 CHAPTER I. A SURPRISE. Camilla strove to check her grief upon entering the carriage, in which Miss Margeline had again the charge of the young party, but the interrogatory of her father, why will you have me, was mentally repeated without ceasing? Ah, why indeed, thought she, at a moment when every filial duty called more than ever for my stay? Well, might he not divine the unnatural reason? Can I believe it myself? Believe such an hour arrived, when my mother, the best of mothers, is expected, when she returns to her family Camilla seeks another abode. Is not this a dream? And may I not one day awake from it? Miss Margeline was in the highest good humour at this expedition, and Indiana was still enraptured to visit London, from old expectations which she knew not how to relinquish, though they were fixed to no point and as fantastic as vague. Eugenia, whose dejection had made Sir Hugh press her into the party, found nothing in it to revive her, and Camilla entered Grossfiner Square with keen dissatisfaction of every sort. The cautions of anger against Mrs. Burlington broke into all the little relief she might have experienced upon again seeing her. She had meant to keep his final exhortations constantly in her mind, and to make all his opinions and counsels the rule and measure of her conduct. But a cruel perversity of events seemed to cast her every action into an apparent defiance of his wishes. Mrs. Burlington, who in a mansion the most splendid, received her with the same gentle sweetness she had first sought her regard, was delighted by the unexpected sight of Eugenia, whose visit had been settled too late to be announced by letter, and caressed Indiana immediately as a sister. Miss Margeline, who came but for two days, sought with much adulation to obtain an invitation for a longer stay, but Mrs. Burlington, though all courtesy and grace, incommodated herself with no society that she did not find pleasing. Melmond, who had accompanied them on horseback, was eager to engage the kindness of his sister for Indiana, and Mrs. Burlington, in compliment to her arrival, refused all parties for the evening and bestowed upon her an almost undivided attention. This was not quite so pleasant to him in proof, as in hope. Passionless in this case herself, the delusions of beauty deceived not her understanding, and half an hour sufficed to shoe Indiana to be frivolous, uncultivated, and unmeaning. The perfection, nonetheless, of her face and person, obviated either wonder or censure of the choice of her brother, though she could not but regret that he had not seen with mental eyes the truly superior Eugenia. The wretched Camilla quitted them all as soon as possible to retire to her chamber and ruminate upon her proposed letter. She meant at first to write in detail, but her difficulties accumulated as she weighed them. What a season, cried she, to sink Lionel still deeper in disgrace. What a treachery after voluntarily assisting him to complain of and betray him. Let my own faults teach me mercy for the faults of others. Yet without this acknowledgment what exculpation could she offer for the origin of her debts, and all she had incurred at Tunbridge. Those of South Hampton she now thought every way unpardonable. Even were she to relate the vain hopes which had led to the expense of the baldress, could she plead, to an understanding like that of her mother, that she had been deceived and played upon by such a woman as Mrs. Higdon? I am astonished now myself, she cried, at that passive facility, but to me, alas, thought only comes with repentance. The Higdon debt, both for the rent and the stores, was the only one at which she did not blush, since great as was her indiscretion in not inquiring into her powers before she pleaded her service, it would be palliated by her motive. Only she took up her pen, not even a line could she write. How innervating, she cried, is all wrong! I have been till now a happy stranger to fear. Partiality favoured and fondly confiding, I have looked at my dear father, I have met my beloved mother, with the same courage and the same pleasure that I have looked at and met my brother and my sisters, and only with more reverence. How miserable it change! I shudder now the presence of the most indulgent of fathers, I fly with guilty cowardice from the fondest of mothers. Eugenia, when able, followed her, and had no sooner heard the whole history than tenderly embracing her, she said, Let not this distress seem so desperate to you, my dearest sister, your own account points out to me how to relieve it, without either betraying our poor Lionel or further weighing down our already heavily birthinged friends. And how, my dear Eugenia! cried Camilla with fearful gratitude and involuntarily reviving by the most distant idea of such a project. By adapting, she said, the same means that had been invented by Mrs. Mitten. She had many valuable trinkets, the annual offerings of her munificent uncle, the sale of which would go far enough, she could not doubt, towards the payment of the principal, to induce the moneylender to accept interest for the rest, till the general affairs of their house were re-established, when what remained of the sum could be discharged without difficulty by herself, now no longer wanting money, nor capable of receiving any pleasure from it, but by the pleasure she might give. Camilla pressed her in her arms, almost kneeling with fond acknowledgments, and accepted, without hesitation, her generous offer. All then is arranged, said Eugenia, with a smile so benign it seemed nearly beautiful, and to friendship and to each other we will devote our future days. My spirits will revive with the revival of Camilla. To see her again gay will be renovation to my uncle, and who knows, my dear sister, but our whole family may again be blessed ere long with peace. The next morning they sent off a note to the moneylender, whose direction Camilla had received from Mrs. Mitten, in treating his patients for a fortnight or three weeks, when he would receive the greatest part of his money with every species of acknowledgment. Camilla, much relieved, went to sit with Mrs. Burlington, but upon entering the dressing room was struck by the sight of Bellamy, just quitting it. Mrs. Burlington, upon her appearance, with a look of soft rapture approaching her, said, Felicitate me, loveliest Camilla. My friend, my chosen friend, is restored to me, and the society for which so long I have siding vain may be once more mine. Camilla startled, exclaimed with earnestness. My dearest Mrs. Burlington, pardon me, I entreat, but is Mr. Bellamy known to Mr. Burlington? No, answered she, disdainfully, but he has been seen by him. Mr. Burlington is a stranger to merit or taste, and Alfonso to him is but as any other man. They are, however, acquainted with each other, said Camilla. Mrs. Burlington answered that after her marriage she remained three months in Wales with her aunt, where Bellamy was travelling to view the country, and where almost immediately after that unhappy enthrallment she first knew him, and first learnt the soothing charms of friendship, but from that period they had met no more, though they had constantly corresponded. Camilla was now first sensible to all the alarm with which Edgar had hitherto striven to impress her. In vain, the impropriety of such a connection, the danger of such a partiality, filled her with wonder and disturbance. She hesitated whether to relate or not the adventure of Bellamy with her sister, but the strong repugnance of Eugenia to having it named, and the impossibility of proving the truth of the general opinion of his base scheme, decided her to silence. Upon the plans and the sentiments, however, of Mrs. Burlington herself, she spared not the extremist sincerity, but she gained no ground by the contest, though she lost not any kindness by the attempt. At dinner she felt extremely disturbed by the reappearance of Bellamy, who alone, she found, had been accepted by Mrs. Burlington, in the orders of general denial to company. He seemed himself much struck at the sight of Eugenia, who blushed and looked embarrassed by his presence. He did not, however, address her. He confined his attentions to Mrs. Burlington or Miss Marglant. The former received them with distinguishing softness. The latter at first disdainfully repelled them, from the general belief at Cleves, of his attempted elopement with Eugenia, but afterwards, finding she was left wholly to a person who had no resources for entertaining her, namely herself, and knowing Eugenia was safe while immediately under her eye, she deigned to treat him with more consideration. The opera was proposed for the evening. Mrs. Burlington, having both tickets and her box at the service of her fair friends, as the lady with whom she had subscribed was out of town, Indiana was enchanted, Miss Amargeland was elevated, and Eugenia not unwilling to seek some recreation, though hopeless of finding it. But Camilla, notwithstanding she was lightened at this moment from one of her most corrosive cares, was too entirely miserable for any species of amusement. The same strong feelings that gave to pleasure when she was happy, so high a zest, rendered it nearly abhorrent to her when grief had possession of her mind. After dinner, when the ladies retired to dress, Camilla, with some uneasiness, conjured Eugenia to avoid renewing any acquaintance with Bellamy. Eugenia blushing while a tear started into either eye, said she was but too well guarded from Bellamy, through a late transaction which had exalted her to a summative happiness from which she could never now descend to any new plan of life beyond the single state and retirement. At night the whole party went to the opera except Camilla, who, in spending the evening alone, meant to ruminate upon her affairs, and arrange her future conduct. But Eger, his virtues and his loss, took imperious possession of all her thoughts, and while she dwelt upon his honour, his sincerity, and his goodness, and traced with cherished recollection every scene in which she had been engaged with him, he and they recurred to her as visions of all earthly felicity. Awakened from these reveries by the sound of the carriage and the rapping at the street door, she was hastening downstairs to meet her sister when she heard Melman call out from the coach. Is Miss Eugenia Tyrold come home? No, the man answered, and Melman exclaimed, Good Heaven, I must run then back to the theatre. Do not be alarmed, my Indiana, and do not alarm Miss Camilla, for I will not return without her. They all entered but himself, while Camilla, fixed to the stare upon which she had heard these words, remained some minutes motionless. Then, tottering down to the parlor, with a voice hollow from a fright, and a face pale as death, she tremulously articulated, Where is my sister? They all looked aghast, and not one of them for some time was capable to give any account that was intelligible. She then gathered that in coming out of the theatre she'd get to the coach, they had missed her. None of them knew how, which way, in what manner. And where's Miss Bellamy? cried she, and an agony of apprehension. Was he at the opera? Where? Where is he? Miss Margeline looked dismayed, and Mrs. Burlington amazed at this interrogatory. But they both said he had only been in the box at the beginning of the opera, and afterwards to help them out of the crowd. And who did he help? Who? Who? exclaimed Camilla. Me first, answered Miss Margeline. And, when we got into a great crowd, he took care of Miss Eugenia too. She then added that in this crowd both she and Eugenia had been separated from Mrs. Burlington and Indiana, who by Melmond and another gentleman had been handed straight to the carriage without difficulty, that soon after she had lost the arm of Bellamy, who by some mistake had turned a wrong way. But she got to the coach by herself, where they had waited full half an hour, Melmond running to and fro searching in every direction, but in vain to find Eugenia. Nor had Bellamy appeared again. Then they came home, hoping he had put her in a chair and that she might be arrived before them. Treadful, dreadful! cried Camilla, sinking on the floor. She is forced away. She is lost! When again her strength returned, she desired that someone might go immediately to the house or lodgings of Bellamy to inquire if he were come home. This was done by a footman who brought word he had not been seen there since six o'clock in the evening when he dressed and went out. Camilla now confirmed in her horrible surmise was nearly frantic. She bewailed her sister, her father, her uncle. She wanted herself to rush forth to search Eugenia in the streets. She could scarce be detained within, scarce kept off from entire delirium. As four o'clock in the morning when Malmond returned, Camilla rushed to the street door to meet him. His silence and his mournful air announced his ill success. She wrung her hands in anguish and besought him to send instantly and expressed to Eddardington with the fatal tidings. He went himself to the nearest stables desiring she would prepare a letter while he got a man and horse for the journey. In scrawling and indistinct characters she then wrote, Oh my father, our Eugenia has disappeared. She was lost last night at the opera. Mr Bellamy was conducting her to Mrs Burlington's coach, but we have seen neither of them since. What? What must we do? Malmond wrote the address which her hand could not make legible, and Miss Markland prepared for the post a laboured vindication to Sir Hugh of her own conduct upon this occasion. Indiana was long gone to bed. She was really very sorry, but she was really much tired and she could do, as she said, no good. But Mrs Burlington felt an alarm for Eugenia and an astonishment concerning Bellamy that would fully have awakened her faculties had she been wholly unmoved by the misery of Camilla. Far other was, however, her nature, gentle compassion and sympathising, and her own internal disturbance, though great even beyond her own conception, why sunk at sight with the excess of wretchedness which disordered her poor friend. There could be but one possible opinion of this disastrous adventure which was that Bellamy had spirited this young creature away to secure her fortune by her hand. Malmond again went forth to make inquiry at all the stables in London for any carriage that might have been hired for a late hour, and at six o'clock in great perturbation he came back, saying he had just traced that she was put into a chaise in four from a hackney coach, that the chaise was hired in Piccaldilly and engaged for a week. He was now determined to ride post himself in the pursuit that, if any accidental delay retarded then, he might recover her before she arrived at Gretton Green, whether he could not doubt she was to be conveyed, but as she could not be married by force his presence might yet be in time to prevent persecution or foul play. Camilla nearly embraced him with transport at this ray of hope, and, leaving his tenderest condoluments for Indiana, whom he implored his sister to watch sedulously, he galloped northwards. His heart was most sincerely in the business, what he owed to the noble conduct which the high sentiments and pure regard of Eugenia had dictated, had excited a tender veneration, which made him hold his life as too small an offering to be refused for her service, if its sacrifice could essentially show his gratitude. And, often his secret mind had breathed a wish that her love of literature had been instilled into her cousin, though he studiously checked as profane, or that was not admiration of that most exquisite workmanship of nature. Mrs Burlington wanted not to be told this proceeding was wrong, yet still found it impossible to persuade herself Eugenia would not soon think it right, though Eugenia was the creature that she most revered in the whole world, and though with Bellamy himself she felt irritated and disappointed. Camilla in every evil reverted to the loss of Edgar, whose guardian care, had she preserved him, would have preserved she thought her loved Eugenia. The express from Etherington brought back only a few lines written by Lavinia with an account that Mr Tyrold, in deep misery, was setting out post for Scotland. A week passed, thus in suspense, nearly intolerable to Camilla, before Malmon returned, always upon the watch she heard his voice and flew to meet him in their dressing room. He was at the feet of Indiana, to whom he was pouring forth his ardent lamentations at this long deprivation of her sight. But joy had evidently no part in his tenderness. Camilla saw at once depression and evil tidings, and, sinking upon a chair, could scarcely pronounce. Have you not, then, found her? I have left her but this minute. He answered in a tone the most melancholy. Ah, you have then seen her. You have seen my dearest Eugenia. Oh, Mr Malmond, why have you left her at all? It was long before he could answer. He besought her to compose herself. He expressed the extremist solicitude for the uneasiness of Indiana, whose eternal interruptions of, dear, where is she? Dear, why did she not come back? Dear, her took her away! He attributed to the agitation of the fondest friendship, and conjured, while tears of terror started into his eyes, that she would moderate the excess of her sensibility. It seems the peculiar province of the lover to transfuse all that he himself most prizes, and thinks praiseworthy, into the breast of his chosen object. Nor is he more blind to the defects with which he may abound than protocol and gifts of virtues which exist but in his own admiration. And my father, my poor father, cried Camilla, you have seen nothing of my father. Pardon me, I have just left him also. And not with Eugenia? Yes, they are together. Rapture now defied all apprehension with Camilla. The idea of Eugenia, restored to her father, was an idea of entire happiness, but her joy affected Melmont yet more than her alarm. He could not let her fasten upon any false expectations. He bet his sister aid him to support Indiana, and then, with all the gentleness of the sincerest concern, confessed that Eugenia was married before she was overtaken. This was a blow for which Camilla was still unprepared. She concluded at a forced marriage. Horror froze her veins. Her blood no longer flowed, her heart ceased to beat. She fell lifeless on the ground. Her recovery was more speedy than it was happy, and she was assisted to her chamber no longer asking any questions, no longer desiring further information. All was over of hope, and the particulars seemed immaterial, since the catastrophe was as irreversible as it was afflicting. Mrs Burlington still attended her, grieved for her suffering, yet believing that Eugenia would be the happiest of women, though in indignation the most forceful mingled with her surprise at the conduct of Bellamy. This dread sort of chasm in the acuteness of the feelings of Camilla lasted not long, and Mrs Burlington then brought from Malmont the following account. With the utmost speed he could use, he could not, though a single horseman, overtake them. They never, as he learned by the way, remitted their journey, nor stopped for the smallest refreshment but at some cottage. At length, in the last stage to get in a green, he met them upon their return. It was easy to him to see that his errand was vain, and the knot indissolubly tied, by the blinds being down, and the easy air with which Bellamy was looking around him. Eugenia sat back in the shades with a handkerchief to her eyes. He stopped a vehicle, and told Bellamy he must speak with that lady. That lady, sir, he proudly answered, is my wife. Speak to her, therefore, but in my hearing. Eugenia at this dropped her handkerchief and looked up. Her eyes were sunken to her head by weeping, and her face was a living picture of grief. Malmont loudly exclaimed, I come by the authority of her friends, and I demand her own account of this transaction. We are now going to our friends, replied he, ourselves, and we shall send them no messages. He then ordered the postillion to drive on, telling him at his peril to stop no more. Eugenia in a tone, but just audible, saying adieu, Mr. Malmont, adieu. To have risked his life in her rescue at such a moment seemed to him nothing. Could he, but more certainly, have ascertained her own wishes and real situation? But, as she attempted neither resistance nor remonstrance, he concluded Bellamy spoke truth, and if they were married he could not unmarry them, and if they were going to her friends they were doing all he could now exact. He resolved, however, to follow, and if they should turn any other road to call for assistance till he could investigate the truth. They stopped occasionally for refreshments at the usual inns, and travelled no more in the dark, but Bellamy never lost sight of her, and Malmont in watching observed that she returned to the Shays with as little opposition as she quitted it, though weeping always, and never for a voluntary moment uncovering her face. Bellamy seemed always most assiduous in his attentions. She never appeared to repulse him, nor to receive from him any comfort. On the second day's journey, just as Bellamy had handed her from the Shays at the inn where they meant to dine, and which Malmont as usual entered at the same time, he saw Mr Tyrold hurrying, but so shaking he could scarcely support himself from a parlour whence he had seen them alight into the passage. The eyes ever downcast of Eugenia perceived him not till she was clasped in mute agony in his arms. She then locked up, saw who it was, and fainted away. Bellamy, though he knew him not, supposed to he might be, and his reverent appearance seemed to impress him with awe. Nevertheless he was himself seizing the now-sensitive Eugenia to convey her to some room, when Mr Tyrold, reviving from indignation, fixed his eyes upon his face and said, By what authorities do you presume to take charge of my daughter? By the authority, he answered, of a husband. Mr Tyrold said no more. He caught at the arm of Malmont, though he had not yet seen who he was, and Bellamy carried Eugenia into the first vacant parlour followed only by the woman of the house. Malmont then, respectfully, and filled with the deepest commiseration, sought to make himself known to Mr Tyrold, but he heard him not, he heeded no one. He sat down upon a trunk accidentally in the passage where all this had passed, saying, but almost without seeming conscious that he spoke aloud, This, indeed, is a blow to break both our hearts. Malmont then stood silently by, for he saw, by his folded hands and up-lighted eyes, he was ejaculating some prayer, after which, with a countenance more firm and limbs better able to sustain him, he rose and moved towards the parlour into which the fainting Eugenia had been carried. Malmont then again spoke to him by his name. He recollected the voice, turned to him and gave him his hand, which was of an icy coldness. You are very kind, Mr Malmont, he said. My poor girl! But stopped, checking what he meant to add, and went to the parlour door. It was locked. The woman of the house had left it and said, the lady was recovered from her fit. Mr Tyrold, from a thousand feelings, seemed unable to demand admission for himself. He desired Malmont to speak and claim an audience alone for him with his daughter. Bellamy opened the door with a look evidently humbled and frightened, yet affecting perfect ease. When Malmont made known his commission, Eugenia, starting up exclaimed, Yes, yes, I will see my dear father alone, and oh, that this poor fray might sink to rest on his loved bossa. In a moment, in a moment, cried Bellamy, motioning Malmont to withdraw. Tell Mr Tyrold he shall come in a moment. Malmont was forced to retreat, but heard him hastily say, as again he fastened the door. My life, O Eugenia, is in your hands, and is it thus you require my ardent love and constancy? Mr Tyrold now would wait but a few minutes. It was palpable Bellamy feared the interview, and he could fear it but from one motive. He sent him, therefore, word by Malmont, that if he did not immediately retire, and leave him to a conference alone with his daughter, he would apply no more for a meeting till he claimed it in the Court of Justice. Bellamy soon came out, bowed obsequiously to Mr Tyrold, who passed him without notice, and who was then for half an hour shut up with Eugenia. Longer Bellamy could not endure. He broke in upon them, and it left the room no more. Soon after Mr Tyrold came out, his own eyes now as red as those of the weeping bride. He took Malmont apart, thanked him for his kindness, but said nothing could be done. He entreated him, therefore, to return to his own happier affairs, adding, I cannot talk upon this miserable event. Tell Camilla, her sister is, for the present, going home with me, though not alas alone. Tell her too, I will write to her upon my arrival at Edrington. This, concluded Mrs Burrington, is all my brother has to relate. All that for himself he adds is, that if ever, to something human the mind of an angel was accorded, that mind seems enshrined in the heart of Eugenia. Nothing that Camilla had yet experienced of unhappiness had penetrated her with feelings of such deadly woes this event. Eugenia, from her childhood, had seemed marked by calamity. Her ill health, even from infancy, and her subsequent misfortunes, had excited in her whole house the tenderest pity, to which the uncommon character with which she grew up, had added respect and admiration. And the strange and almost continual trial she had had to encounter, from the period of her attaining her fifteenth year, which far from souring her mind had seemed to render it more perfect, had now nearly sanctified her in the estimation of them all. To see her, therefore, fall at last to sacrifice to deceit or violence, for one, if not both, had palpably put her into the possession of Bellamy, was a grief more piercingly wounding than all she had yet suffered. Whatever she had personally to bear, she constantly imagined some imprudence or impropriety had provoked. But Eugenia, while she appeared to her so blameless that she could merit no evil, was so amiable, that willingly she would have borne for her their united portions. How it had been effected, since force would be illegal, still kept amazement joined to sorrow, till the promised letter arrived from Mr Tyrold with an account of the transaction. Eugenia, parted from Miss Marglind by Bellamy in the crowd, was obliged to accept his protection, which till then she had refused to restore her to her company. The coach, he said he knew, had orders to wait in Palmel, whether the other ladies would be conveyed in chairs, to avoid danger from the surrounding carriages. She desired to go also in a chair, but he hurried her by quick surprise into a hackney coach, which he said would be more speedy, and bidding the man drive to Palmel, seated himself opposite to her. She had not the most remote suspicion of his design, as his behaviour was even coldly distant, though she wondered Palmel was so far off, and that the coachman drove so fast, till they stopped at a turnpike, and then, in one quick and decided moment, she comprehended her situation, and made an attempt for her own deliverance, but he prevented her from being heard. And the scenes that followed, she declined relating. Yet what she would not recount, she could not, to the questions of her father, deny, that force from that moment was used to repel all her efforts for obtaining help, and to remove her into a chaise. Mr Tyrold required to hear nothing more to establish a prosecution, and to seize her publicly from Bellamy, but from this she recoiled. No, my dear father, she continued, The day has cast, and I am his. Solemn has been my vile, sacred I must hold it. She then briefly narrated, that though violence was used to silence her at every place where she sought to be rescued, every interval was employed by Bellamy, and the humblest supplications for her pardon, and most passionate protestations of regard, all beginning and all ending and declaring, that to live longer without her was impossible, and pledging his ardent attachment for obtaining her future favour, spending the period from stage to stage, or turnpike to turnpike, and kneeling to beseech forgiveness for the desperation to which he was driven, by the most cruel and hopeless passion that ever seized the heart of man. When they were near their journeys end, he owned that his life was in her hands, but he was indifferent, whether he lost it from the misery of living without her, or from her vengeance of this last struggle of his despair. She assured him his life was safe, and offered him pardon upon condition of immediate restoration to her friends, but suddenly producing a pistol. Now then, he said, O amiable object of my constant love, bless me with your hand, or prepare to see me die at your feet. And with a terrifying oath, he bound himself not to lose her and outlive her loss. She be sought him to be more reasonable with the gentlest prayers, but his vehemence only increased. She offered him every other promise he could name, but he preferred death to every other she should grant. She then pronounced, though in trembling, a positive refusal. Instantly, he lifted up his pistol and calling out, For good then, O hard hearted eugenia, my uncontrollable passion, and shed a tear over the corpse I am going to prostrate at your feet. Was pointing it to his temple, when, overcome with horror, she caught his arm, exclaiming, Ah, stop! I consent to watch you please! It was in vain she strove afterwards to retract, one scene followed another till he had bound her by all she herself held sacred, to rescue him from suicide by consenting to the union. He found a person who performed the marriage ceremony on the minute of her quitting the shays. She uttered not one word, she was passive, scared, and scarce alive, but resisted not the eventful ring, with which he encircled her finger, and seemed rousing as from a dream upon hearing him call her his wife. He professed eternal gratitude and eternal devotion, but no sooner was all conflict at an end than, consigning herself wholly to grief, she wept without intermission. When Mr Tyrold had heard her story, abhorrence of such barbarous force, and detestation of such foul play upon the ingenuous credulity of her nature, made him insist yet more strongly upon taking legal measures for procuring an immediate separation, and subsequent punishment, but the reiterated vows with which, since the ceremony, he had bound her to himself, so forcibly awed the strict conscientiousness of her principles, that no representations could absolve her opinion of what she now held her duty, and while she confessed to unhappiness at a connection formed by such cruel means, she conduit him not to increase it by rendering her and her own estimation purgent. Patiently, therefore, continued Mr Tyrold, we must bear what vainly we should combat, and bow down to those calamities of which the purpose is hidden. No fancy nor good is answered, because none is obvious. Mern develops but little, though he experiences much. The time will come for his greater diffusion of knowledge, there to meet it without dread, by using worthily his actual portion. I resign myself, therefore, with reverence to this blow, though none yet has struck so hardly at my heart. We must now do what we can, for this victim to her own purity, by seeking means to secure her future independence, and by bettering, if possible, her betrayer. What a daughter, what a sister, what a friend, has her family thus lost. How will your poor mother receive such killing tidings? Miss Fortune, sickness and poverty, she has heroism to endure, but innocence oppressed through its own artlessness, and inexperienced, duped by villainy, will shake her utmost. Firmness and harassing to disorder her, as yet, unbroken powers of encountering adversity. Alas, no evils that visited the early years of this loved child, have proved to her so grievous as the large fortune with which they were followed. We repined, my Camilla, at the deprivation you sustained at that period. We owe to it, perhaps, that you have not as treacherously been betrayed. How has the opening promise of our Eugenia more than answered our fondest expectations? Her knowledge is still less uncommon than her simplicity, her philosophy for herself than her zeal in the service of others. She is singular with sweetness, peculiar, yet not impracticable, generous without forade, and wise without consciousness. Yet now so sacrificed seems all that I dwell upon her excellencies, as if enumerating them over her tomb. A letter from Lavinia contained some further particulars. Their father, she said, finding the poor victim-resolute, meant to spare Sir Hugh all that was possible of the detestable craft of Bellamy, and Eugenia was already struggling to recover her natural serenity, that she might appear before him without endangering his own. Bellamy talked of nothing but love and rapture. Yet the unsuspicious Eugenia was the only person he deceived, for so little from the heart seemed either his looks or his expressions, that it was palpable he was acting apart to all who believed it possible words and thoughts could be divided. A post-cript to this letter was added by Eugenia herself. Ah, my Camilla, where now are all our sweet-promised participations? But let me not talk of myself, nor do you, my affectionate, as to dwell upon me at this period. One thing I undertook shall yet be performed. The moment I am able to go to Cleves I will deliver, through Lavinia what I mentioned. Does anything else remain that is yet in my power? Tell me, my Camilla, and think but with what joy you will give joy again to your Eugenia. Broken-hearted over these letters, Camilla spent her time in their perpetual perusal, in wiping from them her tears, and pressing with fond anguish to her lips the signature of her hapless sister, self-beguiled by her own credulous goodness, and self-devoted by her conscientious scruples. Mr. Clikes, by the promised payment and reward, being for the present appeased, Camilla still admitted some hope of waiting a more favourable moment for her cruel confession. She received also a little, though mournful, reprieve from terror by a letter from Lisbon, written to again postpone the return of Mrs. Tyrold at the earnest request of Mr. Raleville. And she flattered herself that before her arrival she should be enabled to resume those only duties which would draw her from despondence. She lived meanwhile wholly shut up from all company, consigned to penitence for her indiscretions, to grief for the fate of her sister, and to wasting regret of her own causelessly lost felicity. Indiana smiled not more sweetly upon Melmont, for Miss Marglings advising her to consider in time whether the promises made by Miss Eugenia Tyrold would be binding to Mrs. Bellamy. She saw nevertheless no good, she said it could do her cousin, that she should neglect such an opportunity of seeing London, and Miss Marglings, in aid of this desire, spared so much trouble to Mrs. Burlington, who soon weiried of Indiana, that she had the satisfaction of being invited to remain in Grovener Square till the two young ladies returned into the country. Mrs. Burlington, who indulged in full extent every feeling but investigated none, had been peaked and hurt to extreme unhappiness at the late conduct of Bellamy. Attracted by his fine person, and caught by the first flattery which had talked to her of her own, she had easily been captivated by his description of the sympathy which united, and penetrated by his lamentations at the destiny which parted them. His request for her friendship had been the first circumstance after her marriage, which had given her any interest in life, and soon, with the common effect of such dangerous expedience to file away Chagrin, had occupied all her thoughts and made the rest of the universe seem to her as a blank, but their continued separation from each other made the days soon too long for mere regret, and her pious mind in this state of vacancy had readily been bent to the new pursuit pressed upon her by Mrs. Norfield, which, however, upon the reappearance of Bellamy, would speedily have given way to the resumption of his influence, had not as elopement with Eugenia left her again all at large. It destroyed an illusion strong, though not definable, demolished a friendship unconceived and worse understood, and wrought with it a disappointment which confused all her ideas. To be inactive was, however, impossible. Simplicity, once given up, returned to the dissipated no more, or returns but when experience brings conviction, that all is hollow where the heart bears no part, all is peril where principle is not the guide. The farrow table was now reopened, and again, but too powerfully sharpened the faculties which mortification had blunted, a company the most miscellaneous composed to evening assemblies, which were soon, nevertheless, amongst the most fashionable, as well as crowded of the metropolis. Whatever there is new and splendid is sure of a run for at least a season, inquiries into what is right, or a strictures upon what is wrong, rarely molest popularity, till the rise of some fresher luminary, gives fashion another a vote. Calamity requires not more fortitude than pleasure. What she began but to divert disappointment and lassitude, she continued to attain celebrity, and the company which farrow and fashion brought together, she soon grew ambitious to collect by motives of more appropriate flattery. All her aim now was to be universally alluring, and she looked from object to object in smiling discourse, till one by one every object could look only at her, and grace and softness which had been secretly bewitching, while she had the dignity to keep admiration aloof, were boldly declared to be invincible, since she permitted such professions to reach her ear. Long surrounded by gazing admirers, she became now encircled by avowed adorers, and what for victory she had essayed, she pursued ardently for pleasure. Coquetry is as fascinating to those who practice it as to those whom it seduces, and she found herself shortly more happy by a conquest effected by wiles and by art than by any devotion paid straightforward and uncaughted. The generality of her new ambition protected it from permanent ill consequences, aiming at everyone she cared for no one, mortified by balamy she resolved to mortify others and in proportion as her smiles grew softer, her heart became harder. Indiana at this period immersed at once from the most private retreat into the gayest vortex of pleasure, thought herself in the upper regions, where happiness composed by her own ideas consisted of perpetual admiration to unfading beauty. But though the high qualities with which the devotion of Malmont had gifted her had enslaved his reason and understanding from suspecting that so fair a form could enclose ought short of its own perfection, his heart was struck and all his feelings were offended, when he saw her capable dissipation upon a season of calamity to Eugenia, Eugenia whom, though he could not love, he venerated, Eugenia whose nature he thought divine, though her person unhappily was but too human, Eugenia to whom he owed the union upon which hung all his wishes to seek pleasure while Eugenia suffered was astonishing, was incomprehensible, he felt as if every principle of his love were violated. He looked another way to disguise his shock, but when he looked at her again it was forgotten. Camilla soon after learned from Eugenia that Sir Hugh had been deeply affected by the history of the elopement, though it had been softened to him by all possible means at the desire of the heroic Eugenia herself, who would now own to no one the force with which she had been carried off. Bellamy continued the most unremitting demonstrations of affection which she received with gentleness and appeared entirely to credit as sincere, but he had already absolutely refused residence offered for them both at Cleves and made Eugenia herself ask a separate provision of her uncle, though she could not even a moment pretend that the desire was her own. Sir Hugh nevertheless had yielded, and notwithstanding his present embarrassments from Clermont had insisted upon settling a thousand pounds a year upon her immediately, the consequence of which Bellamy had instantly taken house at Belfont to which they were already removing. Eugenia had recovered her dental fortitude, seemed to submit to her destiny, and refined solely she could not yet keep her engagement with respect to the trinkets, which though she had openly told Bellamy were promised to a friend, he had seized to pack up and said he could not re-deliver till they were arranged in their new dwelling. But she charged Livenia to express her hopes that the detention would not last long. When the given three weeks expired, Indiana, infatuated with London, begged and obtained leave to stretch her residence there to a month. Eugenia was now settled at Belfont, but still Camilla received no intelligence of the promised boon and spent her lingering hours in her chamber, no longer even invited dents except at meals by Mrs Burlington, whose extreme and increasing dissipation from first allowing no time took off next all desire for social life. Surprised and hurt, Camilla was called off a little from herself through concern. She sincerely loved Mrs Burlington, whom it was difficult to see and know with indifference, and she softly represented to her how ill she felt at ease in the falling off she experienced in her partiality. Mrs Burlington tenderly embraced her, protesting she was dear to her as ever, and feeling while she spoke her first affection return, but not a moment had she to bestow from her new mode of life. Some party was always formed, which she had not force of mind to break, an internal restlessness from the want of some right pursuit joined to a disappointment she could not own, made that party induce another, and though none gave her real pleasure, which her strong, however undisciplined and unguided feelings, shut out from such a species of vague life, all gave employment to expectation, and were preferable to a regret at once consuming and mortifying. Her gentleness, however, and her returned personal kindness encouraged Camilla to repeat her admonitions and engage assistance from Melmond, who at any other period would uncalled have given his whole attention to a sister dear at once to his honour and his heart. But Indiana more than occupied, she engrossed him, she now expected an adoration so unremitting that if she surprised his eyes, turned any other way even a moment, she reproached him with abated love, and it was the business of a day to obtain a reconciliation. Gratefully, however, at the instigation of Camilla, he resumed the vigilance with which upon her first entering London the preceding year, he had attended to all the actions of his sister. But the difference already produced by the effect of flattery, the hardening of example, and the sway of uncontrolled early power, astonished and alarmed him. At her first setting out, she had harkened to all counsel, frightened by every representation of danger, and humbled by every remonstrance against impropriety. But she now hurt him with little or no emotion, and from beginning to listen unmoved, soon proceeded to reply and resist. A search rather than a love of pleasure had seized her young mind, which had now gained an ascendant that rendered contest less shocking than yielding what had been painful. The tribulation of Malmond at this ill success rested not solely upon his sister. He saw yet more danger for Indiana, who now seemed scarce to live, but while arraying or displaying herself. His passion had lost its novelty, and her eyes lost their beaming pleasure in listening to it, and the regard he had fondly expected to take place of first ecstasy he now found unattainable, from want of all materials for its structure. His discourse went not of her beauty, but strained her faculties, his reading, when compelled to hear it, but wearied her intellects. She had no genius to catch his meaning, and no attention to supply its place. Deeply he now thought of Eugenia, with that regret ever attached to frail humanity, for what is removed from possible possession. The purity of her love, the cultivation of her mind, and the nobleness of her sentiments now bore forth a contrast to the general mental and intellectual littleness of Indiana, which made him blame the fastidious eyes that could dwell upon her face in form, and feel that, even with the matchless Indiana, he must sigh at their mutual perversity of fate. Nor missed he more in soul than Indiana in adoration, who turned from what she now resented as coldness to the violent praises of MacDursey, who became, at this period, a frequenter of Mrs. Burlington's assemblies. She understood not the inevitable difference of the altered situation, that he who was accepted might be grateful, but could not be anxious, and that Melmont, while in suspense, wore the same impassioned air, and spoke the same impassioned feelings as MacDursey. To her, all seemed the change not from doubt to security, but from love to insensibility. To live always at her feet while he thought her all divine was his own first joy and greatest pride. But when once he found his goddess had every mortal imperfection, his homage ceased, with amazement that ever it could have been excited. Those eyes thought he, which I have gazed at whole days with such unreflecting admiration, and whose shape, colour, size, and sweet proportion still hold their preeminence now, while retaining their first lustre, have lost all their illusory charm. I meet them, but to deplore their vacancy of the soul's intelligence, I fondly, vainly seek. Even when again the time arrived for returning to Cleves, Indiana, hanging languidly upon every minute she could steal from it, petitioned for a few days more from the ever-granting baronet, which, while by her devoted to coquetry, admiration, and dress, were consumed by Camilla in almost every species of wretchedness. Mrs. Mitten wrote her word that Mr. Clikes was become more uneasy than ever for his money, as she had thought it indispensable to acquaint him of the reports in the neighborhood that Mr. Tyrold had met with misfortunes and was retrenching. If he could not therefore be paid quickly, he must put in his claims elsewhere. The same post brought from Lavinia an account so afflicting of Eugenia as nearly to annihilate even this deep personal distress. It was known through Mollie Mill, who, by the express insistence of Sir Hugh, continued to live with her young mistress, that Balamy had already at Balfont cast off the mask of pretended passion, and grossly demanded of her mistress to beg money for him of Sir Hugh, acknowledging without scruple large debts that demanded speedy payment and pressing her to ask for the immediate possession of the Yorkshire estate. Her mistress, though mildly, always steadily refused, which occasioned reproaches, so rude and violent as almost to frighten her into fits, and so loud that they were often heard by every servant in the house. Camilla, at this dreadful history, grew nearly indifferent to all else and would have relinquished, almost unrepining, her expectations of personal relief, but that Lavinia, in the name of their unhappy sister, bit her still cherished them, shuring her she hoped yet to perform her engagement, as Mr Balamy never disputed her already given promise, though he had mislaid the key of the box in which the trinkets were deposited. Nor even here rested the misery of Camilla, another alarm stalled upon her mind, of a nature the most dreadful. Upon the first evening of this newly granted stay, while she was conversing alone with Mrs Burlington, before the nocturnal toilet of that lady, a servant announced Mr Balamy. Mrs Burlington blushed high, evidently with as much of anger as surprise. Camilla hastily withdrawing to avoid an object abhorrent to her, wondered she would admit him. Yet anxious for any intelligence that could relate to her sister, inquired when he was gone and ran towards the dressing room to ask what had passed. But before she reached the door, the sound of his voice re-entering the hall, and of his step re-ascending the stairs, made her fly into the adjoining apartment, not to encounter him. Where, the instant he had shut the door, and before she could move, she heard him exclaim. You weep still, my lovely friend, ah, can one doubt so injurious remain upon your mind as to suppose anything but the cruel necessity of my misfortunes could have made me tarnish our celestial friendship with any other engagement. Ah, I look at her and look at yourself. Camilla, who at first had been immovable from consternation, now recovered sufficiently to get back to her room, but she returned no more to Mrs. Burlington, though Bellamy soon departed. Her eagerness for information subsided in indignant sorrow. That Eugenia, the injured, the inestimable Eugenia should be spoken of by the very violator who had torn her from her friends as a mere birthing attached to the wealth she procured him, struck at her heart as a pognite. And the impropriety to herself and the wrong to Eugenia of Mrs. Burlington in listening to such a discourse totally sunk that lady in her esteem, though it determined her as a duty due to them all around to represent what she felt upon the subject. And the next day, the instant she was visible, she begged an audience. Mrs. Burlington was pensive and dejected, but as usual open and unguarded. She began herself to speak of the visit of Bellamy and to ask why she ran away. Kamala without answer or hesitation related what she had overheard adding, Oh, this is Burlington! Can you suffer him to talk thus? Can you think of my injured Eugenia, lately your own favourite friend, and bear to hear him? How injured my ever dear Kamala? Does she know what he says? Can it hurt her unheard? Can it affect her unimagined? He but solaces his sadness by a confidence he holds sacred. Tis the type of our friendship now dearer, he says then ever, since reciprocated by such sympathy. You fright me, Mrs. Burlington! What a perversion of reason to talk of sympathy in your situations! Did Eugenia press him to the altar? Did any friends solicit the alliance? Oh, this is Burlington! Think but a moment! And your own feeling mind will paint his conduct in colours. I have not the skill to pertain. You are right, cried she, blushing in her unwilling conviction. I know not how he could delude me to believe our fates resembled. Certainly nothing can be least similar. Kamala was happy in this victory, but the following day Bellamy at the same hour was announced, and in the same manner was admitted. Kamala flying and Mrs. Burlington protesting she should attack is mistaken comparison with severity. Severity, however, was a quality with which she was unacquainted. Kamala anxious in every way, hastened to her when he was gone, but found her dissolved in tender tears. Shed, she declared, in regret of the uneasiness she had given him, for he had now made her fully sensible, his destiny alone was to blame. The understanding of Kamala was highly superior to being duped by such flimsy sophistry, which she heard with added detestation of the character of Bellamy, yet perceived that no remonstrance could prevent his admittance, and that every interview regularly destroyed the effect of every exhortation. In this melancholy period, the soul satisfaction she received was through a letter written by Lionel from Ostend, in which he told her that the dread of imprisonment, or want, in a foreign country, made him lead a life so parsimonious, so totally deprived of all pleasure and all comfort, that he was almost consumed of a regret for the wilfulness, with which he had thrown away his innumerable advantages, and so much struck with the retrospection of the wanton folly's invices which had involved him in such dishonour and ruin, that he began now to think he had rather been mad than wicked, so unmeaning, unreflecting, and unprovoked, as well as worthless, had been the course he had pursued. Camilla sent this letter immediately to her father, who remitted to Lionel such as some as must obviate distress, with such intimation for the future, as he hoped, would best encourage more solid reformation. Thus passed the time improperly or unhappily to all, till the third period fixed for the return to the country elapsed, and Camilla, finding the whole view of her journey abortive, saw the accumulated yet useless suffering involved through her ill-judged procrastination. Yet, as Eugenia still did not despair, even her confession was unwritten, and as Miss Marglin and Indiana granted her request of going round by Belfont, which she had previously arranged from an ardent desire to embrace her loved sister, she still dwelt on a last hope from that interview. Please visit LibriVox.org. Camilla, or a picture of youth by Fanny Burney, Chapter 4. Hints upon national prejudice With mingled disquietude and distaste, Melmont saw the reluctance of Indiana to quit town, and that he was less than a cipher with her upon the last evening's assembly wear. Without dayning to bestow one look upon him, she chatted, smiled and fluttered with everyone else, undisguisedly betraying that whom she should soon have alone and have always, should not rob of even one precious moment this last splendid blaze of general admiration. He sighed. And, in common with the hapless perverseness of mortals, thought he had thrown away in Eugenia, a gem richer than all her tribe, Shakespeare. Camilla, whose heart, however dead to joy, was invariably open to tenderness, was melted with fond emotions in the idea of again meeting her beloved Eugenia and ready for her journey merely with the light. Soon after she was dressed, a housemaid wrapping at her door said, Pray, ma'am, is Miss Lin-Mia with you? No. Presently Miss Magland came herself. Pray, Miss Camilla, do you know anything of Miss Lin-Mia? It's the oddest thing in the world where she can be. Camilla now went forth to aid the search. Melmond, who was waiting to hand her into the carriage, looked amazed at the inquiry. It soon, however, was clear that she was nowhere in the house, and after sundry examinations and researches, one of the maids was brought to confess having aided her in the middle of the night to go into the street where she was handed into a post-shave by Mr Mac Dursey. Melmond appeared thunderstruck. An action so unexpected at the period of a solemn engagement which waited but the journey to Cleves for being completed seemed to him at first incredible. But when Miss Magland exclaimed, oh, pursue her, Mr Melmond, order your horse, and get up to Scotland immediately, he gravely and rather dryly answered, by no means mum. The man who has the honour of her preference is the only one who can have any hope to make her happy. I have no ambition for a hand that has been voluntarily held out to another. He then returned quietly to his own lodgings far more indignant than hurt at this abrupt conclusion of a connection which, though it had opened to him as a promise of Elysium, was closing with every menace of mutual discontent. Camilla was truly concerned and not merely for the future risk run by her cousin in this rash flight, but for the new disappointment to her uncle. She was obliged, however, to bestow her whole attention upon Miss Magland, whose tribulation was yet greater, and who, in losing thus her pupil, lost the expected reward of near 13 years of unwilling attendance. She had by no means indeed merited this treachery from Indiana, whom, though incapable to instruct in much good, she had sedulously guarded from all evil. To return to Sir Hugh without her charge, without indeed either of the young ladies who were put under her care, she had not courage. Nor could Camilla so little feel for her distress as to request it. An express, therefore, was ordered to cleave, for informing him of these ill tidings, with a very elaborate panagyric from Miss Magland of her own conduct, and a desire to know if she should remain in town till something transpired concerning Indiana. The express was but just gone, when a packet which ought to have arrived two days before by the stage was delivered to Camilla. Its intention was merely to convey more speedily a letter from Lavinia, containing the terrible information that Mr. Clikes had just been at Atherington himself to deliver in his accounts and press immediate payment. Their father, Lavinia said, conceived the whole sum in position till the man produced the paper signed by his daughter. She had then been called in and obliged to confess her knowledge of the transaction. She would avoid, she said, particulars. There could be only uselessly afflicting, but the interview had ended and their fathers agreeing to pay, when it should be possible, the sums actually delivered to the creditors, and for which Mr. Clikes could produce their own receipts, but refusing positively and absolutely any gratuity whatsoever from detestation of so dangerous and seductive a species of trade as clandestine and illegal money lending to miners. The man, much provoked, said a friend of his, had been used far more handsomely by Sir Hugh Tyrold, but, finding his remonstrances vain, acknowledged the law against him for the interest, but threatened to send in an account for his own trouble in collecting and paying the bills that he would dispute for validity in any court of justice to which he could be summoned. And, in leaving the house, he menaced an immediate writ if all he could legally claim were not paid the next day, unless a new bond were properly signed, with a promise to abide by that already drawn up. Their father, she was forced to confess, had now lent his every guinea for the debts of Clermont to Sir Hugh, and was at this instant deliberating to whom he should apply, but desired, meanwhile, an exact statement of the debts which this man had in commission to discharge. The letter concluded with Lavinia's unfeigned grief in the task of writing it. Camilla read it with a distraction that made it wholly unintelligible to her, yet could not read it a second time. Her eyes became dim, her faculties confused, and she rather felt deprived of the power of thinking, than filled with any new and dreadful subjects for rumination. In this state, the letter on the floor, her eyes staring around, yet looking vacant, and searching nothing, she was called to Lord O'Learney, who begged the honour of a conference with her upon business. She shook her head in token of denial, but could not speak. The servant looked amazed, yet brought her a second message, that his lordship was extremely sorry to torment her, but wished to communicate something concerning Mr MacDursey. She then faintly articulated, hey, can see nobody. Still the same dreadful vacuity superseded her sensibility, till, soon after, she received a note from Lady Isabella Irby, desiring to be admitted to a short conversation with her upon the part of Lord O'Learney. With the name of Lady Isabella Irby, recurred the remembrance that she was a favourite of Edgar, and bursting into tears, she consented to the interview which took place immediately. The terrible state in which she appeared was naturally, though not justly, attributed by her ladyship to the elopement of her cousin, while Camilla, called by her sight to softer regrets, beheld again in mental view, loved and gentle image of Edgar. Lady Isabella apologised politely but briefly for her intrusion, saying, My Lord O'Learney, whose judgement is never in any danger, but where walked by his wish of giving pleasure, insists upon it that you will be less incommodated by a quick, forced admission of me than of himself. Nobody else will think so, but it is not easy to refuse him, so here I am. The motive of this intrusion you can but to readily divine, Lord O'Learney is truly concerned at this rash action in his kinsmen, which he learnt by an accidental call at his lodgings, where various circumstances had just made it known. He could not rest without desiring to see some part of the young lady's family, and making an offer of his own best services with respect to some arrangement for her future establishment. It is for this purpose you have been so importinately hurried, Lord O'Learney wishing to make the first new that is sent to Sir Hugh Tyrold, less alarming, by stating at once what he can communicate concerning Mr. Magdersey. Camilla, who only now recollected that Mr. Magdersey was related to Lord O'Learney, was softened into some attention, and much gratitude for his goodness, and for her ladyship's benevolence in being its messenger. When he then said Lady Isabella, now you understand the purport of his visit, see Lord O'Learney himself, he can give you much better and clearer documents than I can, and it is always the best and shortest mode to deal with principles. Camilla mechanically complied, and Lady Isabella sent her footman with a note to his lordship, who was waiting at her house in Park Lane. The discourse still fell wholly upon Lady Isabella. Camilla lost alternately in misery and absence, spoke not, heard not, yet former scenes, though not present circumstances, were brought to her mind by the object before her, and almost with reverence, she looked at the favourite of Edgar, in whose sweetness of countenance, good sense, delicacy, and propriety, she conceived herself reading every moment the causes of his approbation. Ah, why, thought she, while unable to reply or to listen to what was said, why knew I not this charming woman, while yet he took an interest in my conduct and connections? Perhaps her gentle wisdom might have drawn me into its own path. How would he have delighted to have seen me under such influence? How, now, even now, lost to him as I am, would he generously rejoice? Could he view the condescending partiality of looks and manner that seemed to denote her disposition to kindness? Lord O'Learney soon joined them, and after thanking Camilla for granting, and his ambassadors for obtaining him an audience said, I have been eager for the honour of a conference with Miss Tyrold, in the hope of somewhat alleviating the fears for the future that may naturally join with displeasure for the present, from the very unadvised step of this morning. But, however wrong the manner in which this marriage may be effected, the alliance in itself will not, I hope, be so disadvantageous as matches of this expeditious character prove in general. The actual possessions of MacDursey are, indeed, far beneath what Miss Linmear with her uncommon claims might demand, but his expectations are considerable and well founded, and his family will all come forward to meet her with every mark of respect for which, as its head, I shall lead the way. He is honest, honourable and good-natured, not particularly endowed with judgment or discretion, but by no means wanting in parts, though they are rather wild and eccentric. His lordship then gave a full and satisfactory detail of the present state in future hopes of his kinsmen, and added that it should be his own immediate care to endeavour to secure for the fair bride a fixed settlement from the rich old cousin who had long promised to make MacDursey his heir. He told Camilla to write this without delay to the young lady's uncle, with full leave to use his name and authority. At all times, he continued, it is necessary to be quick and as explicit as possible in representing what can conciliate an adventure of this sort of which the clandestine measure implies on one side, if not on both, something wrong, but most especially it is necessary to use speed where the flight is made with an hibernian, for with the English in general it is nearly enough that a man should be born in Ireland to decide him for a fortune hunter. If you lived however in that country, you would see the matter pretty equally arranged, and that there are not more of our penniless bows who return laden with the commodity of rich wives than of those better circumstanced who bring home wives with more estimable dowries. He then added that it was for Miss Lynn Mayer herself he had learnt the residents of Camilla and Graveness Square, for having made some acquaintance with her at one of Mrs Burlington's evening parties, he had heard she was a niece of Sir Hugh Tyrold and immediately inquired after her fair kinswoman whom he had seen at Tumbridge. Camilla thanked him for remembering her, and Lady Isabella, with a countenance that implied approbation in the remark said, I have never once heard of Miss Tyrold at the assemblies of this house. She quietly replied she had never been present at them, but a look of sensibility with which her eyes dropped spoke more than she intended of concern at their existence or at least frequency. Your lovely young hostess, said Lord O'Learney, has entered the world at too early an hour to be aware of the circuit she is preparing herself by this unremitting luxury of pleasure, but I know so well her innocence and good qualities that I doubt not but the error will bring its own cure, and she will gladly return to the literary and elegant intercourse which she has just now given up for one so much more tumultuous. I am glad you still think so, my lord, said Lady Isabella, also looking down. She is a very sweet creature, and the little I have seen of her made me, while in her sight, warmly her well-wisher. Nevertheless, I should rather see any young person for whom I was much interested, unless endowed with the very remarkable forbearance of Miss Tyrold, under her influence after the period your lordship expects to return than during its interregnum. Camillatus Avaud all claimed to such praise, blushing both for her friend and herself at what was said. Lord O'Learney, looking concerned, paused and then answered, You know my partiality for Mrs Burlington, yet I always see with fresh respect to the courage with which my dear Lady Isabella casts aside her native reserve and timidity where she thinks a hint and intimation may do good or avert dangers. As I was then fixed upon Camilla, who, surprised, turned hastily to Lady Isabella and saw a tender compassion in her countenance, that confirmed the interpretation of Lord O'Learney, joined with a modest confusion that seemed afraid or ashamed of what had escaped her. Grateful for herself, but extremely grieved for the idea that seemed to have gone forth of Mrs Burlington, she felt a tear start into her eye. She chased it with as little emotion as she could chew, and Lord O'Learney with an air of gay kindness said, As we must now, Miss Tyrold, account ourselves to be somewhat allied, You permit me, I hope, to recommend my gallant cousin to your protection, with Sir Hugh? That he has his share of the wildness, the blunders, the eccentricities and the rudimentate which form, with you English, our stationary national character must not be denied, but he has also, which may equally, I hope, be given us in the lump, generosity, spirit and good intentions. With all this, he was here interrupted, the door being suddenly burst open by Mrs Mitten, who ended exclaiming, Lord Miss, what a sad thing this is! I declare it's put me quite into a quiver, and all my justice, as one might say, you never saw how everybody's in a turmoil. Here ended the little interval of horror in Camilla. Mrs Mitten and Mr Clikes seemed to her as one, yet that already her cousin's elopement should have spread so near home seemed impossible. When, she cried, were you in Winchester, and how came this affair known to you? No, Miss, it was there it all happened. I come through it with Mr Dennell, who was so obliging as to bring me to town, for a little business I've got to do. And next week he'll take me back again, for as to poor little Mrs Lissen, she'll be quite lost without me. She don't know her right hand, from her left as one may say. But how should she, poor child? Why, she's but a baby. What's fifteen, and she's no more? We'll talk of that, said Camilla, colouring at her loquacious familiarity some other time, and attempted to beg Lord O'Learney would finish what he was saying. But Mrs Mitten, somewhat affronting, cried, Lord, only think of you all sitting here, talking and making yourself so comfortable, just as if nothing was in that air, when everybody else isn't such a taking as never was the like. I must say as to that, a gentleman more light and more respect never was, I believe, and I can't say but what I'm very sorry myself for what Mr Clikes has done. However, I told you, you know, you'd best not provoke him, for though there can't be a better sort of man who'd leave no stone unturned to get his money. For heaven's sake, cried Camilla, startled, what? What? My Lord, Miss, don't you know your papayas took up? He's put in Winchester prison for that debt, you know. The breath of Camilla instantly stopped, and senseless, lifeless, she sunk upon the floor. Lord O'Learney quitted the room in great concern to call some female assistance, but Lady Isabella remained, contributing with equal tenderness and judgment to her aid, though much personally affected by the incident. Her recovery was quick, but it was only to despair, to screams rather than lamentations, to cries rather than tears. Her reason felt the shock as forcibly as her heart, the one seemed tottering on its seat, the other bursting its abode. Words of alarming incoherency proclaimed the danger menacing her intellects, while Agony's nearly convulsive distorted her features and writhed her form. Unaffectedly shocked, yet not venturing upon so slight an acquaintance to interfere, Lady Isabella uttered gently but impressively her good wishes and concern, and glided away. The nearly distracted Camilla saw not that she went, and knew no longer that she had been in the room. She held her forehead one moment, called for death the next, and the next wildly deprecated eternal punishment. But as the horror nearly intolerable of this first abrupt blow gave way, the desire of flying instantly to her father was a symptom of restored recollection. Hastening then to Miss Margland, she conduit her by all that was most affecting, to set out immediately for Winchester. But, Miss Margland, though she spared not the most severe attacks upon the already self-condemned and nearly demolished Camilla, always found something relative to herself that was more pressing than what could regard any other, and declared she could not stir from town till she received an answer from Sir Hugh. Camilla best sought at least to have the carriage, but of this she asserted herself at present the indisputable mistress, and as the express might come back in a few hours, with directions that she should set off immediately, she would not listen to parting with it. Camilla, frantic to be gone, flew then downstairs and called to the porter in the hall, that someone should instantly seek her at Shays, Coach, or any conveyance, whatever they could carry her to Winchester. She perceived not that Lady Isabella, waiting for her footman who had accidentally gone on further upon some message, now opened the door of the parlour where Lord O'Learney was conversing with her upon what had happened. She was flying back, though not knowing wither, nor which way she turned, when Lord O'Learney, gently stopping her, asked why she would not, on such an emergence, apply for the carriage of Mrs. Burlington. Lady Isabella seconded the motion, by a soft but just hint of the danger of her taking such a journey in a hired carriage entirely unprotected. She had scarce consideration enough left to either thank or understand them, yet mechanically followed their counsel and went to Mrs. Burlington. Lord O'Learney, deeply touched by her distress, sending in a servant at the same time with his name and following. While Lady Isabella too much interested to go till something was decided, quietly shut herself into the parlour, there to wait his lordship's information. The request for the carriage was indeed rather made by him than by Camilla, who, when she entered the room and what had spoken, found herself deprived of the power of utterance and looked a picture of speechless dismay. The tender feelings of Mrs. Burlington were all immediately awakened by this sight, and she eagerly answered Lord O'Learney that both her carriage and herself should be devoted to her distressed friend. Yet, the first emotion over, she recollected an engagement she could not break, though one she hesitated to mention, and at last only alluded to unexplained, though making known it was insurmountable, while the colour of which her late hours had robbed her lovely cheeks returned to them as she stammered her retraction. The next day, however, she was beginning to promise, but Camilla, to whom the next minute seemed endless, flew down again to the hall, to supplicate the first footman she could meet, to run and order any sort of carriage she could find, with but barely sufficient recollection to refrain running out with that view herself. Lady Isabella, again coming forth, entreated to know if there were any commission, any possible service she could herself perform. Camilla thanked her without knowing what she said, and Lord O'Learney, who was descending the stairs, repeated similar offence, but, wild with a fright, or shuddering with horror, she passed without hearing or observing him. To see a young creature in a state so deplorable, and to consider her as travelling without any friend or support, in so shaken a condition to visit an imprisoned father, touched these benign observers with a sincerest commiseration. And the connection of a part of his family forming at this moment with a branch of her own, induced Lord O'Learney to believe he was almost bound to take care of her himself. And yet, said he to Lady Isabella, though I am old enough to be her grandfather, the world, should I travel with her, might impute my assistance to a species of admiration which I hope to experience no more, as witness my trusting myself so much with Lady Isabella Irby. Lady Isabella, from the quick coincidence of similar feelings, instantly conceived his wishes and paused to weigh their possibility. A short consideration was sufficient for this purpose. It brought to her memory her various engagements, but it represented at the same time to her benevolence that they would be all, by the performance of one good action, more honoured in the breach than the observance. She sent, therefore, a message after Camilla in treating a short conference. Camilla, who was trying to comprehend some further account for Mrs. Mitton, silently but hastily obeyed the call, and her look of wild anguish would have fixed the benign intention of Lady Isabella had it been wavering, in a simple phrase, but with a manner the most delicate, her ladyship then offered to conduct her to Winchester. The service so unexpected, a goodness so consoling, instantly brought Camilla to the use of her frightened away faculties, but with sensations of gratitude so forcible that Lord Olurney, with difficulty saved her from falling at the feet of his amiable friend, and with yet more difficulty restrained his own knees from doing her that homage. And still, the more strongly he felt this act of exertion, from the disappointment he had just endured through the failure of his favourite Mrs. Burlington. No time was to be lost. Lady Isabella determined to do well what she once undertook to do at all. She went to Park Lane to make known her excursion and arrange some affairs, and then instantly returned in her own post-shays and four-horses for Camilla, who was driven from the metropolis. End of book 10, chapter 4, recording by Felicity Campbell, book1forme.com, Whanganui, New Zealand.