 6 CHAPTER XVI. The next morning as Camilla had accompanied Mrs. Arlberry in earnest discourse from her chamber to the hall, she heard the postman say, Miss Tyrold, as he gave in a letter. She seized it, saw the handwriting of Lionel, and ran eagerly into the parlor which was empty to read it, in some hopes it would at least contain an acknowledgment of the draft that might be shunned to Sir Sedley and relieve her from the pain of continuing the principle in such an affair. The letter, however, was merely a sportive rhapsody, beginning, my dear Lady Clarendale, desiring her favor and protection and telling her he had done what he could for her honor by adding two trophies to the victorious car of Hyman, driven by the happy baronette. Holy at a loss how to act, she sat ruminating over this letter till Mrs. Arlberry opened the door. Having no time to fold it, and dreading her seeing the first words, she threw her handkerchief which was then in her hand over it upon the table, hoping presently to draw it away unperceived. "'My dear friend,' said Mrs. Arlberry, "'I am glad to see you a moment alone. Do you know anything of Mandelbear?' "'No,' answered she, affrighted, lest any evil had happened. "'Did he not take leave of you at the rooms the other night?' "'Leave of me? Is he gone anywhere?' "'He has left Tunbridge,' Camilla remained stupefied. "'Left it?' she continued, without the poor civility of a call, to ask you if you had any letters or messages for Hampshire.' Camilla colored high. She felt to her heart this evident coldness, and she knew it to be still more market than Mrs. Arlberry could divine, for he was aware she wished particularly to speak with him, and though she had failed in her appointment, he had not inquired why. "'And this is the man for whom you would relinquish all mankind. This is the grateful character who is to render you insensible to everybody?' The disturbed mind of Camilla needed not this speech. Her debt to Sir Sedley cast wholly upon herself by the thoughtless Lionel, her inability to pay it, the impressive lines the baronet had addressed to her, and the cruel and pointed indifference of anchor, all forcibly united to make her wish at this moment her heart was at her own disposal. In a few minutes, the voice of Sir Sedley, gaily singing, caught her ear. He was entering the hall, the street door being open. She started up. Mrs. Arlberry would have detained her, but she could not endure to encounter him, and without returning his salutation or listening to his address, crossed him in the hall and flew upstairs. There, however, she had scarcely taken breath when she recollected the letter which she had left upon the table, and which the afflicting intelligence that Eger had quitted Tunbridge had made her forget she had received. In a terror immeasurable lest her handkerchief should be drawn aside and betray the first line, she redescended the stairs and hastily entered the room. Her shock was then inexpressible. The handkerchief, which her own quick motion in retiring had displaced, was upon the floor. The letter was in full view. The eyes of Sir Sedley were fixed upon his own name with a look indefinable between pleasure and impertinence, and Mrs. Arlberry was laughing with all her might. She seized the letter and was running away with it when Mrs. Arlberry slipped out of the room, and Sir Sedley, shutting the door, half-archely, half-tenderly repeated from the letter, �My dear Lady Clarendale� In perfect agony she hid her face exclaiming, �Oh, Lionel, my foolish, cruel brother!� �Not foolish, not cruel, I think him�, cried Sir Sedley, taking her hand. �But amiable, he has done honour to my name, and he will use it, I hope, henceforth, as his own.� �Forget, forget his flippancy� cried she, withdrawing impatiently her hand, �and pardon his sister�s breach of engagement for this morning, I hope soon, very soon to repair it, and I hope� she did not know what to add. She stopped, stammered, and then endeavoured to make her retreat. �Don�t go� cried he, gently detaining her. �Incomparable, Camilla, I have a thousand things to say to you, will you not hear them? �No� cried she, disengaging herself. �No, no, no, I can hear nothing!� �Do you fascinate, then?� said he, half-reproachfully, like the rattlesnake, only to destroy. �Camilla conceived this as alluding to her recent encouragement, and stood trembling with expectation it would be followed by a claim upon her justice. But Sir Sedley, who was far from any meaning so pointed, lightly added, �What thus agitates the fairest of creatures? Can she fear a poor captive entangled in the witchery of her loveliness, and only the more enslaved the more he struggles to get free? �Let me go� cried she, eager to stop him. �I beseech you, Sir Sedley� �All-beautious, Camilla� said he, retreating, yet still so as to intercept her passage. �Am I bound to submit? But when may I see you again?� �At any time� replied she hastily, �only let me pass now� �At any time, adorable, Camilla, be it then, tonight, be it this evening, be it at noon, be it� �No, no, no, no� cried she, panting with shame and alarm. �I do not mean at any time. I spoke without thought. I mean, speak so ever and anon� cried he, �if thought is my enemy, this evening then�. He stopped as if irresolute how to finish his phrase, but soon added, �Adu� to this evening, �Adu�� and opened the door for her to pass. Triumph,� said in his eye, exaltation spoke in every feature, yet his voice betrayed constraint, and seemed checked as if from fear of entrusting it with his sentiments. The fear, however, was probably not of diffidence with respect to Camilla, but of indecision with regard to himself. Camilla, almost sinking with shame, now hung back from a dread of leaving him in this dangerous delusion. She sat down, and in a faltering voice said, �Sir, sadly, hear me, I beg�. �Hur, you� cried he, gallantly casting himself at her feet. �Yes, from the fervent rays of the sun to the mild luster of the moon, from�. A loud knock at the street door and a ringing at the same time at the bell made him rise, meaning to shut again the door of the parlor, but he was prevented by the entrance of a man into the hall, calling out in a voice that reached to every part of the house, and expressed for Ms. Camilla Tyrold. Camilla started up, concluding at some strange intelligence concerning Edgar, but a letter was put into her hand, and she saw it was the writing of Lavinia. It was short, but most affectionate. It told her that news was just arrived from the Continent, which gave reason for hourly expectation of their cousin Linmir at Cleves, in consequence of which Sir Hugh was assembling all the family to receive him. She was then, with her father, going thither from Etherington, where the restored health of her uncle had for a week pass enabled them to reside, and she was ordered to send off and express to Tunbridge to beg Camilla would prepare immediately for the post-chase of Sir Hugh, which would be sent for her with the Cleves housekeeper and reach Mount Pleasant within a few hours after this notice. A hundred questions assailed Camilla when she had run over this letter, the noise that they expressed having brought Mrs. Albury and the dentals into the parlor. She produced the letter, and putting it in the hands of Mrs. Albury relieved her painful confusion by quitting the room without again, meaning the eyes of Sir Sedley. She could make no preparation, however, for her journey from mingled desire and fear of an explanation with the baronet before her departure. Again therefore in a few minutes she went down, gathering courage from the horror of a mistake that might lead to so much mischief. She found only Mrs. Albury in the parlor, involuntarily staring, where, she cried, is Sir Sedley. He is gone, answered Mrs. Albury, laughing at her urnuses, but no doubt you will soon see him at Cleves. Then I am undone, cried she, bursting into tears and running back to her chamber. Mrs. Albury instantly followed and kindly inquired what disturbed her. Oh, Mrs. Albury, she cried, lend me, I beseech you, some aid and spare me in pity your railery. Sir Sedley, I fear greatly, mistakes me, set him right, I conjure you. Me, my dear, and do you think if some happy fatality is at work at this moment to force you to your good, I will come forth like your evil genius to counteract its operations? I must write then, yet in this haste this confusion I fear to involve rather than extricate myself. Eh, right by all means, there is nothing so prettily forwards these affairs as a correspondence between the parties undertaken to put an end to them. She went, laughing, out of the chamber, and Camilla, who had seized a pen, distressfully flung it from her. What indeed could she say? He had made no direct declaration, she could give therefore no direct repulse, and though, through her brother's cruel want of all consideration, she was so deeply in his debt, she durst no longer promise its discharge, for the strange departure of Edgar robbed her of all courage to make to him her mediated application. Yet, to leave Sir Sedley in this error was every way terrible, if, which still seemed very possible from his manner and behavior, he should check his partiality and make the whole of what had passed and in mere public place gallantry, she must always have the mortification to know he had considered her as ready to accept him. If on the contrary, encouraging what he felt for her from the belief she returned his best opinion, he should seriously demand her hand, how could she justify the apparent attention she once paid him, and how a search, also hopelessly his debtor, the independence to reject one who so many ways seemed to hold himself secure. She was broken in upon by Mrs. Mitten, who entered fun of lamentation at the intelligence she had just heard from Miss Dennell of her sudden departure, which she ended with, but as you were going in such haste, my dear, you must have fifty things to do, so pray now, let me help you, come, what shall I pack for you, where's all your things? Camilla incapable of doing any business for herself, accepted the offer. Well, then, now, where's your gowns? Bless me! What a one is here, why it's been in the dew, and then in the dust, and then in the dew again, till all the bottom must be cut off. Why you can never shoe it amongst your friends? It will quite bring a disgrace upon poor Tunbridge. Come, I think you must give it to me. I've got a piece of muslin just like it, and I can piece it so that it won't appear, but it will never do for you again. Camilla was surprised, but her mind was filled with other matters, and the gown was put apart. What? Are those all your neck-hankerchiefs? Why, my dear, Miss Tyrold, that's the thing you want very bad indeed. Why, here's one you can never wear again. It wants more darning than is worth. Camilla said she should have very good time to mend it at home. But then, my dear, you don't consider what a bad look that will have amongst your friends. What will they think of poor Tunbridge that you should have let it go so far? Why, maybe they'll never let you come again. The best way will be not to let them see it. Suppose I'd take it off your hands. I dare say they don't know your count. At any other time Camilla would have either resisted these seizures or have been diverted by the pretence that they were made only for her own benefit. But she was now glad at any rate to get rid of the care of the package. When this was over, and Mrs. Mitten had pretty well paid herself for her trouble. Well, my dear, she cried, and what can I do for you next? Have you paid Mrs. Tilden and Mr. Doust and Mr. Tent? These were questions that indeed roused Camilla from her reverie. She had not once thought of what she owed to the millner, to her shoemaker, nor to her haberdasher, from all of whom she had now through the hands of Mrs. Mitten, had various articles. She thanked her for reminding her of so necessary an attention and said she would immediately send for the bills. I'll run and pay them for you myself, said Mrs. Mitten, for they always take that kind. And as I recommended them all to you, I have a right they should know how I stand their friend, for there's many an odd service they may do me in return. So I'll go with you with all my heart. Let me give me the money. Camilla took out her purse in which from her debt to Sir Sedley and perpetually current expenses there now remained but fifteen shillings of her borrowed five guineas, though latterly she had wholly denied herself whatever did not seem an expense unavoidable. What to do? She now knew not, for though all she had ordered had been trifling, she was sure it must amount to four or five guineas. She had repeatedly refused to borrow anything more of Mrs. Albury, always hoping every call for money would be the last. But she was too inexperienced to know that in gay circles and public places the demands for wealth are endless and countless, and that economy itself, which is always local, is there lavish and extravagant compared to its character in private scenes and retired life. Yet this was the last moment to apply to Mrs. Albury upon such a subject, since it would be endowing her with fresh arms to fight the cause of Sir Sedley. She sat still and ruminating till Mrs. Mitten, who without scruple had taken a full inventory of the contents of the purse, exclaimed, La, my dear, why, I sure hope that in all you got left. Camilla was feigned to confess she had nothing more at Tunbridge. Well, don't be uneasy, my dear, cried she, and I'll go to them all and be cautioned for you till you get the money. Camilla thanked her very sincerely and again resumed her first opinion of her real good nature and kindness of heart. She took her direction in London with her she was soon to return and promised in a short time to transmit the money for her to distribute as every one of the shopkeepers went to the Metropolis in the winter. Delighted both with the praise and the commission, Mrs. Mitten took leave and Camilla determined to employ her next quarter's allowance in paying these debts and frankly to beg from her uncle the five guineas that were due to Mrs. Albury. She then wrote an affectionate adieu to Mrs. Burlington in treating to hear from her at Etherington and while she was sealing it, Mrs. Albury came to embrace her as the carriage was at the door. Camilla in making her acknowledgments for the kindness she had received intermingled a petition that at least she would not augment if she refused to clear the mistake of Sir Sidley. I believe he may safely, she answered, be left to himself, though it is plain that at this moment he is in a difficulty as great as your own. For marriage he still resists, though he finds you resistless. I wish you mutually to be parted till whom parted me, my fair friend, your understandings are mutually cleared, and he is divested of what is too facetious and you of what is too artless. Your situation is indeed rather whimsical for the two mortals with whom you have to deal required treatment diametrically opposite, yet humor them a little adroitly and you presently gain them both. He that is proud must be distanced, he that is vain must be flattered. This is paying them with their own coin, but they hold no other to be current. Pride if not humbled degenerates into contempt, vanity if not indulge dissolves into indifference. Camilla disclaimed taking any measures with respect to either, but Mrs. Albury insisted the field would be won by Sir Sidley, who was already, she cried, persuaded you have for some time encouraged him, and that now you are fully propitious. Camilla hastily interrupted her. Oh, Mrs. Albury, she cried, I cannot endure this, add not to my disturbance by making it my own work. She then embraced her, took leave of the denals, and with the housekeeper of Sir Hugh set out from Tumbridge for cleaves. of Chapter 16. Book 7, Chapters 1 and 2 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 Velwest. Camilla or A Picture of Youth by Fanny Burney. Book 7, Chapter 1, The Right Style of Arguing. Camilla was received with the most tender joy by all her family, again reassembled at cleaves to welcome the return of young Lin-Mir, who was expected every hour. Sir Hugh, perfectly recovered from his late illness and busy, notwithstanding all remonstrance, in preparation for the approaching nuptials, was in spirits that exhilarated whoever saw him. Eugenia awaited that event with gentleness, though with varying sensations. From fears, lest her personal misfortunes should prove repulsive to Claremont, and from wishes to find him resembling Melmond in talents, and Bellamy in passion and constancy. Dr. Orkborn gave now his lessons with redoubled aciduity, from an ambition to produce to the scholastic traveler a phenomenon of his own workmanship in a learned young female. Nor were his toils less ready nor less pleasant, for a secret surmise they would shortly end, though not till honour should be united with independence for his recompense. But Miss Margilland fretted that this wedding would advance no London journey, and Indiana could not for a moment recover from her indignation that the deformed and ugly Eugenia, though two years younger than herself, should be married before her. LaVinia had no thought but for the happiness of her sister, and Mr. Tyrold lamented the absence of his wife, who, alike from understanding and affection, was the only person to properly superintend this affair, but from whom Dr. Marchmont just arrived, brought very faint hopes of a speedy return. Eugenia, however, was not the sole care of her father at this period. The continents of Camilla soon betrayed to his inquiring eyes the inefficacy of the Tunbridge journey. But he forebore all question, and left to time or her choice to unravel if new incidents kept alive her inquietude, or, if no incident at all, had been equally prejudicial to her repose. Two days after, while Camilla, still astonished by no news nor sight of Edgar, was sitting with her sisters, and recounting to them her late adventures and present difficulties with Sir Sedley Clarendale, Jacob brought her, in its own superb birdcage, the learned Little Bullfinch, telling her it had been delivered to him without any message by a man who said she had left it, by mistake, at Tunbridge, whence he had orders to follow her with it to Cleaves Park. She was much provoked, thus to receive it. Mrs. Albury had pressed her to take it in her uncle's chaise, which she had firmly refused, and she now concluded this method was adopted, that Sir Sedley might imagine she detained it as his gift. In drawing out, soon after the receptacle for the bird's nourishment, she perceived, written with a pencil upon the wood, these words, Though art gone then, fair fugitive, ah, at least fly only where thou mayest be pursued. This writing had not been visible till the machine was taken out to be replenished. She recollected the hand of Sir Sedley, and was now sure it was sent by himself, and could no longer therefore doubt his attentions being serious. With infinite perplexity she consulted with her sisters, but when candidly she had related that, once to her never-ending regret, she had apparently welcomed his civillities. Eugenia pronounced her rectitude to be engaged by that error as strongly as her gratitude by the preservation of her life, and the extraordinary service done to Lionel, not to reject the young baronet should he make his proposals. She heard this opinion with horror. Timid shame, and the counsel of her father united to impede her naming the internal obstacle which she felt to be insurmountable, and, while casting up in silence her appealing eyes to heaven for relief from the intricacy in which she found herself involved, she saw Lionel galloping into the park. She flew to meet him, and he dismounted, and led his horse to walk with her. She flattered herself, she might now represent the mischief he was doing, and obtained from him some redress, but he was more wild and impractical than ever. Well, my dear girl, he cried. When are all those betterings and worsings to take place? Numps has sent for me to see poor little Greek and Latin hobble to the altar, but to the million to one if our noble baronet does not whisk you there before her. He's a charming fellow, Faith. I had a good long confab with him this morning. This morning? I hope then you were so good, so just as to tell him when you mean to pay the money you have borrowed? My dear child, I often think you were born but yesterday, only by some accident you came into the world like Minerva grown up and ready dressed. What makes you think I mean to pay him? Have I given him any bond? A bond? Is that necessary to justice and honour? If I had asked the money you are right, my dear, I ought then certainly to refund. But as it now stands, it is his own affair. I have nothing to do with it, except indeed receiving the dear little golden boys and making marry with them. Oh, phi, Lionel, phi! Why, what did I to do with it? Do you think he would care one fig if he saw me sunk to the bottom of the Red Sea? No, my dear, no. You are the little debtor, so balance your accounts for yourself, and don't cast them upon your poor neighbours who have full enough to settle of their own. Camilla was thunderstruck. And have you been so cruel, she cried, seeing the matter in such a light to place me in such a predicament? Cruel, my dear girl, what will it cost you, except dimple or two the more? And don't you know you always look best when you smile? I assure you, it's a mercy he don't see you when you are giving me one of your lectures. It disfigures you so horribly that he take fright and never speak to you again. What can I ever say to make you hear me or feel for me? Tell me at least what has passed this morning and assure me that nothing new, nothing yet worse has occurred. Oh no, nothing at all. All is in the ferris train possible. I daresay he'll come hither upon the grand question before sunset. Camilla gasped for breath and was some time before she could ask whence he drew such a conclusion. Oh, because I see he's in for it. I have a pretty good eye, my dear. He said, too, he had such a prodigious friendship, I think he called it, for you that he was immeasurably happy and all that, to be of the least service to your brother, a fine fellow upon my word, a fine generous spark as ever I saw. He charged me to call upon him freely when I had any little embarrassment or difficulty or was hard run or things of that sort. He's a fine buck, I tell you, and knows the world perfectly that I promise you. He's none of your drivelers, none of your ignoramuses. He has the true notion of things. He's just a right friend for me. You could not have made a better match. Camilla, in the most solemn manner, protested herself disengaged in thought, word, and deed, and declared her fixed intention so to continue. But he only laughed at her declarations, calling them maidenly fibs and assuring her the young baronet was so much in earnest she might as well be sincere as not. Besides, he added, it is not fair to trifle where a man behaves so handsomely and honorably. Consider the two hundred pounds. I shall quite lose my senses, Lionel, cried she in an agony. I shall quite lose my senses if you speak in this manner. Lionel shouted aloud, Why, my dear girl, what is two hundred pounds to serve, said Lee Clarendale? You talk as if he had twenty pound a year for pin money like you and levinia that might go with half a crown a year if good old numbs did not help you. Why, he's as rich as crisis, child. Besides, he would have been quite affronted if I had talked of pain him such a trifle for he offered me anything I pleased. Oh, he knows the world, I promise you. He's none of your starched pricks. He knows life, my dear. He said he could perfectly conceived how hard it must be to a lad of spirit like me to be always exact. I don't know that I ever made a more agreeable acquaintance in my life. Camilla was in an agitation that made him regard her for a moment with serious surprise. But his natural levity soon resumed its post, and laughing at himself for being nearly, he said, taken in by her childish freaks, he protested he would bite no more. For, after all, you must not think to make a fool of me, my dear, it won't do. I'm too knowing. Do you suppose if he had not already made up his mind to the noose and was not sure you had made up yours to letting it be tied, he would have cared for poor me in my scrapes? Oh, no, no. Whatever he does for me, before you are married, you may sit down in your own memorandum book. Whatever he may please to do afterwards, I'm content should be charged to poor, filled garlic. He then bid her good morrow by the name of Lady Clarendale, and said he would go see if little Greek and Latin were as preposterous approved about young Lindmere. Camilla remained almost petrified with amazement at her own situation, and only was deterred from immediately opening her whole heart and affairs to her father with the confidence to which his indulgence entitled him by the impossibility of explaining her full distress without betraying her brother. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 A Council The next morning Camilla eager to try once more her influence with her brother accompanied him into the park and renewed her remonstrances, but with no better success, and while they were passing by a private gate that opened to the high road, they saw Sir Sedley Clarendale driving by in his feyotone. Lionel, bursting from his sister, opened the gate, called to Sir Sedley to give his reins to one of his servants, and brought him not unwilling, though much surprised, into the park. Camilla, in dismay unspeakable at this conduct and the idea of such a meeting, had run forward instantly to hide herself in the summer house to avoid repassing the gate in her way to the mansion, but her scheme was more precipitate than wise. Lionel caught a glance of her gown as she went into the little building and shouted aloud, Sir Sedley, there's Camilla making believe to run away from you. Oh, fair fugitive! cried the baronet, springing forward, and entering the summer house almost as soon as herself. Fly only thus where you may be pursued! Camilla, utterly confounded, knew not where to cast her eyes, where to hide her face, and her quick changing color and short heaved breath manifested an excess of confusion that touched, flattered, and penetrated the baronet so deeply and so suddenly as to put him off from all guard of consequences and all recollection of matrimonial distaste. Beautiful, resistless Camilla, he cried. How vain is it to struggle against your wittery! Assure me but of your clemency, and I will adore the chains that shackle me! Camilla, wholly overcome by sorrow, gratitude, repentance, and shame, sunk upon a chair, and shed a torrent of tears that she even sought not to restrain. The shock of refusing one to whose error in believing himself acceptable she had largely contributed, or the horror of yielding to him her hand, while her heart was in the possession of another, made her almost wish at this moment he should divine her distress that his own pride might conclude it. But far different from what would produce such an effect were the feelings of pride now working in his bosom. He imagined her emotion had its source and causes the softest and most flattering. Every personal obstacle sunk before this idea, and with a seriousness in his manner he had not yet used. This evening, lovely Camilla, he cried. Let me beg, for this evening the audience accorded me upon that which I lost at Tonbridge. He was then going, but Camilla hastily rising, cried, Sir Sedley, I beseech! When Lionel, capering into the little apartment, danced around it in mad ecstasy, chanting, Lady Clarendale, Lady Clarendale, my dear Lady Clarendale! Camilla now was not confused alone. Sir Sedley himself could gladly have pushed him out of the building, but neither the looks of surprise and provocation of the baronet, nor the prayers, nor reprimands of Camilla could tame his wild transport. He shook hands, whether he would or not, with the one he bowed most obsequiously, whether she would regard him or not to the other, and still chanting the same burden made a clamour that shook the little edifice to its foundation. The strong taste for ridicule that was a prominent part of the character of Sir Sedley was soon conquered by this ludicrous behaviour, and both his amazement and displeasure ended in a hearty fit of laughter. But Camilla suffered too severely to join in the mirth. She blushed for her brother, she blushed for herself. She hung her head in speechless shame and covered her eyes with her hand. The noisy merriment of Lionel preventing any explanation, though rendering it every moment more necessary, Sir Sedley repeating his request for the evening took leave. Camilla looked upon his departing in this manner as her sentence of misery, and was pursuing him to decline the visit, but Lionel, seizing her two hands, swung her round the room in defiance of her even angry expostulations and sufferings, which he neither credited nor conceived, and then skipped after the baronet himself who was already out of the park. She became now nearly frantic. She thought herself irretrievably in the power of Sir Sedley, and by means so forced and indelicate that she was scarcely more afflicted at the event than shocked by its certainness. And though incapable to really harbor anger against a brother she sincerely loved, she yet believed at this moment she never should forgive nor willingly see him more. In this state she was found by LaVenia. The history was inarticulately told, but LaVenia could give only her pity. She saw not any avenue to an honorable retreat and thought, like Eugenia, she could now only free herself by the breach of what should be dearer to her, even than happiness, her probidity and honour. Utterly inconsolable she remained, till again she heard the voice of Lionel loudly singing in the park. Go to him! Go to him, my dearest LaVenia! She cried, and if my peace is dear to you, prevail with him to clear up the mistakes of Sir Sedley and prevent his dreaded, killing visit this evening. LaVenia only answered by compliance, but after an half-hours useless contest with her riotous brother returned to her weeping sister, not merely successless with regard to her petition, but loaded with fresh ill tidings that she knew not how to impart. Lionel had only laughed at the repugnance of Camilla, which he regarded as something between childishness and affectation, and begged LaVenia to be wiser than to heed it. Brother Sedley has desired me, however, he added, not to speak of the manner to numbs nor my father, till he has had a little more conversation with his charmer, and he intends to call to-night, as if only upon a visit to me. When Camilla learned at length this painful end of her embassy, she gave herself up so completely to despair that LaVenia, affrightened, ran to the house for Eugenia, whose extreme youth was no impediment in the minds of her liberal sisters to their belief nor reverence of her superior wisdom. Her species of education had early prepossessed them with respect for her knowledge, and her unaffected fondness for study had fixed their opinion of her extraordinary understanding. The goodness of her heart, the evenness of her temper, and her natural turn to contemplation had established her character a light for sanctity and for her philosophy throughout the family. She listened with a sincerest commissuration to the present state of the case. Certainly, she cried, you cannot in honour now refuse him, but deal with him sincerely, and he may generously himself relinquish his claims. Right to him, my dear Camilla, tell him you grieve to afflict, yet disdain to deceive him. Assure him of your perfect esteem and eternal gratitude, but confess at once your heart refuses to return his tenderness. Intreat him to forgive whatever he may have mistaken, and nobly to restore to you the liberty of which your obligations, without his consent, must rob you. To LaVenia this advice appeared infallible, but Camilla, though she felt an entanglement which fettered herself, thought it by no means sufficiently direct or clear to authorize a rejection of Sir Sedley. Since, strangely, as she seemed in his power, circumstances had placed her there, and not his own solicitation. Yet to prevent a visit of which her knowledge seemed consent, and which her consent must be most seriously to authorize, she deemed as indispensable to her character as to her fears. She hesitated, therefore, not a moment in preferring writing to a meeting, and, after various conversations and various essays, the following billet was dispatched to Clarendale place through the means of Molly Mill and, by her friend, Tommy Hodd. To Sir Sidley Clarendale. I should ill return what I owe to Sir Sidley Clarendale by causing him any useless trouble I can spare him. He spoke of a visit hither this evening when I was too much hurried to represent that it could not be received, as my brother's residence is at Etherington, and my father and my uncle have not the honor to be known to Sir Sidley. For me, my gratitude must ever be unalterable, and where accident occasions a meeting I shall be most happy to express it, but I have nothing to say, nothing to offer, that could recompense one moment of Sir Sidley's time given voluntarily to such a visit. Camilla Tyrold. Ill as this letter satisfied her she could devise nothing better, but, though her sisters had both thought it too rigorous, she would not risk anything gentler. During the dinner they all appeared absent and dejected, but Sir Hugh attributed it to the non-arrival of Claremont, in watching for whom his own time was completely occupied, by examining two weather-cocks and walking from one to the other to see if they agreed or how they changed. Indiana was wholly engrossed in consultations with Miss Margland upon the most becoming dress for a bridesmaid, and Mr. Tyrold, having observed that his three girls had spent the morning together, concluded Camilla had divulged to them her unhappy perplexity, and felt soothed himself in considering she had soothers so affectionate and faithful. Early in the evening Tommy Hyde arrived, and Molly Mill brought Camilla the following answer of Sir Sidley. To Miss Camilla Tyrold. What in this lower sphere can be unchecked, when even a correspondence with the most lovely of her sex brings alarm with its velocity? Must I come, then, to Cleave's fair insensible, but as a visitor to Mr. Lionel? Have you taken a captive only to see him in fetters? A lord of victim merely to behold him bleed? Tomorrow at least, permit the audience that today has denied, and at your feet, let your slave receive his doom. Sidley Clarendale. Camilla turned cold. She shrunk from her remonstrance, she conceived she had merited, and regarded herself to be henceforth either culpable or unhappy. Unaquainted with the feminine indulgence which the world, by long prescription, grants to coquetry, its name was scarcely known to her, and she saw, in its own native egotism, the ungenerous desire to please, where she herself was indifferent, and anticipated from Sir Sidley reproach, if not contempt. No sophistications of custom had warped the first innocence of her innate sense of right, and to trifle with the feelings of another for any gratification of her own, made success bring a blush to her integrity, not exaltation to her vanity. The words victim and bleeding much affected the tender Lavinia, while those of fetters, captive and insensible, satisfied the heroic Eugenia that Sir Sidley deserved the hand of her sister, but neither of them spoke. You say nothing, cried Camilla, turning paler and paler, and sitting down lest she should fall? They both wept and embraced her, and Eugenia said, if indeed she could not conquer her aversion, she saw no way to elude the baronet, but by openly confessing her repugnance in the conversation he demanded. Camilla saw not less strongly the necessity of being both prompt and explicit, but how received Sir Sidley at cleaves and upon what pretense converse with him privately. Even Lionel the next day was to return to the university, though his presence, if he stayed, would in all probability but add to every difficulty. At length they decided that the conference should take place at the Grove, and to prevent the threatened visit of the next day, Camilla wrote the following answer. To Sir Sidley Clarendale I should be grieved indeed to return my obligations to Sir Sidley Clarendale by mariting his serious reproach. Yet I cannot have the honor of seeing him at cleaves, since my brother is immediately quitting it for Oxford. As soon as I hear Mrs. Arlberry is again at the Grove, I shall wait upon her, and always be most happy to assure Sir Sidley of my gratitude, which will be as lasting as it is sincere, Camilla Tirelde. Though wretched in this strange state of things, she knew not how to word her letter more positively, since his own, notwithstanding its inferences, had so much more the style of florid gallantry than plain truth. Molly Mill undertook that Tommy Hodge should carry it early the next morning. Lionel was so enraged at the non-appearance of the young Baronet at night that Camilla was compelled to confess she had promised to see him and to give him his answer at Mrs. Arlberry's. He was out of humor nonetheless, lest Sir Sidley should be affronted by the delay and feared that the best match in the whole county would prove abortive from his sister's foolish trimmings and silly ignorance of life. End of Chapter 2 Book 7 chapters 3 and 4 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 Velwest. Camilla or A Picture of Youth by Fanny Burney. Book 7 chapters 3 and 4. Chapter 3 A Proposal of Marriage The increasing depression of Camilla and the melancholy of her sympathizing sisters, though still attributed to the adverse win by the compass-watching Baronet, escaped not the notice of Mr. Tyrold, who alarmed for the peace of his daughter, determined to watch for the first quiet opportunity of investigating her actual situation. Lionel, after breakfast the next morning, was obliged to relinquish waiting for Claremont and to set off for Oxford. He contrived to whisper to Camilla that he hoped she would be a good girl at last, and not play the fool. But finding she only sighed, he laughed at her calamitous state in becoming mistress of fifteen thousand per annum, only by the small trouble of running over a short ceremony, and assuring her he would assist her off with part of the charge if it were too heavy for her, bid her inform him in time of the propitious day. Camilla shortly after saw from her window, galloping full speed across the park to the house, major Sir Wood. She suspected her tormenting brother to have been again at work, nor was she mistaken. He had met with the major at the hotel at Tumbridge, while his spirits, always violent, were in a state of almost intoxication of delight, at the first idea of such an accession to his powers of amusement as a new brother rolling in immense wealth, which he already considered as nearly at his own disposal. High wrought, therefore, for what he deemed good sport, he confirmed what he had asserted at the ball at Northwick of the expectations of Camilla from Sir Hugh by relating the public fact of her having been announced to the family and neighbourhood for his uncle's heiress at ten years of age, and only sinking in his account the revocation made so soon after in favour of Eugenia. To this he added his advice that no time was to be lost as numberless new suitors were likely to pursue her from Tumbridge. The major, upon alighting, inquired for Sir Hugh, deeming Mr Tyreld of little consequence, since it was not from him Camilla was to inherit her fortune. The baronet, as usual, was watching the winds and the clouds, but concluding whoever came would bring some news from Claremont, received the major with the utmost cordiality, saying, Sir, you are a stranger by which I suppose you to be just come from abroad, where I hope you left all well? I'm just come, sir, answered the major from Tumbridge, where I had the honour, through my acquaintance with Mrs Arlbury, of meeting daily with your charming niece. An honour, sir, which must cause all the future happiness or misery of my life. He then made a declaration in form of the most ardent passion for Camilla, mentioned his family, which was an honourable one, talked of his expectations with confidence, though vaguely, and desired to leave the disposition of the settlement holy to the baronet who he hoped would not refuse to see his elder brother a gentleman of fortune in Lincolnshire who would have the honour to wait upon him at any time he would be so good as to appoint upon this momentous affair. Sir Hugh heard this harangue with consternation. The major was in the prime of his life. His person was good, his speech was florid, his air was assured, and his regimentals were gay. Not a doubt of his success occurred to the baronet who saw in one blow the darling scheme of his old age demolished in the deprivation of Camilla. The major impatiently waited for an answer, but Sir Hugh was too much disordered to frame one. He walked up and down the room muttering in a desponding mariner to himself, Lord help us, what a set of poor weak mortals we are, we poor men, the best schemes and plans in the world always coming to nothing before we can bring them about. I'll never form another while I live for the sake of this one warning. Nobody knows next but what Claremont will be carrying off Eugenia to see foreign parts. And then come some other of these rash coats to take away Indiana, and after doing all for the best so long I may be left alone, except just for Mrs. Marlin and the Doctor, that I don't take much pleasure in, Lord help me, except the Christian which I hope is no sin. At length, endeavouring to compose himself, he sat down and said, So you are come, Sir, to take away from me my own particular little niece, which is a hard thing upon an uncle, intending her to live with him. However, I don't mean to find fault, but I can tell you this one thing, Sir, which I beg you to remember, which is, if you don't make her happy, you'll break my heart, for she's what I love the best in the world, little as I've made it appear by not leaving her a shilling, for which sake, however, I can't but respect you the more for coming after her, instead of Eugenia. Sir, cried the major, amazed. The other two chups, continued he, that came about us not long ago, wanted to make their court to Eugenia and Indiana, as well as another, that came to the house when I was ill in the same coat as yourself, by what I can gather from the description. But never a one has come to Camilla yet, except yourself, because my brother can spare her but a trifle, having another young girl to provide for, besides Lionel, which is the most expensive of them all, poor boy, never having enough by the reason Oxford is so dear, I suppose. The major now wore an air of surprise and uneasiness that Sir Hugh began to observe, but attributed to his unpleasant reception of his proposals. He begged his pardon, therefore, and again assured him of his respect for a choice so little mercenary, which he looked upon as a mark of a good heart. The major, completely staggered and suspecting the information of Lionel to be ill-grounded, if not purposely deluding, entreated his permission to wait upon him again, and offered for the present to take leave. Sir Hugh, in a melancholy voice, said he would first summon his niece, as he could not answer it to his conscience preventing the meeting unless she gave him leave. He then rang the bell and told Jacob to call Camilla. Major Sirwood was excessively distressed. To retreat seemed impossible, yet to connect himself without fortune, when he thought he was addressing a rich heiress, was a turn of fate he scarcely knew how to either support or to parry. All that, in this haste he could resolve, was to let the matter pass for the moment, and then insist upon satisfaction from Lionel, either in clearing up the mistake, or taking upon himself its blame. When Camilla appeared, the disturbance of Sir Hugh still augmented, and he could hardly articulate. My dear, in the case you are willing to leave your family, here's a gentleman come to make his addresses to you. Which I think it right you should know. How I should struggle through it, if I lose you, is more than my poor weak head can tell. For what shall I do without my dear little girl that I thought to make the best comfort of my old age? A witch, however, I beg you not to think of, in case this young captain's more agreeable. Oh, my dear uncle, cried she, your Camilla can never return half the comfort she receives from you. Oh, keep me with you still and ever. I am much obliged to major sirward. I beg him to accept my sincerest thanks, but to pardon me, when I assure him, they are all I have to offer him. Repulse was not new to the major, who, in various country towns, had sought to retrieve his affairs by some prudent connection. His pride, however, had never so little suffered as on the present occasion, for his apprehension of error or imposition had removed from him all thought of even the possibility of a refusal, which now, therefore, unexpectedly and joyfully, obviated his embarrassment, and enabled him to quit the field by an honourable retreat. He bowed profoundly, called himself, without knowing what he said, the most unhappy of men, and without risking one solicitation or a moment for repentance, hastily took leave with intention immediately to demand an explanation of Lionel. But he had not escaped a mile from the house ere he gave up that design from anticipating the ridicule that might follow it. To require satisfaction for a young lady's want of fortune, however reasonable, would always be derided as ludicrous. He resolved, therefore, quietly to put up with the rejection, and to gather his next documents concerning the portion of a fair damsel from authority better to be relied upon than that of a brother. Sir Hugh for some time discovered not that he had retired. Enchanted by so unexpected a dismission, his favourite scheme of life seemed accorded to him, and he pressed Camilla to his bosom in a transport of joy. We shall live together now, I hope, he cried, without any of these young chaps coming in again to part us. Not that I would object to your marrying, my dear girl, if it was a relation, like Eugenia, or with a neighbour like Indiana, if it had not been for its going off, but to see you taken away from me by a mere stranger coming from distant parts and knowing nothing of any of us is a thing that makes my heart ache but to think of. So I hope it will happen no more, for these trials do no good to my recovery. Turning round, then, with a view to say something conciliatory to the major, he was seriously concerned to find him departed. I cannot say, he cried, I had any intention to send him off so short, his meaning not being bad considering him in the light of a person in love, which is a time when a man has not much thought except for himself, by what I can gather. He then proposed a walk to watch if Clermont were coming. The wind, he acknowledged, was indeed contrary, but he did not doubt upon such a particular occasion his good lad would not mind such difficulties. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 A Bulldog Sir Hugh called upon his other nieces to join him, proposing to stroll to the end of a lane which led to the London Road. Camilla accompanied the party in the most mournful silence. The assuming letter she had received, the interview she should have to sustain, and her apparent dependence upon Sir Sedley, sinking her into complete despondence. When they came to the high road, Sir Hugh made a stop and bid everybody look sharp. A horseman was seen advancing full gallop by his figure he appeared to be young, by his pace in uncommon speed. But him cried Sir Hugh, striking his stick upon the ground and smiling most complacently. I said he would not mind the wind, my dear Eugenia. What's the wind or waves either to a lover, which is a thing, however, that I won't talk about, so don't be ashamed, my dear girl, nobody knowing what we mean. Eugenia looked down deeply coloring, and much regretting the lameness that prevented her running back to avoid so public and discontent seeing a meeting. The horseman now came up to them and was preparing to turn down the lane when, all at once, they perceived him to be Edgar Mandelbeer. He had left Tunbridge in a manner not more abrupt than comfortless. His disappointment in the failure of Camilla at the rooms had been as bitter as his expectations from the promised conference had been animated. When Lionel appeared he inquired if his sister were absent from illness. No, she was only writing a letter? To take this moment for such a purpose, be the letter what it might, seemed sporting with his curiosity and warm interest in her affairs, and he went back mortified and dejected to his lodgings. Where, just arrived by this stage, he found a letter from Dr. Marchmont, acquainting him with his return to his rectory. In this suspensive state of mind, to cast himself upon his sagacious friend seemed to relieve the most desirable. But while considering whether first to claim from Camilla her promised communication, the voice of Lionel issuing from the room of Major Sirwood struck his ears. He darted forth and accompanied the youth to his horse, who was setting out upon some expedition in the dark, and then received information under the pretense of great secrecy that Major Sirwood was going immediately to ask leave of absent and proceed straight to Hampshire with his final proposals of marriage with Camilla. He now concluded this was the subject upon which she had meant to consult with him. But delicacy, pride, and hope all combated his interference. He determined even to avoid her till the answer should be given. I must owe her hand, cried he, to her heart, not to a contest such as this, and if impartiality and unbiased the Major is refused, no farther cruel doubt, no torturing hesitation shall keep me another minute from her feet. With the dawn, therefore, he set out for Hampshire, but fixed to avoid cleaves till he could learn that the Major's visit were over, he devoted his mornings to rides and his evenings to Dr. Marchmont, till now, a mile or two from the park, he had met the Major himself, and concluded the acceptance or the rejection decided. They merely touched their hats as they passed each other, and he instantly took the route which the Major was quitting. In the excess of his tribulation he was galloping past the whole group without discerning one of its figures when Sir Hugh called out, War is young, Mr. Edgar, so now we've walked all this way for nothing, and Claremont may be still at Jericho, or is Rome for anything we know to the contrary. Edgar stopped short. He felt himself shiver at sight of Camilla, but dismounted, gave his horse to his groom, and joined the party. Eugenia, recovering, now fearlessly looked up, but Camilla, struck and affected, shook in every limb, and was forced to hold by Lavinia. Edgar called upon his utmost presence of mind to carry him through what he conceived to be a final trial. He spoke to Sir Hugh, and compelled himself to speak separately to everyone else, but when he addressed Camilla, to whom he said something not very distinctly about Tunbridge, she curtsied to him slightly and turned away without making any answer. Her mind, taken suddenly a quick retrospection of all that had passed between them, presented him to her view as uncertain and delusive, and casting upon him internally the whole odium of her present distress and her feelings were so indignant that in her present desperate state she deemed it beneath her to disguise them, either from himself or the world. Edgar, to whose troubled imagination everything painted his rival, concluded the major had been heard with favour, and his own adverse counsel was now recollected with resentment. Sir Hugh, far more fatigued by his disappointment than by his walk, said he should go no further, and he found it in vain to expect Clermont, and accepted the arm of Edgar to aid his stick in helping him home. Camilla, still leaning upon Levinia, mounted a little bank, which he knew Sir Hugh could not ascend, that she might walk on where Edgar could not join her, involuntarily ejaculating. Levinia, if you would avoid deceit and treachery, look at a man as that a picture, which tells you only the present moment, rely upon nothing of time to come. They are not like us, Levinia. They think themselves free, if they have made no verbal profession, for they may have pledged themselves by looks, by actions, by attentions, and by manners a thousand and a thousand times. Edgar observed her avoidance with the keenest apprehension, and connecting it with her failure at the rooms, imagined the major had now influenced her to an utter aversion of him. Sir Hugh, meanwhile though wholly unheard, related in a low voice to Edgar the history of his preparations for Clermont, begging him, however, to take no notice of them to Eugenia, and then adding, very likely Mr. Edgar, you are just come from Tunbridge, and if so you may have met that young captain that has been with us this morning, who I understand to be a major. Edgar was thrown into the utmost trepidation. The artless openness of Sir Hugh gave him every reason to suppose he should immediately gather full intelligence, and all his peace and all his hopes might hang upon another word. He could only bow to the question, but before Sir Hugh could go on, a butcher's boy, who was riding by from a wanton love of mischief, gave a signal to his attending bulldog to attack the old spaniel that accompanied Sir Hugh. Sustained by his master many a year, the proud old favorite, though unequal to the combat, disdain to fly, and the fierce bulldog would presently have demolished him, had not Edgar, recovering all his vigor from his earnest desire to rescue an animal so dear to Sir Hugh, armed himself with a baronette stick and thrust it dexterously across the jaws of this intended antagonist. Nothing, however, could withstand the fangs of the bulldog. They soon severed it, and again he made at the spaniel. But Edgar rushed between them with no other weapons than the broken fragments of the stick, and while the baronette and eugenia screamed out to old Rover to return to them, and Lavinia, with more readiness of common sense, exerted the fullest powers of which her gentle voice was capable to conjure the wicked boy to call off his dog. Camilla, who was the last to look around at this scene, only turned about as the incensed and disappointed bulldog, missing his object, aimed at Edgar himself. Roused at once from her sullen calm to the most agonizing sensibility, everything and everybody, herself most of all, were forgotten in the sight of his danger, and with a piercing shriek she darted down the bank and arrived at the tremendous spot at the same instant that the more useful exhortations of Lavinia had induced the boy to withdraw the fierce animal, who with all his might and all his fury obeyed the weak whistle of the little urchin he had been bred to love and respect for bringing him his daily food. Camilla perceived not if the danger were impending or over. Gasping, pale, and agitated, she caught Mandelbeer by the arm, and in broken accents half pronounced, Are you hurt? The revulsion that had operated in her mind took now its ample turn in that of Mandelbeer. He could hardly trust his senses, hardly believe he existed, yet he felt the pressure of her hand upon his arm, and saw in her continence terror the most undisguised and tenderness that went straight to his soul. Is it Camilla? he cried, who thus speaks to me. Is not my safety or my destruction alike indifferent to Camilla? Oh no, oh no! cried she, scarce conscious she answered at all till call to recollection by his own changed looks, changed from incredulity and amazement to animation that lighted up every feature to eyes that shot fire, abashed, astonished, ashamed. She precipitantly drew away her hand and sought quietly to retire. But Ager was no longer master of himself. He conceived he was unapinical, whence he could only and without any gradation turn to happiness or despair. He followed her, trembling and uncertain, his joy fading into alarm in her retreat, his hope transforming into apprehension at her resumed coldness of demeanor. Do you repent? he cried, that you have shunned me a little humanity. Will the major, the happy major, be offended you do less than detest me? The major, repeated she, looking back, surprised. Can you think the major has any influence with me? Oh heaven! he cried, what do you say? Enchanted, affrightened, bewildered, yet silent, she hurried on. Edgar could not forget himself more than a moment. He forebore therefore to follow, and, though with a self-denial next to torture, returned to Sir Hugh, to whom his arm was doubly necessary from the scene he had just witnessed, and the loss of his stick. The butcher's boy and his bulldog were decamped, and the baronet and eugenia were rivaling each other and fondling the rescued spaniel and in pouring thanks and praise unlimited upon Edgar. They then walked back as before, and as soon as they re-entered the mansion, the female party went upstairs, and Sir Hugh, warmly shaking Edgar by the hand, said, Oh my dear Edgar, this is one of the happiest days of my life, except just that of my nephews coming over, which it is but right to put before it. But here, first, my dear Camilla's refuse that young captain who would have carried her the Lord knows where, immediately as I make no doubt, and next, I've saved the life of my poor old rover by means of your good nature. Refused, cried Edgar. My dear Sir Hugh, did you say, refused? Sir Hugh innocently gratified him with the repetition of the word, but begged him not to mention it. For fear, he said, it should hurt the young man when he falls in love somewhere else, which I heartily hope he will do soon, poor gentleman, for the sake of its nut fretting him. Miss Camilla then has refused him, again repeated Edgar, with a continence that, to any man but the baronet, must have betrayed his whole soul. Yes, poor gentleman, this very morning, for which I am thankful enough, for what do we know of these young officers, who may all be sent to the East Indies, or Jamaica, every day of their lives, and not but what I have the proper pity for him, which I hope is all that can be expected. Edgar walked about the room in a perturbation of hope, fear, and joy that disabled him from all further appearance of attention. He wished to relate this transaction to Dr. Marchmont, yet dreading any retarding advice. He languished to make Camilla herself the sole mistress of his destiny. The interest she had shown for his safety seemed to admit but one interpretation. And finally he resolved to stay at Cleves till he could meet with her alone. Camilla had not uttered a word after the adventure of the Bulldog. The smallest idea that she could excite the least emotion in Edgar brought a secret rapture to her heart that, at any former period, would alone have suffice to render her happy. But at this instant of entanglement with another, she revolted from the indulgence of such pleasure, and instead of dwelling, as she would have done before, on the look, the accent, the manner that were susceptible by any construction of partiality, she checked every idea that did not represent Edgar as unstable and consistent, and sought with all her power to regard him as Mrs. Albury had painted him, and to believe him except in a few casual moments of caprice insensible and heart of heart. Yet this entanglement, in which scarce knowing how, she now seemed to be entwined with Sir Sedley, grew more and more terrific, and when she considered that her sisters themselves thought her independence gone, and her honor engaged, she was seized with so much wonderment how it had all been brought about, that her understanding seemed to play her false, and she believed the whole a dream. CHAPTER V. An Oak Tree When the sisters were summoned downstairs to dinner, planted at the door, ready to receive them at their entrance, stood Edgar. Lavenia and Eugenia addressed him as usual, but Camilla could not speak, could not return his salutation, could not look at him. She sat hastily down in her accustomed place by her uncle, and even the presence of her father scarcely restrained her tears, as she contrasted the hopeless uncertainties of Edgar with the perilous pursuit of Sir Sedley. Edgar, for the first time, saw her avoidance without suspecting that it flowed from repugnance. The interest she had shown for his safety was still bounding in his breast, and as, from time to time, he stole a glance at her and observed her emotion, his heart whispered in the softest hopes that soon the most perfect confidence would make every feeling reciprocal. But these hopes were not long without alloy. He soon discerned something that far exceeded what could give him pleasure in her perturbation. He read in it not merely hurry and alarm, but suffering and distress. He now ventured to look at her no more. His confidence gave place to pity. He saw she was unhappy, and breathed no present wish but to relieve and console her. When the dessert was served, she was preparing to retire, but she caught the eye of her father, and saw she should not long be alone. She receded herself, therefore, in haste, to postpone at least his scrutiny. Everybody, at length, arose, and Sir Hugh proposed that they should all walk in the park, during his nap, but keep close to the pails, that they might listen for all passengers in case of Clermont's coming. To this, also, Camilla could make no objection, and they set out. She took an arm of each sister, and indulged the heaviness of her heart in not uttering a word. They had not gone far when a servant ran after Mr Tyrault with a packet just arrived by a private hand from Lisbon. He returned to read it in his own room. Lavenia and Eugenia accompanied him to hear its contents, and Camilla, for the first time, seemed the least affectionate of his daughters. She durst not encounter him but in the mixed company of all the house. She told Lavenia to make haste back with the news, and took the arm of Indiana. The compulsion of uninteresting discourse soon became intolerable, and no longer chained to the party by the awe of her father, she presently left Indiana to Miss Marglund, and perceiving that Edgar was conversing with Dr Orkborn, said she would wait for her sisters, and, turning a little aside, sat down upon a bench under a large oak. Here her painful struggle and unwilling forbearance ended. She gave free vent to her tears, and thought herself the most wretched of human beings. She found her heart, her aching heart, more than ever devoted to Mandelbert, filled with this image, revering his virtues, honoring even his coldness, from a persuasion she deserved not his affection, and sighing solely for the privilege to consign herself to his remembrance for life, though unknown to himself and unsuspected by the world. The very idea of Sir Sedley was horror to her. She felt guilty to have involved herself in an intercourse so fertile of danger. She thought over with severest repentance, her short but unjustifiable deviation from the transparent openness and undesigning plainness of conduct, which her disposition, as much as her education, ought to have rendered unchangeable. To that alone was owing all her actual difficulty, for to that alone was owing her own opinion of any claim upon her justice. How dearly, she cried, do I now pay for the unthinking plan with which I risked the peace of another for the re-establishment of my own. She languished to throw herself into the arms of her father, to unbosom to him all her errors and distresses, and owe their extrication to his wisdom and kindness. She was sure he would be unmoved by the glare of a brilliant establishment, and that far from desiring her to sacrifice her feelings to wealth and shoe, he would himself plead against the alliance when he knew the state of her mind, and recommend to her, so circumstanced, the single life in the true spirit of Christian philosophy and moderation. But all was so closely interwoven into the affairs and ill-conduct of her brother, that she believed herself engaged in honour to guard the fatal secret, though hazarding by its concealment, impropriety, and misery. These afflicting reminations were at length interrupted by the sound of feet. She took her handkerchief from her eyes, expecting to see her sisters. She was mistaken, and beheld Mandelbert. She started and rose. She strove to chase the tears from her eyes without wiping them, and asked what he had done with Dr. Orkborn. You are in grief, cried he, in a tone of sympathy. Some evil has befallen you, let me ask. No, I am only waiting for my sisters. They have just received letters from Lisbon. You have been weeping. You are weeping now. Why do you turn away from me? I will not obtrusively demand your confidence yet. Could I give you the most distant idea what a weight it might remove from my mind? You would find it difficult to deny yourself the pleasure of doing so much good. The tears of Camilla now streamed afresh. Words so kind from Edgar, the cold, the hard-hearted Edgar, surprised and oversat her, yet she endeavored to hide her face, and made an effort to pass him. Is not this a little unkind? cried he, gravely. However, I have no claim to oppose you. Unkind, she repeated, and involuntarily turning to him, shewed a countenance so disconsolate that he lost his self-control, and taking a reluctant hand said, Oh, Camilla, torture me no longer. Almost transfixed with astonishment, she looked at him for a moment in a speechless wonder. But the interval shard. The character of Edgar for unalienable steadiness, unalterable honour, was fixed in her mind, like truths from holy writ, and she knew, with certainty incontrovertible, that his fate was at her disposal. From the instant he acknowledged openly her power over his feelings. Every opposite sensation, that with violence the most ungovernable could encounter, but to combat, now met in her bosom, elevating her to rapture, harrowing her with terror, menacing even her understanding. The most exquisite wish of her heart seemed accorded at a period so nearly too late for its acceptance that her faculties, bewildered, confused, deranged, lost the capacity of clearly conceiving if still she were a free agent or not. He saw her excess of disorder with alarm. He sought to draw her again to her seat, but she put her hand upon her forehead, and lent it against the bark of the tree. You will not speak to me, cried he. You will not trust me. Shall I call you cruel? No, for you are not aware of the pain you inflict, the anguish you make me suffer, the generosity of your nature with elves and bidin, impulsively interfere. You suffer, you, cried she, again distressfully, almost incredulously, looking at him, while her hands were uplifted with amazement. I thought you above any suffering, superior to all calamity, almost to all feeling. Ah, Camilla, what thus estranges you from candor? Justice, what is it can prompt you to goad thus a heart which almost from its first beating? He stopped, desirous to check himself. While penetrated his softness, and ashamed of what, in the bitterness of her spirit, she had pronounced, she again melted into tears, and sunk down upon the bench, yet holding out to him one hand, while with the other she covered her face. Forgive me, she cried. I intrigued, for her scars know what I say. Such a speech, and so accompanied, might have the stoicism of an older philosopher than Edgar. He fervently kissed her proffered hand, exclaiming, forgive you, can Camilla use such a word? Has she the slightest care for my opinion, the most remote concern for me, or for my happiness? Farewell, farewell, cried she, hastily drawing away her hand. Go now, I beseech you. What a moment to expect me to depart. Oh, Camilla, my soul's sickens of this suspense. End it, generous Camilla. Beloved as lovely, my heart is all your own, use it gently, and accept it nobly. Every other emotion, now, in the vanquished Camilla, every retrospective fear, every actual regret yielded to the conquering charm of grateful tenderness, and restoring the hand she had withdrawn. Oh, Edgar, she cried. How little can I merit such a gift, yet I prize it far, far beyond all words. The agitation of Edgar was, at first, too mighty and too delicious for speech, but his eyes, now cussed up to heaven, now fixed upon her own, spoke the most ardent yet purest felicity, while her hand, now held to his heart, now pressed to his lips, strove vainly to recover its liberty. Blessed moment, he at length uttered, that finishes forever such misery of uncertainty that gives my life to happiness, my existence to Camilla. Again speech seemed too poor for him. Perfect satisfaction is seldom loquacious, its character is rather tender than gay, and where happiness succeeds abruptly to long solicitude and sorrow, its enjoyment is fearful. It softens rather than exhilarates, sudden joy is sportive, but sudden happiness is awful. The pause, however, that on his side was ecstatic thankfulness, soon became mixed, on that of Camilla, with confusion and remorse, surcedly returned to her memory, and with him every reflection and every apprehension, that most cruelly could sully such trembling, though nearly gratified hope. The cloud that so soon dimmed the transient radiance of her countenance was instantly perceived by Edgar, but as he was beginning the most anxious inquiries, the two sisters approached, and Camilla, whose hand he then relinquished, rushed forward and, throwing her arms around their necks, wept upon their bosons. Sweet sisters! cried Edgar, embracing them all three in one. Long may he thus enduringly entwine each other in the sacred links of affectionate affinity. Where shall I find our common father? Where is Mr. Tyrold? The amazed sisters could with difficulty answer that he was with their uncle, to whom he was communicating news from their mother. Edgar looked tenderly at Camilla, but, perceiving her emotion, forebored to speak to her, though he could not deny himself the pleasure of snatching one kiss of the hand which hung down upon the shoulder of Eugenia. He then whispered to both the sisters, You will not, I trust, be my enemies, and hurry to the house. What can this mean? cried Eugenia and Lavinia in a breath. It means, said Camilla, that I am the most distressed, the happiest of human beings. This little speech began with the deepest sigh, but finished with the most refulgant smile, only added to their wonder. I hope you have been consulting with Edgar, said the innocent Eugenia. Nobody can more ably advise you, since, in generosity to Lionel, you are prohibited from counseling with my father. Again the most expressive smile splayed in every feature through the tears of Camilla, as she turned within voluntary archeness to Eugenia and answered. And shall I follow his counsel, my dear sister, if he gives me any? Why not? He is wise, prudent, and much attached to us all. How he can have supposed it possible we could be his enemies is past all divination. Gaiety was so truly the native growth of the mind of Camilla, that neither care nor affliction could chase it long from its home. The speeches of the unsuspicious Eugenia, that a moment before would have passed unheeded, now regaled her renovated fancy with the thousand amusing images, which so vigorously struggled against her sadness and her terrors, that they were soon nearly driven from the field by their sportive assailants. And by the time she reached her chamber with her, lost in a maze, her sisters followed her, the surprise she had in store for them, the pleasure with which she knew they would sympathize in her happiness, the security of Edgar's decided regard had liberated her mind from the shackles of reminiscence and restored her vivacity to original spirit. Fastening then, her door, she turned to them with the countenance of the brightest animation. Alternately and almost wildly embraced them, and related the explicit declaration of Edgar, now hiding in their bosoms the blushes of her modest joy, offering up to heaven the thanksgiving of her artless rapture, now dissolving in the soft tears of the tenderest sensibility, according to the quick changing impulses of her natural and lively, yet feeling and susceptible character, nor once did she look at the reverse of this darling portrait of chosen felicity till Eugenia with the gentle sigh uttered. Unhappy, sirs, sadly clarined her, how may this stroke be softened to him? Ah Eugenia! she cried, that alone is my impediment to the most perfect, the most unmixed content. Why have you made me think of him? My dear Camilla, said Eugenia, with a look of curious earnestness, and taking both her hands, while she seemed examining her face. You're then, it seems, in love, and with Edgar Mandelbert? Camilla, blushing, yet laughing, broke away from her, denying the charge. A consultation succeeded upon the method of proceeding with the young baronet. Tommy Hodd was not yet returned with the answer. It was five miles to Clarendel Palace, which made going and returning his day's work. She resolved to wait but this one reply, and then to acknowledge to Edgar the whole of her situation. The delicacy of Lavinia and the high honour of Eugenia concurred in the propriety of this confession, and they all saw the urgent necessity of an immediate explanation with sirs, sadly, whose disappointment might every hour receive added weight from delay. Painful, therefore, confusing and distasteful, as was the task, Camilla determined upon the avowal, and as completely to be guided by Edgar in this difficult conjuncture, as if his advice were already sanctioned by conjugal authority. LibriVox.org Recording by Linda Velwest Camilla or a picture of youth by Fanny Burney. Book 7, Chapter 6. A Call of the House Edgar returned to the parlor with a continence so much brightened, a joy so open, a confidence so manly, and an air so strongly announcing some interesting intelligence that his history required no prelude. Edgar, said Mr. Tyrold, you have a look to disarm care of its corrosion. You could not take a better time to wear so cheering an aspect. I have just learned that my wife can fix no sort of date for her return. I must borrow, therefore, some reflected happiness, and none after my children can bring its sunshine so home to my bosom as yourself. What a fortunate moment have you chosen, cried Edgar affectionately taking him by the hand, to express this generous pleasure in seeing me happy. Will you repent? Will you retract when you hear in what it may involve you? Dearest Sir, my honoured, my parental friend, to what attest shall I put your kindness? Will you give me, in charge, one of the dearest ties of your existence? Will you repose in my care so large a portion of your peace? Will you trust to me your Camilla? With all the ardour of her character, all the keen and quick feelings of her sensitive mind, scarce had Camilla herself been more struck, more penetrated with sudden joy, sudden wonder, sudden gratification of every kind than Mr. Tyrold felt at this moment. He more than returned the pressure with which Edgar held his hand and instantly answered, yes, my excellent young friend, without hesitation, without a shadow of apprehension for her happiness, though she is all the fondest father can wish, and though she only who gave her to me is dearer. Felicity and tenderness were now the sole guests in the breasts of Edgar. He kissed with reverence the hand of Mr. Tyrold, called him by the honoured and endearing title of father, acknowledged that from the earliest period of observation Camilla had seemed to him the most amiable of human creatures, spoke with a warm devotion he sincerely felt for her of Mrs. Tyrold, and was breathing forth his very soul and tender rapture upon his happy prospects, when something between a sigh and a groan from the baronet made him hastily turn round, apologize for not sooner addressing him, and respectfully solicit his consent. Sir Hugh was in an agitation of delight and surprise, almost too potent for his strength. The Lord be good unto me, he cried, have I lived to see such a day as this? Then, throwing his arms about Edgar's neck, while his eyes were fast-filling with tears, which soon ran plentifully down his cheeks. Good young Edgar, he cried, good young man, and do you really love my poor Camilla for all her not being worth a penny? And will my dear little darling come to so good an end at last after being disinherented for doing nothing? And will you never vex her nor speak an unkind word to her? Indeed, young Mr. Edgar, you are a noble boy, you are indeed, and I love you to the bottom of my heart for this true good-naturedness. Then again and again embracing him. This is all of a peace, he continued, with your saving my poor old rover, which is a thing I shall never forget to my longest day, being a remarkable sign of a good heart. The poor dog having done nothing to offend as we can all testify, so that it's a surprising thing what that mastiff owed him such a grudge for. Then, quitting him abruptly to embrace Mr. Tyrold, my dear brother, he cried, I hope your judgment approves this thing as well as my sisters when she comes to hear it, which I shall send off express before I sleep another wink for fear of accidents. Approve, answered Mr. Tyrold with a look of the most expressive kindness at Edgar, is too cold a word. I rejoice, even thankfully rejoice, to place my dear child in such worthy and beloved hands. Well then, cried the enchanted baronet, if that's the case, that we are all of one mind, we had better settle this business at once, all of us being subject to die by delay. He then rang the bell, and ordered Jacob to summon Camilla to the parlor, adding, And the rest too, Jacob, for I have something to tell them every one, which I make no doubt, they will be very glad to hear yourself included, as well as your fellow servants, who have no right to be left out, only let my niece come first, being her own affair. Camilla obeyed not the call without many secret sensations of distress and difficulty, but which, mingled with the more obvious ones of modesty and embarrassment, all passed for a flutter of spirits that appeared natural to the occasion. Mr. Tyrold could only silently embrace her, knowing what she had suffered, and judging thence the excess of her present satisfaction. He would not add to her confusion by any information of his consciousness, but the softness with which he held her to his bosom spoke, beyond all words, his heartfelt sympathy in her happiness. Camilla had no power to draw herself from his arms, but Edgar Hoovered round her, and Sir Hugh repeatedly and impatiently demanded to have his turn. Mr. Tyrold, gently disengaging himself from her embraces, gave one of her hands to Edgar, who, with grateful joy, pressed it to his lips. My children, he then said, laying a hand upon the shoulder of each, what a sight is this to me, how precious a union! What will it be to your excellent mother, so long and so decidedly it has been our favorite earthly wish, that were she but restored to me, to her country and to her family, I might perhaps require some new evil to prevent my forgetting where, and what I am. My dear brother, I say, my dear niece, my dear Mr. Young Edgar, cried Sir Hugh in the highest good humor, though with nearly exhausted patience, won't you let me put in a word, nor so much as to give you my blessing, though I can hardly hold in soul together for the sake of my joy. Camilla cast herself into his arms. He kissed her most fondly, saying, Don't forget, you poor old uncle, my dear little girl, for the account of this young Mr. Edgar, because, good as he is, he has taken to you but a short time in comparison with me. No, said Edgar, still tenaciously retaining the hand parentally bestowed upon him. No, dear Sir Hugh, I wish not to rob you of your darling. I wish but to be admitted myself into this dear respected family, and to have Etherington, Cleaves, and Beech Park considered as our alternate and common habitations. You are the very best young man in the whole wide world, cried Sir Hugh, almost sobbing with ecstasy, for you have hit upon just the very thing I was thinking of in my own private mind. What a mercy it is are not accepting that young captain who would have run away with her to I don't know where, instead of being married to the very nearest estate in the county that will always be living with us. The rest of the family now obedient to the direction of Jacob, who had intimated that something extraordinary was going forward, entered the room. Come in, come in, cried Sir Hugh, and hear the good news, for we have just been upon the very point of losing the best opportunity that ever we had in our lives of all living together, which I hope we shall now do without any more strangers coming upon us with their company, being a thing we don't desire. But what's the good news, uncle, said Indiana, is it only about our living together? Why yes, my dear, that's the first principle, and the other is that young Mr. Edgar is going to marry Camilla, which I hope you won't take ill, liking being all fancy. Me, cried she, with a disdainful toss of the head though severely mortified. It's nothing to me, I'm sure. Camilla ashamed and Edgar embarrassed, strove now mutually to shoe Sir Hugh they wished no more might be said, but he only embraced them again and declared he had never been so full of joy before in his whole life and would not be cut short. Miss Margeline, extremely peaked, vented her spleen in oblique sarcasms, and sought to heal her offended pride by appeals for justice to her sagacity and foresight in the whole business. Jacob, now opening the door, said all the servants were come. Camilla tried to escape, but Sir Hugh would not permit her, and the housekeeper and butler led the way, followed by every other domestic of the house. Well, my friends, he cried, wish her joy, which I'm sure you will do of your own accord, for she is going to be Mistress of Beach Park, which I thought would have been the case with my other niece till I found out my mistakes, but which is of no consequence now all having ended for the best, though unknown to us poor mortals. The servants obeyed with alacrity and offered their hearty congratulations to the blushing Camilla and happy Edgar. Molly Mill accepted, who, having concluded, Sir Sidley Clarendale the man, doubted her own senses, and instead of open felicitations, whispered Camilla, Dear Miss, I got another letter for you. Camilla frightened, said, hush, hush! While Edgar, imagining the girl whose simplicity and talkativeness were familiar to him, had said something ridiculous and treated to be indulged with hearing her remark, but seeing Camilla look grave for bore to press his request. The baronet now began an harangue upon the happiness that would accrue from these double unions, for which he assured them they should have double remembrances, though the same preparations would do for both, as he meant they should take place at the same time, provided Mr. Edgar would have the obligingness to wait for a fair wind which he was expecting every hour. Camilla could now stay no longer, nor could Edgar, though adoring the hearty joy of Sir Hugh, refuse to aid her in absconding. He begged her permission to follow as soon as it might be possible, which she tacitly accorded. She was impatient herself for the important conference she was planning and felt, with increasing solicitude, that all her life's happiness hung upon her power to extricate herself honorably from the terrible embarrassment in which she was involved. She sauntered about the hall till the servants came out anxious to receive the letter which Molly Mill had announced. They all sought to surround her with fresh good wishes, but she singled out Molly and begged the rest to leave her for the present. The letter, however, was not unpinned from the inside neck handkerchief before Edgar, eager and gay, joined her. Trembling then she entreated her to make haste. Lo, Miss, answered the girl, if you hurry me so, I shall tear it as short as can be, and what will you say then, Miss? Well, then another time will do to take it to my room. No, no, Miss, the gentleman told Tommy hard. He wanted an answer as quick as can be. He said if Tommy'd come a horseback, he'd pay for the horse to make him quick, and Tommy says he always be his very handsome. She then gave her the squeezed billet. Camilla, in great confusion, put it into her pocket. Edgar, who, even unavoidably heard what passed, held back till Molly retired, and then with an air of undisguised surprise and curiosity, though in a laughing tome, said, Must not the letter be read till I make my bow? Oh, yes! cried she, stammering. It may be read at any time. And she put her hand in her pocket to reproduce it. But the idea of making known the strange and unexpected history she had to relate, by shooing so strange a correspondence without one leading in softening previous circumstance, required a force and confidence of which she was not mistress. She twisted it, therefore, hastily round, to hide the handwriting of the direction, and then, with the same care, rolled it up and encircled it with her fingers. Shall I be jealous? Shall I be jealous? said he, gently though, disappointed. You have much reason, she answered, with a smile so soft it dispersed every fear, yet with an attention so careful to conceal the address that it kept alive every wonder. He took her other hand and kissing it, cried, No, sweetest Camilla, such unworthy distrust shall make no part of our compact. Yet I own myself a little interested to know what gentleman has obtained a privilege I should myself prize above almost any other. I will leave you, however, to read the letter, and perhaps before you answer it, but no, I will ask nothing. I shall lose all pleasure in your confidence if it is not spontaneous. I will go and find your sisters. The first impulse of Camilla was to commit to him immediately the unopened letter, but the fear of its contents, its style, its requisitions, made her terror overpower her generosity, and though she looked after him with regret, she stood still to break the seal of her letter. Mesh, Camilla, Tyrol! Is it thus, oh far too fair tormenter, thou delightest to torture? Does thou give wings but to clip them? Raise expectation, but to bid it linger. Fan bright the flame of hope, but to see it consume in its own ashes? Another delay. Oh, tell me, how I may exist till it terminates. Name to me, oh fair tyrant, some period, or build not upon longer forbearance, but expect me at your feet. You talk of the grove. Its fair owner is just return and calls herself impatient to see you. Tomorrow, then. You will not, I trust, kill me again tomorrow. With the sun, the renovating sun, I will visit those precincts, nor quit, then, till warned away by the pale light of Diana. Tell me, then, to what century of that period your ingenious cruelty condemns me to this expiring state? Air of vivifying smile recalls me back to life. Sedley Clarendale The immediate presence of Edgar himself could not have made this letter die the cheeks of Camilla of a deeper red. She saw that Sir Sedley thought her only coquettishly trifling, and she looked forward with nearly equal horror to clearing up a mistake that might infidder his future life, and to acknowledging to Edgar the scrupulous, the scrutinizing, the delicate Edgar that such a mistake could have been formed. She was ruminating upon this formidable, this terrible task, when Edgar again appeared, accompanied by her sisters. She hurried the letter into her pocket. Edgar saw the action with a concern that damped his spirits. He wished to obtain from her immediately the unlimited trust which immediately and forever he meant to repose in her. They all strolled together for a short time in the park, but she was anxious to retreat to her room, and her sisters were dying with impatience to read Sir Sedley's letter. Edgar, disturbed to see how little any of their contenances accorded with the happy feelings he had so recently experienced, proposed not to lengthen the walk, but flattered himself upon re-entering the house, Camilla would afford him a few minutes of explanation. But she only with a faint smile said she should soon return to the parlor, and he saw Molly Mill eagerly waiting for her upon the stairs, and heard her in reply to some question concerning Tommy Hod, desire the girl to be quiet till she got to her room. Edgar could form no idea of what all this meant, yet that some secret disturbance preyed upon Camilla, that some gentleman wrote to her and expected impatiently an answer, and that the correspondence passed neither through her friends nor by the post, but by the medium of Molly Mill, where circumstances not less unaccountable than unpleasant. Camilla, meanwhile, produced the letter to her sisters, beseeching their ableist counsel. See, but, she cried, how dreadfully unprepared is Sir Sedley for the event of the day, and oh, how yet more unprepared must be Edgar for seeing that such a letter could ever be addressed to me. How shall I shoo it to him, my dear sisters? How help his believing I must have given every possible encouragement ere Sir Sedley could have written to me in so assured a style. Much deliberation ensued, but they were all so perplexed, that they were summoned to tea before they had come to any resolution. The counsel of Eugenia then prevailed, and it was settled that Camilla should avoid for the present any communication to Edgar lest it should lead to mischief between him and the young Baronette, who could not but be mutually displeased with each other, and that the next morning, before she saw Edgar again, she should set out for the Grove, and there cast herself wholly upon the generosity of Sir Sedley, and when freed from all engagement return and relate without reserve, the whole history to Edgar, who would so soon be brother of her brother, that he would pardon the faults of Lionel, and who would then be in no danger himself from personal contest or discussion with Sir Sedley. She wrote therefore one line, to say she would see Mrs. Arlbury early the next day, and delivered it to Molly Mill, who promised to borrow a horse of the undergroom that Tommy Hod might be back before bedtime without any obligation to Sir Sedley. She then went downstairs, when Edgar, disappointed by her long absence, sought vainly to recompense it by conversing with her. She was gentle, but seated herself aloof, and avoided his eyes. His desire to unravel so much mystery he thought now so legitimized by his particular situation that he was frequently upon the point of soliciting for information, but to know himself privileged, upon further reflection, was sufficient to ensure his forbearance. Even when that knot was tied which would give to him all power, he sincerely meant to owe all her trust to willing communication. Should he now then make her deem him exacting and tenacious of prerogative? No, it might shackle the freedom of her mind in their future intercourse. He would quietly, therefore, wait her own time, and submit to her own inclination. She could not doubt his impatience. He would not compel her generosity.