl's gratitude was silent, but not less ardent than her father's. She had kneeled down before me and kissed my hands. I was greatly touched with the humility and tenderness of her acknowledgement. I put an end to the grateful effusions of these honest hearts. I have done but little for you, said I, as yet. As Mr. Ware had the grace to refuse the offered sum, I shall apply that money which I intended for him to your future use, or your liberty will avail you but little. We shall think of some method of settling you comfortably for life. In the meanwhile your daughter and you should be welcome to live with me. I stopped him from renewing his thanks and insisted on him saying no more on that subject. The poor old gentleman is extremely feeble and languishing from his long confinement, but I hope, with proper care, as he is naturally strong, he will recover his health. End of section 40. Section 41 of Memoirs of Miss Sydney Bidoff. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Memoirs of Miss Sydney Bidoff by Francis Sheridan. Volume 3 continued. April 1. What true delight springs from benevolent actions, my dear. I never experience such heartfelt satisfaction as I have received from restoring comfort to these truly deserving people. I have bought the young lady some new clothes, plain but genteel, and you cannot imagine what a pretty creature she is now she is dressed. I find the old gentleman a man of admirable understanding and great reading. He has a simplicity in his manner which is truly engaging, but at the same time a politeness that shows he is no stranger to the great world. Of his integrity he has given convincing proofs. Praise be the Lord who has made me, and honest Mr. Warner, the instruments of delivering such a man from the depths of affliction. He mends a pace in his health, but I am afraid he will never recover the use of his hand, though as it is not painful it seems not to give him any uneasiness. April 10. I am infinitely charmed with the conversation of this couple, for the girl is very sensible and prettily accomplished. I wish she were married to some honest man that knew her value, for I find she has still terrors on Mr. Ware's account, nor is her father without his apprehensions. He said to me to-day, if I were to die, madam, I would conjure you as my last request to take my daughter into your service, with such a pattern before her she must be virtuous, and with such a protector I am sure she would be safe. I told him he might rely on me, but that I hoped he would live long enough to see her happily disposed of in marriage. If I could see that day, said he, I should then have no other worldly care to disturb me. Here, my dearest Cecilia, I will close my very long narrative. The packet is already swelled to an enormous size, but you never think them too large. May 14. After so many trifles, my dear, as my journal for nearly a month pass contained, you will be glad of something a little more serious. I mentioned in my last week's journal that I had cast my eyes on a young man, who I thought would make a suitable match for Miss Price, if he were approved of by her and her father. This person is a linen draper in the strand, a second brother of my patties. You can't have forgotten Harry Main, my dear, whom we both knew when a boy, remarkable for his sober behaviour, modesty, and sweetness of temper. He is just now out of his time, and his eldest brother has set him up in a handsome shop. You may be sure I am his customer. Tis on this lad that I have turned my thoughts as a fit husband for the amiable girl. I went yesterday morning to buy some linen for Miss Price, and carried her with me, as I had done once or twice before. After we had made our markets, I told Young Main, with a freedom which a long acquaintance gave me, that I thought he was so well settled he wanted nothing but a good wife to complete his happiness. He replied he should think himself very happy if he could light on some good young woman as a partner for life. Why do you not look out for one, said I? They are not so hard to become at. I believe, madam, he answered, I must get someone else to do it for me. My friends laugh at me, and say I am too bashful to speak for myself. But I fancy where I to meet with a person that really touched my heart, I should make a shift to find courage enough to tell her so. And have you never yet seen such a person, said I? He blushed, and by an involuntary motion of his eyes, turned on Miss Price, of whom I concluded his sister Patty, as she often visits him, had given him the history. He said if I commanded him to tell his secret, I should know it another time. This was enough. I asked in a Jaco's way, would he take a wife of my choosing? Sooner than of anybody's in the world, madam, he replied. We took our leave. And I asked Patty when I went home, whether she had ever mentioned anything about Miss Price to her brother. Poor Patty coloured for fear she had committed a fault, but owned directly she had told him every circumstance of her story, her brother having been very inquisitive about her from the first time he had seen her with me, and added that she believed he was downright in love with her. I told her if Miss Price liked her brother, and her father did not disapprove of the match, I saw no reason why they might not make each other happy, as I should give Miss Price a fortune worth the young man's acceptance. Patty said she was sure her brother would rejoice at the offer, and that she herself could not wish him to make a better choice. It only remained now to know how the young lady herself stood affected towards him. I put Patty, for whom Miss Price had conceived a great affection upon this task. I thought she would speak her mind with less reserve to her, as I feared the obligation she thought herself under to me might have such an influence on her gratitude as to prevent that freedom which I wished her to use, for I was resolved not to put the least shadow of constraint on her inclinations. Patty succeeded so well that without seeming to have any design in it, she drew a confession from Miss Price very much in her brother's favour. Being now sure that the young people liked each other, I thought I might open my design to the old gentleman, which I did in a few words. How the good man was delighted with the happy prospect which his deservedly beloved daughter had before her. He has left the affair entirely to me, so that I hope to have the girl disposed of very much to all our satisfaction. May the eighteenth. I am charmed with Mr. Warner's noble behaviour. I claim an interest, said he, in these honest creatures that you have taken under your protection. I like the old fellow mightily and admire the little girl so much that if you had not provided a better husband for her, I should have been half tempted to have taken her myself. But since it is as it is, we must do handsomely by her. I told him I had inquired into the young man's circumstances and found that about a thousand pounds would set him forward extremely well, and that this was the portion I intended to give him with the young gentleman. Well, said he, I believe that will do, but I must make the poor thing a present myself for wedding trinkets. And the old man too, must we not take care of him? Dear sir, said I, how good you are! You would remind me of my duty if I myself were forgetful of it, but I have already settled a hundred pounds a year on him. Is that enough, said he? Will it make the good fellow easy? Oh, sir, it exceeds his wishes. He intends to live with his daughter as his growing infirmities require her tender care. Everything is to be this day settled. Mr. Price is exceedingly pleased with his son-in-law elect, and the wedding will be no longer delayed until Mr. Maine receives the answers to those letters which he has wrote to his friends in the country to apprise them of his approaching marriage. May the 26th, I am sure my dear Cecilia will rejoice with her friend in the acquisition she has received to her own happiness by conferring so much on a worthy family. The bride is this day gone home to her new house, her delighted father with her. Their prayers and blessings poured out from truly grateful and virtuous hearts remain with me, a reward, my dear, and a rich one too, for the self-satisfying part I have acted. My worthy Patty, whose merit alone raises her much above her station, I shall no longer consider as my servant. She has been my friend in the tenderest and most enlarged sense of the word, and she shall continue so. I have hired another maid to wait on me, and with a sort of merry ceremony, enfranchised Patty on the day of her brother's marriage, for I had her dressed elegantly as bridesmaid to her new sister, and she sat on her right hand at the wedding dinner. I look on her as my companion, but I cannot persuade her to forget that I was her mistress. She shows this by her actions, not by words. Here follows an interval of thirteen months in which nothing material to the thread of the story occurs. The journal contains only a continued series of such actions as showed the noble, and pious use which Mrs. Arnold made of the great fortune which Providence had blessed her with. The rest is filled up with a variety of little incidents, many of them relative to her brother and his lady, to Mr. Warner, and several letters from Lady V, with whom she constantly corresponded. At the end of that period, the journal proceeds thus. June the twenty-eighth, and shall I really be so blessed my ever-beloved Cecilia as to see you at the time you mention? Oh, my dear, after an absence of five long years, how my heart bounds with joy at your approach! The two months that are to intervene before we meet will appear very tedious to me. But it is always so with happiness that is within our view. Before I expected you, though I regretted your absence, yet did I patiently acquiesce under it and could entertain my thoughts with other objects. But I am now, I cannot tell you, how anxious and impatient to see you. And yet, my Cecilia, we shall have nothing new to say to each other, knowing as we both do every circumstance of each other's life since we parted. Mine has been a strange one, but my lot is now fallen on a fair ground where I hope it will please heaven to continue me while I am to remain in this world. The noble, I may almost call it princely, fortune that my kinsman has settled on me, will enable me to leave my children greatly provided for, whenever it shall be God's pleasure to take me away. Let me but live to embrace my Cecilia, and then providence thy will be done. June the 29th. Gracious God, for what am I yet reserved? My trembling hand can scarce hold my pen, but I will try to tell you the event which yesterday produced. I was but just set down to dinner, nobody with me but Patti and my children. A note was brought into me which they said came by a porter who waited for an answer. I opened and read it. My eyes were struck with the unlooked-for name of Orlando Falkland at the bottom. The contents filled me with terror and surprise. I know not what I have done with the note, but he informed me in it that he was just arrived in town, and begged I would appoint an hour that evening to see him alone, adding that his arrival was and must be a secret to everybody but me. Troubled and shocked as I was, I returned for answer by the same messenger that I should expect him at six o'clock. I need not tell you how I passed the interval till that hour. It was impossible for me amidst a thousand conjectures to form one which could probably occasion this amazing visit. So strangely introduced, so unthought of, and from one I imagined to be in another kingdom. Precisely at six o'clock I heard a coach stop at the door. He was in the way to receive him, and presently Mr. Falkland himself entered the drawing-room. Distraction was in his looks. I rose to receive him, but shook from head to foot, and felt the blood forsaking my face. He ran to me as if with a design to salute me, but started back without making the offer. I made a motion to a chair for him, and sat down myself, for I was not able to stand. You are welcome to England, sir, I am glad to see you." Scared knowing what I said, I hope your lady is well. He looked wildly as if in horror at the question, then suddenly catching both my hands he fell on his knees before me, his eyes fixed mournfully on my face, and it was some time before he could answer. I could not speak. I burst into tears there was something dreadful in his silence. He kissed both my hands, but I withdrew them from him. Sir, sir, speak, I conjure you, you shock me to death. I see I have, said he, and I am afraid to proceed. You will die at the relation. For God's sake, sir, explain yourself. You see a man, said he, whose life is forfeited to the law. My wife is dead, and by my hand. I don't know whether he said more, for I fainted away. It seems he did not call for help, but by his own endeavours at last brought me to myself, and I found him weeping bitterly over me. The sound of the last horrid words I had heard him speak still rung in my ears, I begged him to explain them. That wife, said he, that woman whom you persuaded me to marry. I caught, in adultery, and I punished the villain that wronged me with death. She shared in his fate, though without my intending it. For this act of justice, which the law will deem murder, I myself must die, and I am come but to take a last look. What recompense, then, can you make the man whom you have brought to misery shame and death? His looks and the tone of voice with which he spoke this made my blood run cold, and my heart die within me. I wrung my hands, and redoubling my tears, I do not need your reproaches, said I, to make me the most miserable woman on earth. What recompense indeed can I make you? None. None but to tell you that if you will fly this instant, my fortune shall be at your disposal, and I will take care to supply you in whatever part so ever of the world you shall choose for your residence. And can you, after all that his past said, he persist in such barbarity as to drive me from you? Or are you determined to see me perish here? If that be so, I will soon rid you of this miserable, hated wretch. He drew his sword, like a madman, and with a dreadful imprecation which made me shudder, and swore that if I did not that minute promise to bear him company in his flight, he would plunge it into his breast and die before my eyes. Good God! What a scene of horror was this! I catched his arm, fell down on my knees, and was more mad if possible than himself. I begged of him to put up his sword, which he did, seeing me almost dead with fear. You know, said he, the means of dying are always in my own power. Take care you do not trifle with me, or plead an excuse for falsifying your promise, that you made it to save me from immediate destruction. I beseeched him to calm himself a little and to permit me to send for my brother. Sir George, you know, has an entire affection for you, said I. You may trust him with your life and safety. I had forgot him, said he, poor Bidoff. He will be afflicted when he hears my story. I instantly wrote a line to my brother, requesting to see him immediately. By good fortune he was at home, and came to me directly. In the meantime, as I saw Mr. Falkland's mind was exceedingly disturbed, I endeavoured by giving him an account of my own situation to divert his thoughts from the trouble that preyed on them. For I was apprehensive of his relapsing into that same frenzy that had so much terrified me, if I touched on the cause, and therefore chose to defer inquiring into the particulars of his misfortune, till my brother should be present. Sir George was equally astonished with me at the sight of Mr. Falkland. They embraced tenderly. Poor Mr. Falkland wept upon my brother's neck. It was easy to discover he laboured under some extraordinary affliction. My brother looked at me as if for explanation, he seemed to guess at least part of the fatal truth. Are you come to England alone, Falkland? said he. I prevented the reply. He is alone, said I. He has a dreadful story to relate to you. Mrs. Falkland is dead. I dare not ask the manner of her death till you were by to calm the transports of your friend. My heart forbodes, answered my brother, addressing himself to Mr. Falkland, that the ungrateful woman you married has betrayed you. She did, replied Mr. Falkland, but I did not mean to stain my hands with her blood perfidious as she was. Her death be on her own head. Mr. George looked astonished, that she is dead, I rejoice, said he, but how, my dear Falkland, were you accessory to it? We were that instant interrupted. Mr. Warner, passing by, called to ask me how I did, and as my brother's chariot stood at the door I could not be denied to him, though I had ordered that nobody should be let in. I was called down to him, and indeed was not sorry to have an excuse for absenting myself for a while, for my spirits were quite overpowered. Mr. Warner quickly observed that something extraordinary had happened, and as he was already acquainted with the greatest part of Mr. Falkland's history, some particulars relative to his wife accepted, I made no scruple relying on his prudence and secrecy of telling him the cause of my present distress, in which he seemed to take a friendly and even paternal share. When he was gone I returned to the room where I had left my brother and his friend. They both seemed in extreme agitation, they were walking about. This is an unfortunate affair, said my brother, and may be attended with dreadful consequences if Falkland does not show more regard to his own safety than he seems inclined to do. I have been persuading him to retire to a place which I can provide for him, where he may lie concealed for a day or two till he is recovered from the fatigue of his journey, for he has travelled night and day for these three days without sleeping. Sir George looked at me, and by a sorrowful sign which he made, I apprehended he feared his unhappy friend's head was disturbed. For heaven's sake, sir, said I, be advised by my brother who loves you, suffer him to conduct you to some place of security. When you have had a little repose we will both come to you and concert such measures as shall be best for your safety. He snatched my hand. Sir George is my true friend, said he. Take care that you do not deceive me. I find myself giddy for want of rest. I am satisfied to be disposed off for to-night, how you please, but give me your word of honour that I shall see you in the morning. You shall indeed, sir, I replied. Depend upon it, answered Sir George, I'll bring her to you myself. He looked irresolute, and as if he knew not what to say, then turning to my brother and leaning on his shoulder. Do, dear Badoff, carry me to some place where I may lie down, for my spirits can hold out no longer. Come, said Sir George, taking him under the arm, my chariot is at the door. I will bring you to a house where you may be quiet at home. Mr. Falkland riveted his eyes on me as my brother led him out of the room, but he did not speak. Sir George whispered me that he would return again. They went into the chariot together and drove away. It was ten o'clock before my brother returned. He told me he had lodged Mr. Falkland safely at a friend's house in whom he could confide, as he did not think his own in case of a search, a place of security. He said he had seen him in bed, and hoped a little sleep would compose his mind, which seemed very much disturbed. I requested my brother to give me the particulars of that terrible affair, which Mr. Falkland had mentioned. Sir George related to me what follows, though Mr. Falkland, he said, told the story but incoherently. Mr. Falkland said, he had no reason to be displeased with his wife's conduct for more than a year after their marriage. Her affection for him seemed lively and sincere, and he had made her the most grateful returns, it being the study of his life to render her happy. Her love abated not of its ardour, and he had all the reason in the world to imagine himself entirely possessed of her heart. Whilst Mr. Falkland's house in the country was building, he had been invited by a neighbouring gentleman, who lived at the distance of about three miles from his own place, to stay at his house, which obliged him often Mr. Falkland had readily accepted, as by that means he had daily opportunities of seeing and expediting his own improvements. Mr. Bond, that was the gentleman's name, had a wife and two or three daughters, all very agreeable women, with whom Mrs. Falkland had, by living so much in their family, contracted a great intimacy, but particularly with the eldest, a sprightly fine young woman of about twenty years old. They had been three or four months at Mr. Bond's, their house, which was nothing more than a little lodge, was finished, and they only waited till it was thoroughly dry to move into it, as Mr. Falkland had laid out extensive gardens in the finishing of which he proposed to amuse himself some time, for he acknowledged to my brother he was in no haste to return to England. During their residence with this gentleman, they had made two or three excursions to town. On their return from one of these, after an absence of about a fortnight, they found a visitor at Mr. Bond's. His name was Smith. He was an officer, a genteel, handsome man, and they were given to understand he made his addresses to the eldest daughter, of whom he had been an admirer a long time, but durst not make his pretensions known to her father till having lately been promoted in the army to the rank of major, the young lady's parents admitted his visits to their daughter. She had long before then acknowledged to Mrs. Falkland in confidence her attachment to him. Mr. Falkland, who had learned this secret from his wife, was very glad to find that Miss Bond, for whom he had great esteem, was likely to have her wishes accomplished as he saw that Major Smith was treated with distinction by her parents, who complimented him with a bed at their house, for he generally stayed two or three nights with them every time he paid them a visit, as his regiment was then quartered at a town about fifteen miles distant from their house. The Major, without being a man of very shining parts, had such talents as made him acceptable to the ladies. He sung prettily, was lively to extravagance, full of agreeable trifling and always in good humour. Miss Bond loved him, and as he was considered in the light of a person who would shortly be one of the family, Mr. Falkland soon contracted a friendship with him, which the major on his part seemed very solicitous to improve. The marriage was now agreed on, and was only deferred till the young lady's brother should be at an age, as he was to join with his father in making a settlement on his sister. This desirable event was at the distance of four months, but as the lover was in the meantime permitted to enjoy so much of his mistress's conversation, he seemed to submit to the delay with patience. Section 42 of Memoirs of Miss Sydney Bidoff, Mr. Falkland, thinking it time to remove to his own house, proposed to his lady, but she objected to it, declaring she did not think it safe, as the house had been so lately built, though indeed it was now perfectly well seasoned, for the shell had been entirely finished some time before Mr. Falkland had gone to Mr. Bond's house, and it was only the inside work and a kitchen that was built apart from the lodge that wanted to be completed. Mr. Falkland was unwilling to oppose his lady in anything, but he was the more solicitous that she should comply with his request in this particular, as he thought he had observed that the eldest Miss Bond had, of late, behaved with more coldness towards her than usual. Though he was far from guessing the cause of this, he thought it, however, a sufficient reason for their removal. He was afraid they had already stayed too long, and that perhaps notwithstanding the good nature and hospitality of the family, they all now secretly wished their absence. This though he intended to make a suitable return for their friendly reception of him during so long a time, made him resolve not to continue there, and the more so as Miss Bond, who was present when he proposed it to Mrs. Falkland, seemed to wish for their departure as she dissented from that lady with regard to her opinion of the state of the new house, and seemed to think there could be no danger attending their immediate entrance into it. Mrs. Falkland seemed netled at this, and immediately assented to her husband's proposal. The next day they took their leave of Mr. Bond's family, and repaired to their own house. Mr. Falkland from this period remarked a change in his wife's behaviour. She grew melancholy and peevish, but as she complained of not being well, he imputed the alteration in her temper to that alone, and the more so as she did not abate in the tokens of her seeming affection for him. Mr. Bond's family frequently visited them. Major Smith always made one of the party and often came without them. Though they lived but at the distance of three miles from each other, yet as the road for carriages between the two houses being a cross one was very bad, the ladies were often prevailed on if they stayed late, to lie a night at Mr. Falkland's. And in consequence of this Mr. Bond and the Major had frequently done the same when they were of the party. Though Mr. Falkland was far from having any injurious suspicions of his wife, yet he could not help observing that all her complaints vanished whenever this family were at their house. This, however, he ascribed to nothing more than her being fond of the company, though he thought a coolness between her and the eldest Miss Bond was full apparent. The principles of the family, however, behaved with their usual frankness and good humour, and Mr. Falkland thought there might be some little female peak between the two ladies, which was not worth inquiring into. As they punctually returned the friendly visits of these agreeable neighbours Mrs. Falkland always proposed passing the night there, to induce them, as she said, to use the same obliging freedom at her house. Mr. Falkland on those occasions observed that his lady always rose much earlier than usual, but unsuspecting as he was he was satisfied with the reason she assigned for it, that of enjoying the pleasant hours of the morning in a very delicious garden, a pleasure which they could not have at home as Mr. Falkland's improvements were only in their infancy. The usual intercourse between the two families was thus carried on, for more than three months, when the time drew near that Miss Bond and her lover were to be united, and everything was preparing for the purpose. The young Mr. Bond was come home from the college, and the house on this occasion was more cheerful than ever. Mr. Falkland and his lady were there at a ball one night, when the latter, after dancing a long time, complained suddenly of being violently ill, and either really did, or pretended, to faint. She was immediately conveyed to bed, and at her request another room prepared for Mr. Falkland. She, extremely alarmed at her indisposition, came to her bedside, purposing to sit up by her the whole night. The youngest of the Miss Bond's offering to do the same, but Mrs. Falkland absolutely refused them both, and about midnight, saying she found herself inclined to sleep, insisted on their retiring, nor would she admit a servant to stay in the room, but contented herself with having a candle burning on the hearth. Mr. Falkland, who really had an affection for his lady, was impatient the next morning to inquire after her health. He found her in bed. The complaints of the preceding night all renewed. The family were extremely disconcerted at this unlucky accident, and expressed the utmost uneasiness. All but the eldest Miss Bond, who was silent, and heard her mother and sisters condoling with Mr. Falkland, not only with unconcern, but with a suppressed smile of contempt, which did not escape Mr. Falkland's observation. He now began to resent such a behaviour which he thought very unkind, and told his lady he wished she was in a condition to be removed, as he was fearful in her present situation it might be very inconvenient to the family to have her remain sick in their house, especially as it quite broke in on the mirth and festivity which was now going forward. To this she replied that she found herself so very weak and dispirited, which she said was always the consequence of these faintings, to which she had been subject from her childhood, that she could not think of leaving her room. She made a shift, however, to rise, and said she hoped in a day or two to be able to remove. Miss Bond, who was of an extremely humane and tender disposition, begged of her not to think of stirring till she found her health perfectly re-established. Mrs. Falkland thankfully accepted her offer, and Mr. Falkland, though reluctantly, was obliged to acquiesce. They remained thus two days longer. Mrs. Falkland's complaints still furnishing her with a pretense for sleeping alone, and under colour of not giving trouble to the family, she would not suffer a maid to sit up with her. Major Smith, who had been in the house all this time, had now some call to his regiment, which obliged him to go to the tang where it lay, and Mr. Falkland heard him give his man directions for their journey. Mrs. Falkland still kept her room and had not left it since the time she had first taken ill. It happened that the chamber which was assigned for Mr. Falkland immediately joined his ladies, and was only separated from it by a wainscot partition, by which means he could hear the least stir in her chamber. The unsuspecting injured husband, whose anxiety for his faithless wife had always made him watchful and attentive to her motions, happened this night to be more than ordinarily so. The family had now been for some hours buried in sleep. Everything was profoundly silent for some time. Mr. Falkland, who hoped his lady was settled to rest, was endeavouring to compose himself to sleep when he heard her stir. This immediately roused him, and raising his head off the pillow he found she got out of bed. Though she seemed to use the utmost precaution, he nevertheless heard her very distinctly open her door and go out. Just as he was at this motion no other thought occurred to him, than perhaps Mrs. Falkland finding herself ill had got up to call some of the female servants. Pre-possessed with this belief he started out of bed and hastily slipping on his clothes ran into his lady's room, where he found her candle still burning. As he concluded she would presently return he waited some minutes in her chamber. At length, perceiving her clothes lying on a chair at her bedside, he was afraid she had gone out without putting anything on her, and though the night was not cold he was apprehensive that in her apparently weak condition her health might be farther injured. On this account he determined to go in quest of her, and concluding she had gone to the apartment of the female servants, which was on the floor over that on which they lay, he ascended the stairs as quietly as possible. As he was passing by a room on the top of the first flight he heard someone speak in a low voice, and listening fancied it was his wife's. As he knew not who lay in the room he made no doubt, but that it was she who was calling the person that slept there, and without further reflection hastily opened the door and went in with the candle which he had taken in his hand. On his sudden entrance the person who was in bed eagerly called out, who is there? He soon perceived by his voice that it was Major Smith. He was about to make an apology for his intrusion when perceiving his lady's wrapping-gown, which he had seen her wearing that morning, lying on the floor, and in the same instant recollecting that he had heard a woman's voice when he was outside the door the horror of her guilt rushed upon him at once, and without making any answer to the Major he suddenly threw back the feet-curtains of the bed, where he plainly perceived that the Major had a companion, though she had hid her head under the clothes. The Major instantly leapt out of bed, and though he saw Mr. Falkland was unarmed he snatched up one of his own pistols which lay on the table, and which his man had charged that night as they were to go on a short journey the next morning. Mr. Falkland in the first transports of his rage seized the other, the miserable woman observing their fatal motions threw herself out of bed. Mr. Falkland was too much distracted to be able to give a distinct account of this dreadful incident. All he can say is that Major Smith snapped his pistol at him, which he thinks misfired, and he instantly discharged his with more fatal success. For Mrs. Falkland, who had in the instant rushed between them, shrieked out and dropped on the ground, and the Major, reeling a few steps, fell against one of the pillars of the bed, and cried out, He has killed us both! Mr. Falkland says that after this dreadful action, without knowing what he did, he ran downstairs, and opening the front door made the best of his way home on foot. The frenzy of his mind was such that he thought not of providing for his safety, but having got into his house he had no intention of going farther, when in less than a quarter of an hour one of his servants whom he had left behind at Mr. Bones, a faithful fellow, who had lived with him many years, came to him, scared and breathless, having ran himself almost dead, to overtake his master. Oh, sir! said he, for heaven's sake get away as fast as you can. Mr. Bones' family are all in an uproar. You will be taken if you do not make your escape this instant. Have I killed anybody? demanded Mr. Falkland. Oh, sir! answered the man. You have killed my lady, and Major Smith is mortally wounded. I know not what I did, cried Mr. Falkland, but I did not mean to hurt your mistress. I believe it, sir, replied the servant, but I fear nobody else will. For that wicked wretch, though they think he cannot live many hours, would take away your life if he could. The report of the pistol alarmed the family, and we all ran into his room, gentry and servants and all. The Major was able to speak, but my lady was quite dead. The account he gives is that my lady's candle, having gone out, she got up to get it lighted, and was endeavouring to find one of the maids' rooms. When passing by his and seeing a light, for he was but just got into bed, she stepped in, and before she had time to retire again, you rushed in like a madman, and seeing his pistols lie on the table you snatched them both up, and, discharging one at your lady which killed her on the spot, you fired the other at him while he was leaping out of bed. I am sure, sir, this is a false story, yet as the family may all believe it, I beg you on my knees to provide for your safety. Miss Bond was tearing her hair for her lover, but I heard her say, she was glad that wicked woman, meaning my lady, had lost her life. They had sent off some of the people for a surgeon, and I ran as fast as I could to warn you of your danger. This honest fellow, not contented with urging his master, soon saddled a very swift hunter, which he had in the stable, and Mr. Falkland, now convinced of the necessity of flying, mounted it directly and attended only by one groom, galloped off to Dublin, which he reached by seven o'clock in the morning, and was lucky enough to arrive just as a packet, which was going off with an express, was ready to sail. He went on board and landed at Holyhead in twelve hours. From thence, without stopping night or day, except to change horses, he rode post to London, and presented himself in the manner I have already told you before me. Such, my Cecilia, are the dismal particulars of this sad story. My brother stayed with me till it was very late. Our time was passed in consulting on measures for Mr. Falkland's preservation. He said he would advise him by all means to get over to Holland as fast as he could, for if that story which the excruble smith had invented should be believed, and it was very likely to gain credit in case he died of his wound, and persevered in it to the last. Mr. Falkland having no witness to disprove any part of the charge would be an imminent danger of losing his life. I need not describe to you the horror in which I passed last night. I rose this morning at daylight, and was but just dressed when I was informed Mr. Warner wanted to speak to me. I went downstairs to him directly. I could not sleep all night for thinking of your affairs, said he, without any previous salute, and I am so impatient to hear Falkland's story that I could not rest till I came to you to be informed of it, for I suppose you heard everything last night. I related all the particulars, my nuclear, as I have done to you. Mr. Warner never once interrupted me. When I had ended the story, What do you intend for Falkland? said my kinsman. I know not what to do, sir, I replied, but this I am sure of, that, if it were in the power of wealth to relieve his afflicted mind, he has an undighted right to a large portion of the fortune I possess. This I think myself bound to be still on the man who, when I was destitute, offered me his. If we can prevail on him to take care of his own safety, which, when he is a little more collected, I hope we shall be able to do, I must entreat your assistance, sir, in helping me to make him as easy as his unhappy circumstances will permit of. And is this all, demanded Mr. Warner sternly, does not your gratitude suggest a warmer recompense and giving him a paltry income? I was startled at the question, and, not replying immediately, you must marry him, said he in a peremptory tone. There is nothing now to hinder you. The heavy misfortune which has fallen upon him puts it in your power to make him such a return as his prosperous days would not have allowed you. You can confer an obligation on him now, so that scruple is rubbed out. As for any former idyllous spursions, you have already done more than enough to convince the world they were without foundation. I could wish indeed that Jezebel of a wife had been cut off in the common way, but since he was guiltless in his intentions it would be barbarous to make that an objection, and I dare answer for it all mankind will acquit him, though the law perhaps may not, of that scoundrel's death who so well deserved it at his hands. I told Mr. Warner that though Mr. Falkland had proposed something like this, I was sure it was owing to his distracted mind, for that he had at first declared he only came to take a last look at me, and that I hoped, when he came to the core use of his reason, he would be far from urging such a request. The more you are banged then, said he, interrupting me, to deal generously by him. What does your brother say upon the subject? He has not touched upon it, I replied. I was so taken up with hearing Mr. Falkland's melancholy story from my brother that I mentioned not to him his wild proposal, and as Sir George told me Mr. Falkland was much more composed when he left him to rest, I presume he hinted nothing of that kind to my brother. I, I cried Mr. Warner, Sir George to be sure will change his note. Falkland is now a fallen man. Therefore depend upon it, he will not be for you marrying him. But for this very reason I insist on your doing a noble thing. If you have a grain of honour or gratitude in you, you will not hesitate a moment. I will not desire you, continued he, finding me silent, to carry your gratitude so far as to marry a madman, if he should prove so. But if on your visit to him this morning you find him composed, and in his right mind make him a frank offer of your hand, and see you do it handsomely. Consult not Sir George upon the subject, I will have it all my doing. Go, added he, if I did not know that at the bottom of your heart you love Falkland I would not make this a point with you, but not withstanding all your pretended demers, I am sure that is the case. I should be disingenuous to deny it, answered I. Far from doing so I will own that I should prefer him before all the world, if the strangeness of his present situation did not frighten me. Trouble not your head about that, cried Mr. Warner, if the man is in his senses do as I bid you, and take care that you acquit yourself with honour. He left me without waiting for a reply. What can I say or do, my Cecilia? My heart, and my reason, are at variance. What a strange dilemma am I driven to? Nobody to advise me. Mr. Warner, precipitant and fanciful in his determinations, urges me on to a—I know not what—marry Mr. Falkland, receive a hand stained with—who the very thought is terrible. What would the world say to such a union? It cannot be. He will not sure when he comes to the use of his cooler reason insist upon a promise, which my own terror and his desperation extorted from me. I hope he will not obstinately persist in pressing me to what I dare not comply with. My brother has just come to carry me to Mr. Falkland. Heaven grant I may find him restored to his right mind. End of Section 42. Just returned from my visit to Mr. Falkland. What a scene! He wrung my very heart. I would, I had never seen him. We found him up, and walking about his room, his looks much more composed than they were last night. On our entering his chamber his eyes sparkled with pleasure. He ran to my brother and embraced him. Thank you, my dear, dear Badoff, said he. You at length give her to me, and with her own consent too, my bride, turning passionately to me and snatching my hand. My brother seemed shocked, and cast his eyes mournfully at mine. Mine moistened, and I was obliged to apply my handkerchief to them, turning my head away. Tears! cried Mr. Falkland in a tone of surprise, and on our wedding day. I could not bear this. I sobbed aloud. My brother was willing, if possible, to give his thoughts another turn, for not knowing what had passed the day before he thought this was some sudden start of frenzy. My dear Falkland, said he, you affect my sister too much. We have been consulting for your safety and come to talk with you upon it. I think there is no time to be lost and that you ought immediately to retire into Holland. I am ready, replied Mr. Falkland, that Mrs. Arnold goes with me. I have her promise for it. Sidney shall follow you, answered my brother, making a motion to me to show he would have me humour him in his ravings. I will not go without her, cried Mr. Falkland. The universe shall not part us now. I was almost distracted with apprehension, and I knew not what reply to make. My brother looked confounded and was silent. Mr. Falkland approached me, and with a look of gloomy despair. You are both mute, said he. Bid off, I always thought you loved me. Mrs. Arnold, I hope, did not wish my death. But I am deceived, and you both. I have no father business with life. The friend I most confided in betrays me. The woman whom my soul worships, and to whom I sacrificed all my hopes of happiness, repays me with ingratitude. Why should such a wretch any longer submit to life? I have borne it too long already. But there's my remedy, pointing furiously to his sword, which lay in the scabbard on a table. I could no longer contain myself, but bursting into tears. Oh, sir, said I, accuse me not of ingratitude. I would to heaven my death could repair the heavy afflictions I have brought upon you. If it could, I would welcome it this hour. Your reproaches crawl as they are, I forgive. I own myself the unhappy cause of all your misfortunes. We have been mutually fatal to each other. You know I always esteemed and valued you, and have in your calamity already been sufficiently punished for the share I have had in bringing it on you. What shall I say to you, sir? My whole fortune I think too small, too poor a recompense, to the man who had obliged me beyond the possibility of return. Yet what have I to offer more? Can you, sir, can you urge me to a marriage at so strange a juncture? Think how it will expose us both to censure. Your long attachment to me has not been a secret. Think what dreadful constructions may be put on your conduct. Nay on mine, should a union now take place, brought about as it must appear by so terrible an event. Mr. Falkland was silent, his eyes fixed on the ground. My brother took up the argument. Indeed, my dear Falkland, my sister has reasons for her fears. You know I ever was your sincere friend. You know too I always was of opinion that Sidney ought to have been your wife. Her former objections I thought were romantic scruples, and hardly forgave her refusing you. The present obstacle has more weight in it. Do not mistake me, added he hastily. Seeing Mr. Falkland raise his eyes full of resentment at him, I wish my sister still to be yours, and will consent to your marriage with my whole heart. But let me conjure you to take a more favourable juncture. Withdraw yourself but for the present. Your affairs may not be so desperate as you imagine. If that villain Smith should chance to recover, perhaps his conscience may awaken remorse, and he may be prevailed on to do you justice. In that case you must be cleared from the most distant imputation of what my sister hinted at, and what has but too justly alarmed her. Cleared as your character will then be, and conscious as we both are of the innocence of your intentions, there will remain no bar to Mrs. Arnold's giving you her hand. Smith cannot recover, interrupted Mr. Falkland suddenly. There is no hope can spring from that. Then, answered my brother, at worst, you can but live abroad, all parts of the world are alike to such a philosopher as my sister is, and probably, circumstances your marriage will appear, she may like best to reside out of England. Mr. Falkland shook his head, and with a smile of indignation. Leave me, bidolph, cried he. I cannot bear your attempting to deceive me. You think me mad, and are cruel enough to endeavour at imposing on me. I know my mind is disturbed, but who has driven me to despair, to madness, to death? And he cast a look at me that chilled my blood. Be satisfied, madam, you will soon be rid of this fatal, hated, betrayed, abandoned wretch. He spoke this with his hands grasped eagerly together, and his eyes lifted up to heaven. Then, striking his breast, he burst into tears, and rushing suddenly into his closet, he shut the door violently, locking it on the inside. He wept aloud, and his agonies reduced me almost to the same condition with himself. I begged my brother would endeavour to prevail on him to open the door, for I was fearful of his making some dreadful attempt upon his own life. But Sir George quieted me a little, by showing me his sword which still lay on the table, and which at my desire he put out of the way. My brother approached the closet door and in the most soothing language beseeched him to open it, but he could get no other answer from Mr. Falkland, than to beg he would leave him to himself. I found this was not a time for arguing. I told my brother we had better suffer him to vent his passion alone, and that perhaps, when he had had time to reflect a little on what had been said, he would permit his cooler reason to govern him. Sir George was very unwilling to leave him in such a distracted state of mind. He renewed his efforts to persuade him to come out of the closet, but to no purpose. I beseech you to leave me, Sir George, said he. I am not in a condition to speak. I cannot bear the sight of Mrs. Arnold. Let me recover myself. Another time perhaps I may be better able to discourse with you. Will you promise me, then, said my brother, that you will in the interim do nothing that may be injurious to your life or health. Indeed, my dear Falkland, you distress my sister and me more than you can imagine. Name the hour when you will permit me to come to you again, and for heaven's sake, think of your own immediate preservation. That, once secured, there is nothing which my sister and I will not afterwards do to make you happy. Can I rely on you, Falkland? Do you promise me not to be rash? You have my sword in your possession, answered Mr. Falkland, still speaking within the closet. I have no other weapon about me. Leave me, Sir George. I cannot talk. Say but that you wish to see me again, replied my brother, and I will go, and give you no further trouble. Mr. Falkland sighed deeply. Say I wish to see you, he repeated. Ah, bid off! and his voice seemed choked. My brother could not refrain from tears. I will come to you in the evening, Falkland. You will find me your true friend. I should be loath to lay you under any restraint here in the house of my friend. Do not say there is no need of it. Promise me. The slightest word will suffice. I know my dear Falkland will not break his word. Well, I will not attempt my life, cried he impatiently. Let that satisfy you. Leave me, and let me not be exposed to any insults here. I leave you, answered my brother, and hope to find you more composed a few hours hence. Mrs. Arnold too begs you will be calm and think of preserving a life which is so dear to us both. Mr. Falkland was silent, and my brother and I withdrew. He thought it best I should not speak to him. Sir George left me at home and said he would call again on Mr. Falkland in the afternoon, and bring me word how he should find him. My brother is extremely affected with his situation, and says he knows not what to advise. He is fearful that Mr. Falkland's frenzy is not to be calmed, but by consenting to marry him, and circumstance as he now is, that thought is terrible. Yet if I persist in my refusal, I drive the noblest of minds to desperation. Oh, my Cecilia, is this the return I ought to make to the most generous of men, whose fervent love for me has been a constant source of torment to him for so many years? Yet how can I yield him my hand? All my former scruples, weighty as they appear to me, were light, to the dreadful bar that now interposes. Had that ill-fated woman died the common way, with what joy, with what exultation could I have rewarded his honest, persevering love? All my duties fulfilled, obedience to my mother, justice to the woman I thought injured, reverence to the memory of my husband, the respect due to my own character. Should I not, my Cecilia, after thus being acquitted of all other obligations, have been to blame, if after a series of misfortunes all brought on by my strict adherence to those duties, should I not have been to blame for refusing at length to do justice to the most deserving of men? When I reflect on the past, when I survey the present, and my foreboding heart whispers to me the future sufferings of our dear, unhappy Mr. Falkland, all my philosophy forsakes me. I have borne up under my sorrows. Here's quite subdued me. I must lay by my pen. My eyes are brimful of tears. Ah, my dear, what will become of us? Rash! Rash! unhappy Mr. Falkland! He has fled from the house where my brother concealed him. I know not what I am writing. My fears distract me. It is but two hours since we left him, Sir George, relying on his promise and unwilling to provoke him by any appearance of constraint, gave no caution to the gentleman with whom he was lodged, to observe his motions. He is ready to kill himself for this neglect, but relying on Mr. Falkland's promise not to make any attempt on his life, he suspected not that he would endeavour to escape. Escape, do I call it? Rather let me say to throw himself into certain destruction. He is set out on his way for Ireland. Heaven knows what will be the consequence of this, if my brother does not overtake and persuade him back. He is gone after him, my cousin Warner with him. Both rode post. My thoughts are so confused I can put nothing in order. It seems we had not long quitted him when he called in his servant, that groom who as I informed you had come over with him, and telling him he was going out of town ordered him to go directly to an inn, somewhere in the city, and hire two post-horses, and that he would follow him presently. The man obeyed, and in about a half an hour his master came in a hackney-coach to the place where he had directed him to wait for him. Upon the inn-keepers inquiring whether the horses were to go, Mr. Falkland replied, to St. Albans. The man objected to the length of the stage, and named Barnett. Mr. Falkland seemed impatient and angry. His unusual earnestness, his wild looks, and the road he purposed taking, alarmed his servant, a discreet elderly man, and he had the prudence immediately to dispatch the master of the house whom he prevailed on by a piece of gold, to go directly to my brother with this intelligence. He had the precaution not to mention his master's name, only bade him find out Sir George Bidoff, and tell him that his friend was set out for St. Albans, and that his man had dispatched him with the news, and would, if possible, endeavour to detain him on the road that Sir George might overtake him. The man was punctual in delivering his message. My brother, wild with amazement and horror, just called as he passed my door to tell me this new and unexpected misfortune. Mr. Warner had that instant come in to inquire what had passed between Mr. Falkland and me in our interview this morning. I had no time to tell him anything. He looked very much displeased at my brother and me upon hearing Mr. Falkland was gone, but said he would accompany Sir George, and they both hurried away together. The man said Mr. Falkland had set off before he could leave his house, the servant having scarce time to give him the message. I fear it will be impossible for my brother to overtake him. He will be lost for ever. What then will be my portion? Happy had it been for me indeed, as my dear mother once said in the bitterness of her heart, that I had died in my cradle. Tuesday night, twelve o'clock. Heaven be praised they are returned, all returned. Mr. Falkland has been prevailed on to come back. Mr. Warner has prevailed on him. He has saved his life. But my Cecilia, thy friend's temporal happiness and peace of mind, is the only price that could ransom this desperate self-devoted victim. Mr. Warner has bound himself by a solemn oath that I should become his wife, or Mr. Falkland determined on his own destruction would spite of all they could do have pursued his fatal journey to Ireland in order to deliver himself up to justice. It was near ten o'clock before they returned to town. My brother carried Mr. Falkland back to the gentleman's house where he was before lodged, and my kinsmen left them together in order to come and give me an account of what had passed. He said the gentleman at whose house he was lodged by my brother was extremely surprised to see him again. Mr. Falkland having with great composure taken his leave of him in the morning, and after thanking him for the shelter he had afforded him, told him he was going out of town. My brother and my kinsmen overtook him above a mile on this side of St. Albans, for which success they were entirely indebted to the prudence of the servant who attended him, for the poor man finding him pushing on with the utmost eagerness, and Mr. Falkland no longer making a secret of his intention of returning to Ireland resolved that all events to prevent his ruin, and hoping that by a little delay Sir George might overtake them, contrived at their first stage so dexterously to slip a nail in between the horse's shoe and his hoof, that he knew he could not go far without being lame. This succeeded so well that the poor animal was soon disabled, and Mr. Falkland not having it in his power to mount himself better was obliged to go on at a very easy rate, till they arrived at the next stage. Mr. Warner and my brother overtook him in this situation. Sir George knew him as soon as they came in sight of him, and followed him at a proper distance, still keeping him in view, till he lighted at the post-house. They then at once entered the room into which he had retired while fresh horses were getting ready. Mr. Falkland started at the sight of my brother. He looked earnestly at Mr. Warner whom he had never seen before, but spoke not to either of them. Sir George pursued my kinsman, accosted him affectionately. Dear Falkland, was this kind of you thus to fly from your friends that love you? He presented me to him at the same time, naming me as his relation. Mr. Falkland grasped the hand which I reached out in salutation to him. He fixed his fine sparkling eyes on my face. Is it Mr. Warner whom I have the honour to salute? Sir, I am no stranger to your worth. I honour, I revere you. You are too good to interest yourself thus for an unhappy wretch, cast off and forsaken by all the world. Do I forsake you, Falkland? cried your brother kindly enough. No, Falkland. I am your constant, sincere friend, and will prove myself so, if you will, but let me. Mr. Falkland made no reply. Dear Falkland, am I not your friend? You are Mrs. Arnold's brother. You are not the man you were. Indeed, Falkland, I am. I am your true friend. Suffer me to be so. Come back with me. Mr. Warner and I have followed you in the hope of prevailing on you to return with us. Do, Falkland, let us persuade you to preserve a life so dear to us all. What am I to live for? answered Mr. Falkland sternly. You have tried to deceive me. The man I loved most, now I am fallen, rejects me. Your sister persists in her obstinate cruelty towards me. She breaks her promise, and you encourage her in it. I have neither friends, fortune, or country, and do you talk to me of life on such conditions? No bid off. It is a burden of which I will rid myself. Mr. Warner, you are a generous man. You have an enlarged mind. May a stranger ask a favour of you? I could have wept, continued my kinsman, to see such a frank, noble fellow driven to such desperation. I command me, sir, I replied. There is nothing I would not do to serve you. Thank you, sir. I have a little son. Let me recommend the unhappy orphan to your protection. He will soon want a father. Will you be one to him, sir? I will send him over to you. He lay hold of my hand and repeated his question. Will you, Mr. Warner? You have an enlarged mind, and do not despise the unfortunate. I cried downright. He touched me to the very quick. I never was so affected in my life, and I own I was heartily displeased, both with you and your brother, for driving him to such extremities. You especially, on whom I laid injunctions to act in a contrary way. As for Sir George, I am not surprised at his behaviour. From Mr. Faulkland's discourse, preceded my kinsman, it was apparent to me that his distraction proceeded from no other cause than his belief that you and your brother slighted him in his misfortunes. It was plain, when he fled to England, that he was sufficiently in his senses to be anxious for his own safety, and though the sight of you joined to the hurry of his spirits, his fatigue and want of sleep might, in a man of such violent passions, have created a temporary frenzy, yet I am very certain it would all have subsided if you had behaved to him as you ought to have done, and as I desired you would. Nor do I see how you can answer it to yourself after the miseries you've already brought on such a glorious man, for I never saw his equal, either in mind or person, to persist in a behaviour which has already turned his brain, and must in the end occasion his death. For death he is determined on, if you refuse to become his wife. Oh, Sir, cried I, leave him not to himself, I conjure you. You see the influence you have over his mind, you have done wonders in bringing him back. Hold, replied Mr. Warner, till I inform you of the means I was obliged to use. I have told you how I was affected with his situation, and the request he made me to take care of his child. This was not the suggestion of madness. It was plain to me that if the cause were removed he would soon be restored to the perfect use of his reason, and I could not bear to see the desolation of such a noble frame, and all charged to your account. Sir, I hope you do not mean, said I, to return to Ireland. Do you not know the risk that you run by putting yourself into the power of an exasperated family, from whom you can expect nothing but the most malevolent persecution? I deliver myself up to the Laws, replied Mr. Falkland. My life is devoted, it is indifferent to me how I die. Suppose, said I, Mrs. Arnold, should consent to marry you, would not that reconcile you to life? Oh, sir! and he shook his head. I am not to be deceived twice. Your brother walked about the room without taking part in the conversation. I do mean it, sir. Mrs. Arnold must be yours. I can influence her. Do but return back with me. I give you my honour. I will do my utmost to prevail on her, to give you her hand immediately. Her heart is hardened, sir. She will not consent, replied he. I have no friend to urge her. I am an outcast and not fit to live. I will urge her, sir. She respects me. She will be guided by me. She shall fulfil the promise she made you. Oh, sir, you but deceive yourself. She will find out new excuses. I am not to be again allured by false hopes. He stepped towards the door as he spoke these words and was about to open it. Your brother followed and laid hold of his arm. I did the same. Sir George, said he, exposed me not to insults. Why do you persecute me? Leave me, sir. I am not a madman. But I am determined. And he spoke it as if he were indeed so. For heaven's sake, Falkland, said your brother, be composed. You have, Mr. Warner's word of honour. You shall have mine, too, that we will do our utmost to persuade Mrs. Arnold to consent to your wishes. You have my full consent. You have won Mr. Warner to your interest. My sister will yield to our joint entreaties. Yelled, he repeated. No, no, sir, George. She has a stubborn heart. I once thought it otherwise, but it is turned to stone. Nothing but my death will satisfy her. And she shall be satisfied. He made an effort to break from us. Stay, Mr. Falkland, said I, again laying hold of his hand. And I here swear to you, by everything that is sacred, that if you will suffer me to conduct you back into Mrs. Arnold's presence, I will insist on her immediately accepting of you for her husband, or I will forever renounce all friendship with her. I know she esteems and values you above all men. I am therefore sure I do no violence to her inclinations, and if she perseveres in her obstinate punctilios, I swear to you, by the same other, that I will no longer oppose you in your resolutions. Let them be what they will. Sir George, added I, do you join me in giving your friend the same assurances? I do, answered he, solemnly addressing himself to Mr. Falkland, and swear by all my hopes of happiness hereafter to act in conjunction with Mr. Warner in every particular as he has promised. Mr. Falkland seemed to be moved. He looked wistfully at us by turns, as if willing, though unafraid, to yield to our entreaties. At length, I think I may rely on you, said he. You will not break an oath, to Sir George, but that woman has such an inflexible heart. You cannot change that. We will do our utmost, we both answered together. Remember, then, said he, stretching out a hand to each of us. You have sworn, if she persists in her resolution, that you will leave me to myself, and oppose me no longer. We have. I will go back with you, then, cried Mr. Falkland, and stepped again nimbly to the door. It will be best, said I, if we can hire a coach to carry us. There is no necessity for our riding post, and we should be less liable to observation than if we were on horseback. Mr. Falkland looked as if he suspected some design. Do you not mean, said he, to go directly back to London? Certainly, I replied. And shall I see Mrs. Arnold to-night? Without doubt, if you desire it. Let us go, then, said he. I think a coach is a tedious way of travelling, but I submit to your guidance. End of section 43