 CHAPTER 1 A WALK BY MOONLIGHT Mrs. Albury and Camilla set off in the coach of Mr. Dennell, widow of a deceased sister of the husband of Mrs. Albury, whom she was induced to admit of the party that he might aid in bearing the expenses, as she could not, from some family considerations, refuse taking her niece into a coterie. So sadly Clarendale drove his own feet on, but instead of joining them, according to the condition which occasioned the treaty, canted away his ponies from the very first stage, and left word where he changed horses, that he should proceed to the hotel upon the pantiles. Mrs. Albury was nearly provoked to return to the grove. With Mr. Dennell she did not think it worthwhile to converse. Her niece, she regarded as almost an idiot, and Camilla was so spiritless that, had not so sadly acceded to her plan, this was the last period in which she would have chosen her for a companion. They travelled very quietly, to within a few miles of Tunbridge, when an accident happened to one of the wheels of the carriage, that the coachman said would take some hours to repair. They were drawn on with difficulty to a small inn upon the road, whence they were obliged to send a man and horse to Tunbridge for shares. As they were destined, now, to spend some time in this place, Mrs. Albury retired to write letters, and Mr. Dennell to read newspapers, and, invited by a bright moon, Camilla and Miss Dennell wandered from a little garden to an adjoining meadow, which conducted them to a lane, rendered so beautiful by the strong masses of shade, with which the trees intercepted the resplendent whiteness of the moon, that they walked on, catching fresh openings with fresh pleasure, till the feet of Miss Dennell grew as weary with the length of the way, unbroken by any company, as the ease of Camilla with her incessant prattling, unaided by any idea. Miss Dennell proposed to sit down, and, while relieving herself by a fit of yawning and stretching, Camilla strolled a little further in search of a safe and dry spot. Miss Dennell, following in a moment on tiptoe and trembling, whispered that she was sure she heard a voice. Camilla, with a smile, asked if only themselves were privileged to enjoy so sweet a night. Hush, cried she, hush, I hear it again! They listened, and, in a minute, a soft plaintiff tone reached their ears, too distant to be articulate, but undoubtedly female. I dare say it's a robber, exclaimed Miss Dennell, shaking. If you don't run back, I shall die! Camilla assured her, from the gentleness of the sound, she must be mistaken, and pressed her to advance a few steps further, in case it should be anybody ill. But you know, said Miss Dennell, speaking low, people say that sometimes there are noises in the air, without it's being anybody. Suppose it should be that. Still, though almost imperceptibly, Camilla drew her on, till, again listening, they distinctly heard the words, my lovely friend. La, how pretty, said Miss Dennell, let's go a little nearer. They advanced, and presently, again stopping, heard. Could pity pour balm into my woes, how sweetly would they be alleviated by yours, my lovely friend. Miss Dennell now looked enchanted, and eagerly led the way herself. In a few minutes, arriving at the end of the lane, which opened upon a wild and romantic common, they caught a glimpse of a figure in white. Miss Dennell turned pale. Dear, cried she, in the lowest whisper. What is it? A lady, answered Camilla, equally cautious not to be heard, though totally without alarm. Are you sure of that, said Miss Dennell, shrinking back, and pulling her companion to accompany her? Do you think it's a ghost? cried Camilla, and resisting the retreat, yet walking backwards to keep the form inside. Fie, how can you talk so shocking, all in the dark so, except only for the moon? Yours, my lovely friend, was now again pronounced in the tenderest accent. She's talking to herself, exclaimed Miss Dennell, Lord, how frightful! And she clung close to Camilla, who, mounting a little hillock of stones, presently perceived that the lady was reading a letter. Miss Dennell, tranquilized by hearing this, was again content to stop, when their ears were suddenly struck by a piercing shriek. Oh, Lord, we shall be murdered! cried she, screaming still louder herself. They both ran back some paces down the lane, Camilla determining to send somebody from the inn to inquire what all this meant. But presently, through an opening in the common, they perceived the formid white darting forwards, with an air wild and terrified. Camilla stopped, struck with compassion and curiosity at once. Miss Dennell could not quit her, but after the first glance, hid her face, faintly articulating. Oh, don't let it see us, don't let it see us! I'm sure it's nothing natural. I daresay it's somebody walking. The next instant they perceived a man, looking earnestly around, as if to discover who had echoed the scream, the place they occupied was in the shade, and he did not observe them. He soon rushed hastily on, and seized the white garment of the flying figure, which appeared, both by its dress and form, to be an elegant female. She clasped her hands in supplication, cast up her eyes towards heaven, and again shrieked aloud. Camilla, who possessed that fine internal power of the thinking and feeling mind, to adopt courage for terror, where any eminent service may be the result of immediate exertion, was repairing to spring to her relief, while Miss Dennell, in extreme agony, holding her, murmured out, Let's run away, let's run away, she's going to be murdered. When they saw the man prostrate himself at the lady's feet, in the humblest subjection, Camilla stopped her flight, and Miss Dennell appeased, called out, La, he's kneeling. How pretty it looks! I daresay it's a lover. How I wish one could hear what he says. An exclamation, however, from the lady, uttered in a tone of mingled a fright and disgust, of Leave me, leave me, was again the signal to Miss Dennell of retreat, but of Camilla to advance. The rustling of sleeves, caused by her attempt to make way through the breach, caught the ears of the suppliant, who hastily arose, while the lady folded her arms across her breast, and seemed ejaculating the most fervent thanks for this relief. Camilla now forced a passage through the hedge, and the lady, as she saw her approach, called out, in a voice the most touching, Surely, to some pitting angel, mercifully come to my rescue. The pursuer drew back, and Camilla, in the gentlest words, besought the lady to accompany her to the friends she had just left, who would be happy to protect her. She gratefully accepted the proposal, and Camilla then ventured to look around, to see if the object of this alarm had retreated. But with an astonishment that almost confounded her, she perceived him a few yards off, taking a pinch of snuff and humming an opera air. The lady then, snatching up her letter which had fallen to the ground, touched it with her lips, and carefully folding, put it into her bosom, tenderly ejaculating. I have preserved thee, O, from what danger, what violation! Then, pressing the hand of Camilla, you have saved me, she cried, from the calamity of losing what is more dear than I have words to express. Take me, but where I may be shielded from that wretch, and what shall I not owe to you? The moon now shining full upon her face, Camilla saw seated on it youth, sensibility, and beauty. Her pleasure involuntarily, rather than rationally, was redoubled that she had proved serviceable to her, as in equal proportion was her borons of the man who had caused the disturbance. The three females were now proceeding, when the offender, with a careless air, and yet more careless bow, advancing towards them negligently said, shall I have the honour to see you save home, ladies? Camilla felt indignant, Miss Dennell again screamed, and the stranger, with a look of horror and disgust, said, Persecute me no more. O hang it, O cursed, cried he, swinging his cane to and fro, don't be serious, I only meant to frighten you about the letter. The lady dain't no answer, but murmur to herself, that letter is more precious to me than life or light. They now walked on, and, when they entered the lane, they had the pleasure to observe they were not pursued. She then said to Camilla, You must be surprised to see any one out, and unprotected at this late hour, but I had employed myself unthinkingly in reading some letters from a dear and absent friend, and forgot the quick passage of time. A man in a livery now appearing at some distance, she hastily summoned him, and demanded, where was the carriage? In the road, he answered, where she had left it, at the end of the lane. She then took the hand of Camilla, and with a smile of the utmost softness said, When the shock I have suffered is a little over, I must surely cease to lament I have sustained it, since it has brought me such sweet succour. Where may I find you to-morrow to repeat my thanks? Camilla answered. She was going to Tunbridge immediately, but knew not yet where she should lodge. Tunbridge, she repeated, I am there myself, I shall easily find you out to-morrow morning, for I shall know no rest till I have seen you again. She then asked her name, and with the most touching acknowledgments took leave. Camilla recounted her adventure to Mrs. Arbery, with an animated description of the fair in Cognita, and with the most heartfelt delight of having, though but accidentally, proved of service to her. Mrs. Arbery laughed heartily at the recital, assuring her she doubted not, but she had made acquaintance with some dangerous fair one, who was playing upon her inexperience, and utterly unfit to be known to her. Camilla warmly vindicated her innocence from the whole of her appearance, as well as from the impossibility of her knowing that her scream could be heard, yet was perplexed how to account for her not naming herself, and for the mystery of the carriage and the servant in waiting so far off. These latter she concluded to belong to her father, as she looked too young to have any sort of establishment of her own. What I don't understand in the matter is that their reading of letters by the light of the moon, said Mr. Dennell, wears the necessity of doing that for a person that can afford to keep her own coach and servant. Mr. Dennell was a man, as unfavoured by nature as he was uncultivated by art. He had been accepted as a husband by the sister of Mr. Arbery, merely on account of a large fortune which he had acquired in business. The marriage, like most others made upon such terms, was as little happy in its progression as honourable in its commencement, and Miss Dennell, born and educated amidst domestic dissension, which robbed her of all will of her own, by the constant denial of one parent to what was accorded by the other, possessed too little reflection to benefit by observing the misery of an alliance not mentally assorted, and grew up with no other desire but to enter the state herself, from an ardent impatience to shake off the slavery she experienced in singleness. The recent death of her mother had given her, indeed, somewhat more liberty, but she had not sufficient sense to endure any restraint, and languished for the complete power which she imagined a house and servants of her own would afford. When they arrived at the hotel in Tundridge, Mrs. Arbery heard, with some indignation, that so sadly Clarendell was gone to the rooms, without demonstrating by any sort of inquiry the smallest solicitude at a non-appearance. CHAPTER II A servant tapped early at the door of Camilla the next morning, to acquaint her that a lady who called herself the person that had been so much obliged to her the preceding day, begged the honour of being admitted. Camilla was sorry, after the suspicions of Mrs. Arbery, that she did not send up her name, yet, already partially disposed, her pre-possession was not likely to be destroyed by the figure that now appeared. A beautiful young creature, with an air of the most attractive softness, eyes of the most expressive loveliness, and a manner which by every look and every motion announced a soul tremblingly alive, glided gently into the room, and advancing with a graceful confidence of kindness, took both her hands, and pressing them to her heart, said, what happiness so soon to have found you, to be able to pour forth all the gratitude I owe you, and the esteem with which I am already inspired. Camilla was struck with admiration and pleasure, and gave way to the most lively delight at the fortunate accident which occasioned her walking out in a place entirely unknown to her, declaring she should ever look back to that event as to one of the marked blessings of her life. If you, answered the fair stranger, have the benevolence thus to value our meeting, how should it be appreciated by one who is so eternally indebted to it? I had not perceived the approach of that person. He broke in upon me when least a creature so ingenial was present to my thoughts. I was reading a letter from the most amiable of friends, the most refined perhaps of human beings. Camilla, impatient for some explanation, answered, I hope at least that friend will be spared hearing of your alarm. I hope so, for his own griefs already overwhelm him, never made be my sad lodge to wound where I mean only to console. At the words his own, Camilla felt herself blush. She had imagined it was some female friend. She now found her mistake, and knew not what to imagine next. I had retired, she continued, from the glare of company and the weight of uninteresting conversation, to read at leisure and in solitude, this dear letter heart-breaking from its own woes, heart-soothing to mine. In a place such as this seclusion is difficult, I drove some miles off and ordered my carriage to wait in the high road while I strolled alone upon the common. I delight in a solitary ramble by moonlight. I can then indulge in uninterrupted rumination, and solace my melancholy by pronouncing aloud such sentences and such names, as in the world I cannot utter. How exquisitely sweet do they sound to ears unaccustomed to such vibrations. Camilla was all astonishment and perplexity, a male friend so beloved, who seemed to be neither father, brother, nor husband, a carriage at her command, though without naming one relation to whom either that or herself might belong, and sentiments so tender she was almost ashamed to listen to them, all conspired to excite a wonder that painfully prayed for relief. And in the hope to obtain it, with some hesitation, she said, I should have thought you myself this morning for the pleasure of inquiring after your safety, but that I was ignorant by what name to make my search. The fair unknown looked down for a moment, with an air that chewed a perfect consciousness of the inquiry meant by this speech, but turning aside the embarrassment it seemed to cause her, she presently raised her head and said, I had no difficulty to find you, for my servant happily made his inquiry at once at this hotel. Disappointed and surprised by this evasion, Camilla saw now an evident mystery, but knew not how to press forward any investigation. She began therefore to speak of other things, and her fair guest, who had every mark of an education rather sedulously than naturally cultivated, joined readily in a conversation less personal. They did not speak of tundridge of public places, nor diversions. Their themes, all chosen by the stranger, were friendship, confidence, and sensibility, which she illustrated and enlivened by quotations from favorite poets aptly introduced and feelingly recited, yet always uttered with a sigh and an air of tender melancholy. Camilla was now in a state so depressed that, nonwithstanding her native vivacity, she fell as imperceptibly into the plaintive style of a new acquaintance, who seemed habitually pensive, as if sympathy, rather than accident, had brought them together. Yet when chance led to some mention of the adventure of the preceding evening, and the lady made again an animated eulogium of the friend whose letter she was perusing, she hazarded, within half-smile, saying, I hope for his own sake this friend is some sage and aged personage? Oh, no, she answered. He is in the bloom of youth. Camilla again a little disconcerted, paused, and the lady went on. It was in Wales I first met him, upon a spot so beautiful that painting can never do it justice. I have made, however, a little sketch of it, which some day or other I will show you, if you will have the goodness to let me see more of you. Camilla could not refrain from an eager affirmative, and the conversation was then interrupted by a message from Mrs. Albury, who was breakfasted in her own room to announce that she was going out lodging-hunting. Camilla would rather have remained with her new acquaintance better adapted to her present turn of mind than Mrs. Albury, but this was impossible, and the lovely stranger hastened away, saying she would call herself the next morning to shoe the way to her house, where she hoped they might pass together many soothing and consolatory hours. Camilla found Mrs. Albury by no means in her usual high spirits. The opening of her tongue-bridge campaign had so far from answered its trouble and expense that she heartily repented having quitted the grove. The officers either were not arrived in the neighbourhood, or were wholly engaged in military business. Camilla, instead of contributing to the life of the excursion, seemed to hang heavily both upon that and upon herself, and so sadly Clarendelle, whose own proposition had brought it to bear, had not yet made his appearance, though lodging in the same hotel. Thus vexatiously disappointed, she was ill-disposed to listen with pleasure to the history Camilla thought it indispensable to relate of her recent visit, and in answer to all praise of this fair incognita only replied by asking her name and connections. Camilla felt extremely foolish in confessing she had not yet learned them. Mrs. Albury then laughed unmercifully at her commendations, but concluded with saying, Follow, however, your own humour, I hate to torment or be tormented. Only take care not to be seen with her. Camilla rejoiced she did not exact any further restriction, and hoped all railery would soon be set aside by an honourable explanation. She now repaired to the pantiles, where the gay company and gay shops afforded some amusement to Camilla, and to Miss Dennell a wonder and delight that kept her mouth open, and her head jerked from object to object so incessantly, that she saw nothing distinctly from the eagerness of her fear lest anything should escape her. Mrs. Albury, meeting with an old acquaintance in the book-sellers' shop, there sat down with him, while the two young ladies loitered at the window of a toy-shop, struck with just admiration of the beauty and ingenuity of the tonbridge where it presented to their view, till Camilla, in a party of young men, who were strolling down the pantiles, and who went into the book-sellers' shop, distinguished the offender of the fair unknown. To avoid following, or being recollected by a person so odious to her, she entered the toy-shop with Miss Dennell, where she amused herself till Mrs. Albury came in search of her. In selecting such various little articles for purchase, as she imagined, would amount to about half a crown, but which were put up for her at a guinea. This a little disconcerted her, though, as she was still unusually rich from Mr. Tyrol's having advanced her next quarterly allowance, she consoled herself that they would serve for little keepsakes for her sisters and her cousin, yet she determined, where next she entered a shop for convenience, to put nothing apart as a buyer, till she had inquired its price. The assaulter, Lord Newford, a young nobleman, of the Tonne, after taking a staring survey of everything and everybody around, and seeing no one of more consequence, followed Mrs. Albury, with whom formerly he had been slightly acquainted to the toy-shop. He asked her how she did, without touching his hat, and how long she had been at Tunbridge, without waiting for an answer, and said he was happy to have the pleasure of seeing her without ones looking at her. To his first sentence Mrs. Albury made a civil answer, but repenting it upon the two sentences that succeeded, she heard them without seeming to listen, and fixing her eyes upon him, when he had done, Cooley said, "'Pray, have you seen anything of my servant?' Lord Newford, somewhat surprised, replied, "'Oh, do look for him, then,' cried she, neculently. "'There's a good man.'" Not Newford, a little peaked, and a little confused at feeling so, said he should be proud to obey her, and, turning short off to his companion, cried, "'Come, Offee, why dost loiter? Where shall we ride this morning?' And take him by the arm, quitted the pantiles. Mrs. Albury, laughing heartily, now felt her spirits a little revive. She wrote, she cried, upon meeting, now and then with insolence, for I have a little taste for it myself, which I make some conscience of not indulging unprovoked." They then proceeded to the milliners to equip themselves for going to the rooms at night. Mrs. Albury and Miss Dennell, who were both rich, gave large orders. Camilla, indifferent to everything, except to avoid appearing in a manner that might disgrace her party, told the milliner to choose for her what she thought fashionable that was most reasonable. She was soon fitted up with what was too pretty to disapprove, and desiring immediately to pay her bill, found it amounted to five guineas, though she had imagined she should have changed out of two. She had only six and some silver, but was ashamed to dispute or desire an alteration. She paid the money and only determined to apply to another person than the seller, when next she wanted anything reasonable. Mrs. Albury now ordered the carriage, and they drove to Mount Pleasant, where she hired a house for the season, to which they were to remove the next day. In the evening they went to the rooms, where the decidedly fashionable mean and matter of Mrs. Albury attracted more general notice and admiration than the youthful captivation of Camilla, or the pretty face and expensive attire of Miss Dennell. Missed by the milliner of the day, Camilla could not fail to pass uncensured, at least with respect to her appearance, but her eyes wanted their usual luster, from the sadness of her heart, and she never looked less herself, nor to less advantage. The master of the ceremonies brought to her Sir Tiaphiles Girard, but as she had seen him, the companion of Lord Newford, to whom she had conceived a stronger version, she declined to dancing. He looked surprised, but rather offended than disappointed, and with a little laugh, half contemptuous, as if ashamed of having offered himself, stalked away. So sadly Clarendale was now sauntering into the room. Mrs. Albury, willing to shoe her young friend in a favourable point of view to him, though more from peak at his distance, than from any thought at that moment of Camilla, told her she must positively accept Sir Tiaphiles, whose asking her must be regarded as a particular distinction, for he was notoriously a man of the ton. And heedless of her objections, told Mr. Dennell to call him back. How can I do that? said Mr. Dennell, after seeing her refuse him with my own eyes. Oh, nobody cares about a man's eyes! said Mrs. Albury. Go and tell him Miss Tyreld has changed her mind and chooses to dance. As to her changing her mind, he answered, that's likely enough, but I don't see how it's any reason I should go over fool's errand. Foo-foo! go directly, or you shan't dine before eight o'clock for the whole tonbridge season. Nay! said Mr. Dennell, who had an horror of late hours. If you will promise we shall dine more in reason, yes, yes! cried Mrs. Albury, hurrying him off, nonwithstanding the reiterated remonstroses of Camilla. See, my dear, she then added, laughing, how many weapons you must have in use! If you would govern that strange animal called man. yet never despair of victory, for, depend upon it, there is not one of the race that, with a little address, you may not bring to your feet. Camilla, who had no wish but for one single votary, and whose heart was sunk from her failure in obtaining that one, listened with so little interest or spirit that Mrs. Albury, quite provoked, resolved not to throw away another idea upon her for the rest of the evening, and therefore, as her knees went completely and constantly for nothing with her, she spoke no more till, to her great relief, she was joined by General Kinzel. Mr. Dennell returned with an air not more pleased with his embassy, than her own appeared with her auditress. The gentleman, he said, had joined two others, and they were all laughing so violently together that he could not find an opportunity to deliver his message, for they seemed as if they would only make a joke of it. Mrs. Albury then saw that he had got between Lord Newford and Sir Sedley, and that they were all three amusing themselves without ceremony or disguise, at the expense of every creature in the room, up and down which they strolled, arm in arm, looking familiarly at everybody, but speaking to nobody, whispering one another in whole slow voices, and then laughing immoderately loud, while nothing was distinctly heard, but from time to time, what in the world has become of Mrs. Burlington tonight, or else, how stupid the rooms are without Lady Alithea? Mrs. Albury, who, like the rest of the world, saw her own defects in as glaring colours, and criticised them with as much animated ridicule as those of her neighbours, when exhibited by others, no sooner found she was neglected by this set than she raved against the prevailing ill manners of the leaders in the town, with as much as parity of censure as if never for a moment betrayed herself by fashion, by caprice, nor by vanity, to similar foibles. Yet, after all, brides she presently, to see fools behave like fools, I am well content, I have no anger, therefore, against Lord Newford, nor Sir Tophilus Jarrad, if they were not noticed for being impertinent, how could they expect to be noticed at all? When there is but one line, that can bring them forward, I rather respect them, that they have found it out, but what shall we say to Sir Cedric Larendel, a man as much their superior in capacity as in powers of pleasing? It is a miserable thing, my dear general, to see the dearth of character there is in the world. Pope has bewailed it in women, believe me, he might have extended his lamentation. You may see indeed one man grave, and another gay, but with no more mark or likelihood, no more distinction of colouring, than what simply belongs to a dismal face or a merry one, and with just as little light and shade, just as abrupt a skip from one to the other, as separates inevitably the old man from the young one. We are almost all, my good general, of a nature so pitifully plastic, that we act from circumstances, and are fashioned by situation. Then laughing at her own peak, general, she added, shall I make you a confession? I am not at all sure if that wretched Sir Cedric had behaved as he ought to have done, and been at my feet all the evening, that I should not, at this very moment, be amused in the same manner that he is himself, yet it would be very abominable, I own. This is candid, however. O, we all acknowledge our faults now, tis the mode of the day, but the acknowledgement passes for current payment, and therefore we never amend them. On the contrary, they take but deeper root by losing all chance of concealment, yet I am vexed to see that odious Sir Cedric shoe so silly a passion for being a man of the tongue, as to suffer himself to be led in a string by those two poor paltry creatures, who are not more troublesome as fobs than tiresome as fools, merely because they are better known than himself upon the turf, and at the clubs. Here she was joined by Lord O'Learney, and the honourable Mr. Ohmsby. And in the next saunter of the tonnish triumfers, Lord Newford, suddenly seeing with whom she was associated, stopped, and looking at her with an air of surprise, exclaimed, God bless me, Mrs. Arbury, I hope you are perfectly well. Infinitely indebted to your lordship's solicitude, she answered, rather sarcastically, but without noticing her manner, he desired to be one in her tea-party, which he was then rising to form. She accepted the offer, with a glance of consciousness, at the general, who, as he conducted her, said, I did not expect so much grace would so immediately have been accorded. Alas, my dear general, what can one do? These tonnish people, cordially as I despise them, lead the world, and if one has not a few of them in one's train, twer as well, turn hermit. However, mark how we will fare with me, but don't judge from the opening. She now made his lordship so many gay compliments, and mingled so much personal civility with the general entertainment of her discourse, that, as soon as they rose from tea, he professed his intention of sitting by her for the rest of the evening. She immediately declared herself tired to death of the rooms, and calling upon Miss Dennell and Camilla abruptly made her exit. The general, again her conductor, asked how she could leave thus a conquest so newly made. I leave, she answered, only to secure it. He will be peak that I should go, and that peak will keep me in his head till to-morrow. It is well, my dear general, to put anything there. But if I had stayed a moment longer, my contempt might have broken forth into satire, or my weariness into yawning, and I should then inevitably have been cut by the tonne party for the rest of the season. Miss Dennell, who had been dancing, and was again engaged to dance, remonstrated against retiring so soon, but Mrs. Albie had a regular system never to listen to her. Camilla, whom nothing had diverted, was content to retreat. At the door stood so sadly Clarendle, who, as if now first perceiving them, said to Mrs. Albie, Ah, my fair friend, and how long have you been at the Wells? Intolerable, wretch, cried she, taking him apart. Is it thus you keep your conditions? Did you draw me into bringing this poor, love-sick thing with me? Only to sign me into the vapours? My dear madam, exclaimed he, in a tone of expostulation. Who can think of the same scheme two days together? Would you possibly form a notion of anything so patriarchal? Before they retired to their chambers at the hotel, Camilla told Mrs. Albie how shocking to her was the sight, much more any acquaintance with Lord Newford, who was the person that had so much terrified the lady she had met on their journey. Mrs. Albie assured her he should be exiled her society. If upon investigation he was found the aggressor, but while there appeared so much mystery in the complaint and the conduct of this unknown lady, she should postpone his banishment. Camilla was obliged to submit, but scarce rested till she saw again her new favourite the next morning. CHAPTER III Mount Ephraim This expected guest arrived early. Camilla received her with the only sensation of pleasure she had experienced at Tunbridge, yet what she excited seemed still stronger. The fair stranger besought a friendship as a solace to her existence, and hung upon her as upon a treasure long lost and dearly recovered. Camilla soon caught the infection of her softness and felt a similar desire to cultivate her regard. She found her beauty attractive, her voice melodious, and her manners bewitchingly caressing. During nevertheless, while yet in ignorance of her connections, to provoke further ridicule for Mrs. Albie by going abroad with her, she proposed deferring to return her visit till another day. The lady consented, and they spent together two hours which each thought had been but two minutes when Mrs. Albie summoned Camilla to a walk. The fairer known then took leave, saying her servant was in waiting, and Camilla and Mrs. Albie went to the book-sellers. Here that lady was soon joined by Lord Orlearney and General Kinzel, who were warm admirers of her vivacity and observations. Mr. Dennell took up the daily advertiser, his daughter stationed herself at the door to see the walkers upon the pantals. Sir Tiafile's Gerard, under colour of looking at a popular pamphlet, was indulging in a nap in a corner. Lord Newford, noticing nothing except his own figure as he passed a mirror, was shuffling loud about the floor, which was not much embellished by the scraping of his boots, and Susedley Clarendale lounging upon a chair in the middle of the shop sat eating bonbons. Mrs. Albie for some time confined her talents to general remarks, but finding these failed to move a muscle in the face of Susedley, at whom they were directed, she suddenly exclaimed, Pray, lady, my Lord Orlearney, do you know anything of Susedley Clarendale? Not so much, answered his Lordship, as I could wish, but I hoped to improve my acquaintance with him. Why, then, my Lord, I am much afraid you will conclude, when you see him in one of those reveries, from the total vacancy of his air, that he is thinking of nothing, but pray permit me to take his part. Those apparent cogitations to which he is so much addicted are moments only of pretendentorpor, but of real torment, devoted, not as they appear to supine incipidity, but a painful secret labour, how next he may call himself into notice. Nevertheless, my Lord, don't let what I have said hurt him in your opinion. He is quaint, to be sure, but there's no harm in him. He lives in my neighbourhood, and I assure your Lordship, he is, upon the whole, what may be called a very good sort of man. Here she yawned violently, and Susedley, unable to maintain his position, twice crossed his legs, and then rose and took up a book, while Lord Newford burst into so loud a laugh, that he awakened Satisfilus Gerard by echoing, A good sort of man, o poor Clary, o hang it, o curse it, poor Clary. What's the matter with Clary? cried Satisfilus, rubbing his eyes, and I have been boring myself with this pamphlet till I hardly know whether I am awake or asleep. Why, he's a good sort of man, replied Lord Newford. Susedley, though he expected, and even hoped for some pointed strictures, and could have defied even abuse, could not stand this mortifying praise, and asking for the subscription-books, which already he had twice examined, said, Is there anybody here one knows? O, A, have you any names, cried Lord Newford, seizing them first, and with some riot, as they were the only books in the shop he ever read. Come, I'll be generous, said Mrs. Albury, and add another signature against your lordship's next lecture. She then wrote her name, and threw down half a guinea. Camilla, to whom the book was next presented, concluded this the established custom, and from me to Middity, did the same, though somewhat disturbed, to leave herself no more gold than she gave. Miss Dennell followed, but her father, who said he did not come to Tunbridge to read, which he could do at home, positively refuse to subscribe. But he afilus now, turning, or rather tossing over the leaves, cried, I see no name here one knows anything of, but Lady Alithia Selmore. Why, there's nobody else here, said Lord Newford, not a soul. Almost everybody present bowed, but wholly indifferent to reproof, he again whistled, again stroamed up and down the room, and again took a bold and full survey of himself in the looking-glass. On the contrary, cried so sadly, I hear there is a most extraordinary, fine creature lately arrived, who is invincible to a degree. Oh, that's Mrs. Burlington, said said Tiffilus. Yes, she is a pretty little thing. She is very beautiful indeed, said Lord Orlourney. Where can one see her? cried Mrs. Arbury. If she is not at the rooms tonight, said so sadly, I shall be stupefied to pedrifaction. There tell me she is a marvel of the first water, turning all heads by her beauty, winning all hearts by her sweetness, fascinating all attention by her talents, and setting all fashions by her elegance. This paragon, cried Mrs. Arbury to Camilla, can be no other than your mysterious fair. The description just suits your own. But my fair mysterious, said Camilla, is of a disposition the most retired, and seems so young I don't at all think her married. This divinity, said so sadly, for the blessing of every one, yet Lord of himself, encumbered by a wife, is safely noosed, and amongst her attributes are two others cruel to desperation. She excited every hope by, I suppose, or probably detestable, yet gives birth to despair by a coldness the most chivering. And what, said Mrs. Arbury, is this Lady Alithia Selmore? Lady Alithia Selmore, dryly, but with a smile, answered General Kinzel. Nay, nay, that's not to be mentioned irreverently, returned Mrs. Arbury. A title goes for a vast deal, where there is nothing else, and, where there is something, doubles its value. Mr. Dennell, saying he found by the newspaper a house was to be sold upon Mount Ephraim, which promised to be a pretty good bargain, proposed walking thither, to examine what sort of condition it was in. Lord O'Learney inquired if Camilla had yet seen Mount Ephraim. No, she answered, and a general party was made for an airing. So sadly ordered his fate on, Mrs. Arbury drove Camilla in hers, Miss Dennell walked with her father, and the rest of the gentlemen went on horseback. Arrived at Mount Ephraim, they all agreed to alight and enjoy the view and pure air of the hill, while Mr. Dennell visited the house. But just as Mrs. Arbury had descended from the fate on, her horses taking fight at some object that suddenly struck them, reared up, in a manner alarming to the spectators, and still more terrific to Camilla, in whose hands Mrs. Arbury had left the reins, and the servant who stood at the horse's heads, received a kick that laid him flat on the ground. Oh, jump out, jump out, cried Miss Dennell, or else you'll be murdered. No, no, keep your seat, and hold the reins, cried Mrs. Arbury, for heaven's sake, don't jump out. Camilla, mentally giddy, but personally courageous, was sufficiently mistress of herself to obey the last injunction, though with infinite labour, difficulty and terror, the horses plunging and flouncing incessantly. Don't you think she'll be killed? cried Lord Newford, dismounting, lest his own horse should also take fright. Do you think one could help her? said the tear-fileist Gerard, steadily holding the bridle of his mare from the same apprehension. Carol Ernie was already on foot to afford her assistance, when the horses, suddenly turning round, gave to the beholders the dreadful menace of going down the steep declivity of Mount Ephraim full gallop. Camilla now, appalled, had no longer power to hold the reins. She let them go, with an idea of flinging herself out of the carriage, when so sadly, who had darted like lightning from his phaton, presented himself at the horses' heads, on the moment of their turning, and at the visible and imminent hazard of his life, happily stopped them while she jumped to the ground, they then, with a fury that presently dashed the fate unto pieces, plunge down the hill. The fright of Camilla had not robbed her of her senses, and the exertion and humanity of so sadly seemed to restore to him the full possession of his own, yet one of his knees was so matured that he sunk upon the grass. Penetrated with surprise as well as gratitude, Camilla, nonwithstanding her own tremor, was the first to make the most anxious inquiries. Secretly, however, sighing to herself, ah, had Edgar this rescued me, yet struck equally with a sense of obligation and of danger, from the horrible, if not fatal mischief she had escaped, and from the extraordinary hazard and kindness by which she had been saved, she expressed her concern and acknowledgments with a softness that even so sadly himself could not listen to unmoved. She received, indeed, from this adventure almost every species of pleasure of which his mind was capable. His natural courage, which he had nearly annihilated as well as forgotten, by the effeminate part he was systematically playing, seemed to rejoice in being again exercised. His good nature was delighted by the essential service he had performed, his vanity was gratified by the publicity of the praise it brought forth, and his heart itself experienced something like an original feeling, unspoiled by the apathy of satiety. From the sensibility he had awakened in the young and lovely Camilla. The party immediately flocked around him, and he was conveyed to a house belonging to Lord Orlerni, who resided upon Mount Ephraim, and his lordship's carriage was ordered to take him to his apartment at the hotel. Mrs. Albury, whose high spirits were totally subdued by the terror with which she had been seized at the danger of Camilla, was so delighted by her rescue, and the carriage with which it was affected, that all her spleen against her sadly was changed into the warmest approbation. When he was put into the coach, she insisted upon seeing him save to the hotel, Camilla, with her usual in artificial quickness, seconding the motion, and Lord Orlerni, a nobleman far more distinguished by benevolence and urbanity than it by his rank, taking the fourth place himself. The servant, who was considerably hurt, he desired, might remain at his house. In descending Mount Ephraim, Camilla turned giddy with a view of what she had escaped, and cast her eyes with double thankfulness upon her sadly as her preserver. Fragments of the Phaeton was strewed upon the road, one of the horses dead at the bottom of the hill, and the other was so much injured as to be totally disabled for future service. When they came to the hotel, they all alighted with the young baronet, Camilla with as little thought as Mrs. Albury with little care for doing anything that was unusual. They waited in a joining apartment till they were assured nothing of any consequence was the matter, and Lord Orlerni then carried them to their new lodging upon Mount Pleasant. Mrs. Albury bore her own share in this accident with perfect good-humour, saying it would do her infinite good by making her a rigid economist, for she could neither live without a phaeton, nor yet build one, and buy ponies, but buy posimonious savings from all other expenses. At night they went again to the rooms, but Mrs. Albury found in them as little amusement as Camilla. So sadly was not there, either to attack or to flatter. The celebrated Mrs. Burlington still appeared not to undergo a scrutiny, and Lady Alithia Selmore sat at the upper end of the apartment and tended by all the bows, except the general, on our tonbridge. This was not to be supported. She arose, and declaring she would take her tea with the invalid, bid the general as quarter to his room. In their way out she perceived the assembly books. Recollecting she had not subscribed, she entered her name, but protested she could afford but half a guinea upon a present new and amaricious plan. Camilla, with much secret consternation, concluded it would be impossible to give less, and a few shillings were now all that remained in her purse. Her uneasiness, however, presently passed away upon recollecting she should want no more money, as she was now free of the rooms and of the library, and equipped in attire for the whole time she should stay. Miss Dennell put down a guinea, but her father, telling her half a crown would have done, said for that reason he should himself pay nothing. So sadly received them with the most unaffected pleasure, pressed upon solitude and by no means free from pain, he had found no resource but in reading, which of late had been his least occupation, except the mere politics of the day. Even reflection had discovered its way to him, though a long banished guest, which had quitted her post to make room for affectation, vanity, and every species of frivolity. Reduced, however, to be reasonable, even by this short confinement, he now felt the obligation of their charitable visit, and set his forgery in conceit apart from a desire to entertain them. Camilla had not conceived he had the power of being so pleasantly natural, and the strong feeling of gratitude in her ever warm heart made her contribute what she was able to the cheerfulness of the evening. Some time after, General Kinzel was called out, and presently returned with Major Sir Wood, just derived from the regiment, who, with some apology to Sir sadly, hoped he might be pardoned for the liberty he took, upon hearing who was at the hotel, of preferring such society to the rooms. As the Major had nothing in him, either brilliant or offensive, his side after the first salutations was almost all of which the company was sensible. Camilla, his sole object he could not approach. She sat between the baronet and Mrs. Arbery, and all her looks and all her attention were divided between them. Mrs. Arbery, emerging from the mortifications of neglect, which she had experienced almost for the first time in her life at the rooms, was unusually alive and entertaining. Sir sadly kept pace with her, and the discourse was so whimsical that Camilla amused, and willing to encourage his sensations so natural to her, after a sadness till now for so long a time on remitting, once more heard and welcomed the sound of her own laughter. It was instantly, however, and strangely checked, a sigh so deep that it might rather be called a groan, made its way through the wainskirt of the next apartment. Much railery followed the sight of her changed countenance, the hotel was pronounced to be haunted, and by her goes to reduce to that plight from her cruelty. But the good humour and gaiety of the conversation sooth brought her again to its tone, and time passed with general hilarity, till they observed that Miss Dennell, who, having no young female to talk with, of her own views and affairs, was thoroughly tired and had fallen asleep upon her chair. Her father was already gone home to a hot supper, which he had ordered in his own room, and meant to eat before their return. Mrs. Arbery, to his great discomfort, allowing nothing to appear at night but fruit or oysters. They now took leave Mrs. Arbery conducted by the general, and Camilla by the major, while Miss Dennell unassisted in half a sleep, stumbled, screamed, and fell just before she reached the staircase. The general was first to aid her, the major not choosing to quit Camilla, who, looking round at a light which came from the room whence the sigh they had heard her dishewed, perceived, as it glared in her eyes, it was held by Edgar. Astonishment, pleasure, hope, and shame took alternate rapid possession of her mind, but the last sensation was the first that visibly operated, and she snatched her hand involuntarily from the major. Mrs. Arbery exclaimed, Bless me, Mr. Mandelbert, are you the ghost we heard sighing in that room yonder? Mandelbert attempted to make some slight answer, but his voice refused all sound. She went on then to the carriage of Mr. Dennell, followed by her young ladies, and drove off for Mount Pleasant. CHAPTER IV The last words of Camilla to Mandelbert in quitting cleaves, and the tears with which he saw her eyes overflowing, had annihilated all his resentment, and left him no wish but to serve her. Her distinction between what was wisest and what was kindness had penetrated him to the quick. To be thought capable of severity, towards so sweet a young creature, the daughter of his guardian, his juvenile companion, and earliest favourite, made him detestable in his own eyes. He languished to follow her, to apologise for what had hurt her, and to vow to her a fair and disinterested friendship for the rest of his life, and he only forced himself from decency to stay out his promised week with the Baronet, before he set out for Tumbridge. Upon his arrival, which was late, he went immediately to the rooms, but he only saw her name in the books, and learnt upon inquiring for Mrs. Orleberry that she and her party were already retired. Glad to find her so sober in hours, he went to the hotel, meaning quietly to read till bedtime, and to call upon her the next morning. In a few moments a voice struck his ear that effectually interrupted his studies. It was the voice of Camilla, Camilla at an hotel, at past eleven o'clock. He knew she did not lodge there he had seen in the books the direction of Mrs. Orleberry at Mount Pleasant. Mrs. Orleberry's voice he also distinguished. Sir Sidley Clarendale's, General Kinsales, and least of all welcome, the Majors. Perhaps however some lady, some intimate friend of Mrs. Orleberry was just arrived, and had made them spend the evening there. He rang for his man and bid him inquire who had taken the next room, and learnt it was Sir Sidley Clarendale. To visit a young man at an hotel, rich, handsome and splendid, and with a chaperone so far from past her prime, so elegant, so coquettish, so alluring, and still so pretty, and to meet there a flashy officer, her open pursuer, and a valid admirer. It is true, he had concluded, Tunbridge and the Major were one, but not thus, not with such glaring and propriety. His love, he told himself, was past, but his esteem was still susceptible, and now grievously wounded. To read was impossible. To hold his watch in his hand, and count the minutes she still stayed, was all to which his faculties were equal. No words distinctly reached him, that the conversation was lively, the tone of every voice announced, but when that of Camilla struck him, by its laughter, the depth of his concern drew from him a sigh that was heard into the next apartment. Of this, with infinite vexation, he was himself aware from the sudden silence and pause of all discourse which ensued. Ashamed of both what he felt and what he betrayed, he grew more upon his guard, and hoped it might never be known to whom the room belonged. When, however, as they were retiring, a scream reached his ear, though he knew it was not the voice of Camilla he could not command himself, and rushed forth with a light, but the lady who screamed was as little noticed as thought of. The Major was holding the hand of Camilla, and his eye could take in no more, he saw not even Mrs. Arlbury was there, and when roused by her question all voice was denied him for answer. He stood motionless, even after they had descended the stairs, till the steps of the General and the Major, retiring to their chambers, brought to him some recollection, and enabled him to retreat. Fully now, as well as cruelly convinced of the unbated force of his unhappy passion, he spent the night in extreme wretchedness, and all that was not swallowed up in repining and regret was devoted to ruminate upon what possible means he could suggest to restore to himself the tranquility of indifference. The confusion of Camilla persuaded him she thought she was acting wrong, but whether from disapprobation of the character of the Major, or from any pecuniary obstacles to their union he could not devise. To assist the marriage according to his former plan would best, he still believed, soothe his internal sufferings, if once he could fancy the Major at all worthy of such a wife. But Camilla, with all her inconsistencies he thought a treasure unequaled, and to contribute to bestow her on a man who probably only prized her for her beauty, he now persuaded himself would rather be culpable than generous. Upon the whole, there ever, he could resolve only upon a complete change of his last system, to seek, instead of avoiding her, to familiarize himself with her faults, till he ceased to dote upon her virtues, to discover if her difficulties were mental or worldly, to enforce them if the first, and whatever it might cost him, to invalidate them if the last. This plan, the only one he could form, abated his misery. It reconciled him to residing where Camilla resided. It was easy to him, therefore, to conclude it was the least objectionable. Camilla, meanwhile, in her way to Mount Pleasant, spoke not as syllable, dismayed that Edgar should have seen her so situated while in ignorance how it had happened, made in uneasiness the most terrible combat, the perplexed pleasure, that lightened, yet palpitated in her bosom, from the view of Edgar at Tunbridge, and from the sigh which had reached her ears. Yet was it for her, he sighed? Was it not, rather, from some secret inequitude in which she was wholly uninterested and might never know? Still, however, he was at Tunbridge, still, therefore, she might hope something relative to herself induced his coming, and she determined, with respect to her own behaviour, to observe the injunctions of her father, whose letter she would regularly read every morning. Mrs. Arlberry also spoke not, the unexpected sight of Mandelbeer occupied all her thoughts. Yet though his confusion was suspicious, she could not ultimately believe he loved Camilla, as she could suggest no possible impediment to his proclaiming any regard he entertained. His sigh she imagined as likely to be mere lassitude as love, and supposed that, having long discovered the partiality of Camilla, his vanity had been confounded by the devour of the major. Miss Dennell, therefore, was the only one whose voice was heard during the ride. For now, completely awakened, she talked without cessation of the fright she had endured. La, I thought, cried she, when I tumbled down, somebody threw me down on purpose, and I was going to kill me. Oh, dear me, I thought I should have died! And then I thought it was a robber, and then I thought the candle that come was a ghost. Oh, la, I was never so frightened in my life! The next morning they went, as usual, to the pantiles, and Mrs. Arlberry took her seat in the bookseller's shop, where the usual bow were encountered and where presently a girt entering addressed to her some discourse, and made some general inquiries after the health of Camilla. It was a cruel drawback to her hopes to see him first thus in public, but the manner of Mrs. Arlberry at the hotel he had thought repulsive. He had observed that she seemed offended with him since the recounter at the breakfast given for Miss Dennell, and he now wished for some encouragement for renewing his rights to the acquaintance. Sir Sedley, though with the assistance of a stick he had reached the library, was not sufficiently at his ease to again mount his horse. A carriage expedition was therefore agitating for the morning, and to see Noel being fixed upon, equipages and horses were ordered. While they waited their arrival, Lady Alathea Selmore and a very chewy train of ladies and gentlemen came into the library. Sir Sedley, losing the easy natural manner which had just so much pleased Camilla, resumed his affectations, indolence, and inattention, and flung himself back in his chair without finishing a speech he had begun, or listening to an inquiry why he had stopped short. His friends, Lord Newford and Sir Theophilus Gerard, shuffled up to her ladyship, and Sir Sedley, muttering to himself life would not be life without being introduced to her, got up and seizing Lord Newford by the shoulder, whispered what he called the height of his ambition, and was presented without delay. He then entered into a little abrupt half-articulated conversation with Lady Alathea, who by a certain toss of the chin, a short and half-scornful laugh, and a supercilious dropping of the eye, gave to every sentence she uttered the air of a bonement, and after each as regularly stopped for some testimony of admiration as a favorite actress in some scene which every speech is applauded. What she said, indeed, had no other mark than what this manner gave to it, for it was neither good nor bad, wise nor foolish sprightly nor dull. It was what, if naturally spoken, would have passed as it deserved without censure or praise. This manner, however, prevailed not only upon her auditors but herself to believe that something of wit, of finesse, of peculiarity accompanied her every phrase. Thought properly speaking there was none in anything she pronounced. Her speeches were all replies which her admirers dignified by the name of Repartez, and which mechanically and regularly flowed from some word, not idea, that preceded. Mrs. Arlberry, having listened to some time, turned entirely away, though with less contempt of her ladyship than of her hearers. Her own auditors, however, except the faithful general, had all deserted her. Even the Major, curious to attend to a lady of some celebrity, had quitted the chair of Camilla, and Aker himself, imagining from this universal devotion there was something well worth an audience, had joined the group. We are terribly in the background, General! cried Mrs. Arlberry in a low voice. What must be done to save our reputations? The general, laughing, said he feared they were lost irretrievably, but added that he preferred to beat with her to victory without her. Your gallantry, my dear general, cried she with a sudden air of glee, shall be rewarded, follow me close, and you shall see the fortune of this day reversed. Rising then she advanced softly and with an air of respect towards the party, and fixing herself just opposite to Lady Alethea, with looks of the most profound attention stood still, as if in admiring expectation. Lady Alethea, who had regarded this approach as an intrusion that strongly manifested ignorance of high life, thought much better of it when she remarked the almost veneration of her air. She deemed it, however, wholly beneath her to speak when thus attended to, till observing the patient admiration with which even a single word seemed to be hoped for, she began to pardon what appeared to be mere tribute to her fame, and upon Sir Theophilus Gerard saying, I don't think we've had such a bore of a season as this these five years, could not refuse herself the pleasure of replying. I did not imagine, Sir Theophilus, you were already able to count by lusters. Her own air of complacency announced the happiness of this answer. The company, as usual, took the hint, and approbation was buzzed around her. Lord Newford gave a loud laugh, without the least conception why. And Sir Theophilus, after paying the same compliment wished as it concerned himself, to know what had been said, and glided to the other end of the shop to look for the word luster in Entex Dictionary. But this triumph was even less than momentary. Mrs. Arlbury, gently raising her shoulders with her head, indulged herself in a smile that favoured yet more of pity than derision, and with a hasty glance at the general, that spoke in eagerness to compare notes with him, hurried out of the shop her eyes dropped as if fearful to trust her countenance to an instance investigation. Lady Aletheia felt herself blush. The confusion was painful and unusual to her. She drew her glove off and on. She dabbled a highly scented pocket handkerchief repeatedly to her nose. She wondered what it was o'clock, took her watch in her hand, without recollecting to examine it, and then wondered if it would rain, though not a cloud was to be discerned in the sky. To see her thus completely disconcerted gave a weight to the mischievous malice of Mrs. Arlbury, of which the smallest presence of mine would have robbed it. Her admirers, one by one, dwindled away, with lessened esteem for her talents, and, finding herself presently alone in the shop with Sir Theopolis Gerard, said, Pray, Sir Theopolis, do you know anything of that queer woman? The words queer woman were guides sufficient to Sir Theopolis, who answered, No, I have seen her somewhere by accident, but she is quite out of our line. This reply was a sensible gratification to Lady Alethea, who, having heard her warmly admired by Lord Olerna, had been the more susceptible to her ridicule. Rude-ness she could have despised without emotion but contempt had something in it of insolence, a commodity she held herself born to dispense, not receive. When Mrs. Arlbury arrived laughing at the bottom of the pantiles, she found anger making inquiries of the time and manner of drinking the mineral water. Camilla heard him also, and with deep apprehension for his health, he did not, however, look ill, and a second sadness, not less deep, ensued, that she could now retain no hope of being herself his inducement to this journey. But egotism was no part of her composition, when she saw therefore the next minute Sir Sedley Clarendale advanced limping, and heard him ask if his Phaeton were ready, she approached him, saying, Will you venture, Sir Sedley, in your Phaeton? There's no sort of reason why not, answered he, sensibly flattered, yet I had certainly rather go as you go. Then that, said Mrs. Arlbury, must be in Dennell's coach, with him and my little niece here, and then I'll drive the general in your Phaeton. Agreed, cried Sir Sedley, seeing himself on one of the forums, and then, taking from a paper some tickets added, I want a few guineas. So do I, exclaimed Mrs. Arlbury, do you know where such sort of things are to be met with? Lady Alethia Selmore has promised to disperse some twenty tickets for the master of the ceremony's ball, and she commands me to help. How many shall I give you? Ask Mr. Dennell, answered she negligently. He's the only paymaster just now. Mr. Dennell turned around, and was going to walk away, but Mrs. Arlbury, taking him by the arm, said, My good friend, how many tickets shall Sir Sedley give you? Me, none at all. Oh, fine, everybody goes to the master of the ceremony's ball. Come, you shall have six, you can't possibly take less. Six? What should I do with them? Why, you and your daughter will use two, and four you must give away. What for? Ah, who's ever such a question? To do what's proper and right, and handsome and gallant. Oh, as to all that, it's what I don't understand. It's out of my way. He would then have made off, but Mrs. Arlbury, peaked to succeed, held him fast, and said, Come, if you'll be good, I'll be good too, and you shall have a plain joint of meat at the bottom of the table every day for a fortnight. Mr. Dennell softened a little here into something like a smile, and drew two guineas from his purse, but more there was no obtaining. Come, cried Sir Sedley, you have canvassed well so far, now for your fair self. You're a shocking creature, cried she, Don't you know I am turned miser? Yet she gave him her guinea. But the fair Tyrolda does not also, I trust, assume that character. Camilla had felt very uneasy during this contest, and now, coloring, she said she did not mean to go to the ball. Can you ever expect, then, said Mrs. Arlbury, to have a partner at any other? You don't know the rules of these places. The master of the ceremonies is always a gentleman, and everybody is eager to shoo him every possible respect. Camilla was now still more distressed, and stammered out that she believed the fewer balls she went to, the better her father would be pleased. Your father, my dear, is a very wise man, and a very good man, and a very excellent preacher. But what does he know of Tumbridge Wells? Certainly not so much as my dairymaid, for she has heard John talk of them, but as to your father, depend upon it, the soul knowledge he has ever obtained is from some treaty upon its mineral waters, which very possibly he can analyze as well as a physician, but for the regulation of a country dance, be assured he will do much better than to make you over to Sir Sidley or to me. Camilla laughed faintly, and feeling in her pocket to take out her pocket handkerchief by way of something to do, Mrs. Arlbury concluded she was seeking her purse, and suddenly putting her hand upon her arm to prevent her, said, No, no, if you don't wish to go, or choose to go, or approve of going, I cannot, in sober earnestness, see, you compelled. Nothing is so detestable as forcing people to be amused. Come, now, for no. Sir Sidley was then putting up his tickets, but the major, taking one of them out of his hand, presented it to Camilla, saying, Let the ladies take their tickets now, and settle with us afterwards. Camilla felt extremely provoked, yet not knowing how to resist, took the ticket, but turning pointedly from the major to Sir Sidley, said, I am your debtor, then, sir, againy the smallest part, indeed, of what I owe you, though all I can pay. And she then resolved to borrow that sum immediately of Mrs. Arlbury. Sir Sidley began to think she grew handsomer every moment, and contrary to his established and systematic inattention, upon hearing the sound of the carriages, conducted her himself to Mr. Dennell's coach, which he ascended after her. Edgar, unable to withstand joining the party, had ordered his horse during the debate about the tickets. Lords O'Leary and Newford, and Sir Theophalus Gerard, and Major Sirwood, went also on horseback. Sir Sidley made it his study to procure amusement for Camilla during the ride, and while he humored, alternately, the loquacious folly of Miss Dennell, and the underbred positiveness of her father, intermingled with both comic sarcasms against himself, and pointed annotations upon the times, that somewhat diverted her solicitude and perplexity. She forgot them, however, more naturally, in examining the noble antique mansion, pictures, and curiosities of Noel, and in paying the tribute that taste must ever pay to the works exhibited there of Sir Joshua Reynolds. The house viewed, they all proceeded to the park, where enchanted with the noble old trees, which venerably adorned it, they strolled delightedly, till they came within sight of an elegant white form, as far distanced as their eyes could reach, reading under an oak. Camilla instantly thought of her moonlight friend, but Sir Theophalus called out, Faith, there's the divine Burlington! Is there a faith? exclaimed Lord Newford, suddenly rushing forward to satisfy himself if it were true. Doing this an ill-bred and unauthorized intrusion they all stopped. The studious fair, profoundly absorbed by her book, did not hear his lordship's footsteps till his coat rustled in her ears. Raising then her eyes, she screamed, dropped her book, and darted up, flew towards the wood with a velocity far exceeding his own, though without seeming to know or consider whether her flight might lead her. Camilla, certain now this was her new friend, felt an ignignation most lively against Lord Newford, and involuntarily sprung forward. It was evident the fair future had perceived none of the party, but him she sought to avoid. Notwithstanding Lord Newford himself, when convinced to it was, ceased his pursuit, and seemed almost to find out there was such a sensation as shame, though by various antics of swinging his cane, looking up in the air, shaking his pocket handkerchief and sticking his arms akimbo, he thought it essential to his credit to disguise it. Camilla had no chance to reach the flying beauty, but by calling to her to stop, which she did instantly at the sound of her voice, and turning round with a look of rapture, ran into her arms. The major, whose duvoir to Camilla always sought, not avoided the public eye, eagerly pursued her. Edgar, cruelly envying a license he concluded to result from his happy situation, looked on in silent amaze, but listened with no small attention to the remarks that now fell from Mrs. Arlberry, who said she was sure this must be the fair incognita that Miss Tyrold had met with upon the road, and gave a lively relation of that adventure. He could not hear without delight the benevolent courage thus manifested by Camilla, nor without terror the danger to which it might have exposed her, but Lord O'Learney with an air of extreme surprise exclaimed, Is it possible Lord Newford could give any cause of alarm to Mrs. Burlington? Is she then my lord a woman of character, cried Mrs. Arlberry? Untainted, he answered solemnly, as spotless I believe as her beauty, and if you have seen her you will allow that to be no small praise. She comes from a most respectable family in Wales, and has been married but a few months. Married, my lord, my fair female Coyote assured me she was single. No, poor thing, she was carried from the nursery to the altar, and my fear not married judiciously nor happily. Dear, cried Miss Dennell, isn't she happy? I never presumed to judge, answered his lordship, smiling, but she has always something melancholy in her air. Who pray, how old is she? said Miss Dennell, eighteen. Dear, and married, lough, I wonder what makes her unhappy. I'm not a husband, certainly, said Mrs. Arlberry, laughing, that is against all chance and probability. Well, I'm resolved when I'm married myself, I won't be unhappy. And how will you help it? Oh, because I'm determined I won't. I think it's very hard if I may have my own way when I'm married. Will at least be very singular, answered Mrs. Arlberry. Camilla now returned to her party, having first conducted her new friend towards a door in the park where her carriage was waiting. At length, my dear, said Mrs. Arlberry, your fair mysterious has, I suppose, about herself. I made no inquiry, answered she, painfully looking down. I can tell you who she is, then, myself, said Miss Dennell. She is Mrs. Burlington, and she's come out of Wales, and she's married, and she's eighteen. Married, repeated Camilla, blushing from internal surprise at the conversation she had held with her. Yes, your fair incognitas, neither more nor less, said Mrs. Arlberry, than the honourable Mrs. Burlington, wife to Lord Burlington's brother, and next only to Lady Alethia Selmore, the first toast, and the reigning cry of the wells for this season. Camilla, who had seen and considered her in almost every other point of view, heard this with less of pleasure than astonishment. When a further investigation brought forth from Lord O'Learney that her maiden name was Melmond, Mrs. Arlberry exclaimed, Oh, then I cease to play the idiot, and wonder, I know the Melmond's well. They're all half-crazy, romantic, love-lorn, studious, and sentimental. One of them was in Hampshire this summer, but so immensely, melancholy and gentlemen-like, that I never took him into my society. It was the brother of this young lady, I doubt not, said Lord O'Learney. He is a young man of very good parts, and of an exemplary character, but strong in his feelings, and wild in pursuit of whatever excites them. When will you introduce me to your new friend, Miss Tyrell, said Mrs. Arlberry, or rather, turning to Lord Newford, I hope your lordship will do me that honour. I hear you are very kind to her, and take much care to convince her of the ill effects and danger of the evening air. Oh, hang it, O'Cursed! cried his lordship, Why does a woman walk by moonlight? Why, rather, should man, said Lord O'Learney, impede so natural a recreation. The age of Lord O'Learney, which more than doubled that of Lord Newford, made this question supported, and even drew forth the condensation of an attempt in exculpation. I vow, my lord! he cried. I had no intention but to look at a letter, and that I thought she only read in public to excite curiosity. Oh! But you nailed to her! cried Miss Tyrell. You nailed to her! I saw you! And why did you do that when you knew she was married, and you could not be her lover? The party being now disposed to return to the wells, Mrs. Arlbury called upon the general to attend her to the Phaeton. Camilla, impatient to pace her, saidly, followed to speak to her, but not aware of her wish, Mrs. Arlbury hurried laughingly on, saying, Come, general, let us be gone, that the coach may be last, and then dental must pay for the fees! That will be a good guinea towards my ponies! CHAPTER V Mount Pleasant The shame and distress natural to every unhackneyed mind in any necessity of soliciting a pecuniary favour had now, in that of Camilla, the additional difficulty of coping against the avowed desire of Mrs. Arlbury not to open her purse. When they arrived at Mount Pleasant, she saw all the horsemen alighted and in conversation with that lady, and Edgar moved towards the carriage palpably with a design to hand her out. But as the major advanced he retreated, and finding himself unnoticed by Mrs. Arlbury, remounted his horse. Provoked in chagrin she sprung forwards alone, and when pursued by the major with some of his usual compliments, turned from him impatiently and went upstairs. Intent and thinking only of Edgar she was not herself aware of this abruptness till Mrs. Arlbury, following her to her chamber, said, Why were you so suddenly haughty to the major, my dear Miss Tyrold? Has he offended you? Much surprise she answered no, but forced by further questions to be more explicit, confessed she wished to distance him as his behaviour had been remarked. Remarked? How? By whom? She coloured and was again hardly pressed before she answered, Mr. Mando-Bear once named it to me. Oh, did he, said Mrs. Arlbury, surprised in her turn. Why then, my dear, depend upon it, he loves you himself. Me, Mr. Mando-Bear, exclaimed Camilla, doubting what she heard. Nay, why not? Why not? repeated she in an excess of perturbation. Oh, he is too good! To excelling, he sees all my faults, points them out himself. Does he, said Mrs. Arlbury thoughtfully, and pausing, Nay, then, if so, he wishes to marry you. Me, ma'am! cried Camilla, blushing high with mingled delight at the idea and displeasure at its free expression. Why else would he caution you against another? From goodness, from kindness, from generosity. No, no, these are not the characteristics of young men who counsel young women. We all heard he was engaged to your beautiful, vacant-looking cousin, but I suppose he grew sick of her. A very young man seldom likes a silly wife. It is generally when he is further advanced in life that he takes that depraved taste. He then flatters himself a fool will be easier to govern. She now went away to dress, leaving Camilla a new creature changed in all her hopes, though overwhelmed with shame at the freedom of this attack, and determined to exert her utmost strength of mind not to expose to view the secret pleasure with which it filled her. She was, however, so absent when they met again that Mrs. Arlbury, shaking her head, said, Ha! my fair friend! what have you been thinking of? Excessively ashamed, she endeavored to brighten up. The General and Sir Sedley had been invited to dinner. The latter was engaged in the evening to Lady Alathea Selmore, who gave tea at her own lodgings. The rooms, then, will be quite empty, said Mrs. Arlbury, so we had better go to the play. Mr. Dennell had no objection, and Sir Sedley promised to attend them as it would be time enough for her ladyship afterwards. So completely was Camilla absorbed in her new ideas that she forgot both her borrowed guinea and the state of her purse till she arrived at the theatre. The recollection was then too late, and she had no resource against completely emptying it. She was too happy, however, at this instant to admit any regret. The sagacity of Mrs. Arlbury, she thought infallible, and the sight of Edgar in a box just facing her banished every other consideration. The theatre was almost without company. The assembly at Lady Alathea Selmores had made it un- fashionable, and when the play was over, Edgar found easily a place in the box. Lord Newford and Sir Theophilus Gerard looked in just after, and effected not to know the piece was begun. Sir Sedley retired to his toilette and Mr. Dennell to seek his carriage. Some bills now got into the box and were read by Sir Theophilus, announcing a superb exhibition of wild beasts for the next day, consisting chiefly of monkeys who could perform various feats, and a famous orangutan just landed from Africa. Lord Newford said he would go if he had but two more days to live. Mr. Theophilus echoed him. Mr. Dennell expressed some curiosity. Miss Dennell, though she protested she would be frightened out of her wits, said she would not stay at home. Mrs. Arlbury confessed it would be an amusing sight to see so many representations of the dear human race, but Camilla spoke not, and scarce heard even the subject of discourse. You, cried the major addressing her, will be there. Where, demanded she, to see this curious collection of animals? It will be curious, undoubtedly, said Edgar, pleased that she made no answer, but tis a species of curiosity not likely to attract the most elegant spectators, and rather, perhaps, adapted to give pleasure to naturalists rather than young ladies. Sofened at this moment in every feeling of her heart towards Edgar, she turned to him and said, Do you think it would be wrong to go? Wrong, repeated he, surprised, though gratified, is perhaps too hard a word. But I fear, at an itinerant show such as this, a young lady would run some chance of finding herself in a neighborhood that might seem rather strange to her. Most certainly, then, cried she with quickness, I will not go. The astonished Edgar looked at her with earnestness, and saw the simplicity of sincerity on her continents. He looked, then, at the major, who, accustomed to frequent failures in his solicitations, exhibited no change of features. Again he looked to Camilla, and her eyes met his with a sweetness of expression that passed straight to his heart. Mrs. Albury now led the way to the coach. The forwardness of the major, though in her own despite, procured him the hand of Camilla, but she had left upon Edgar an impression renovating to all his esteem. She is still, he thought, the same candored, open, flexible. Still, therefore, let me follow her, with such counsel as I am able to give. She has accused me of unkindness. She was right. I retreated from her service at the moment when, in honour, I was bound to continue it. How selfish was such conduct! How, like such common love, as seeks only its own gratification, not the happiness or welfare of its object! Could she, though but lately so dear to me, that all the felicity of my life seemed to hang upon her, become as nothing, become destined to another? No! Her father has been my father, and so long as she retains his respected name, I will watch by her unceasingly. In their way home one of the horses tired, and could not be made to drag the carriage up to Mount Pleasant. They were therefore obliged to alight and walk. Mrs. Albury took the arm of Mr. Dennell, which she did not spare, and his daughter, almost crying with sleep and fatigue, made the same use of Camilla's. She protested she had never been so long upon her feet in her life as that very morning in Noel Park, and, though she lent upon her companion with as little scruple as upon a walking stick, she frequently stopped short, and declared she should stay upon the road all night, for she could not move another step. And they were still far from the summit, when she insisted upon sitting down, saying fretfully, I'm sure! I wish I was married! Nobody minds me! I'm sure if I was, I would not be served so! I'm resolved! I'll always have two coaches, one to come after me, and one to ride in, for I am determined. I won't marry a man that has not a great fortune. I'm sure Papa could afford it, too, if he'd a mind, only he won't. Everybody fixes me. I'm sure I'm ready to cry! Mr. Dennell and Mrs. Albury, who neither of them at any time took the smallest notice of what she said, passed on, and left the whole weight of both her person and her complaints to Camilla. The latter, however, now reached the ears of a fat, tidy, neat-looking elderly woman, who, in a large black bonnet and a blue-checkered apron, was going their way. She approached them, and in a good-humored voice said, What, poor dear, why you seem tired to death? Come, get up, my dear, be of good heart, and you shall hold by my arm, for to other poor things almost haul to pieces!" Miss Dennell accepted both the pity and the proposal, and the substantial arm of her new friend gave her fair superior aid to the slight one of Camilla. Well, and how did you like the play, my dears? cried the woman. Loh! said Miss Dennell, how did you know we were at the play? Oh, I have a little bird, answered she, sagaciously nodding. That tells me everything. You sat in the stage, box. Dear, so we did. How can you tell? Was you in the gallery? No, my dear, nor yet in the pit, neither, and you had three gentlemen behind you besides that gentleman that's going up the mount? Dear, so we had. But how do you know? Did you peep at us behind the scenes? No, my dear, I never went behind the scenes, but come, I hope you'll do now, for you haven't much further to go. Dear, how do you know that? Because you live at that pretty house there, up Mount Pleasant, that's got the little closet window. Loh! Yes! Ah! Oh, who told you so? And there's a pretty cat's belonging to the house, all street, brown, and black. Oh, Loh! exclaimed Miss Dennell, half screeching, letting go her arm. I dare say you're a fortune teller, play, don't speak to me till we get to the light. She now hung back, so terrified that neither Camilla could encourage nor the woman appease her, and she was going to run down the hill, forgetting all her weariness to seek refuge from the servants, when the woman said, Why, what's here to do? Why, see, my dear, if I must let you into the secret, you must know, but don't tell it to the world, I'm a gentle woman. She then removed her checkered apron, and shewed a white muslin one, embroidered and flounced. Miss Dennell was now struck with surprise of which Camilla bore an equal share. Their new acquaintance appeared herself in some confusion, but having exacted a promise not to be discovered to the world, she told them she lodged at a house upon Mount Pleasant, just by theirs, whence she often saw them, that having a ticket given to her by a friend for the play, she dressed herself and went into a box with some very gentile company, who kept their coach, and who sat her down afterwards at another friend's, where she pretended she should be fetched. But I do my own way, continued she, and nobody knows a word of the matter, for I keep a large bonnet, and a cloak, and a checkered apron, and a pair of clogs or patents, always at this friend's, and when I have put them on, people take me for a mere common person, and I walk on, ever so late, and nobody speaks to me, and so by that means I get my pleasure, and save my money, and yet always appear like a gentle woman when I'm known. She then again charged them to be discreet, saying that if this were spread to the world, she would be quite undone, for many ladies that took her about with them would notice her no more. At the same time, as she wished to make acquaintance with such pretty young ladies, she proposed that they should all three meet in a walk before the house the next morning, and talk together as if for the first time. Camilla, who detested all tricks, declined entering into this engagement. But Miss Dennell, charmed with the ingenuity of her new acquaintance, accepted the appointment. Camilla had, however, her own new friend for the opening of the next day. Oh, my sweet protectress! cried she, throwing her arms around her neck. What am I not destined to owe you? The very sight of that man is farer to me! Amiable, generous creature! What a sight was yours when turning round I met your eyes, and beheld him no more! Your alarm at which I cannot wonder, said Camilla, prevented your seeing your safety, for Lord Newford was with a large party. Oh, he is obnoxious to my view! Whenever I may see him, in public or in private, I shall fly from him. He would have torn me from the loved characters of my heart's best correspondent. Camilla now felt a little shocked, and colouring, and interpreting her, said, Is it possible, Mrs. Burlington? And stopped, not knowing how to go on. Oh, you know me then. You know my connections, and my situation. Cried she, hiding her face on Camilla's bosom. Tell me, at least tell me, you do not therefore condemn, and abhor me. Heaven forbid, said Camilla, terrified at such a preparation. What can I hear that can give you so cruel an idea? Alas, know you not, I have profaned at the altar my plighted vows to the most odious of men, that I have formed an alliance I despise, and that I bear a name I think of with disgust and hate ever to own. Camilla, thunderstruck, answered, No indeed, I know nothing of all this. Oh, guard yourself then well, cried she, bursting into tears, from a similar fate. My friends are kind and good, but the temptation of seeing me rich beguiled them. I was disinterested and contented myself, but young and inexperienced. I yielded to their pleadings, unaware of their consequences. Alas, I was utterly ignorant, both of myself and the world. I know not how essential to my own peace was an amiable companion, and I knew not, then, that the world contained one just form to make me happy. She now hung down her head, weeping and desponding. Camilla sought to soothe her, but was so amazed, so fearful and so perplexed. She scarce knew what either to say or to think. The fair mourner at length, a little recovering, added, Let me not agitate your gentle bosom with my sorrows. I regard you as an angel sent to console them, but it must be my mitigating not partaking of them. Camilla was sensibly touched, and though strangely and a loss what to judge, felt her affections deeply interested. I dread it, she continued, to tell you my name, for I dread it to sink myself into your contempt by your knowledge of an alliance you must deem so mercenary. Twas folly, to hope you would not hear it, yet I wish first to obtain at least your goodwill. The dear lost name of Melman is all I love to pronounce. That name, I believe, is known to you, so may be also perhaps my brother's unhappy story. Melman, she then said, believing Miss Linmayer betrothed to Mr. Mandelbear, had quitted Hampshire in Misery to finish his vacation in Wales with their mutual friends. There, he heard that the rumour was false, and would instantly have returned and thrown himself at the feet of the young lady by whose cousin, Mr. Lionel Tyreld, he had been told she was to inherit a large fortune. When this second report also was contradicted, and he learnt that Miss Linmayer had almost nothing, my brother, added she, with the true spirit of true sentiment, was but the more urgent to pursue her, but our relations interfered, and he, like me, is doomed to endless anguish. The accident she said of the preceding morning was owing to her being engaged in reading Rose's letters from the dead to the living, which had so infinitely enchanted her that, desiring to peruse them without interruption, yet fearing to again wander in search of a rural retreat, she had driven to Noel, where, hearing the noble family was absent, she had asked Leib to view the park, and there had taken out her delicious book, which she was enjoying in the height of luxury of solitude and sweet air, when Lord Newford broke in upon her. Camilla inquired if she had heared any bad consequences by telling Mr. Burlington of his impertinence. Heaven forbid, she answered, that I should be condemned to speak to Mr. Burlington of anything that concerns or befalls me. I see him as little as I am able, and speak to him as seldom. Camilla heard this with grief, but durst not further press a subject so delicate. They continued together till noon, and then reluctantly parted upon a message from Mrs. Arlbury that the carriages were waiting. Mrs. Burlington declined being introduced to that lady, which would only, she said, occasion interruptions to their future tetatets. Neither the thoughtlessness of the disposition nor the gaiety of the imagination of Camilla could disguise from her understanding the glaring eccentricity of this conduct and character. But she saw them with more of interest than blame. The various attractions with which they were mixed, blending in her opinion something between pity and admiration, more captivating, though more dangerous, to the fond fancy of youth than the most solid respect and best found esteem. End of Book 6, Chapter 5