 Book 4 Chapter 5 of Camilla. Camilla went on to Edrington in deep distress. Every ray of hope was chased from her prospects, with a certainty more cruel, though less offensive to her feelings than the crush given them by Miss Marglind. "'He cares not for me,' she cried. He even destines me for another. He is the willing agent of the major. He would portion me, I suppose, for him to accelerate the impossibility of ever thinking of me, and I imagined he loved me. What a dream! What a dream! How he has deceived me! Or alas! How have I deceived myself?' She rejoiced, however, that she had made so decided an answer with regard to Major Sirwood, whom she could not doubt to be the person meant, and who, presented in such a point of view, grew utterly odious to her. The tale she had to relate to Mr. Tyrold of the sufferings and sad resolution of Eugenia obviated all comment upon her own disturbance. He was wounded to the heart by the recital. Alas! he cried. Your wise and excellent mother always foresaw some mischief would ensue from the extreme caution used to keep this dear, unfortunate child ignorant of her particular situation. This dreadful shake might have been palliated, at least, if not spared, by the lessons of fortitude that noble woman would have inculcated in her young and ductile mind. But I could not resist the painful entreaties of my poor brother, who, thinking himself the author of her calamities, believed he was responsible for saving her from feeling them. And imagining all the world as soft-hearted as himself concluded that what her own family would not tell her, she could never hear elsewhere. But who should leave any events to the caprices of chance which the precautions of foresight can determine? These reflections and the thoughts of her sister led at once and aided Camilla to stifle her own unhappiness, and for three days following she devoted herself wholly to Eugenia. On the morning of the fourth, instead of sending the carriage, Sir Hugh arrived himself to fetch Camilla, and to tell his brother he must come also to give comfort to Eugenia. For though he had thought the worst was over because she appeared quiet in his presence, he had just surprised her in tears by coming upon her unawares. He had done all he could, he said, in vain, and nothing remained but for Mr. Tirold to try his hand himself. For it is but justice, he added, to Dr. Orkborn, to say she is wiser that all our poor heads put together, so that there is no answering her for want of sense. He then told him to be sure to put one of his best sermons in his pocket to read to her. Mr. Tirold was extremely touched for his poor Eugenia, yet said he had half an hour's business to transact in the neighborhood before he could go to Cleves. Sir Hugh waited his time, and all three then proceeded together. Eugenia received her father with a deliberate coldness that shocked him. He saw how profound was the impression made upon her mind, not merely of her personal evils, but of what she conceived to be the misconduct of her friends. After a little general discourse, in which she bore no share, he proposed walking in the park, meaning there to take her aside with less formality than he could otherwise desire to speak with her alone. The ladies and Sir Hugh immediately looked for their hats or gloves, but Eugenia, saying she had a slight headache, walked away to her room. This, my dear brother, cried Sir Hugh, sorrowfully following her with his eyes, is the very thing I wanted you for. She says she'll never more stir out of these doors as long as she's alive, which is a sad thing to say considering her young years, and nobody knowing how Claremont may approve it. However, it's well I've had him brought up from the beginning to the classics, which I rejoice at every day more and more, it being the only wise thing I ever did of my own head, for as to talking Latin and Greek, which I suppose is what they will chiefly be doing, there is no doubt but they may do it just as well in a room as in the fields or the streets. Mr. Tireld, after a little consideration, followed her. He tapped at her door. She asked, in a tone of displeasure, who was there? Your father, my dear, he answered, and then, hastily opening it, she proposed returning with him downstairs. No, he said, I wish to converse with you alone. The opinion I have long cherished of your heart and your understanding I come now to put to the proof. Eugenia, certain of the subject to which he would lead, and feeling she could not have more to hear than to say, gave him a chair and composedly seated herself next to him. My dear Eugenia, said he, taking her passive hand, this is the moment that more grievously than ever I lament the absence of your invaluable mother. All I have to offer to your consideration she could much better have laid before you, and her dictates would have met with the attention they so completely deserve. Was my mother then, sir, said she, reproachfully, unapprised of the worldly darkness in which I have been brought up? Is she unacquainted that a little knowledge of books and languages is what alone I have been taught? We are all but two apt, answered Mr. Tyrold mildly, though surprised, to deem nothing worth attaining but what we have missed, nothing worth possessing but what we are denied. How many are there amongst the untaught and unaccomplished, who would think an escape such as yours of all intellectual darkness, a compensation for every other evil? They could think so only, sir, while, like me, they lived imbued always in the same house, were seen always by the same people, and were total strangers to the sensation they might excite in any others. My dear Eugenia, grieved as I am at the present subject of your ruminations, I rejoice to see in you a power of reflection and of combination so far above your years, and it is a soothing idea to me to dwell upon the ultimate benevolence of Providence, even in circumstances the most afflicting. For if chance has been unkind to you, nature seems, with fostering foresight, to have endowed you with precisely those powers that may best set aside her malignity. I see, sir, cried she, a little moved, the kindness of your intention. But pardon me if I anticipate to you its ill success. I have thought too much upon my situation and my destiny to admit any fallacious comfort. Can you indeed, when once her eyes are opened, can you expect to reconcile to existence a poor young creature who sees herself an object of derision and disgust, who, without committing any crime, without offending any human being, finds she cannot appear but to be pointed at, scoffed, and insulted? Oh, my child, with what a picture do you wound my heart and tear your own peace and happiness? Wretches who in such a light can view outward deficiencies, cannot merit a thought, are below even contempt, and ought not to be disdained but forgotten. Make a conquest, then, my eugenia, of yourself, be as superior in your feelings as in your understanding, and remember what Addison admirably says in one of the spectators, a too acute sensibility of personal defects is one of the greatest weaknesses of self-love. I should be sorry, sir, you should attribute to vanity what I now suffer. No, it is simply the effect of never hearing, never knowing, that so severe a call was to be made upon my fortitude, and therefore never arming myself to sustain it. Then suddenly, and with great emotion clasping her hands, oh, if ever I have a family of my own, she cried, my first care shall be to tell my daughters of all their infirmities. They shall be familiar, from their childhood, to their every defect, ah, they must be odious indeed if they resemble their poor mother. My dearest eugenia, let them but resemble you mentally, and there is no person whose approbation is worth deserving that will not love and respect them. Good and evil are much more equally divided in this world than you are yet aware. None possess the first without alloy, nor the second without palliation. Indiana, for example, now in the full bloom of all that beauty can bestow, tell me, and ask yourself strictly, would you change with Indiana? With Indiana, she exclaimed, oh, I would forfeit every other good to change with Indiana, Indiana who never appears but to be admired, who never speaks but to be applauded. Yet a little, yet a moment, question and understand yourself before you settle you would change with her. Look forward and look inward. Look forward that you may view the short life of admiration and applause for such attractions from others, and their immutility to their possessor in every moment of solitude or repose, and look inward that you may learn to value your own peculiar riches for times of retirement and for days of infirmity and age. Indeed, sir, and pray believe me, I do not mean to repine I have not the beauty of Indiana. I know and have always heard her loveliness is beyond all comparison. I have no more, therefore, thought of envying it than of envying the brightness of the sun. I knew, too, I bore no competition with my sisters, but I never dreamt of competition. I knew I was not handsome, but I supposed many people besides not handsome and that I should pass with the rest, and I concluded the world to be full of people who had been sufferers as well as myself by disease or accident. These have been occasionally my passing thoughts, but the subject never seized my mind. I never reflected upon it at all, till abuse, without provocation, all at once opened my eyes and showed me to myself. Bear with me, then, my father, in this first dawn of terrible conviction. Many have been unfortunate, but none unfortunate like me. Many have met with evils, but who with an accumulation like mine? Mr. Terrold, extremely affected, embraced her with the utmost tenderness. My dear, deserving, excellent child, he cried, what would I not endure, what sacrifice not make to soothe this cruel disturbance till time in your own understanding can exert their powers. Then while straining her to his breast with the fondest parental commiseration, the tears, with which his eyes were overflowing, bedewed her cheeks. Eugenia felt them, and, sinking to the ground, pressed his knees. Oh, my father, she cried, a tear from your revered eyes afflicts me more than all else. Let me not draw forth another, lest I should become not only unhappy but guilty. Drive them up, my dearest father. Let me kiss them away. Tell me then, my poor girl, you will struggle against this ineffectual sorrow. Tell me you will assert that fortitude which only waits for your exertion, and tell me you will forgive the misjudging compassion which feared to impress you earlier with pain. I will do all, everything you desire. My injustice is subdued. My complaints shall be hushed. You have conquered me, my beloved father. Your indulgence, your lenity, shall take place of every hardship, and leave me nothing but filial affection. Seizing this grateful moment, he then required of her to relinquish her melancholy scheme of seclusion from the world. The shyness and the fears which gave birth to it, said he, will but grow upon you if listened to, and they are not worthy the courage I would instill into your bosom, the courage, my Eugenia, of virtue, the courage to pass by, as if unheard, the insolence of the hard-hearted and ignorance of the vulgar. Happiness is in your power, though beauty is not, and on that to set too high a value would be pardonable only in a weak and frivolous mind, since whatever is the involuntary admiration with which it meets, every estimable quality and accomplishment is attainable without it. And though, which I cannot deny, its immediate influence is universal, yet in every competition and in every decision of esteem, the superior, the elegant, the better part of mankind give their suffrages to merit alone, and you in particular will find yourself, through life, rather the more than the less valued by every mind capable of justice and compassion, for misfortunes which no guilt has incurred. Observing her now to be softened, though not absolutely insolved, he rang the bell and begged the servant who answered it to request his brother would order the coach immediately, as he was obliged to return home. And you, my love, said he, shall accompany me, it will be the least exertion you can make in first breaking through your averseness to quit the house. Eugenia would not resist, but her compliance was evidently repugnant to her inclination, and in going to the glass to put on her hat, she turned aside from it in shuddering, and hid her face with both her hands. My dearest child, cried Mr. Tireld, wrapping her again in his arms, this strong susceptibility will soon wear away, but you cannot be too speedy nor too firm in resisting it. The omission of what never was in our power cannot cause remorse, and the bewailing what never can become in our power cannot afford comfort. Imagine but what would have been the fate of Indiana had your situations been reversed, and had she, who can never acquire your capacity, and therefore never attain your knowledge, lost that beauty which is her all, but which to you, even if retained, could have been but a secondary gift. How short will be the reign of that all! How useless in sickness! How unavailing in solitude! How inadequate too long life! How forgotten or repiningly remembered in old age! You will live to feel pity for all you now covet and admire, to grow sensible, to a lot more lastingly happy in your own acquirements and powers, and to exclaim, with contrition and wonder, time was when I would have changed with the poor, mind-dependent Indiana. The carriage was now announced, Eugenia, with reluctant steps, descended. Camilla was called to join them, and Sir Hugh saw them set off with the utmost delight. End of Chapter 5 of Book 4, Recording by Rosie Book 4, Chapter 6 of Camilla. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Bellwest. Camilla or A Picture of Youth by Fanny Burney. Book 4, Chapter 6, Strictures on Beauty. To lengthen the airing, Mr. Tyrold ordered the carriage by a new road, and to induce Eugenia to break yet another spell and walking as well as riding, he proposed there a lighting, when they came to Elaine, and leaving the coach and waiting, while they took a short stroll. He walked between his daughters a considerable way, passing wherever it was possible close to cottages, laborers, and children. Camilla submitted with a sigh, but held down her head, affrighted at every fresh object they encountered, till, upon approaching a small miserable hut at the door of which several children were playing, an unlucky boy called out, oh, calm, calm, look, here's the little humpback gentlewoman. She then, clinging to her father, could not stir another step, and cast upon him a look of appeal and reproach that almost overset him. But after speaking to her some words of kindness, he urged her to go on and alone, saying, throw only a shilling to the senseless little crew, and let Camilla follow and give nothing, and see which one will become the most popular. They both obeyed, Eugenia fearfully and with quickness, passing amongst them some silver, and Camilla quietly walking on. Oh, I have got a sticks-pants, cried one, and I've got a shilling, said another, while the mother of the little tribe came from her wash tub and called out, God bless your ladyship. And the father quitted a little garden at the side of his cottage to bow down to the ground and cry, Heaven reward you, good madam, you'll have a blessing, go with you, go where you will. The children, then dancing up to Camilla, begged her charity, but when seconding the palpable intention of her father, she said she had nothing for them. They looked highly dissatisfied, while they redoubled their blessings to Eugenia. See, my child, said Mr. Tyrold, now joining them, how cheaply preference and even fluttery may be purchased. Ah, sir, she answered, recovered from her tarry yet deep in reflection. This is only by bribery and gross bribery, too. And what pleasure or what confidence can a crew from preference so earned? The means, my dear Eugenia, are not beneath the objects. If it is only from those who unite native hardness with uncultured minds and manners, that's ability it to be obtained by such assorted materials, remember also it is from such only it can ever fail you. In the lowest life equally with the highest, wherever nature has been kind, sympathy springs spontaneously for whatever is unfortunate, and respect whatever seems innocent. Feel yourself then firmly to withstand attacks from the cruel and unfeeling, and rest perfectly secure, you will have none other to apprehend. The clear and excellent capacity of Eugenia comprehended in this lesson and its illustration all the satisfaction Mr. Tyrold hoped to impart. And she was ruminating upon it with abated despondence when, as they came to a small house surrounded with a high wall, Mr. Tyrold, looking through an iron gate at a female figure who stood at one of the windows, exclaimed, What a beautiful creature! I have rarely, I think, seen a more perfect face. Eugenia felt so much hurt by this untimely sight that after a single glance which confirmed the truth of what he said, she bent her eyes another way, while Camilla herself was astonished that her kind father should call their attention to beauty at so sore and critical a juncture. The examination of a fine picture, said he, fixing his eyes upon the window and standing still at the iron gate, is a constant as well as exquisite pleasure, for we look at it with an internal security that, such as it appears to us today, it will appear again tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. But in the pleasure given by the examination of a fine face, there was always, to a contemplative mind, some little mixture of pain, an idea of its fragility steals upon our admiration, and blends with it something like solicitude, the consciousness, how short a time we can view it perfect, how quickly its brilliancy of bloom will be blown, and how ultimately it will be nothing. You would have me, sir, said Eugenia, now raising her eyes, learn to see beauty with unconcerned by depreciating its value. I feel your kind intention, but it does not come home to me. Reasoning such as this may be equally applicable to anything else, and degrade whatever is desirable into insignificance. No, my dear child, there is nothing either in its possession or its loss that can be compared with beauty. Nothing so evanescent, and nothing that leaves behind it a contrast which impresses such regret. It cannot be forgotten since the same features still remain, though they are robbed of their effect upon the beholder, the same complexion is there, though faded into a tint bearing no resemblance with its original state, and the same eyes present themselves to the view, though bereft of all the luster that had rendered them captivating. Ah, sir, this is an argument but formed for the moment. Is not the loss of youth the same to everybody, and is not age equally unwelcome to the ugly and to the handsome? For activity, for strength, and for purposes of use, certainly, my dear girl, there can be no difference, but for motives to mental regret, there can be no comparison. To those who are commonly molded, the gradual growth of decay brings with it gradual endurance, because little is missed from day to day, hope is not roughly chilled nor expectation rudely blasted. They see their friends, their connections, their contemporaries declining by the same laws, and they yield to the immutable and general a lot rather imperceptibly than resignedly. But it is not so with the beauty. Her loss is not only general, but peculiar, and it is the peculiar, not the general evil, that constitutes all hardship, health, strength, agility, and animal spirits. She may sorrowing feel diminish, but she hears everyone complain of similar failures, and she misses them unmermering, though not unlamenting. But of beauty, every declension is marked with something painful to self-love. The change manifested by the mirror might patiently be born, but the change is manifested in the eyes of every beholder, gives a shock that does violence to every pristine feeling. This may certainly, sir, be cruel, trying, at least, but then what a youth has she first passed. Mortification comes upon her, at least, in succession. She does not begin the world with it. A stranger at all periods to anything happier. Oh, my child, the happiness caused by personal attraction pays a dear after-price. The soldier who enters the field of battle requires not more courage, though of a different nature, than the fated beauty who enters an assembly room. To be wholly disregarded after engaging every eye, to be unassisted after being habituated to seeing crowds anxiously offer their services, to be unheard after monopolizing every ear. Can you indeed persuade yourself a change such as this demands but ordinary firmness? Yet the altered female who calls for it has the least chance to obtain it, for even where nature has endowed her with fortitude, the world and its flatteries have almost uniformly innervated it before the season of its exertion. Oh, this may be true, said Eugenia with a sigh, and to me, however sad in itself, it may prove consolatory, yet forgive my sincerity when I own. I would purchase a better appearance at any price, any expense, any payment the world could impose. Under Tyrold was preparing an answer when the door of the house which he had still continued facing was opened, and the beautiful figure which had for some time retired from the window rushed suddenly upon a lawn before the gate against which they were leaning. Not seeing them, she sat down upon the grass, which she plucked up by hands full, and strewed over her fine flowing hair. Camilla, fearing they should seem impertinent, would have retreated, but Eugenia, much struck sadly yet with earnestness, compelled herself to regard the object before her, who was young, fair, of a tall and striking figure with features delicately regular. A sigh not to be checked acknowledged how little either reasoning or eloquence could subdue a wish to resemble such an appearance, when the young person, blinging herself suddenly upon her face, threw her white arms over her head and sobbed aloud with violence. Astonished and deeply concerned, Eugenia internally said, Alas! What a world is this! Even beauty so exquisite without waiting for age or change, may be thus miserable. She feared to speak, lest she should be heard, but she looked up to her father with an eye that spoke concession, and with an interest for the fair afflicted which seemed to request his assistance. He motioned to her to be quiet, when the young person, roughly half-rising, burst into fit of loud shrill and discordant laughter. Eugenia now, utterly confounded, would have drawn her father away, but he was intently engaged in his observations and steadily kept his place. In two minutes the laugh ceased all at once, and the young creature hastily rising began turning round with a velocity that no machine could have exceeded. The sisters now fearfully interchanged looks that shewed they thought her mad, and both endeavored to draw Mr. Tyrell from the gate, but in vain he made them hold by his arms and stood still. Without seeming giddy, she next began to jump, and now he could only detain his daughters by shewing them the gate at which they stood was locked. In another minute she perceived them, and coming eagerly forward dropped several low curtsies, saying at every fresh bend, Good day, good day, good day! Slowly trembling, they now both turned pale with fear, but Mr. Tyrell, who was still immovable, answered her by a bow, and asked if she were well. Give me a shilling, was her reply, while the slaver driveled unrestrained from her mouth, rendering utterly disgusting a chin that a statutory might have wished to model. Do you live at this house? said Mr. Tyrell. Yes, please, yes, please, yes, please! she answered twenty times following, and almost black in the face before she would allow herself to take another breath. A cat, now appearing at the door, she seized it and tried to twine it round her neck with great fondling, wholly unresisting the scratches which tore her fine skin. Next capering forward with it towards the gate, look, look, she cried, his puss, his puss, his puss! Then, letting it fall, she tore her handkerchief off her neck, put it over her face, strained it as tight as she was able, and tied it under her chin, and then struck her head with both her hands, making a noise that resembled nothing human. Take me away, take, take me away, father! cried Eugenia. I see I feel your awful lesson, but impress it no further, lest I die in receiving it. Mr. Tyrell immediately moved off without speaking. Camilla, penetrated for her sister, observed the same silence. And Eugenia, hanging upon her father and absorbed in profound rumination, only by the depth of her size made her existence known, and thus, without the interchange of a word, slowly and pensively, they walked back to the carriage. Eugenia broke the silence as soon as they were seated. Oh, my father, she exclaimed, what a sight! Have you made me witness? How dread or reproof have you given to my repining spirit? Did you know this unhappy beauty was at that house? Did you lead me thither purposely to display to me her shocking imbecility? Relying upon the excellence of your understanding, I ventured upon an experiment more powerful, I well knew, than all that reason could urge, an experiment not only striking at the moment, but which, by playing upon the imagination, as well as convincing the judgment, might make an impression that can never be effaced. I have been informed for some time that this poor girl was in our neighborhood. She was born an idiot, and therefore, having never known brightened days, and therefore, having never known brighter days, is insensible to her terrible state. Her friends are opulent, and that house is taken, and a woman is paid to keep her in existence and in obscurity. I have heard of her uncommon beauty, and when the news reached me of my dear Eugenia's distress, the idea of this meeting occurred to me. I wrote to the house and engaged the woman to detain her unfortunate charge at the window till we appeared, and then to let her loose into the garden. Poor ill-fated young creature, had has been indeed a melancholy sight. A sight, cried Eugenia, to come home to me with shame. Oh, my dear father, your prescription strikes to the root of my disease. Shall I ever again dare murmur? Will any egotism ever again make me believe no lot so hopeful? I will think of her when I am discontented. I will call to my mind this spectacle of human degradation, and submit, at least with calmness, to my lighter evil, and milder fate. My excellent child, this is just what I expected from the candor of your temper, and the rectitude of your sentiments. You have seen here the value of intellects in viewing the horror of your own life, and of your own life, and of your own life. You have seen here the value of intellects in viewing the horror of their loss, and you have witnessed that beauty without mind is more dreadful than any deformity. You have seized my application and left me nothing to enforce. My dear, my excellent child, you have left for your for— My dear, my excellent child, you have left for your fond father nothing but tender approvation. With the utmost thankfulness to Providence, I have marked from your earliest childhood the native justness of your understanding, which, with your studious inclination to sedentary accomplishments, have proved—with the utmost thankfulness to Providence, I have marked from your earliest childhood the native justness of your understanding, which, with your studious inclination to sedentary accomplishments, have proved a reviving source of consolation to your mother, and to me, for the cruel accidents we have incessantly lamented. How will that arable mother rejoice in the recital I have to make to her? What pride will she take in a daughter so worthily her own, so resembling her in nobleness of nature and a superior way of thinking? Her tears, my child, like mine, will thank you for your exertions. She will strain you to her fond bosom as your father strains you at this moment. Yes, sir, cried Eugenia. Your kind task is now accomplished, Eugenia. Her thoughts, her occupations, her happiness shall henceforth all be centred in filial, filial, filial. Yes, sir, cried Eugenia. Your kind task is now completed with your vanquished Eugenia. Her thoughts, her occupations, her happiness shall henceforth be all centred in filial gratitude and contentment. The affectionate Camilla, throwing her arms around them, bathed each with the tears of joy and admiration, which dissuade in conclusion to adventure so severe excited. End of Book 4, Chapter 6, Recording by Linda Velwest. Book 4, Chapters 7 and 8 of Camilla. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. To obliged Mr. Tyroll, who had made the arrangement with Sir Hugh, Eugenia consented to dine and spend the day at Etherington, which she had quitted at night in a temper of mind perfectly composed. Camilla was deeply penetrated by the whole of this affair, and she was proud of her efforts to make the film her own. She was also proud of her efforts to make the film her own. She was proud of her efforts to make the film her own. Deeply penetrated by the whole of this affair, the suffering so utterly unearned by Falter by Folly of a sister so dear to her, and the affecting fortitude which so quickly upon her wounds, and its so early a period of life, she already began to display, made her blush at the dejection into which she was herself cast by every evil, and resolved to become in the future more worthy of the father and the sister, who at this moment absorbed all her admiration. Too reasonable in such a frame of mind to plan for getting Mandelbeer, she now only determined to think of him as she had thought before her affections became entangled, to think of him in short, as he seemed himself to desire to seek his friendly offices and advice, but to reject every offered establishment and to live single for life. Gratified by indulgent praise, and sustained by exerted virtue, the revived Eugenia had nearly reached clues on her return when the carriage was stopped by a gentleman on horseback who, approaching the coach window, said in the low voice as if unwilling to be heard by the servants. Oh, madame, has fate set aside her cruelty, and does fortune permit me to live once more? She then recollected Mr. Bellamy. She had only her maid in the carriage, who was sent for her by Cirquee, Ms. Marglin, being otherwise engaged. All that had so lately passed upon her person and appearance being full upon her mind, she involuntarily shrunk back, hiding her face with her cloak. Bellamy, by no means conceiving this mark of emotion to be unfavorable, steadied his horse by leaning one hand on the coach window and said in yet a lower voice, Oh madame, is it possible you can hate me so barbarously? Will you not even deign to look at me, for I have so long been banished from your presence? Eugenia, during this speech, called to mind that though new in some measure to herself, she was not so to this gentleman, and ventured to uncover her face when the grief painted on the fine features of Bellamy so forcefully touched her, that she softly answered, No, sir, indeed, I do not hate you. I am incapable of such ingratitude, but I conjure I beseech you to forget me. Forget you? Oh madame, you command an impossibility. You know, I am constancy itself, and not all the world united shall tear you from my heart. Jacob, who caught a word or two, now rode up to the other window, and as Eugenia began, conquer, sir, I entreat you this ill-fated partiality, told her the horses had been hardworked and must go home. As Jacob was the oracle of Sir Hugh about his horses, his will was prescriptive law. Eugenia never disputed it, and only saying, Think of me, sir, no more. Beat the coachman, drive on. Bellamy, respectfully submitting, continued with his hat in his hand, as the maid informed her mistress, looking after the carriage till it was out of sight. The tender sorrow now stole upon the just-revived tranquility of the gentle and generous Eugenia. Ah, thought she, I have rendered. Little has I seen worthy of such power, I have rendered the same evil man miserable, that possibly and probably he is the only man in existence who I could render happy. Oh, how may I dare expect from Claremont a similar passion? Molly Mill, a very young girl, and daughter of a poor tenant of Sir Hugh, interrupted these reflections from time to time with her remarks upon their object. Did he mean, miss? she cried. What a fine gentleman that was! He sighed like the split his heart when he said, Don't think about me no more. He's so lovier, like I'm sure. Eugenia returned home so much moved by this incident that Sir Hugh, believing his brother himself had failed to revive her, was disturbed all anew with acute contrition for her disasters, and feeling very unwell went to bed before supper time. Eugenia retired also, and after spending the evening in a soft compassion for Bellamy and unfixed apprehensions and distaste for young Linmeer was preparing to go to bed when Molly Mill, out of breath with haste, brought her a letter. She eagerly opened it whilst inquiring once it came. Oh, miss, the fine gentleman, that seemed fine gentleman, brought it himself, and he sent for me out, and I did not know who I was to go to, for Molly only said a boy wanted me, but the boy said I was coming him to this dial, and when I came there, who should I see but the fine gentleman himself? And he gave me this letter, and he asked me to give it to you, and see, look, miss, what I got from my trouble! She then exhibited a half-guinea. You have not done right, Molly, in accepting it. Money is bribery, and you should have known that the letter was improperly addressed if bribery was a requisite to make it delivered. Dare you mean, miss, what's half a guinea to such a gentleman as that? I daresay he's got his pockets full of them. I shall not read it, certainly, cried the guinea. Now I know this circumstance. Give me the wax, I will seal it again. She then hesitated whether she ought to return it, or she would to her uncle or commit it to the flames. That to which she was most unwilling appeared to the strictness of her principles to be most proper. She therefore determined that the next morning she would relate her evening's adventure and deliver the unread letter to Sir Hugh. Had this epistle not perplexed her, she had meant never to name its writer. Persuaded her last words had finally dismissed him, she thought it a high point of female delicacy never to publish an unsuccessful conquest. This resolution taken she went to bed satisfied with herself, but extremely grieved at the suffering she was preparing for one who so singularly loved her. The next morning, however, her uncle did not rise to breakfast, and was so low-spirited that, fearing to disturb him, she deemed it most prudent to defer the communication. But when, after she had taken her lesson from Dr. Orkborn, she returned to her room, she found Molly Mill impatiently waiting for her. Oh, miss, she cried, here is another letter for you, and you must read it directly for the gentleman sent. If you don't, it will be the death of him. Why did you receive another letter, said Eugenia, displeased? Oh, dearie me, miss, could I help it? If you'd seen the taking it was in, you'd have took it yourself. He was all of a quick and ready to go down on his two knees. Dearie me, if it did not make my heart go pit-pat to see him, he was like to go out of his mind, he said, and the tears, poor gentleman, were all in his eyes. Eugenia now turned away, strongly affected by this description. Do, miss, continued Molly, write him a little scrap. If it's never so scratched and bad, he'll take it kinder than nothing. Do, miss, do. Don't be ill-natured, and just read this little letter. Do, miss, do. It won't take you much time, you read so nice and fast. Why, cried Eugenia, did you go to him again? How could you so unconsciously entrust yourself to the conduct of a strange boy? A strange boy? Dearie me, miss, don't you know it was tummy-hard? I know it's him well enough. I know it's all the boys I warrant me round here. Count, miss, here's a pen and ink. You'll run it off before one can count to five. When you remind to it, he'll be in a sad taking till he sees me come back. Come back? Is it possible you have been so imprudent as to have promised to see him again? Dearie me, yes, miss. He'd have made a way with himself if I had not. He'd been there ever since six in the morning without nothing to eat or drink, or riding up and down the road if he could see me coming to the style, and he says he'll keep a riding there all day long, and whole night too till I goes to him. Eugenia conceived herself now in a situation of unexampled distress. She forced Molly Mel to leave her that she might deliberate what course to pursue. Having read no novels, her imagination had never been awakened to scenes of this kind, and what she had gathered upon such subjects in the poetry and history she had studied with Dr. Orford had only impressed her fancy in proportion as love for the character of heroism, and the lover that of a hero. Though highly therefore romantic, her romance was not the common adoption of a circulating library. It was simply that of elevated sentiments formed by animated crudulity playing upon youthful inexperience. Alas, cried she, what a conflict is mine. I must refuse a man who adores me to distraction in disregard of my unhappy defects, to cast myself under the guidance of one who, perhaps, may estimate beauty so highly as to despise me for its want. This idea pleaded so powerfully for Bellamy that something like a wish to open his letters obtained pardon to her little maid for having brought them. She suppressed, however, the desire, though she held them alternately to her eyes, conjecturing their contents, and bewailing for their impassioned writer the cruel answer they must receive. Though checked by shame she had some desire to consult Camilla, but she could not see her in time. Mrs. Arlberry, having insisted upon carrying her in the evening to a play, which was to be performed for one night only by a company of passing strollers at Northwick. My decision, she cried, must be my own, and must be immediate. Ah, how leave a man such as this to wander night and day neglected and uncertain of his fate! With tears he set in his letters, what must not have been his despair when such was his sensibility? Tears in a man, tears, too, that could not be restrained even till his messenger was out of sight. How touching! Her own then fell in tender commissuration, and it was with extreme repugnance that she compelled herself to take such measures as she thought her duty required. She sealed the two letters in an empty cover, and having directed them to Mr. Bellamy, summoned Molly Mell, and told her to convey them to the gentlemen, and positively acquaint him, she must receive no more, and that those which were returned had never been read. She bid her, however, and that she should always wish for his happiness, and be grateful for his kind partiality, though she earnestly conjectured him to vanish a regard that she did not deserve, and must never return. Molly Mell would faint have remonstrated, but Eugenia, with that firmness which, even in the first youth, accompanies a consciousness of preferring duty to inclination, silenced, and sent her off. Relieved for herself, now the struggle was over, she secretly rejoiced that it was not for Mellmon she had so hard a part to act, and this idea, while it rendered Bellamy less an object of regret, diminished also something of her pity for his conflict by reminding her of the success which had attended her own similar exertions. But when Molly returned, her distress was renewed. She bought her these words written with a pencil upon the back of her own cover. I do not dare, cruelest of your sex, to write you another letter, but if you would save me from the abyss of destruction, you will let me hear my final doom from your own mouth. I ask nothing more of a walk but one moment in the path near the pales, denying not your miserable adorer this last single request, and he will fly this fatal climate which has swallowed up his repose forever. But till then here he will stay, and neither quit the spot when she sends you these lines, till you have deign to pronounce verbally his doom, though he should famish a want of food. Alfonso Bellamy. Eugenia read this with horror and compassion. She imagined he perhaps thought her confined and would therefore believe no answer that did not issue immediately from her own lips. She sent Molly to him again with the same message, but Molly returned with a yet worse account of his desperation, and a strong assurance that if she would only utter to him a single word, he would obey, depart, and live upon it the rest of his life. This completely softened her. Rather than imperiously suffer such a pattern of respectful constancy to perish, she consented to speak her own negative. But fearing she might be moved to some sympathy by his grief, she resolved to be accompanied by Camilla and deferred therefore the interview till the next day. Molly brought back his humble acknowledgments for this concession and an account that, at last, slowing inside me he had ridden away. Her feelings were now better satisfied than her understanding. She feared what she had granted was a favour, yet her heart was too tender to reproach a compliance made upon such conditions, and to prevent such evils. Chapter 8 The Disastrous Buskins Camilla, though her personal sorrows were blunted by the view of the calamities and resignations of her sister, was so little disposed for amusement that she had accepted the invitation of Mrs. Albury only from wanting spirit to resist its urgency. Mr. Tyrold was well pleased that such a recreation came in her way, but desired the vineyard might be of the party, not only that she might partake of the same pleasure, but from a greater security in her prudence than in that of her naturally thoughtless sister. The town of Etherington afforded no theatre, and the room fitted up for the night's performance could contain but two boxes, one of which was secured for Mrs. Albury and her friends. The attentive major was ready to offer his hand to Camilla upon her arrival. The rest of the officers were in the box. The play was Othello, and so miserably represented that Lavinia would willingly have retired after the first scene, but the native spirits of Camilla revisited her in the view of the ludicrous personages of the drama. And they were soon joined by Sir Sidley Clarendale, whose quaint conceits and remarks assisted the risibility of the scene. She thought him the least comprehensible person she had ever known, but as he was totally indifferent to her his oddity entertained without tormenting her. The actors were of the lowest strolling kind, and so utterly without merit that they had never yet met with sufficient encouragement to remain one week in the same place. They had only a single scene for the whole performance, which depicted a camp and which here served for a street, a senate, a city, a castle, and a bed chamber. The dresses were almost equally parsimonious. Everyone being obliged to take what would fit him from a wardrobe that did not allow quite two dresses a person for all the plays they had to enact. Othello, therefore, was equipped as King Richard III, saved that instead of a regal front he had a black wig to imitate wool, while his face had been begrimed with a smoked cork. Iago wore a suit of cloths originally made for Lord Floppington. Probandio had borrowed the armor of Hamlet's ghost. Casio, the lieutenant general in the Christian army, had only been able to equip himself in Osman's Turkish vest, and Roderigo, accoutred in the garment of Shylock, came forth a complete Jew. Desdemona, attired more suitably to her fates than her expectations, went through the whole of her part, except the last scene, in the sable weeds of Isabella, and Amelia was feigned to contend herself with the habit of the first witch in Macbeth. The gestures, both of the gentlemen and the ladies, were as outrageous as if meant rather to intimidate the audience than to shoe their own animation, and the men approached each other so closely with arms of Kimbo, or double fists, that surcededly with pretended alarm, said they were giving challenges for a boxing match. The ladies also, in the energy of their desire not to be eclipsed, took so much exercise in their action that they tore out the sleeves of their gowns, which though pinned up every time they left the stage, completely exposed their shoulders at the end of every act, and they raised their arms so high while facing each other that surcededly expressed frequent fears they meant to finish by pulling caps. So imperfect were they also in their parts that the prompter was the only person from whom any single speech passed without a blunder. Iago, who was the master of the truth, was the sole performer who spoke not with a provincial dialect, the rest all betrayed their birth and parentage the first line they uttered. Cascio proclaimed himself from Norfolk. Othello himself proved a true Londoner, and with his famed soldier-like eloquence in the Senate scene, thus began his celebrated defense. Most potent, grower, and women seniors, my weary, noble, and uprooted good masters, that I had, he in way, this old man's daughter, I billed around on one nest tale deliver of my whole course of love. What drugs, what charms, what conjuration, and what mighty magic I won his daughter with. Her father loved me, oft-invited me. My story being done, she gave me for my pains a world of size. She swore in faith, twas strange, twas passing strange, twas pitiful, twas wondrous pitiful. She wished she had not heard it, yet she wished that Helen had made her sataman. This only is the witchcraft I have used. Here comes the lady, let her witness it. This happily making the gentle Desdemona recognized notwithstanding her appearance was so little bridle, her so mature father cried, I pray you, ear as big, ever converse, that I was half the worer, this drug gin on my head, if I be the blame, a light all amoon. His daughter, in the Warchester Shaw pronunciation, answered, No, mother, I do perceive ear-invited duty. To you, I who, my life, had education. My life and education both do teach me how to respect you, you're the lord of duty. I'm either to your daughter, but ear's my husband, the fond Othello then exclaimed, Your wife's lords, besiege you, let her will, have a free way. And Brabantio took leave with, Look to ear more, if as the eyes do see, eyes deceived her vivid and may thee. They were detained so long between the first and second act, that Sir Sedley said he feared Port Desdemona had lost the thread-paper from which he was to mend her gown, and recommended to the two young ladies to have the charity to go and assist her. Consider, he said, the trepidation of a fair bride but just entered into her shackles. Who knows, but Othello may be giving her a strapping in private for wearing out her clothes so fast. You young ladies, take nothing of these little conjugal freedoms. Mrs. Albury, though for some time she had been as well diverted by the play as Camilla, less new to such exhibitions, was soon tired of the sameness of the blunders, and at the end of the fourth act proposed retiring, but Camilla, who had long not felt so much entertained, looked so disappointed that her good humor overcame her fatigue, and she was insisting upon staying, when a gentleman who visited them from the opposite box proposed that the young lady should be carried home by his mother, a lady who lived in Etherington, and was acquainted at the rectory, and who intended to stay out not only the play, but the farce. Lavinia consented, the son went with the proposition, and the business was soon arranged. Mrs. Albury, who had three miles to go beyond the parsonage house, and who, though she delighted to oblige, was but little in the habit of practicing self-denial, then consigned the young ladies to General Kinsale, to be conducted to the opposite box, and was handed by Colonel Andover to her coach. The general guarded the eldest sister, the major took care of Camilla, but they were all stopped in their passage by the sudden seizure of a pickpocket, and forced hastily back to the box they had quitted. This commotion, though it had disturbed all the audience, had not stopped the performance, and as the Mona being just now discovered in bed, Camilla, not to lose the interesting scene, persuaded her sister to wait till the play was over before they attempted again to cross to the opposite box, into which, in a few minutes after, she saw Mandelbeer enter. They had both already seated themselves as much out of sight as possible, and Camilla now began to regret that she had not accompanied Mrs. Albury. She had thought only of the play and its entertainment till the sight of Mandelbeer told her that her situation was improper, and the idea only occurred to her by considering that it would occur to him. Mandelbeer had dined out with a party of men, and had stepped in to see what was going forwards without any knowledge whom he should meet. He instantly discerned Lavinia and felt anxious to know why Camilla was not with her, and why she sat so much out of sight, but Camilla so completely hit herself, he could only see there was a female whom he concluded to be some Etherington lady, and he determined to make further inquiry when the act should be over. The performance now became so truly ludicrous that Camilla, notwithstanding all her uneasiness, was excited to almost perpetual laughter. Desdemona, either from the effect of a bad cold, or to give more of nature to her repose, breathed so hard as to raise a general laugh in the audience. Sir Sedley, stopping his ears, exclaimed, Oh, if she snores, I shall plead for her no more, if she tear her gown to tatters. Suffocation is much too lenient for her. She is an immense horrid personage, nasal to alarm. Othello then entered, with a tallow candle in his hand, staring and dropping grease at every step, and having just declared he would not Scar that vita skin of hers then, snow. Perceived a thief in the candle, which made it run down so fast over his hand, and the sleeve of his coat, that the moment not being yet arrived for extinguishing it, he was forced to lay down his sword, and, for want of better means, snuff it with his fingers. Sir Sedley now protested himself, completely disordered. I must be gone, cried he, incontinently. This exceeds resistance. I shan't be alive in another minute. Are you able to form a notion of anything more annihilating? If I did not build up upon the pleasure of seeing him snap up those distressing nostrils of the gentle Desdemona, I could not breathe here another instant. But just after, while Othello lent over the bed to say, Then I plucked the rose. I cannot give it a whitel growth again. It needs must thither. His black locks caught fire. The candle now fell from his hand, and he attempted to pull off his wig, but it had been tied close on to appear more natural, and his fright disabled him. He therefore slung himself upon the bed, and rolled the cover-lid over his head. Desdemona, excessively frightened, started up and jumped out, shrieking aloud. O Lord! I shall be bent! This noble Venetian dame, then exhibited beneath an old white satin bed gown made to cover her arms and breasts, the dress in which she had equipped herself between the axe to be ready for trampling home, namely a dirty red and white linen gown, an old blue-stuff quilted coat, and black shoes and stockings. In this pitiable condition she was running, screaming off the stage, when Othello, having quenched the fire, unconscious that half his curls had fallen a sacrifice to the flames, hastily pursued her, and in a violent passion called her a fool and brought her back to the bed, in which he assisted her to compose herself, and then went behind the scenes to light his candle, which, having done, he gravely returned, and very carefully putting it down, renewed his part with the line, Be thus, when thou art dead, and I will kill thee, and love thee after. Amidst wars of laughter from the whole audience, who, when he kissed her, almost with one voice, called out, Hey, hey, that's right, kissin' friends! And when he said, I must veep. So must I, too, my good friend, cried Sir Sedley, wiping his eyes, For never yet did sorrow cost me more salt's room, poor blackie, Thou hast been most indissolubably comic, I confess, Thou hast unstrung me to a degree, A baby of half an hour might just relish me! And again, when Othello exclaimed, She vakes! The dust she does, cried Sir Sedley. What? Has she been asleep again already? She is a very caricature of Morpheus! I do thy worst, honest Mungo! I cannot possibly beg her off! I would sooner snift my forthing candle, than sustain that nasal cadence ever more! He's the finest fellow upon the face of the earth, cried Mr. McDursey, Who had listened to the whole play with the most serious interest. The instant he suspects his wife, he cuts her off without ceremony, Though she is dearer to him than his eyesight, And beautiful as an angel, how I envy him! Don't you think, Twit, have been as well? said General Kinsale, If he'd first made some little inquiry. He can do that afterwards, General, and then nobody will dare surmise it's out of weakness. For, to be sure and certain, he ought to write her fame. That no more than his duty, after once he has satisfied his own. But a man's honour is dearest to him of all things, A wife's a bobble to it, not worth a thought. The suffocating was now beginning, but just as Desdemona begged to be spared, But off, hun ar! The doorkeeper forced his way into the pit, and called out, Pray, is one Miss Tyrold here in the playhouse? The sisters in much amazement hung back, In treating the gentleman to scream them, and the man receiving no answer went away. While wondering what this could mean, the play was finished. When one of the comedians, a brother of the Warchester sure Desdemona, Came to the pit door, calling out, I am desirous to ask, if Miss Camilla Tyrold's any way here in the house, For I am honoured to call her out, for her hunkles hill and dying. A piercing shriek from Camilla now completed the interruption Of all attention to the performance, and betrayed her hiding place. Concealment indeed was banished her thoughts, And she would herself have opened the box door to rush out, Had not the Major anticipated her, seizing at the same time Her hand to conduct her through the crowd. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Bellwest. Camilla, or A Picture of You, by Fanny Burney. Chapter 9 Three Golden Maxims LaVenia almost equally terrified followed her sister, And surcedly, burying all faffery and compassion and good nature Was foremost to accompany and assist. Camilla had no thought, but to get instantly to cleaves, She considered none how. She only forced herself rapidly on, Persuaded she could walk it in ten minutes, And ejaculating incessantly, My uncle, my dear uncle! They almost instantly encountered Acre, Who upon the fatal call had darted round to meet them, And finding each provided with an attendant, Inquired whose carriage he should seek. Camilla, in a broken voice, Answered she had no carriage and should walk. Walk, he repeated. You are near five miles from cleaves. Scarce in her senses, she hurried on without reply. What carriage did you come in, Miss Tyrold? Said Acre to LaVenia. We came with Miss Arilbury. Miss Arilbury? She has been gone this half hour. I met her as I entered. Camilla now rushed out of doors, still handed by the Major. If you have no carriage in waiting, said Acre, Make use, I beseech you, of mine. Oh, gladly, oh, thankfully! cried Camilla, Almost sobbing out her words. He flew then to call for his chase, And the doorkeeper, for whom Sir Sedley had inquired, Came to them, accompanied by Jacob. Oh, Jacob! she cried, breaking violently from the Major. Tell me, tell me, my uncle, my dearest uncle! Jacob, in a tone of deep and unfeigned sorrow, Said his master had been seized suddenly with the gout in his stomach, And that the doctor, who had been instantly fetched, Had owned there was little hope. She could hear no more. The shock overpowered her, And she sunk nearly senseless into the arms of her sister. She was recovered, however, almost in a minute, And carried by Acre into his chase. In which he placed her between himself and the weeping Lavinia, Pacially telling the two gentlemen that his intimate connection with the family authorized His assisting and attending them at such a period. This was too well known to be disputed, And Sir Sedley and the Major, with great concern, Uttered their good wishes and retreated. Jacob had already been for Mr. Tyrell, Who had set off instantly on horseback. Camilla spoke not a word for the first mile, Which was spent in an hysteric sobbing, But recovering a little afterwards, And sinking into the shoulder of her sister. Oh Lavinia, she cried, Should we lose my uncle? A shower of tears wedded the neck of Lavinia, Who mingled with them her own, Though less violently, From having less connection with Sir Hugh, And a sensibility less ungovernable. She called herself upon the pastillion to drive faster, And pressed Acre continually to hurry him. But though he gave every charge she could desire, So much swifter were her wishes than any possible speed, That twenty times she entreated to get out, Believing she could walk quicker than the horses galloped. When they arrived at the park gate, She was with difficulty held back from opening the chaise door, And when at length they stopped at the house porch, She could not wait for the step, And before Acre could either proceed or prevent her, Threw herself into the arms of Jacob, Who having just dismounted was fortunately at hand To save her from falling. She stopped not to ask any question. My uncle, my uncle! She cried impetuously, And rushing past all she met was in his room in a moment. Acre, though he could not obstruct, Followed her close, dreading, Lest Sir Hugh might already be no more, And determined in that case to force her from the fatal spot. Eugenia, who heard her footsteps, Received her at the door, But took her immediately from the room, Softly whispering while her arms were thrown round her waist. He will live. He will live, my sister. His agonies are over, He has fallen asleep, And he will live. This was too sudden a joy for the desponding Camilla, Whose breath instantly stopped, And who must have fallen upon the floor, Had she not been caught by Acre, Who, though his own eyes copiously overflowed With delight at such unexpected good news Of the universally beloved Baronet, Had strength and exertion sufficient To carry her downstairs into the parlor, Accompanied by Eugenia. There, heart shorn and water presently revived her, And then, regardless of the presence of Acre, She cast herself upon her knees To utter a fervent thanksgiving In which Eugenia, with equal piety, Though more composure joined. Acre had never yet beheld her In a light so resplendent. What a heart, thought he, Is here, what feelings, what tenderness, What animation. Oh, what a heart were it possible to touch it. The two sisters went both gently up the stairs, Encouraging and congratulating each other in soft whispers, And stationed themselves in an anti-room. Mr. Tyrold, by medical counsel, Giving directions that no one but himself Should enter the sixth chamber. Acre, though he only saw the domestics, Could not persuade himself to leave the house Till near two o'clock in the morning, And by six his anxiety brought him thither again. He then heard that the baronet had passed The night of more pain than danger, The gout having been expelled his stomach, Though it had been threatening almost every other part. Three days and nights passed in this manner, During which Eger saw so much of the tender affections And softer character of Camilla, That nothing could have withheld him For manifesting his entire sympathy in her feelings, But the unaccountable circumstance Of her starting forth from a back seat at the play, Where she had sat concealed, attended by the major, And without any majored protectorous. Miss Margalind, meanwhile, scowled at him, And Indiana pouted in vain. His earnest solicitude for Sir Hugh Surmounted every such obstacle to his present visits at Cleaves, And he spent there almost the whole of his time. On the fourth day of the attack, Sir Hugh had a sleep of five hours' continuance, From which he awoke so much revived, That he raised himself in his bed and called out, My dear brother, are you still here? You are very good to me indeed, Poor sinner that I am, to forgive me For all my bad behavior to your children. My dearest brother, my children like myself O you nothing but kindness and beneficence, And like myself feel for you nothing but gratitude and tenderness. They are good, very good indeed, said Sir Hugh with a deep sigh. But Eugenia, poor little Eugenia, Has nearly been the death of me, Though not meaning it in the least, Being all her life as innocent as a lamb. Mr. Tyrold assured him that Eugenia was attached to him With the most unalterable fondness. But Sir Hugh said that the sight of her, Returning from Etherington, With nearly the same sadness as ever, Had wounded him to the heart, By shooing him she would never recover, Which had brought back upon him all his first contrition About the smallpox and the fall from the plank, And had caused his conscience to give him so many twitches That it never let him rest a moment, Till the gout seized upon his stomach, And almost took him off at once. Mr. Tyrold attributed solely to his own strong imagination The idea of the continuance of the dejection of Eugenia, As she had left Etherington calm and almost cheerful. He instantly therefore fetched her, Intimating the species of consolation she could afford. Kindness of uncles, cried she, Is it possible you can ever, for a moment, Have doubted the grateful affection With which your goodness has impressed me from my childhood? Do me more justice, I beseech you, my dearest uncle, Recover from this terrible attack, And you shall soon see your Eugenia Restored to all the happiness you can wish her. Nobody has got such kindness as me, Cried Sir Hugh, again dissolving into tenderness. For all nobody has deserved so ill of them. My generous little Camilla forgave me from the very first, Before her young soul had any guile in it, Which God knows it never has had to this hour, No more than your own. However, this I can tell you, Which may serve to keep you from repenting being good, And this is, that your kindness to your poor uncle May be the means of saving a Christian's life. Which for a young person at your age Is as much as can be expected. For I think I may yet get about again, If I could once be assured I should see you as happy as you used to be. And you've been the contentedest little thing Till those unlucky market women that ever was seen, Always speaking up for the servants and the poor, From the time you were eight years old, And never letting me be angry, But taking everybody's part, And thinking them all as good as yourself, And only wanting to make them as happy. Oh, my dear uncle, how kind a memory is yours, Retaining only what can give pleasure, And burying an oblivion whatever might cause pain. Is my uncle well enough to speak? cried Camilla, softly opening the door. And may I, for one single moment, see him? That's the voice of my dear Camilla, said Sir Hugh. Come in, my little love, For I shan't shock your tender heart now, For I am going to get better. Camilla, in an ecstasy, Was instantly at his bedside, Passionately exclaiming, My dear, dear uncle, will you indeed recover? Sir Hugh, throwing his feeble arms around her neck, And leaning his head upon her shoulder, Could only faintly articulate, If God pleases, I shall, my little darling, My heart's delight and joy. But don't vex whether I do or not, For it is but in the course of nature For a man to die, even in his youth, But how much more when he comes to be old. Though I know you can't help missing me In particular at the first, Because of all your goodness to me. Missing you, oh, my uncle, We can never be happy again without you. Never, never! When your loved continents no longer smiles upon us, When your kind voice no longer assembles Us around you? My dear child, my own little Camilla, Cried Sir Hugh in a faint voice, I am ready to die. Mr. Tyrold here forced her away, And his brother grew so much worse That a dangerous relapse took place, And for three days more, The physician, the nurse, And Mr. Tyrold were alone allowed to enter his room. During this time the whole family suffered The truest grief, And Camilla was inconsolable. When again he began to revive, He called Mr. Tyrold to him, And said that this second shake persuaded him He had but a short time more for this world, And begged, therefore, He would prepare him for his exit. Mr. Tyrold complied, And found with more happiness than surprise His perfect and cheerful resignation Either to live or die, Rejoicing as much himself In the innocent benevolence of his past days. Composed and strengthened by religious duties, He then desired to see Eugenia and Indiana, That he might give them his last extortations And counsel in case of a speedy end. Mr. Tyrold would faint have spared him This touching exertion, But he declared he could not go off With a clear conscience, Unless he told them the advice Which he had been thinking of for them, Between wiles during all his illness. Mr. Tyrold then feared that opposition Might but decompose him, And summoned his youngest daughter and his niece, Charging them both to repress their affliction, Lest it should accelerate what they most dreaded. Camilla, always upon the watch, Glided in with them, Supplicating her father not to deny her admittance. Though fearful of her impetuous sorrows, He wished her to retreat. But Sir Hugh no sooner heard her murmuring voice Than he declared he would have her refused nothing, Though he had meant to take a particular leave Of her alone, For the last thing of all. Gratefully thanking him, She advanced trembling to his bedside, Solomely promising her father That no expression of her grief Should again risk agitating a life and health so precious. Sir Hugh then desired to have Lavinia called also, Because although he had thought of nothing to say to her, She might be hurt after he was gone in being left out. He was then raised by pillows and sat upright, And they knelt round his bed. Mr. Tyrold entreated him to be concise, And insisted upon the extremist forbearance And fortitude in his little audience. He seated himself at some distance, And Sir Hugh, after swallowing a cordial medicine, began, My dear nieces, I have sent for you all upon a particular account, Which I beg you to listen to, Because God only knows whether I may be able To give you so much advice again. I see you all look very melancholy, Which I take very kind of you. However, don't cry, my little dears, For we must all go off, So it matters little the day or the hour, Dying being besides the greatest comfort of us all, Taking us off from our cares, As my brother will explain to you better than me. The chief of what I have got to say In regard to what I have been studying in my illness Is for you to, my dear Eugenia and Indiana, Because, having brought you both up, I can't get it out of my head what you'll do When I am no longer here to keep you out of the danger Of bad designers. My hope have been to have seen you both married While I was alive and amongst you, And I made as many plans as my poor head knew how To bring it about. But we've all been disappointed alike For which reason we must put up with it properly. What I have now, Last of all to say to you, My little dears is three maxims, Which may serve for you all four alike, Though I thought of them at first, Only for you two, In the first place, Never be proud. If you are, Your superiors will laugh at you, Your equals won't love you, And your dependents will hate you. And what is there for poor mortal man To be proud of? Which is, Why they are but a charge. And if we don't use them well, We may end be the poor beggar That has so much less to answer for. Beauty, why we can either get it when we haven't it, Nor keep it when we have it. Power, why we scarce ever use it one way, But that we are sorry we did not use it another. In the second place, Never trust a flatterer. If a man makes you a great many compliments, Always suspect him of some bad design, And never believe him your friend, Till he tells you of some of your faults. Poor little things, You little imagine how many you have For all your so good. In the third place, Do no harm to others For the sake of any good It may do to yourself, Because the good will will last you But a little while, And the repentance will stick by you As long as you live. And what is worse, A great while longer, And beyond any count, The best almanac maker knows how to reckon. And now, my dear nieces, This is all except the recommending To my dear Eugenia To be kind to my poor servants Who have all used me so well, Knowing I have nothing to leave them. Eugenia, suppressing her sobs, Promise to retain them all As long as they should desire To remain with her, And to provide for them afterwards. I know you'll forget nobody, My dear little girl, Which makes me die contented, Not even Miss Marguland, A little particularly Not being to be considered At one's last end, And much less Dr. Ochborn Who has so much better A right from you. As to Indiana, She'll have her own little fortune When she comes of age, And I dare say her pretty face Will marry her before long. And as to Claremont, He'll come off rather short, Finding I leave him nothing, But you make up for the deficiency By giving him a whole, As well as a good wife. As to Lionel, I leave him my blessing. Any other legacy I never happen To promise him any, Which is very good luck for me, As well as my best excuse. And I may say the same To my dear Lavinia, Which is the reason I called her in, Because she may not often have An opportunity to hear a man speak Upon his deathbed. However, all I wish for is That I could leave you all equal shares, As well as give Eugenia the whole. All my dear uncle Exclaimed Eugenia, Make a new will immediately. Do everything your tenderness can dictate, Or tell me what I shall do In your name, and every word, Every wish shall be Sacredly obeyed. Dear generous noble girl, No, I won't take from you a shilling. Keep it all. Nobody will spend it so well. And I can't give you back Your beauty. So keep it, my dear all, For my oath's sake when I am gone, And don't make me die Under a prevaricating, Which would be but a grievous thing For a person to do, unless he was But a bad believer, which, God help us, there are enough Without my helping to make more. Mr. Tyrell now again Remonstrated, Motioning to the weeping group to be gone. Oh, my dear brother, Said Sir Hugh, You are the only right person Who had it all, if it had not been For my poor weak brain That made me always be looking Askew instead of straightforward. And indeed I always meant you to have had it For your life, till this smallpox Put things out of my head. However, I hope you won't object To preach my funeral sermon For all my bad faults For nobody else Will speak of me so kindly. Which may serve As a better lesson for those I leave behind. Tears flowed fast Down the cheeks of Mr. Tyrell As he uttered whatever he could Suggest most tenderly soothing To his brother. And the young mourners, not daring To resist were all gliding away Except Camilla, whose hand Was fast grasped in that Of her uncle. Oh, my Camilla, cried he As she would gently have withdrawn It. How shall I part with my little Dear darling? This is the worst twitch to me Of all, with all my contentedness. And the more Because I know you love Your poor old uncle Just as well as if he had Left you all he was worth Though you won't get one penny By his death. Oh, my dear, dearest Uncle, explained Camilla With a passionate flood of tears When Mr. Tyrell, Assuring them both the consequences Might be fatal, tore her away From the bed and the room. End of Chapter 9 Recording by Linda Velwest Book 5, Chapter 1 Of Camilla This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are In the public domain. For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Linda Velwest Camilla, or A Picture of Youth by Fanny Burney Book 5, Chapter 1 A Pursuer Notwithstanding the fear so Justly excited from the mixed emotions And exertions of Sir Hugh Mr. Tyrell had the happiness To see him fall into tranquil sleep From which he awoke Without any return of pain His night was quiet The next day was still better And the day following He was pronounced out of danger The rapture of which This declaration excited in the house And diffused throughout the neighborhood When communicated to the worthy baronet Gave a gladness to his heart That recompensed all he had suffered The delight of Camilla Exceeded whatever she had yet experienced Her life had lost half its value In her estimation While she believed out of her uncle To be in danger No one single quality is perhaps So endearing from man to man As good nature Talents excite more admiration Wisdom more respect And virtue more esteem But with admiration Envy is apt to mingle And fear with respect While esteem, though always honorable Is often cold But good nature gives pleasure Without any allay Ease confidence in the heart And any allay Ease confidence and happy carelessness Without the pain of obligation Without the exertion of gratitude If joy was in some More tumultuous Content was with none so penetrating As with Eugenia A prize now that she had been The immediate cause of the sufferings Of her uncle, his loss would have Given to her peace a blow Irrecoverable And she determined to bend All her thoughts to his wishes His comfort, his entire restoration To this end All her virtue was called an aid A fear next to aversion Having seized her Of Claremont from the apprehension She might never inspire in him Such love as she had inspired In Bellamy, nor see in him As in young Melmond Such merit as might Raise similar sentiments for himself Molly Mill had not failed To paint to her the disappointment Of Bellamy and not seeing her But she was too much engrossed By the dangerous state of her uncle To feel any compunction In her breach of promise Though touched with the account Of his continual sufferings She became very gentle In her reprimands to Molly For again meeting him And though Molly again disobeyed She again was pardoned He came daily to the lane Behind the park-pales to hear news Of the health of Sir Hugh Without pressing either for an interview Or a letter, and Eugenia Grew more and more moved By his respectful obsequiousness She had yet said nothing To Camilla upon the subject Not only because a dear interest Mutually occupied them, but from A secret shame of naming A lover at a period so ungenial But now that Sir Hugh Was in a fair way of recovery Her situation became alarming To herself, openly And before the whole house She had solemnly been assigned To Claremont-Lymere And little as she wished the connection She thought it from circumstances Her duty not to refuse it Yet this gentleman had attended To her so long Had endured so many disappointments And borne them so much To her satisfaction that Though she lamented her concession As an injury to Claremont And grew a shame to name it even to Camilla She believed it would be cruelty Unheard of to break it She determined therefore to see him To pronounce a farewell And then to bend all her thoughts To the partner destined to her By her friends Molly Mill was alone to accompany her To give her negative, her good wishes And her solemn declaration That she could never again see Or hear of him more He could deem it no indelicacy That she suffered Molly to be present Since she was the negotiator Of his own choice Molly carried him there for this news With a previous condition That he was not to detain her mistress One minute He promised all submission And the next morning after breakfast Eugenia in extreme dejection At the ungrateful task She had to perform, called for Molly And walked forth Camilla, who was then accidentally In her own room Was soon after summoned by Three smart reps to her chamber door There to her great surprise She saw Edgar, who, after a hasty apology Baked to have a few minutes Conference with her alone She descended with him into The parlor which was vacant You suspect perhaps Said he in a hurried manner Though attempting to smile That I mean to fatigue you With some troublesome advice I must therefore, by an abrupt question Explain myself Does Mr. Bellamy still continue His pretensions to your sister Eugenia? Startled in a moment from all thoughts Of self that first had been rushing With violence to her heart, Camilla Answered, no, why do you ask? I will tell you, in my regular Visits here of late I have almost constantly met him Whether on foot or on horseback In the vicinity of the park I suspected he watched to see Eugenia But I knew she now never left the house And concluded he was ignorant Of the late general confinement This moment, however, upon my entrance I saw him again And as he hastily turned away Upon meeting my eye, I dismounted Gave my horse to my man And determined to satisfy myself The way he was strolling I then followed him to the little lane To the right of the park Where I perceived an empty post-chase And four in waiting He advanced and spoke with the post-illian I came instantly into the house By the little gate. This may be accidental Yet it has alarmed me And I ventured therefore Thus suddenly to apply to you In order to urge you to give a caution To Eugenia, not to walk out Just at present, unattended Camilla thanked him and ran eagerly To speak to her sister But she was not in her room Nor was she with her uncle nor yet With Dr. Orkborn. She returned uneasily to the parlor And said she would seek her in the park Edgar followed but they looked Around for her in vain. He then, deeming the danger to be urgent Left her to hasten to the spot Where he had seen the post-chase Camilla ran on alone And when she reached the park gate Perceived her sister, Molly Mill And Bellamy in the lane They heard her quick approach And turned round The continents of Bellamy Exhibit the darkest disappointment And that of Eugenia the most Excessive confusion Now then, sir, she cried Delay our separation no longer I'll permit me, said he In a low voice Permit me to hope you will hear My last sad sentence My final misery another day I will defer my mournful departure For that melancholy joy Which is the last I shall feel In my wretched existence He sighed so deeply that Eugenia Who seemed already in much sorrow Could not utter an abrupt refusal And as Camilla now advanced She turned from him without attempting To say anything further Camilla, in the delight of finding her sister safe After the horrible apprehensions she had just experienced Could not speak to her for tears Abashed at once and amazed Eugenia faintly asked what so affected her She gave no explanation But begged her to turn immediately back Eugenia consented And Bellamy bowing to them both profoundly With quick steps walked away Camilla asked a thousand questions But Eugenia seemed unable to answer them In a few minutes they were joined by Edgar Who, walking hastily up to them Took Camilla apart He told her he firmly believed A villainous scheme to have been laid He had found the chase still in waiting And asked the postillian to whom he belonged The man said he was paid for what he did And refused giving any account of himself Bellamy then appeared He seemed confounded at his sight But neither of them spoke And he left him and his chase And his postillian to console one another He doubted not, he said But the design had been to carry Eugenia off And he had probably only pretended to leave That the chase might advance And the postillian ate the elopement Though finding help at hand He had been forced to give up his scheme Camilla, even with rapture Blessed his fortunate presence He was surrounded with perplexity At the conduct of Eugenia Edgar, who feared her heart was entangled By an object who sought only her wealth Proposed dismissing Molly Mill That he might tell her himself The opinion he had conceived of Bellamy Camilla overtook her sister Who had walked on without listening to Or regarding them And sending away Molly told her Edgar Wish immediately to inverse with her Upon something of the utmost importance You know my high esteem of him, she answered But my mind is now occupied upon a business Of which he has no information And I entreat that you will neither of you Interrupt me Camilla utterly at a loss what to conjecture Joined Mandelbear alone and told him Her ill success He thought everything was to be feared From the present state of the affair And proposed revealing at once all he knew Of it to Mr. Tyrols But Camilla desired him to take no step Till she had again expostulated with her sister Who might else be seriously hurt or offended He complied and said he would continue in the house Park or environs incessantly upon the watch Till some decisive measure was adopted Joining Eugenia then again She asked if she meant seriously To encourage the addresses of Bellamy By no means She quietly answered My dear Eugenia I cannot at all understand you But it seems clear to me That the arrival of Edgar has saved you From some dreadful violence You hurt me, Camilla, by this prejudice From whom should I dread violence From a man who but too fatally for his peace Values me more than his life If I could be sure of his sincerity, said Camilla I should be the last to think ill of him But reflect a little at least On the risk that you have run, my dear Eugenia There was a post-chase in waiting Not twenty yards from where I stopped you Oh, you little know Bellamy That chase was only to convey him away To convey him, Camilla, to an eternal banishment But why then had he prevailed With you to quit the park You will call me vain if I tell you No, I shall only think you kind and confidential Do me, then, the justice, said Eugenia Blushing to believe me as much surprised as yourself At his most unmerited passion But he told me that if I could only cast my eyes Upon the vehicle which was to part him from me Forever, it would not only make it less Abhorrent to him, but probably prevent the loss Of his sentence My dear Eugenia, said Camilla, half-smiling This is a violent passion, indeed For so short an acquaintance I knew you would say that, answered she discontented And it was just what I observed to him myself But he satisfied me that the reason of his feelings Being so impetuous was that this was the first And only time he had ever been in love So handsome as he is What a choice for him to make Camilla, tenderly embracing her, declared The choice was all that did him honour in the affair He never, said she a little comforted Makes me any compliments I should else disregard if not disdain him But indeed he seems not withstanding His own extraordinarily manly beauty To be wholly superior to external considerations Camilla, now far bore, expressing farther doubt From the fear of painful misapprehension But earnestly entreated her to suffer Edgar To be entrusted and consulted She decidedly, however, refused her consent I require no advice, cried she For I am devoted to my uncle's will To speak then of this affair would be the most Cruel in delicacy In publishing a conquest which, since it is rejected I ought silently though gratefully To bury in my own heart She then related the history of all that had passed Camilla, but solemnly declared she would never To any other human being but him who should Her after be entitled to her whole heart Betrayed a secret of the unhappy Bellamy Chapter 2 An Advisor The wish of Camilla was to lay this whole affair Before her father, but she checked it From an apprehension she might seem displaying Her duty and confidence at the expense Of those of her sister, whose motives Were pure, however, practically they might Be erroneous and whom she both pitied And revered for her proposed submission To her uncle, in opposition to her palpable Reluctance. She saw not, however, any Obstacle to consulting with Edgar Since he was already apprised of the Business and since his services might Be essentially useful to her sister While, with respect to herself, there Seemed at this time more of dignity In meeting them than shunning his friendly intercourse Since his regard for her seemed to have lost All its peculiarity. He has precisely, cried she, the same Sentiments for my sisters as for me. He is equally kind, disinterested, and Indifferent to us all. Anxious alike for Eugenia with Mr. Bellamy And for me with a detestable major. Be it so, we can nowhere obtain Her friend and I should blush indeed If I could not treat as a brother One who can treat me as a sister. Tranquil, though not gay, she returned To converse with him, but when she Had related what had passed he confessed That his uneasiness upon the subject Was increased. The heart of Eugenia appeared to him Positively entangled, and he besought Camilla not to lose a moment in Acquainting Mr. Tyrell with her situation. She pleaded against giving this pain To her sister with energetic affection. Her arguments failed to convince, but Her eloquence powerfully touched him And he contented himself with only Intreating that she would again try To aid him with an opportunity Of conversing with Eugenia. This she could not refuse, nor could He then resist the opportunity To inquire why Mrs. Arlberry had Left her and LaVinia at the play. She thanked him for remembering His character of her monitor, and Acknowledged the fault to be her own With a candor so unaffected that Captivated by the soft seriousness of Her manner, he flattered himself that His fear of the major was a chimera And hoped that as soon as Sir Hugh Was able to again join his family No impediment would remain to his Begging the united blessings of the Two brothers to his views. When Camilla told her sister the Request of Edgar, she immediately Suspected the attachment of Bellamy And prayed to him, and Camilla Incapable of any duplicity Related precisely how the manner Had passed. Eugenia always Just, no sooner heard than she Forgave it, and accompanied her Sister immediately downstairs. I must rest all hope of pardon, Cried Edgar, for the part I Am taking to your conviction Of its motive, a filial love And gratitude to Mr. Tyrell Of fraternal affection and Interest for all his family. My own sisterly feelings, she Answered, make me both Comprehend and thank your kind Solitude, but believe me It is now founded in error. I am shocked to find you Informed of this unhappy Transaction, and I charge And beseech that no interference May wound its ill-fated Object by suffering him to Surmise your knowledge of his Humiliating situation. I would not for the world give Your pain, answered Edgar, But permit me to be faithful To the brotherly character in Which I consider myself to stand With you all. A blush had overspread his face At the word brotherly, while At that of all which Recovered him a still deeper Staying the cheeks of Camilla. But neither of them looked at The other, and Eugenia was Too self-absorbed to observe Either. Your utter In life, he continued, makes Me, though but just, giving up Leading strings myself, and Adept in the comparison. Suffer me, then, as such to Represent to you my fears, that Your innocence and goodness may Expose you to imposition. You must not judge all characters By the ingeniousness of your Own, nor conclude, however Rationally and worthily A mind such as yours might May and will inspire A disinterested regard. And that mercenary views Are out of the question, because Mercenary principles are not Declared. I will not say your interference is Severe, replied Eugenia, because You know not the person of whom You speak, but permit me to make This irrefragable vindication Of his freedom from all sordid motives. He has never once Named the word fortune, neither To make any inquiries into mine Nor any professions concerning his Own. Had he any inducement To duplicity, he might Have asserted to me what he pleased Since I have no means of detection. Your situation, said Edgar, Is pretty generally known, and For his, pardon me if I hint It may be possible that silence Is no virtue. However, since I am unacquainted, you say, with His character, will you give me Leave to make myself better informed? There needs no investigation to Me this perfectly known. Forgive me if I ask how. By his letters, and by His conversation. A smile Which stole upon the features of Edgar obliged him to turn His head another way, but Presently recovering. My dear Eugenia, he cried, Will it not be the most Consonant to your high principles And scrupulous delicacy to lay The whole of what has passed Before Mr. Tyrold? Be it if my part were not straightforward, Had I the least hesitation? My father should be my immediate And decisive umpire, but I am not at liberty even For deliberation. I am Not, I know, at My own disposal. She blushed and looked down, confused, But presently, with firmness Added, it is not, indeed, Fit that I should be. My uncle completely merits to be In all things my director. To know his wishes, therefore, Is not only to know, but to be Satisfied with my doom. Such being my situation, You cannot misunderstand my defense Of this unhappy young man. It is but simple justice to rescue An amiable person from Columny. Let us allow all this, said Edgar. Still, I see no reason Why Mr. Tyrold Mr. Mandelbeer interrupted She. You must do what You judge right. I can desire No one to abstain from pursuing The dictates of their own sense Of honor. I leave you, therefore, Unshackled, but there is No consideration which, in My opinion, can justify A female in spreading Even to her nearest connections An unrequited partiality. If, therefore, I am forced To inflict this undue Mortification upon a Person to whom I hold myself So much obliged, an Uneasiness will remain Upon my mind, destructive Of my forgetfulness of an event Which I would, feign, vanish From my memory. She then refused to be any longer Detained, how I love the Perfect innocence and how I Reverence the respectable singularity Of that charming character, Cried Edgar, yet How vain are all arguments against Such a combination of fearless Utility and enthusiastic reasoning. What can we determine? I am happy to retort upon You that question, replied Camilla, for I am every Way afraid to act myself, Lest I should hurt this dear sister Or do wrong by my yet Dearer father. What a Responsibility you cast upon me. I will not, however, shrink from it, For the path seems far planer to me Since I have had this conversation. Eugenia is at present safe. We see, now distinctly, her heart Is yet untouched. The readiness with which she has met The subject, the openness with which She avows her esteem, the Unembarrassed, though modest simplicity With which she speaks of his passion And his distress, all shoe That her pity results from Generosity, not from Love. Had it been otherwise With all her steadiness, all Her philosophy, some agitation And anxiety would have betrayed Her secret soul. The internal Workings of hopes and fears, the Sensitive alarms of repressed Consciousness, a deep glow Which heeded his face, forced him Here to break off, and abruptly Leaving his sentence unfinished, he Hastily began another. We must not, nevertheless, regard This as security for the future Though it is safety for the present Nor trust her unsuspicious Generosity of mind to the Dangerous assault of artful distress. I speak without reserve of this Man, for though I know him not As she remonstrated, I cannot From the whole circumstances Of his clandestine conduct Doubt his being an adventurer. You say nothing. Tell me, I beg Your opinion. Camilla had not heard one word Of this last speech, struck With his discrimination between the Actual and the possible state Of Eugenia's mind, and with The effect of the definition Of this upon herself. Her attention was irresistibly seized By a new train of ideas Till finding he waited for an answer She mechanically repeated his last Word. Opinion he saw her absence Of mind, and suspected His own too palpable disturbance Had occasioned it. But in what degree or From what sensations he could Not conjecture. They were both sometimes silent Then recollecting herself, she said It was earnestly her wish to avoid Disobliging her sister By a communication which made By anyone but herself Must put her into a disgraceful Point of view. Edgar, after a Pause, said they must yield then To her present fervor, and hope Her sounder judgment, when less Played upon, would see clearer. It appeared to him, indeed, That she was so free at this Moment from any dangerous That it might perhaps be even safer To submit quietly to her request Than to urge the generous Romance of her temper to new Workings. He undertook Meantime to keep a constant watch Upon the motions of Bellamy, to Make sedulous inquiries into his Character and situation in life And to find out for what A sensible purpose he was in Hampshire, in treating leave to Communicate constantly to Camilla What he might gather, and to See from time to time upon what Measures should be pursued, yet Ultimately confessing that if Eugenia did not steadily persist In refusing any further rejections He should hold himself bound and Conscience to communicate the Whole to Mr. Tyrell. Camilla was pleased and even Thankful for the extreme friendliness And kind moderation of this Arrangement. Yet she left him Mournfully in a confirmed Belief his regard for the whole Company was equal. Eugenia Much gratified promise she would Henceforth take no step with Which Eggers should not be first Acquainted.