 Chapter 28, Part 1 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 Lars Rolander. Belinda by Maria Edgeworth Chapter 28, Part 1, EO Clarence Harvey was not much disposed to see either Virginia or her father, whilst he was in the state of perturbation into which he had been thrown by his interview with Belinda. Yet he did not delay to send his servant home with a note to Mrs. Ormond to say that he would meet Mr. Hartley whenever he pleased at his lawyers to make whatever arrangements might be necessary for proper settlements. As he saw no possibility of receding with honor, he, with becoming resolution, decided to urge things forward as fast as possible, and to strengthen in his mind the sense of the necessity of the sacrifice that he was bound to make. His passions were naturally impetuous, but he had by persevering efforts brought them under the subjection of his reason. His power over himself was now to be put to a severe trial. As he was going to town, he met Lord Delacour, who was riding in the park. He was extremely intent upon his own thoughts, and was anxious to pass unnoticed. In former times this would have been the most feasible thing imaginable, for Lord Delacour used to detest the sight of Clarence Harvey, whom he considered as the successor of Colonel Lawless in his lady's favor. But his opinion and his feelings had been entirely changed by the perusal of those letters, which were perfumed with otter or roses. Even this perfume had from that association become agreeable to him. He now accosted Clarence with a warmth and cordiality in his manner that at any other moment must have pleased as much as it surprised him. But Clarence was not in a humor to enter into conversation. You seem to be in a haste, Mr. Harvey, said his lordship, observing his impatience. But as I know your good nature, I shall make no scruple to detain you a quarter of an hour. As he spoke, he turned his horse and rode with Clarence, who looked as if he wished that his lordship had been more scrupulous, and that he had not such a reputation for good nature. You will not refuse me this quarter of an hour, I am sure, continued Lord Delacour. When you hear that, by favoring me with your attention, you may perhaps materially serve an old or rather a young friend of yours, and one whom I fancied was a particular favorite, I mean Miss Belinda Portman. At the name of Belinda Portman, Clarence Harvey became all attention. He assured his lordship that he was in no haste, and all his difficulty now was to moderate the eagerness of his curiosity. We can take a turn or two in the park, as well as anywhere, said his lordship. Nobody will overhear us, and the sooner you know what I have to say, the better. Certainly, said Clarence. The most malevolent person upon earth could not have tired for Clarence's patience more than good-natured Lord Delacour contrived to do, with the best intentions possible by his habitual circumlocution. He discounted at length upon the difficulties as the world goes, or meeting with a confidential friend whom it is prudent to trust in any affair that demands delicacy, honor, and address. Men of talents were often, he absurd, devoid of integrity, and men of integrated devoid of talents. When he had obtained Harvey's assent to this proposition, he next paid him sundry handsome but long-winded compliments. Then he complimented himself for having just thought of Mr. Harvey as the fittest person he could apply to. Then he congratulated himself upon his good luck in meeting with a very man he was just thinking of. At last, after Clarence had returned thanks for all his kindness, and had given assent to all his lordship's truisms, the substance of the business came out. Lord Delacour informed Mr. Harvey that he had been lately commissioned by Lady Delacour to discover what attractions drew a Mr. Vincent so constantly to Mrs. Latteridge's. Here he was going to explain who Mr. Vincent was, but Clarence assured him that he knew perfectly well that he had been a ward of Mr. Percival's, that he was a West Indian of large fortune, etc. And a lover of miss Portmans, that is the most material part of the story to me, continued Lord Delacour, for otherwise you know Mr. Vincent would be no more to me than any other gentleman. But in that point of view, I mean as a lover of Willinda Portman, and I may say not quite unlikely to be her husband. She is highly interesting to my Lady Delacour, and to me, and to you, as Miss Portmans well-wisher, doubtless. Doubtless, was all Mr. Harvey could reply. Now you must know, continued his lordship, that Lady Delacour has, for a woman, an uncommon share of penetration, and can put things together in a wonderful way. In short, it has come to her, my Lady Delacour's knowledge, that before Miss Portman was at Oakley Park last summer, and after she left it this autumn, Mr. Vincent was a constant visitor at Mrs. Lutridius, whilst at Harrogate, and used to play high, though unknown to the Percivals of course, at Billiards, with Mr. Lutridge. A man I confess I disliked always, even when I carried the election for them. Not no matter, it is not from any mythy, I speak now, but it is very well known that Lutridge has but a small fortune, and yet lives as if he had a large one, and all the young men who like high play are sure to be well received at his house. Now I hope Mr. Vincent is not well received on that footing. Since my Lady Delacour and I have been such good friends, continued his lordship. I have dropped all connection with the Lutridius, so cannot go there myself, moreover I do not wish to be tempted to lose any more thousands to the Lady, but you never play and you are not likely to be tempted to it now, so you will oblige me and Lady Delacour if you will go to Lutridius tonight. She is always charm to see you, and you will easily discover how the land dies. Mr. Vincent is certainly a very grieble, open-hearted young man, but if he game, good forbid that Miss Portman should ever be his wife. God forbid! said Clarence Harvey. The man, resumed Lut de Lacour, must in my opinion be very superior indeed who is deserving of Bill in the Portman. Oh, Mr. Harvey, you do not, you cannot know her merit, as I do. It is one thing, sir, to see a fine girl in a ballroom, and another, quite another, to live in the house with her for months, and to see her, as I have seen Bill in the Portman, in everyday life, as one may call it. Then it is one conjudge of the real temper, manners and character, and never woman had so sweet a temper, such charming manners, such a fair open generous, decided yet gentle character, as this Miss Portman. Your lordship speaks con amore, said Clarence. I speak, Mr. Harvey, from the bottom of my soul, cried Lord de Lacour, pulling in his horse and stopping short. I should be an unfeeling, ungrateful brute, if I were not sensible of the obligations, yet the obligations which my Lady de Lacour and I have recede from Bill in the Portman. Why, sir? She has been the peacemaker between us, but we will not talk of that now. Let us think of her affairs. If Mr. Vincent once gets into Mr. Latredge's cursed set, there's no knowing where it will end. I speak from my own experience, for I really never was fond of high play, and yet when I got into that set, I could not withstand it. I lost my hundreds and thousands, and so will he, before he is aware of it, no doubt. Mrs. Latredge will look upon him as her dupe, and make him such. I always, but this is between ourselves, suspected that I did not lose my last thousand to her fairly. Now, her way, you know the whole. Do try and say Mr. Vincent for Bill in the Portman's sake. Clarence Harvey shook hands with Lorde de Lacour with a sentiment of real gratitude and affection, and assured him that his confidence was not misplaced. His lordship little suspected that he had been soliciting him to save his rival. Clarence's love was not of that selfish sort, which the moment it is decreed of hope sings into indifference, or is converted into hatred. Clarence could not be his, but in the midst of the bitterest regret, he was supported by the consciousness of his own honor and generosity. He felt a noble species of delight in the prospect of promoting the happiness of the woman upon whom his fondest affections had been fixed, and he rejoiced to feel that he had sufficient magnanimity to save a rival from ruin. He was even determined to make that rival his friend, not withstanding the prepossession which he clearly perceived Mr. Vincent felt against him. His jealousy will be extinguished the moment he knows my real situation, said Clarence to himself. He will be convinced that I have a soul incapable of envy, and if he suspects my love for Belinda, he will respect the strength of mind with which I can command my passions. I take it for granted that Mr. Vincent must possess a heart and understanding such as I should desire in a friend, or he could never be what he is to Belinda. Follow these generous sentiments Clarence waited with impatience for the hour when he might present himself at Mrs. Latridius. He went there so early in the evening that he found the drawing-room quite empty. The company who had been invited to dine had not yet left the dining-room, and the servants had but just set the car-tables and lighted the candles. Mr. Harvey desired that nobody should be disturbed by his coming so early, and fortunately Mrs. Latridius was detained some minutes by Lady Newland's lingering glass of Madeira. In the meantime Clarence executed his design. From his former observations, and from the hints that Lorde Lacour had let fall, he suspected that there was sometimes in this house not only high-play, but foul-play. He recollected that once when he played there at billiards, he had perceived that the table was not perfectly horizontal, and it occurred to him that perhaps the EO table might be so contrived as to put the fortunes of all who played at it in the power of the proprietor. Clarence had sufficient ingenuity to invent the method by which this might be done, and he had the infallible means in his procession of detecting the fraud. The EO table was in an apartment adjoining to the drawing-room. He found his way to it, and he discovered beyond the possibility of doubt that it was constructed for the purposes of fraud. His first impulse was to tell this immediately to Mr. Vincent to put him on his guard, but upon reflection he determined to keep his discovery to himself till he was satisfied whether that gentleman had or had not any passion for play. If he have, thought Clarence, it is of the utmost consequence to Miss Portman that he should early in life receive a shock that may leave an indelible impression upon his mind. To save him a few hours of remorse, I will not give up the power of doing him the most essential service. I will let him go on, if he be so inclined to the very verge of ruin and despair. I will let him feel all the horrors of a game-ster's fate, before I tell him that I have the means to save him. Mrs. Lutridge must, when I call upon her, refund whatever he may lose. She will not brave public shame. She cannot stand a public prosecution. Scarcely had Clarence arranged his scheme, when he heard the voices of the ladies who were coming upstairs. Mrs. Lutridge made her appearance accompanied by a very pretty, moddish-affected young lady, Miss Annabella Lutridge, her niece. Her little coquettish heirs were lost upon Clarence Harway, whose eyes was intently fixed upon the door, watching for the entrance of Mr. Vincent. He was one of the dinner party, and he came up soon after the ladies. He seemed prepared for the sight of Mr. Harway, to whom he bowed with a cold, haughty air, and then addressed himself to Miss Annabella Lutridge, who showed the most obvious desire to attract his attention. From all that passed this evening, Mr. Harway was led to suspect, notwithstanding the reasons which made it apparently improbable, that the fair Annabella was the secret cause of Mr. Vincent's frequent visits at her aunt's. It was natural that Clarence should be disposed to this opinion, from the circumstances of his own situation. During three hours that he stayed at Mrs. Lutridge's, Mr. Vincent never joined any of the parties at play. Not just as he was going away, he heard someone say, How comes it, Vincent, that you've been idle all night? This question revived Mr. Harway's suspicions, and uncertain what report he should make to Lorde Lacour, he resolved to defer making any, till he had further opportunities of judging. When Mr. Harway asked himself how it was possible that the pupil of Mr. Percival could become a game-ster, he forgot that Mr. Vincent had not been educated by his guardian, that he had lived in the West Indies till he was eighteen, and that he had only been under the care of Mr. Percival for a few years after his habits and character were in a great measure formed. The taste for gambling he had acquired whilst he was a child, but as it was then confined to trifles, it had been passed over as a thing of no consequence. A boyish folly that would never grow up with him. His father used to see him day after day, playing with eagerness at games of chance, with his negroes or with the sons of neighboring planters. Yet he was never alarmed. He was too intent upon making a fortune for his family to consider how they would spend it, and he did not foresee that this boyish fault might be the means of his son's losing in a few hours the wealth which he had been many years amassing. When young Vincent came over to England, Mr. Percival had not immediate opportunities of discovering this particular foible in his ward, but he perceived that in his mind there was that presumptuous belief in his special good fortune, which naturally leads to the love of gambling. Instead of lecturing him, his guardian appealed to his understanding, and took opportunities of showing him the ruinous effects of high play in real life. Young Vincent was touched and, as he thought, convinced, but his emotion was stronger than his conviction. His feelings were always more powerful than his reason. His detestation of the selfish character of a gamester was felt and expressed with enthusiasm and eloquence, and his indignation rose afterwards at the slightest hint that he might ever in future be tempted to become what he abhorred. Unfortunately, he disdained prudence as the factitious virtue of inferior minds. He thought that the feelings of a man of honor were to be his guide in the first and last appeal, and for his conduct through life as a man and as a gentleman, he proudly professed the trust of the sublime instinct of a good heart. His guardian's doubts of the infallibility and even of the existence of this moral instinct wounded Mr. Vincent's pride instead of alarming his understanding, and he was rather eager than averse to expose himself to the danger that he might prove his superiority to the temptation. How different are the feelings in different situations, yet often as this has been repeated, how difficult it is to impress the truth of an inexperienced sanguine minds. Whilst young Vincent was immediately under his guardian's eye at Oakley Park, his safety from vice appeared to him inglorious. He was impatient to sally forth into the world, confident rather of his innate then acquired virtue. When he first became acquainted with Mrs. Luttridge at Harrogate, he knew that she was a professed gambler, and he despised the character. Yet without reflecting on the danger, or perhaps for the pleasure of convincing Mr. Percival that he was superior to it, he continued his visits. For some time he was a passive spectator. Billiards, however, was a game of address, not chance. There was a billiard table at Oakley Park as well as at Mr. Luttridge's, and he played with his guardian. Why then should he not play with Mr. Luttridge? He did play. His skill was admired. He betted, and his bets were successful, but he did not call this gaming, for the bets were not to any great amount, and it was only playing at Billiards. Mr. Percival was delayed in town some weeks longer than usual, and he knew nothing of the manner in which his young friend spent his time. As soon as Mr. Vincent heard of his arrival at Oakley Park, he left half-finished his game at Billiards, and fortunately for him, the charms of Belinda made him forget for some months that such a thing as a billiard table existed. All that had happened at Mr. Luttridge's passed from his mind as a dream, and whilst his heart was agitated by his new passion, he could scarcely believe that he had ever been interested by any other feelings. He was surprised when he accidentally recollected the eagerness with which he used to amuse himself in Mr. Luttridge's company, but he was certain that all this was passed forever, and precisely because he was under the dominion of one strong passion, he thought he could never be under the dominion of another. Thus persisting in his disdain of reason as a moral guide, Mr. Vincent thought, acted, and suffered as a man of feeling. He scarcely had Belinda left Oakley Park for one week when the ennui consequent to violent passion became insupportable, and to console himself for her absence, he flew to the billiard table. Emotion of some kind or other was become necessary to him. He said that not to feel was not to live, and soon the suspense, the anxiety, the hopes, the fears, the perpetual vicissitudes of a gamester's life seemed to him almost as delightful as those of a lover's. Deceived by these appearances, Mrs. Luttridge thought that his affection for Belinda either was or might be conquered, and her hopes of obtaining his fortune for her niece Annabella revived. As Mr. Vincent could not endure Mrs. Freak, she abstained at her friend's particular desire from appearing at her house whilst he was there, and Mrs. Luttridge interested him much in her own favor by representing her indignation at Harriet's conduct to be such that it adocationed a total breach in their friendship. Mrs. Freak's sudden departure from Harrowgate confirmed the probability of this quarrel. Yet these two ladies were secretly leagued together in a design of breaking off Mr. Vincent's match with Belinda against who Mrs. Freak had vowed revenge. The anonymous letter which she hoped would work her purpose produced, however, an effect totally unexpected upon his generous mind. He did not guess the writer, but his indignation against such base accusations versed forth with the violence that astounded Mrs. Luttridge. His love for Belinda appeared ten times more enthusiastic than before. The moment she was accused, he felt himself her defender, as well as her lover. He was dispossessed of the evil spirit of gambling as if by a miracle, and the billiard table, and Mrs. Luttridge, and Mrs. Annabella vanished from his view. He breathed nothing but love. He would ask no permission. He would wait for none from Belinda. He declared that instant he would set out in search of her, and he would tear that infamous letter to atoms in her presence. He would show her how impossible suspicion was to his nature. The first violence of the hurricane Mrs. Luttridge could not stand, and thought not of opposing, but whilst his horses and caracal were getting ready, she took such an affectionate leave of his stocked Duba, and she protested so much that she and Annabella should not know how to live without poor Duba, that Mr. Vincent, who was excessively fond of his stock, could not help sympathizing in their sorrow. Reasoning just as well as they wished, he extended his belief in their affection for this animal to friendship, if not love for his master. He could not grant Mrs. Luttridge's earnest application to leave the dog behind him under her protection, but he promised and laid his hand upon his heart when he promised that Duba should wait upon Mrs. Luttridge as soon as she went to town. This appointment being made, Mrs. Annabella permitted herself to be somewhat consoled. It would be injustice to meet that she did all that could be done by a Cambric handkerchief to evince delicate sensibility in this parting scene. Mrs. Luttridge also deserves her share of praise for the manner in which she reproved her niece for giving way to her feelings, and for the address with which she wished to heaven that poor Annabella had the calm philosophic temper of which Mrs. Portman was, she understood, a most uncommon example. As Mr. Vincent drew toward London, he reflected upon these last words, and he could not help thinking that if Belinda had more false, she would be more amable. End of Chapter 28, Part 1, Read by Lars Rolander. Belinda by Maria Edgeworth. Chapter 28, Part 2 These thoughts were, however, driven from his mind and scarcely left a trace behind them when he once more saw and conversed with her. The dignity, sincerity, and kindness which she showed the evening that he put the anonymous letter into her hands charmed and touched him, and his real feelings and his enthusiasm conspired to make him believe that his whole happiness depended on her smiles. The confession which he made to him of her former attachment to Clarence Harvey, as it raced in Vincent's mind strong emotions of jealousy, increased his passion as much as it peaked his pride. And she peered in a new and highly interesting light, when he discovered that the coldness of manner which he had attributed to want of sensibility arose probably from its excess, that her heart should have been preoccupied, was more tolerable to him than the belief of her settled indifference. He was so intent upon these delightful varieties in its love for Belinda, that it was not till he had received a reproachful note from Mrs. Lutteridge to remind him of his promised visit with Duba that he could prevail upon himself to leave Twickenham, even for a few hours. Lady Delacour's hatred or fear of Duba, which he accidentally mentioned to Miss Annabella, appeared to her and to her arm the most extraordinary thing upon earth. And when it was contrasted with her excessive fondness, it seemed to him indeed unaccountable. From pure consideration for her ladyship's nerves, Mrs. Lutteridge petitioned Vincent to leave the dog with her, that Helena might not be in such imminent danger from the animal's monstrous jaws. The petition was granted, and as the petitioner's foresaw, Duba became to them a most useful auxiliary. Duba's master called daily to see him, and sometimes when he came in the morning Mrs. Lutteridge was not at home, so that his visits were repeated in the evening, and the evening in London is what in other places is called the night. Mrs. Lutteridge's nights could not be passed without deep play. The sight of the EO table at first shocked Mr. Vincent. He thought of Mr. Percival, and he turned away from it, but with his active social disposition it was extremely irksome to stand idle and uninterested, where all were busy and eager in one common pursuit. To his generous temper it seemed un-gentlemanlike to stand by the silent censor of the rest of the company. And when he considered of how little importance a few hundreds, or even thousands could be to a man of his large fortune, he could not help feeling that it was sordid, selfish, avaricious to dread their possible loss, and thus social spirit, courage, generosity, all conspired to carry our man of feeling to the gaming table. Once there his ruin was inevitable. Mrs. Lutteridge, whilst she held his doom in her power, hesitated only whether it would be more her interest to marry him to her niece, or to content herself with his fortune. His passion for Belinda, which she saw had been by some means or other increased in spite of the anonymous letter, gave her little hopes of Annabella's succeeding, even with the assistance of Juba and delicate sensibility. So the aunt careless of her niece's disappointment determined that Mr. Vincent should be her victim, and sensible that she must not give him time for reflection. She harried him on till, in the course of a few evenings spent at the EU table, he lost not only thousands, but tens of thousands. One lucky night she assured him would set all to rights. The run could not always be against him, and fortune must change in his favor, if he tried her with sufficient perseverance. The horror, the agony of mind which he endured at this sudden ruin which seemed impending over him, the recollection of Belinda, or Mr. Percival, almost drove him to distraction. He retreated from the EU table one night, swearing that he never would hazard another guinea, but his ruin was not yet complete. He had thousands yet to lose, and Mrs. Lutridge would not thus relinquish her prey. She persuaded him to try his fortune once more. She now suffered him to regain courage by winning back some of his own money. His mind was relieved from the sense of immediate danger. He rejoiced to be saved from the humiliation of confessing his losses to Mr. Percival and Belinda. The next day he saw her with unusual pleasure, and this was the very morning Clarence Harvey paid his visit. The imprudence of Lady Delacour joined perhaps to his own consciousness that he had a secret fall, which ought to lower him in the esteem of his mistress, made him misinterpret everything that passed. His jealousy was excited in the most sudden and violent manner. He flew from Lady Delacour's to Mrs. Lutridge's. He was soothed and flattered by the apparent kindness with which he was received by Annabella and her aunt. But after dinner, when one of the servants whispered to Mrs. Lutridge, who sat next to him that Mr. Clarence Harvey was about stairs, he gave such a start that the fair Annabella's lap did not escape a part of the bumper of wine which he was going to drink to her health. In the confusion and apologies which this accident occasioned, Mrs. Lutridge had time to consider what might be the cause of the start, and she combined her suspicions so quickly and judiciously that she guessed the truth, that he feared to be seen at the E.O. table by a person who might find it for his interest to tell the truth to Belinda Portman. Mr. Vincent said she in a low voice, I have such a terrible headache that I am fit for nothing. I am not up to E.O. tonight, so you must wait for your revenge till to-morrow. Mr. Vincent was heartily glad to be relieved from his engagement, and he endeavored to escape Clarence's suspicions by devoting his whole time this evening to Annabella, not in the least apprehensive that Mr. Harvey would return the next night. Mr. Vincent was at the E.O. table at the usual hour, for he was excessively anxious to regain what he had lost. Not so much for the sake of the money which he could afford to lose, but lest the defalcation in his fortune should lead Mr. Percival to the knowledge of the means which had occasioned it. He could not endure after his high wants to see himself humbled by his rash confidence in himself, and he secretly vowed that if he could but reinstate himself by one night's good luck, he would forever quit the society of gamblers. A few months before this time he would have scorned the idea of concealing any part of his conduct, any one of his actions from his best friend Mr. Percival, but his pride now reconciled him to the meanest of concealment, and here the acuteness of his feelings was to his own mind an excuse for dissimulation, so fallacious his moral instinct, unenlightened or uncontrolled by reason and religion. Mr. Vincent was disappointed in his hopes of regaining what he had lost. This was not the fortunate night which Mrs. Latteridge's prognostics had vainly taught him to expect. He played on, however, with all the impetuosity of his natural temper. His judgment forsook him, he scarcely knew what he said or did, and in the course of a few hours he was worked up to such a pitch of insanity that in one desperate moment he betted nearly all that he was worth in the world, and lost. He stood like one stupefied, the hum of voices scarcely reached his ear, he saw figures moving before him, but he did not distinguish who or what they were. Supper was announced, and the room emptied fast, while he remained motionless, leaning on the EO table. He was roused by Mrs. Latteridge saying as she passed, Don't you sub tonight, Mr. Harvey? Vincent looked up and saw Clarence Harvey opposite to him. His countenance instantly changed, and the lightning of anger flashed through the gloom of despair. He uttered not a syllable, but his look said, How is this, sir, here again tonight to watch me, to enjoy my ruin, to be ready to carry the first news of it to Belinda? At this last thought Vincent struck his closed hand with violence against his forehead, and rushing by Mr. Harvey, who in vain attempted to speak to him, he pressed into the midst of the crowd on the stairs, and let himself be carried along with them to the supper room. At supper he took his usual seat between Mrs. Latteridge and the fair Annabella, and as if determined to brave the observing eyes of Clarence Harvey, who was at the same table he affected extravagant gaiety. He ate, drank, talked, and laughed more than any of the company. Toward the end of the supper his dog, who was an inmate at Mrs. Latteridge's, licked his hands to put him in mind that he had given him nothing to eat. Drink, Cuba, drink, and never have done, boy, cried Vincent, holding a bumper of wine to the dog's mouth. He's the only dog I ever saw taste wine. In snatching up some of the flowers which ornamented the table, he swore that Cuba should henceforward be called anachron, and that he deserved to be crowned with roses by the hand of beauty. The fair Annabella instantly took a hot-house rose from her bosom, and assisted in making the garland, with which she crowned the new anachron. Insensible to his honors, the dog who was extremely hungry turned suddenly to Mrs. Latteridge, by whom he had till this night regularly been fed with the choicest morsels, and lifting up his huge paw, laded, as he had been want to do, upon her arm. She shook it off, he, knowing nothing of the changed in his master's affairs, laid the paw again upon her arm, and with that familiarity, to which he had long been encouraged, grazed his head almost close to the lady's cheek. Down, Cuba, down, sir, down, cried Mrs. Latteridge in a sharp voice. Down, Cuba, down, sir, repeated Mr. Vincent in a tone of bitter feeling. All his assumed gaiety forsaking him at this instant. Down, Cuba, down, sir, down, as low as your master thought he, and pushing back his chair, he rose from table and precipitately left the room. Little notice was taken of his retreat. The chairs closed in, and the gap which his vacant place left was visible but for a moment. The company were as gay as before, the fair Annabella smiled with the grace as attractive, and Mrs. Latteridge exalted in the success of her schemes, whilst her victim was in the agonies of despair. Clarence Harvey, who had watched every change to Vincent's countenance, saw the agony of soul, with which he rose from the table and quitted the room. He suspected his purpose and followed him immediately. But Mr. Vincent had got out of the house before he could overtake him. Which way he was gone no one could tell? For no one had seen him. The only information he could gain was that he might possibly be heard of a nearest hotel, or at Governor's Mountforte's, in Portland Place. The hotel was but a few yards from Mrs. Latteridge's. Clarence went there directly. He asked for Mr. Vincent. One of the waiters said that he was not yet come in, but another called out. Mr. Vincent, sir, did you say? I've just shown him up to his room. Which is the room? I must see him instantly, cried Harvey. Not tonight. You can't see him now, sir. Mr. Vincent won't let you in. I can assure you, sir, I went up myself three minutes ago with some letters that came whilst he was away. But he will not let me in. I heard him double lock the door, and he swore terribly. I can't go up again at this time, o' night. For my life I dare not, sir. Where is his own man? Has Mr. Vincent any servant here? Mr. Vincent's man, cried Clarence, let me see him. You can't, sir. Mr. Vincent has just sent his plaque. The only servant he has here out on some message. Indeed, sir, there is no use in going up," continued the waiter, as Clarence sprang up two or three stairs at once. Mr. Vincent has decided nobody may disturb him. I give you my word, sir. He'll be very angry, and besides, twould be to no purpose, for he'll not unlock the door. Is there but one door to the room? Said Mr. Harvey, and as he asked the question, he pulled the guinea out of his pocket and touched the waiter's hand with it. Oh, now I recollect. Yes, sir, there's a private door through a closet. Maybe that mayn't be fastened. Clarence put the guinea into the waiter's hand, who instantly showed him the way up the back staircase to the door that opened into Mr. Vincent's bed-chamber. Leave me now, whispered he, and make no noise. The man withdrew, and as Mr. Harvey went close to the concealed door to try if it was fastened, he distinctly heard a pistol cock. The door was not fastened. He pushed it softly open, and saw the unfortunate man upon his knees, the pistol in his hand, his eyes looking up to heaven. Clarence was in one moment behind him, and, ceasing hold of the pistol, he snatched it from Vincent's grasp, with so much calm presence of mind and dexterity that, although the pistol was cocked, it did not go off. Mr. Harvey exclaimed Vincent, starting up, astonishment overpowered all other sensations, but the next instant recovering the power of speech. Is this the conduct of a gentleman, Mr. Harvey? Of a man of honor, cried he, thus to intrude upon my privacy. To be aspired upon my actions, to triumph in my ruin, to witness my despair, to rob me of the only. He looked wildly at the pistol which Clarence held in his hand, then snatching up another, which lay upon the table he continued. You are my enemy, I know it, you are my rival, I know it. Belinda loves you, nay, affect not to start, this is no time for dissimulation. Belinda loves you, you know it, for her sake, for your own, put me out of the world, put me out of torture, it shall not be called murder, it shall be called a duel. You have been aspired upon my actions, I demand satisfaction. If you have one spark of honor or of courage within you, Mr. Harvey, show it now. Fight me, sir, openly as man to man, rival to rival, enemy to enemy, fire. If you fire upon me, you will repent it, replied Clarence calmly, for I am not your enemy, I am not your rival. You are, interrupted Vincent, raising his voice to the highest pitch of indignation. You are my rival, though you dare not above it. The denialist space falls unmanly. Oh, Belinda, is this the being you prefer to me? Gamester, wretched as I am, my soul never stooped to falsehood, treachery I abhor, courage, honor, and the heart worthy of Belinda, I possess. I beseech you, sir, continued he, addressing himself in a tremulous tone of contempt to Mr. Harvey. I beseech you, sir, to leave me to my own feelings and to myself. You are not yourself at this moment, and I cannot leave you to such mistaken feelings, replied Harvey. Command yourself for a moment and hear me. Use your reason, and you will soon be convinced that I am your friend. My friend, your friend, for what purpose did I come here? To snatch this pistol from your hand? If it were my interest, my wish that you were out of the world, why did I prevent you from destroying yourself? Do you think that the action of an enemy? Use your reason. I cannot, said Vincent, striking his fore. I know not what to think. I am not master of myself. I conjure you, sir, for your own sake to leave me. For my own sake, repeated Harvey disdainfully, I am not thinking of myself, nor can anything you have said provoke me for my purpose. My purpose is to save you from ruin, for the sake of a woman, whom, though I am no longer your rival, I have loved longer, if not better than you have. There was something so open in Harvey's countenance, such a strong expression of truth in his manner, that it could not be resisted. And Vincent, in an altered voice, exclaimed, You acknowledge that you have loved Belinda, and could you cease to love her? Impossible! And loving her must you not detest me. No, said Clarence, holding out his hand to him. I wish to be your friend. I have not the baseness to wish to deprive others of happiness, because I cannot enjoy it myself. In one word, to put you out at ease with me forever, I have no pretensions. I can have none to miss Portman. I am engaged to another woman. In a few days you will hear of my marriage. Mr. Vincent threw the pistol from him, and gave his hand to Harvey. Pardon what I said to you just now, cried he. I knew not what I said. I spoke in the agony of despair. Your purpose is most generous, but it is in vain. You come too late. I am ruined, past all hope. He folded his arms, and his eyes reverted involuntarily to his pistols. The misery that you have this night experienced, said Mr. Harvey, was necessary to the security of your future happiness. Happiness, repeated Vincent, happiness, there is no happiness left for me. My doom is fixed, fixed by my own folly, my own rash headstrong folly, madman that I was. What could tempt me to the gaming table? Oh, if I could recall but a few days, a few hours of my existence, but remorse is vain. Prudence comes too late. Do you know, said if fixing his eyes upon Harvey, do you know that I am a beggar, that I have not a fathering left upon earth? Go to Belinda. Tell her so. Tell her that if she had ever the slightest regard for me, I deserve it no longer. Tell her to forget, despise, detest me. Give her joy that she has escaped having a game-ster for a husband. I will, said Clarence. I will if you please tell her what I believe to be true, that the agony you have felt this night, the dear bought experience you have had, will be forever a warning. A warning, interrupted Vincent. Oh, that it could yet be useful to me, but I tell you it comes too late. Nothing can save me. I can, said Mr. Harvey. Swear to me for Belinda's sake, solemnly swear to me, that you will never more trust your happiness and hers to the hazard of a die. Swear that you will never more directly or indirectly play at any game of chance, and I will restore to you the fortune that you have lost. Mr. Vincent stood as if suspended between ecstasy and despair. He dared not trust his senses. With the fervent and solemn aduration, he made the vow that was required of him, and Clarence then revealed to him the secret of the EO table. Then Mrs. Lutridge knows that I have it in my power to expose her to public shame. She will instantly refund all that she has iniquitiously won from you. Even among gamblers, she would be blasted forever by this discovery. She knows it, and if she dared to break public opinion, we have then a sure resource in the law, prosecutor. The laws of honor as well as the laws of the land will support the prosecution, but she will never let the affair go into a court of justice. I will see her early, as early as I can tomorrow, and put you out of suspense. Most generous of human beings, exclaimed Vincent, I cannot express to you what I feel, but your own heart, your own approbation. Farewell, good night, interrupted Clarence. I see that I have made a friend. I was determined that Belinda's husband should be my friend. I have succeeded beyond my hopes, and now I will intrude no longer," said he as he closed the door after him. His sensations at this instant were more delightful even than those of the man he had relieved from the depth of despair. How wisely has Providence made the benevolent and generous passions the most pleasurable. End of Chapter 28 Part 2 Red by Losch Rolander. In the silence of the night, when the hurry of action was over, and the enthusiasm of generosity began to subside, the words which had escaped from Mr. Vincent in the paroxysm of despair and rage, the words Belinda loves you, recurred to Clarence Hervey, and it required all his power over himself to banish the sound from his ear and the idea from his mind. He endeavored to persuade himself that these words were dictated merely by sudden jealousy and that there couldn't be no real foundation for the assertion. Perhaps this belief was a necessary support to his integrity. He reflected that at all events his engagement with Virginia could not be violated. His proffered services to Mr. Vincent could not be withdrawn. He was firm and consistent. For two o'clock the next day Vincent received from Clarence this short note. Enclosed is Mrs. Lutridge's acknowledgement that she has no claims upon you, inconsequence of what passed last night. I said nothing about the money she had previously won. As I understand you have paid it. The lady fell into fits, but it would not do. The husband attempted to bully me. I told him I should be at his service, after he had made the whole affair public by calling you out. I would have seen you myself this morning, but that I am engaged with lawyers and marriage settlements. Yours sincerely, Clarence Hervey. Overjoyed at the sight of Mrs. Lutridge's acknowledgement, Vincent repeated his vow never more to hazard himself in her dangerous society. He was impatient to see Belinda, and full of generous and grateful sentiments. In his first moment of joy he determined to conceal nothing from her, to make at once the confession of his own imprudence, and the eulogism of Clarence Hervey's generosity. He was just setting out for Twickenham, when he was sent for by his uncle, Governor Montford, who had business to settle with him, relative to his West India estates. He spent the remainder of the morning with his uncle, and there he received a charming letter from Belinda. That letter, which she had written and sent whilst Lady Delacorte was reading Clarence Hervey's packet, it would have cured Vincent of jealousy, even if he had not in the interim seen Mr. Hervey, and learnt from him the news of his approaching marriage. Miss Portman, at the conclusion of her letter, informed him that Lady Delacorte purposed being in Berkeley Square the next day, that they were to spend a week in town on account of Mrs. Margaret Delacorte, who had promised her ladyship a visit, and to go to Twickenham would be a formidable journey to an infirm old lady who seldom stirred out of her house. Whatever displeasure Lady Delacorte felt towards her friend Belinda, on account of her coldness to Mr. Hervey, and her steadiness to Mr. Vincent, had by this time subsided. Angry people who express their passion, as it has been justly said, always speak worse than they think. This was usually the case with her ladyship. The morning after they arrived in town, she came into Belinda's room, with an air of more than usual sprightliness and satisfaction. Great news! Great news! Extraordinary news! But it is very imprudent to excite your expectations, my dear Belinda. Pray, did you hear a wonderful noise in the square a little while ago? Yes. I thought I heard a great bustle, but Maria appeased my curiosity by saying that it was only a battle between two dogs. It is well that this battle between two dogs do not end in a duel between two men, said Lady Delacorte. This prospect of mischief seems to have put your ladyship in wonderfully good spirits, said Belinda, smiling. But what do you think I have heard of Mr. Vincent? That Miss Annabella Lettridge is dying for love of him, or of his fortune, knowing as I do the vanity of mankind. I suppose that your Mr. Vincent, all perfect as he is, was flattered by the little coat kit, and perhaps he condescends to repay her in the same coin. I take it for granted, for I always fill up the gaps in a story my own way. I take it for granted that Mr. Vincent got into some entanglement with her, and that this has been the cause of the quarrel with the aunt. That there has been a quarrel is certain, for your friend Duba told Mary it so. His master swore that he would never go to Mrs. Lettridge's again, and this morning he took the decisive measure of sending to request that his dog might be returned. Duba went for his namesake. Miss Annabella Lettridge was the person who delivered up the dog, and she desired the black to tell his master with her compliments that Duba's collar was rather too tight, and she begged that he would not fail to take it off as soon as he could. Perhaps my dear, you are as simple as the poor negro, and suspect no finesse in this message. Miss Lettridge, aware that the faithful fellow was too much in your interests to be either persuaded or bribed to carry a billet-dove from any other lady to his master, did not dare to trust him upon this occasion. She had the ought to make him carry her letter without his knowing it. Colin Malliard, vaguely called a blind man's buff, was some time ago a favourite play among the Parisian ladies. Now hide-and-seek will be brought into fashion, I suppose, by the fair Annabella, judge of her talents, for the game by this instance. She hid her billet-dove within the aligning of Duba's collar. The dog unconscious of his dignity is an ambassador, or rather as charged he affairs, set out on his way home. As he was crossing Berkley Square he was met by Sir Philip Badley and his dog. The Baronet's insolent favourite bit, the black heel's Duba the dog, resented the injury immediately and a furious combat ensued. In the height of the battle Duba's collar fell off. Sir Philip Badley iced by the paper that was sewed to the lining, and seized upon it immediately. The negro coddled of it at the same instant. The Baronet swore. The black struggled. The Baronet knocked him down. The great dog left his canine antagonist that moment, flew at your Baronet, and would have eaten him up, at three mouthfuls, if Sir Philip had not made good his retreat to Dangerfield's circulating library. The negro's head was terribly cut by the sharp point of a stone, and his ankle was sprained. But as he has just told me, he did not feel this till afterward. He started up and pursued his master's enemy. Sir Philip was actually reading Miss Lutneridge's billet-due, aloud when the black entered the library. He reclaimed his master's property, with great intrepidity, and a gentleman who was present took his parts immediately. In the meantime, Lord Delacor, who had been looking at the battle from our breakfast room window, determined to go over to Dangerfield's to see what was the matter, and how all this would end. He entered the library just as the gentleman who had volunteered in favour of poor Duba was disputing with Sir Philip. The bleeding negro told my lord, in his plain words, as he could, the cause of the dispute, and Lord Delacor, who to do him justice is a man of honour, joined instantly in his defence. The Baronet thought proper at length to submit, and he left the field of battle without having anything to say for himself, but damn, very extraordinary, damn, all words to that effect. Now, Lord Delacor, besides being a man of honour, is also a man of humanity. I know that I cannot oblige you more, my dear Belinda, than by seasoning my discourse with a little conjugal flattery. My lord was concerned to see the poor black, writhing in pain, and with the assistance of the gentleman who had joined in his defence he brought Duba across the square to our house. Guess for what? To try upon the strained ankle, an infallible quack balsam recommended to him by the dowager, Lady Boucher. I was in the hall, when they brought the poor fellow in. Mariette was called, Mrs. Mariette, cried my lord, pray let us have Lady Boucher's infallible balsam this instant. Had you but seen the eagerness of his face, or heard the emphasis with which he said, infallible balsam, you must let me laugh at the recollection, one human smile must pass, and be forgiven, the smile may be the more readily forgiven, said Belinda. Since I am sure you are conscious that it reflected almost as much upon yourself as upon Lord Delacol. Why, yes, belief in a quack doctor is full as bad as belief in a quack balsam, I allow. Your observation is so malicious, because so just, that to punish you for it I will not tell you the remainder of my story for a week to come, and I assure you that the best part of it I have left untold to return to our friend Mr. Vincent. Could you but know what reasons I have at this instant, for wishing him and Jamaica, you would acknowledge that I am truly candid in confessing that I believe my suspicions about E.O. were unfounded, and I am truly generous in admitting that you are right to treat him with justice. This last, enigmaticful sentence Belinda could not prevail upon Lady Delacol to explain. In the evening Mr. Vincent made his appearance. Lady Delacol immediately attacked him with railery on the subject of the fair Annabella. He was rejoiced to receive that her suspicions took this turn, and that nothing relative to the transaction in which Clarence Hervey had been engaged had transpired. Vincent wavered in his resolution to confess the truth to Belinda, though he had determined upon this in the first moment of joyful enthusiasm. Yet the delay of four and twenty hours had made a material change in his feelings. His most virtuous resolves were always rather the effect of sudden impulse than of steady principle. But when the tide of passion had swept away the landmarks, he had no method of ascertaining the boundaries of right and wrong. Upon the present occasion his love for Belinda confounded all his moral calculations. One moment his feelings as a man of honor forbid him to condescend to the meanness of dissimulation. But the next instant his feelings as a lover prevailed, and he satisfied his conscience by the idea that as his vow must preclude all danger of his return to the gaming table in future it would only be creating an unnecessary alarm in Belinda's mind to speak to her of his past imprudence. His generosity at first revolted from the thought of suppressing those praises of Clarence Hervey, which had been so well deserved, but his jealousy returned to combat his first virtuous impulse. He considered that his own inferiority must by comparison appear more striking to his mistress, and he sophisticly persuaded himself that it would be for her happiness to conceal the merits of a rival to whom she could never be united. In this vacillating state of mind he continued during the greatest part of the evening. About half an hour before he took his leave Lady Delacorte was called out of the room by Mrs. Marriott. Left alone with Belinda his embarrassment increased, and the unsuspecting kindness of her manner was to him the most bitter reproach. He stood in silent agony whilst in a playful tone she smiled and said, Where are your thoughts, Mr. Vincent? If I were of a jealous temper I should say with the fair Annabella. You would say wrong then, replied Mr. Vincent in a constrained voice. He was upon the point of telling the truth, but to gain a reprieve of a few minutes he entered into a defence of his conduct towards Miss Lutridge. The sudden return of Lady Delacorte relieved him from his embarrassment, and they conversed only on general subjects during the remainder of the evening, and he at last departed secretly rejoicing that he was, as he fancied, under the necessity of postponing his explanation. He even thought of suppressing the history of his transaction with Mrs. Lutridge. He knew that his secret was safe with Clarens Hervey. Mrs. Lutridge would be silent for her own sake, and neither Lady Delacorte nor Belinda had any connection with her society. A few days afterward Mr. Vincent went to Grey the Jeweler for some trinkets which he had bespoken. Lord Delacorte was there, speaking about the diamond ring which Grey had promised to dispose of for him. Whilst his lordship and Mr. Vincent were busy about their own affairs, Sir Philip Badley and Mr. Rokeport came into the shop. Sir Philip and Mr. Vincent never before met Lord Delacorte to prevent him from getting into a quarrel about a lady who was so little worth fighting for as Miss Annabella Lutridge had positively refused to tell Mr. Vincent what he knew of the affair, or to let him know the name of the gentleman who was concerned in it. The shopman addressed Mr. Vincent by his name, and immediately Sir Philip whispered to Rokeport that Mr. Vincent was the master of the black. Vincent, who unluckily overheard him, instantly asked Lord Delacorte if that was the gentleman who had behaved so ill to his servant. Lord Delacorte told him that it was now of no consequence to inquire if, said his lordship, either of these gentlemen choose to accost you, I shall think you do rightly to retort. But for heaven's sake do not begin the attack. Vincent's impetuosity was not to be restrained. He demanded from Sir Philip whether he was the person who had beaten his servant. Sir Philip readily obliged him with an answer in the affirmative, and the consequence was the loss of a finger to the baronet and a wound in the side to Mr. Vincent, which though it did not endanger his life, yet confined him to his room for several days. The impatience of his mind increased his fever and retarded his recovery. When Belinda's first alarm for Mr. Vincent's safety was over, she anxiously questioned Lord Delacorte as to the particulars of all that had passed between Mr. Vincent and Sir Philip that she might judge of the manner in which her lover had conducted himself. Lord Delacorte, who was a man of strict truth, was compelled to confess that Mr. Vincent had shown more spirit than temper and more courage than prudence. Lady Delacorte rejoiced to perceive that this account may Belinda incomminally serious. Mr. Vincent now thought himself sufficiently recovered to leave his room. His physicians indeed would have kept him prisoner a few days longer, but he was too impatient of restraint to listen to their counsels. Juba, tell the doctor when he comes that you could not keep me at home, and that is all that is necessary to be said. He had now summoned courage to acknowledge to Belinda all that had happened and was proceeding with difficulty downstairs when he was suddenly struck by the sound of a voice which he little expected at this moment, a voice he had formerly been accustomed to hear with pleasure, but now it smote him to the heart. It was the voice of Mr. Percival. For the first time in his life he wished to deny himself to his friend. The recollection of the E. O. Table, of Mrs. Lutridge, of Mr. Percival as his guardian, and of all the advice he had heard from him as his friend rushed upon his mind at this instant, conscious and ashamed, he shrunk back. Precipitately returned to his own room and threw himself into a chair, breathless with agitation. He listened, expecting to hear Mr. Percival coming upstairs and endeavored to compose himself that he might not betray by his own agitation, all that he wished most anxiously to conceal. After waiting for some time he rang the bell to make inquiries. The waiter told him that if Mr. Percival had asked for him, but having been told by his black that he was just gone out, the gentleman being, as he said, much hurry, had left a note for an answer to which he would call at eight o'clock in the evening. Vincent was glad of this short reprieve. That's, thought he, how changed am I, when I fear to meet my best friend, to what has this one fatal propensity reduced me. He was little aware of the new difficulties that awaited him. Mr. Percival's note was as follows, My dear friend, am not I a happy man, to find a friend in my sade of aunt Ward, but I have no time for sentiment, nor does it become the character in which I am now writing to you. That of a done. You are so rich, and so prudent, that the word in capital letters cannot frighten you. Lady Anne's cousin, poor Mr. Keresvich, is dead. I am guardian to his boys. They are but ill-provided for. I have fortunately obtained a partnership in a good house for the second son. Ten thousand pounds are wanting to establish him. We cannot raise the money amongst us without doneing poor Mr. Vincent. This is your bond for the purchase money of the little estate you bought from me last summer. I know that you have doubled the sum we want in ready money. So I make no ceremony. Let me have the ten thousand this evening, if you can, as I wish to leave town as soon as possible. Yours most sincerely, Henry Percival. Now Mr. Vincent had lost, and had actually paid to Mrs. Lutridge the ready money which had been destined to discharge his debt to Mr. Percival. He expected fresh remittances from the West Indies in the course of a few weeks, but in the meantime he must raise this money immediately, this he could only do by having recourse to Jews, a desperate expedient. The Jew to whom he applied no sooner discovered that Mr. Vincent was under a necessity of having this sum before eight o'clock in the evening than he became exorbitant in his demands, and the more impatient this unfortunate young man became, the more difficulties he raised. At last a bargain was concluded between them, in which Vincent knew that he was grossly imposed upon, but to this he submitted, for he had no alternative. The Jew promised to bring him ten thousand pounds at five o'clock in the evening, but it was half after seven before he made his appearance, and then he was so dilatory and circumspect in reading over and signing the bounds and in completing the formalities of the transaction that before the money was actually in Vincent's possession, one of the waiters of the hotel knocked at the door to let him know that Mr. Percival was coming upstairs. Vincent hurried the Jew into an adjoining apartment and bid him wait there till he should come to finish the business. Though totally unsuspicious, Mr. Percival could not help being struck with the perturbation in which he found his young friend. Vincent immediately began to talk of the duel, and his friend was led to conclude that his anxiety arose from this affair. He endeavored to put him at ease by changing the conversation. He spoke of the business which brought him to town and of the young man whom he was going to place with the banker. I hope, said he, observing that Vincent grew more embarrassed, that my dunning you for this money is not really inconvenient. Not in the least. Not in the least. I have the money ready in a few moments. If you'll be so good as to wait here. I have the money ready in the next room. At this instant a loud noise was heard. The raised voices of two people quarreling. It was Juba, the black, and Solomon, the Jew. Mr. Vincent had sent Juba out of the way on some errand, whilst he had been transacting his affairs with the Jew. But the black, having executed the commission on which he had been sent, returned, and went into his master's bed chamber to read at his leisure a letter which he had just received from his wife. He did not at first see the Jew, and he was spelling out the words of his wife's letter. My dear Juba, I take this oppa for to neti, he would have said. But the Jew, who had held his breath into a void discovery, till he could hold it no longer, now drew it so loud that Juba started, looked around, and saw the feet of a man, which appeared beneath the bottom of the window curtain. Where fears of supernatural appearances were out of the question, our negro was a man of courage. He had no doubt that the man who was concealed behind the curtain was a robber. But the idea of a robber did not unnerve him, like that of an obial woman, with presence of mind worthy of a greater danger. Juba took down his master's pistol, which hung over the chimney piece, and marching deliberately up to the enemy, he seized the Jew by the throat, exclaiming, You rob my masa! You dead man, if you rob my masa! Terrified at the sight of the pistol, the Jew instantly explained who he was, and, producing his large purse, assured Juba that he was come to lend money, and not to take it from his master. But this appeared highly improbable to Juba, who believed his master to be the richest man in the world. Besides, the Jew's language was scarcely intelligible to him, and he saw secret terror in Solomon's countenance. Solomon had an antipathy to the sight of a black, and he shrunk from the negro with strong signs of aversion. Juba would not relinquish his hold. Each went on talking in his own angry gibberish as loud as he could, till at last the negro fairly dragged the Jew into the presence of his master and Mr. Percival. It is impossible to describe Mr. Vincent's confusion or Mr. Percival's astonishment. The Jew's explanation was perfectly intelligible to him. He saw it once all the truth, Vincent, overwhelmed with shame, stood the picture of despair, incapable of uttering a single syllable. There is no necessity to borrow this money on my account, said Mr. Percival calmly. And if there were, we could probably have it on more reasonable terms than this gentleman proposes. I cannot, on what terms I have it. I cannot what becomes of me. I am undone, cried Vincent. Mr. Percival coolly dismissed the Jew, made a sign to Juba to leave the room, and then, addressing himself to Vincent, said, I can borrow the money that I want elsewhere. Viennep reproaches for me. I foresaw all this. You have lost this son at play. It is well that it was not your whole fortune. I have only one question to ask you, on which depends my esteem. Have you informed Miss Portman of this affair? I have not yet told her, but I was actually half downstairs in my way to tell her. Then Mr. Vincent, you are still my friend. I know the difficulty of such an avow, but it is necessary. Cannot you, dear Mr. Percival, save me the intolerable shame of confessing my own folly. Tell me this mortification. Be yourself the bearer of this intelligence, and the mediator in my favour. I will with pleasure, said Mr. Percival. I will go this instant, but I cannot say that I have any hope of persuading Belinda to believe in your being irrevocably reclaimed from the charms of play. Indeed, my excellent friend, she may rely upon me. I feel such horror at the past, such hot-felt resolution against all future temptation that you may pledge yourself for my total reclamation. Mr. Percival promised that he would exert all his influence, except by pledging his own honour. To this he could not consent. If I have any good news for you, I will return as soon as possible, but I will not be the bearer of any painful intelligence, said he. And he departed, leaving Mr. Vincent in a state of anxiety, which, to his temper, was a punishment sufficient for almost any imprudence he could have committed. Mr. Percival returned no more that night. The next morning Mr. Vincent received the following letter from Belinda. He guessed his fate. He had scarcely power to read the words. I promised you that whenever my own mind should be decided, I would not hold yours in suspense, yet at this moment I find it difficult to keep my word. Instead of lamenting, as you have often done, that my esteem for your many excellent qualities never rose beyond the bounds of friendship. We have now reason to rejoice at this, since it will save us much useless pain. It spares me the difficulty of conquering a passion that might be fatal to my happiness, and it will diminish the regret which you may feel at our separation. I am now obliged to say that circumstances have made me certain we could not add to our mutual felicity by any nearer connection. The hope of enjoying domestic happiness with a person whose manners, temper, and tastes suited my own inclined me to listen to your dresses, but this happiness I could never enjoy with one who has any propensity to the love of play, for my sake. As well as for yours, I rejoice that your fortune has not been materially injured. As this relieves me from the fear that my present conduct should be imputed to interested motives, indeed, such is the generosity of your own temper, that in any situation I should scarcely have reason to apprehend from you such a suspicion. The absolute impossibility of my forming at present a connection with another will prevent you from imagining that I am secretly influenced by sentiments different from those which I avow. Nor can any weak doubts on this subject expose me to my own reproaches. You perceive, sir, that I am not willing utterly to lose your esteem, even when I renounce in the most unequivocal manner all claim upon your affections. If any thing should appear to you harsh in this letter, I beg you to impute it to the real cause. My desire to spare you all painful suspense by convincing you at once that my determination is irrevocable was sincere wishes for your happiness. I bid you farewell." Belinda Portman. A few hours after Mr. Vincent had read this letter he threw himself into a post-chase and set out for Germany. He saw that all hopes of being united to Belinda were over, and he hurried as far from her as possible her letter rather sued than irritated his temper. Her praises of his generosity were highly gratifying, and they had so powerful an effect upon his mind that he was determined to prove that they were deserved. His conscience reproached him with not having made sufficiently honourable mention of Clarence Hervey's conduct on the night when he was on the point of destroying himself. Before he left London he wrote a full account of this whole transaction to be given to Miss Portman after his departure. Belinda was deeply touched by this proof of his generosity. His letter, his farewell letter, she could not read without great emotion. It was written with true feeling, but in a manly style without one word of vain lamentation. What a pity, thought Belinda, that with so many good and great qualities I should be forced to bid him adieu for ever. Though she strongly felt the pain of this separation, yet she could not recede from her decision. Nothing could tempt her to connect herself with a man who had the fatal taste for play. Even Mr. Percival, much as he loved his ward, much as he wished for his union with Belinda, dared not pledge his honour for Mr. Vincent on this point. Lady Anne Percival, in a very kind and sensible letter, expressed the highest approbation of Belinda's conduct and the most sincere hope that Belinda would still continue to think of her with affection and esteem. Though she had been so rash in her advice, and though her friendship had been apparently so selfish. 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. Do not expect that I should pretend to be sorry for Mr. Vincent, said Lady Delacour. Let him be as generous and as penitent as he pleases. I am heartily glad that he is on his way to Germany. I dare say he will find in the upper or lower circles of the Empire some heroine in the Kotzebue taste, who will alternately make him miserable till he is happy and happy till he is miserable. He is one of those men who require great emotions. Fine lovers these make for stage effect, but the worst husbands in the world. I hope, Belinda, you give me credit for having judged better of Mr. Vincent than Lady Anne Percival did. For having judged worse of him, you mean? Lady Anne always judges as well as possible of everybody. I will allow you to play upon words in a friend's defence, but do not be alarmed for the reputation of Lady Anne's judgment. If it will be any satisfaction to you, I can, with thorough sincerity, assure you that I never liked her so well in my life, since I have detected her in a mistake. It saves her, in my imagination, from the odium of being a perfect character, and there was something so huntsome in her manner of writing to me, when she found out her error, said Belinda. Very true! And my friend, Mr. Percival, behaved handsomely. Where friendships clash, it is not every man who has clearness of head sufficient to know his duty to his neighbour. Mr. Percival said no more than just the thing he ought for his ward. You have reason to be obliged to him, and as we are returning thanks to all persons concerned in our deliverance, from this imminent danger, Juba, the dog, and Juba, the black, and Solomon, the Jew, ought to come in for their share. For without that wrestling match of theirs, the truth might never have been dragged to light, and Mr. Vincent would have been in due course of time your Lord and Master. But the danger is over. You need not look so terrified. Do not be like the man who dropped down dead with terror, when he was shown by daylight the broken bridge which he had galloped over in the dark. Lady Delacorte was in such high spirits that without regard to connection she ran on from one subject to another. You have proved to me, my dear, said she, that you are not a girl to marry because the day was fixed, or because things had gone so far. I give you infinite credit for your civil courage, as Dr. X calls it, military courage as he said to me yesterday, military courage that seeks the bubble reputation, even in the cannon's mouth, may be had for six pence a day, but civil courage, such as enabled the princess, Perizade, in the Arabian tales, to go straight up the hill to her object. Through the magical multitude of advising and abusive voices continually called to her to turn back, is one of the rarest qualities in man or woman, and not to be had for love, money or admiration. You place admiration not only above money, but above love in your climax, I perceive, said Belinda Smiley. I will give you leave to be as philosophically sarcastic as you please, my dear. If you will only smile, and if you will not look as pale as Seneca's Polina, whose story we heard from—whom?—from Mr. Hervey, I believe. His name was ready upon your lips. I hope he was not far from your thoughts. No one could be farther from my thoughts, said Belinda. Well, very likely I believe it, because you say it, and because it is impossible. According to me, as much as you please, my dear Lady Delacorte, I assure you that I speak the simple truth. I cannot suspect you of affectation, my dear, therefore honestly tell me if Clarence Hervey were at your feet this instant, would you spurn him from you? Spurn him? No. I would neither spurn him nor motion him from me, but without using any of the terms in the heroine's dictionary, you would refuse him. Lady Delacorte, with a look of indignation, you would refuse him. I did not say so, I believe. You would accept him. I did not say so, I am sure. Oh! You would tell him that you were not accustomed to him? Not exactly in those words, perhaps. Well, we shall not quarrel about words, said Lady Delacorte. I only beg you to remember your own principles, and, if ever you are put to the trial, be consistent. First thing in a philosopher is to be consistent. Fortunately for the credit of my philosophy, there is no immediate danger of its being put to the test. Unfortunately, you surely mean, unless you are afraid that it might not stand the test. But I was going, when I spoke of consistency, to remind you that all your own in Mr. Percival's arguments about first loves may now, with equal propriety, be turned against you. How against me? They are evidently as applicable to second as to first loves, I think. Perhaps they are, said Belinda. But I really and truly am not inclined to think of love at present, particularly as there is no necessity that I should. Belinda took up a book, and Lady Delacorte, for one half hour, abstained from any further railery. For longer than half an hour, she could not be silent on the subject, uppermost in her thoughts. If Clarence Hervey cried she, were not the most honourable of blockheads, he might be the most happy of men. This Virginia! Oh, how I hate her! I am sure Paul Clarence cannot love her. Because you hate her, or because you hate her without having ever seen her, said Belinda. Oh, I know what she must be! replied Lady Delacorte. A soft, sighing, dying damsel who puts ball-finches into her bosom. Smile, smile, my dear, you cannot help it in spite of all your generosity. I know you must think as I do, and wish as I do, that she were at the bottom of the black sea, this instant. Lady Delacorte stood for some minutes musing, and then exclaimed, I will move heaven and earth to break off this absurd match. Good heavens, my dear Lady Delacorte! What do you mean? Mean, my dear! I mean what I say, which very few people do. No wonder I should surprise you. I congee you, cried Belinda. If you have the least regard of my honour and happiness. I have not the least, but the greatest, and depend upon it, my dear, I will do nothing that shall injure that dignity of mind and delicacy of character, which I admire in love as much as Clarence Hervey did, and does. Trust to me not Lady Anne Percival herself can be more delicate in a notions of propriety than I am for my friends, and since my reformation, I hope I may add, for myself fear nothing. As she finished these words, she rang for her carriage. I don't ask you to go out with me, my dear Belinda. I give you leave to sit in this armchair till I come back again, with your feet upon the fender, a book in your hand, and this little table beside you, like Lady S's picture of comfort. Lady Delacorte spent the rest of the morning abroad, and when she returned home she gave no account of what she had been doing, or of what or whom she had seen. This was so unusual that Belinda could not avoid taking notice of it, notwithstanding her Lady S's eulogium upon her own delicate sense of propriety Miss Portman could not confide with perfect resignation in her prudence. Your Lady S proposed me once, said she in a playful tone, for my provoking want of curiosity. You've completely cured me of this defect, for never was woman more curious than I am at this instant to know the secret scheme that you have in agitation. Have patience a little longer, and the mystery will be unraveled. In the meantime, trust that everything I do is for the best. However, you have behaved pretty well. I will give you one leading hint, when you have explained to me what you meant by saying that your heart is not at present inclined to love. Pray, have you quarreled with love for ever? No. But I can exist without it. Have you a heart? I hope so. And it can exist without love. I now understand what was once said to me by a foolish lordling of what use is the sun to the dial? Company came in and relieved Belinda from any further railery. Lady Boucher and Mrs. Margaret Delacour were amongst a large party to dine at Lady Delacour's. At dinner the dowager seized the first auspicious moment of silence to announce a piece of intelligence which she flattered herself would fix the eyes of all the world upon her. So Mr. Clarence Hervey is married at last. Married? cried Lady Delacour. She had sufficient presence of mind, not to look directly at Belinda, but she fixed the dowager's eyes by repeating, Married? Are you sure of it? Positive, positive. He was privately married yesterday at his aunt, Lady Elmeria's, apartments at Windsor to Miss Hartley. I told you it was to be. And now it is over. A very extraordinary match, Mr. Hervey, is made of it, after all. Think of his going at last and marrying a girl who has been as mistress for years. Nobody will visit her, to be sure. Lady Elmeria is excessively distressed. She did all she could to prevail on her brother the bishop to marry his nephew. But he very properly refused, giving it as a reason that the girl's character was too well-known. I thought the bishop was at a spa, interposed a gentleman, whilst the dowager drew breath. Oh, dear no, sir, you've been misinformed, resumed she. The bishop has been returned from spa this great while, and he has refused to see his nephew to my certain knowledge. After all, I cannot but pity poor Clarence for being driven into this match. Mr. Hartley has a prodigious fine fortune, to be sure, and he hurried things forward at an amazing rate to patch up his daughter's reputation. He said, as I am credibly informed, yesterday morning that if Clarence did not marry the girl before night he would carry her in her fortune off the next day to the West Indies. Now the fortune was set in the in-object. My dear Lady Boucher, Interrupted Lord Delacor, you must be misinformed in that particular. Fortune is no object to Clarence's hervy. He is too generous a fellow to marry for Fortune. What do you think? What do you say, Lady Delacor? I say and think and feel as you do, my lord, said Lady Delacor. You say and think and feel the same as my lord. Very extraordinary indeed, said the Dowager. Then if it were not for the sake of the fortune, pray, why did Mr. Hervy marry at all? Can anybody guess? I should guess, because he was in love, said Lord Delacor. For I remember that was the reason I married myself. My dear good lord, but when I tell you the girl had been as mistress till he was tired of her. My Lady Boucher, said Mrs. Margaret Delacor, who had hitherto listened in silence. My Lady Boucher, you have been misinformed. Miss Hartley never was Clarence Hervy's mistress. I might glad you think so, Mrs. Delacor, but I assure you nobody else is so charitable. Those who live in the world hear a great deal more than those who live out of the world. I can promise you. She will visit the bride, and that is the thing by which we are to judge. Then the Dowager and the rest of the company continue to discant upon the folly of the match. Those who wished to pay their court to Lady Delacor were the loudest in their astonishment at his throwing himself away in this manner. Her ladyship smiled, and kept them in play by her address on purpose to withdraw all eyes from Miss Portman, whilst from time to time she stole a glance at Belinda to observe how she was affected by what passed. She was provoked by Belinda's self-position. At last, when it had been settled that all the Hervys were odd, but that this match of Clarences was the oddest of all, the odd things that any of the family had done for many generations, Mrs. Delacor calmly said, Are you sure, Lady Boucher, that Mr. Hervey is married? Positive! As I said before, positive! Madame, my woman had it from Lady Nuland, Swiss, who had it from Lady Singleton's French woman, who had it from Longerville, the hairdresser, who had it from Lady Almeria's own woman, who was present at the ceremony, and must know if anybody does. The report has come to us zigzag as quick as lightning. But it does not flash conviction upon me, said Lady Delacor. Nor upon me, said Mrs. Delacor, for this simple reason. I have seen Miss Hartley within these two hours, and I had it from herself that she is not married. Not married! cried the Duchess with terror. I rather think not. She is now with her father at my house at dinner. I believe, and Clarence Hervey is at Lady Almeria's, at Windsor. Her ladyship is confined by a bit of the gout, and sent for her nephew yesterday. If people who live out of the world hear less, they sometimes hear more correctly than those who live in it. Pray! When does Mr. Hervey return from Windsor? said the incorrigible dowager. Tomorrow, Madame, said Mrs. Delacor, as your ladyship is going to several parties this evening, I think it but charitable to set you right in these particulars, and I hope you will be so charitable as to contradict the report of Miss Hartley's having been Clarence's mistress. Why is to that, if the young lady is not married? We must presume there are good reasons for it? said the dowager. Pray! On which side was the match broken off? On neither side, answered Mrs. Delacor. The thing goes on then! And what day is the marriage to take place? said Lady Boucher. On Monday, all Tuesday or Wednesday, all Thursday or Friday, or Saturday or Sunday, I believe, replied Mrs. Delacor, who had the prudent art of giving answers effectually baffling to the curiosity of gossips. The dowager consoled herself in her utmost need with a full plate of brandy peaches, and spoke not a word more during the second course. When the ladies retired after the dessert, she again commenced hostilities. She dared not come to open war with Mrs. Delacor, but in a by-battle in a corner she carried everything before her, and she triumphantly whispered, We shall see, Mum, that it will not turn out, as I told you, that Miss Rachel of Virginia, whatever he pleases to call her, has been what I said, and as I said, nobody will visit her, not a soul fifty people I can count, who have declared to me they've made up their minds, and my own's made up, I candidly confess, and Lady Delacor, I am sure, by her silence and looks is of my way of thinking, and has no opinion of the young lady. As to Miss Portman, she is poor thing, of course, so wrapped up in her own affairs, no wonder she says nothing. That was a sad business of Mr. Vincence. I am surprised to see her look even so well as she does after it. Mr. Percival, I am told, said the well-informed Dowager, lowering her voice so much that the lovers of scandal were obliged to close their heads round her. Mr. Percival, I am informed, refused his consent to his ward, who is not of age, on account of an anonymous letter, and it is supposed Mr. Vincence desired it for an excuse to get off handsomely. Fighting that duel about her with Sir Philip badly settled his love, so he has gone to Germany, and she is left to wear the willow, which you see becomes her, as well as everything else. Did she eat any dinner, man? You sat next to her? Yes, more than I did, I am sure. Very extraordinary! Then perhaps Sir Philip badly is on again. Lord bless me! What a match would that be for her! Why, Mrs. Stenhut might then indeed deserve to be called the matchmaker general. The seventh of a niece is this. But look! There's Mrs. Delacour leading Miss Portman off into the trick-track cabinet, with a face full of business, her hand in hers. Lord! I did not know they were on that footing. I wonder what's going forward. Suppose Old Hartley was to propose for Miss Portman. There would be a denument, and cut his daughter off with his shilling. Nothing's impossible, you know. Did he ever see Miss Portman? I must go and find out positively. In the meantime, Mrs. Delacour, unconscious of the curiosity she had excited, was speaking to Belinda in the trick-track cabinet. My dear Miss Portman, said she, you have a great deal of good nature, else I should not venture to apply to you on the present occasion. Will you oblige me and serve a friend of mine, a gentleman who, as I once imagined, was an admirer of yours? I will do anything in my power to oblige any friend of yours, madam, said Belinda. But of whom are you speaking? Of Mr. Herbie, my dear young lady. Tell me how I can serve him as a friend, said Belinda, coloring deeply. That you shall know immediately, said Mrs. Delacour, rummaging and rustling for a considerable time amongst a heap of letters, which she had pulled out of the largest pockets that ever warm and war, even in the last century. Oh, here it is! continued she, opening and looking into them. May I trouble you, just to look over this letter. It is from poor Mr. Hartley. He is, as you will see, excessively fond of his daughter, whom he has so much fortunately discovered after his long search. He is dreadfully nervous, and has been terribly annoyed by these idle gossiping stories. You find, by what Lady Boucher said at dinner, that they have settled it amongst them, that Virginia is not a fit person to be visited, that she has been Clarence's mistress, instead of his pupil. Mr. Hartley, you see, by this letter, is almost out of his senses, with the apprehension that his daughter's reputation is ruined. I sent my carriage to Twickenham the moment I received this letter, for the poor girl and her gubernante. They came to me this morning. But what can I do? I am only one old woman against a confederacy of veteran gossips. But if I could gain you and Lady Delacorte for my allies, I should fear no adversaries. Virginia is to stay with me for some days, and Lady Delacorte, I see, has a great mind to come and to see her. But she does not like to come without you. And she says that she does not like to ask you to accompany her. I don't understand a delicacy about the matter. I have none, believing as I do, that there is no foundation, whatever for these malicious reports, which Aunt Renew originated. I fancy with Mrs. Marriott. Now, will you oblige me? If you and Lady Delacorte will come and see Virginia to-morrow, all the world would follow your example the next day. It's often cowardice that makes people ill-natured. Have you the carriage, my goodness, Portman, to be the first to do a benevolent action? I do assure you," continued Mrs. Delacorte, with great onusness. I do assure you. I would as soon put my hand into that fire this moment as ask you to do anything that I thought improper. But forgive me for pressing this point. I am anxious to have your suffrage in her favour. Mrs. Belinda Portman's character for prudence and propriety stands so high, and is fixed so firmly that she may venture to let us cling to it. And I am as well convinced of the poor girl's innocence as I am of yours, and when you see her, you will be of my opinion. I assure you, Mrs. Delacorte," said Belinda, that you have wasted a great deal of eloquence upon this occasion for—I am sorry for it—interrupted Mrs. Delacorte rising from her seat with a look of some displeasure. I meant not to distress or offend you, Miss Portman. By my eloquence I am only concerned that I should have so far mistaken your character as to expose myself to this refusal. I have given no refusal," said Belinda mildly. You did not let me finish my sentence. I beg your pardon. That is a foolish old trick of mine. Mrs. Delacorte, I was going to say, has wasted a great deal of eloquence, for I am entirely of her opinion, and I shall with the greatest readiness comply of the request. You are a charming generous girl, and I am a passionate old fool. Thank you a thousand times. You are not at all obliged to me, said Belinda. When I first heard this story, I believed it, as Lady Bouchinot does. But I have had reason to alter my opinion, and perhaps the same means of information would have changed hers, once convinced it is impossible to relapse into suspicion. All to you! The most truly virtuous women are always the least suspicious and uncharitable in their opinion of their insects. Lady Anne Bursival inspired me with this belief, and Miss Portman confirms it. I admire your courage in daring to come forward in the defence of innocence. I am very rude, alas, for praising you so much. I have not a right to your admiration, said Belinda. For I must honestly confess to you that I should not have this courage, if there were any danger in the case. I do not think in doubt for cases it is the business of a young woman to hazard her own reputation by an attempt to preserve an elice. I do not imagine, at least, that I am of sufficient consequence in the world for this purpose. Therefore I should never attempt it. It is the duty of such women as Mrs. Delacour, whose reputations be on the power of scandal, to come forward in the defence of injured innocence. But this would not be courage in Belinda Portman. It would be presumption and temerity. If you will not let me admire your courage, or your generosity, or your prudence, said Mrs. Delacour, laughing, you must positively let me admire you altogether, and love you too, for I cannot help it. Farewell. After the company was gone, Lady Delacour was much surprised by the earnestness with which Belinda pressed the request that they might the next morning pay a visit to Virginia. My dear! said Lady Delacour, to tell you the truth, I am full of curiosity and excessively anxious to go. I hesitated merely on your account. I fancied that you would not like the visit, and if I went without you, it might be taken notice of. But I am delighted to find that you will come with me. I can only say that you have more generosity than I should have in the same situation. The next morning they went together to Mrs. Delacour's. In their way thither Belinda, to divert her own thoughts, and to rouse Lady Delacour from the profound and unnatural silence into which she had fallen, petitioned her to finish the history of Sir Philip Badley, the dog, Miss Annabella Lutridge, and her billet-do. For some of my high crimes and misdemeanours, you vowed that you would not tell me the remainder of the story till the whole week had elapsed. Now, will you satisfy my curiosity? You recollect that you left off just where you said that you would come to the best part of the story. Was I? Did I? Very true. We shall have time enough to finish it by and by, my dear, said Lady Delacour. At present my poor head is running upon something else, and I have left off being an accomplished actress, or I could talk of one subject and think of another as well as the best of you. Stop the carriage, my dear. I am afraid they have forgotten my orders. Did you carry out what I desired this morning to Mrs. Delacour? said her lady-ship to one of the footmen. I did, my lady. And did you say from me that it was not to be up until I came? Yes, my lady. Where did you leave it? In Mrs. Delacour's dressing-room, my lady. She desired me to take it up there, and she locked the door and said no one should go into you-came. Very well. Go on. Melinda, my dear, I hope that I have worked up your curiosity to the highest pitch. End of Section 38, Chapter 30, Recording by Tara Mendoza, Phoenix, Arizona, March 2011.