 Volume 3, Chapter 6 of Cecilia. The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Cecilia went in a chair to Swallow Street. She inquired from Miss Belfield and was told to go upstairs, but what was her amazement to meet just coming out of the room into which she was entering? Young Delville. They both started, and Cecilia, from the seeming strangeness of her situation, felt a confusion with which she had hitherto been unacquainted. But Delville, presently recovering from his surprise, said to her, with an expressive smile, How good is Miss Beverly thus to visit the sick, and how much better might I have had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Belfield had I bought by prescience known her design and deferred my own inquiries till he had been revived by hers. And then, bowing and wishing her good morning, he glided past her. Cecilia, notwithstanding the openness and purity of her intentions, was so much disconcerted by this unexpected meeting, and pointed speech, that she had not the presence of mind to call him back and clear herself. And the various interrogatories and raileries, which had already passed between them upon the subject of Mr. Belfield, made her suppose that what he had formally suspected, he would now think confirmed, and conclude that all her assertions of indifference proceeded merely from that readiness at hypocrisy, upon particular subjects, of which he had openly accused her whole sex. This circumstance and this apprehension took from her for a while all interest in the errand upon which she came. But the benevolence of her heart soon brought it back, when, upon going into the room, she saw her new favorite in tears. What is the matter, cried she, tenderly? No new affliction, I hope, has happened. Your brother is not worse. No, madam, he is much the same. I was not then crying for him. For what, then? Tell me, acquaint me with your sorrows, and assure yourself you tell them to a friend. I was crying, madam, to find so much goodness in the world, when I thought there was so little, to find that I have some chance of being again happy, when I thought I was miserable forever. Two whole years have I spent in nothing but unhappiness, and I thought there was nothing else to be had. But yesterday, madam, brought me you, with every promise of nobleness and protection, and today a friend of my brother's has behaved so generously, that even my brother has listened to him, and almost consented to be obliged to him. And have you already known so much sorrow, said Cecilia, that this little dawn of prosperity should wholly out-for-power your spirits? Gentle, amiable girl, may the future recompense you for the past, and may Mr. Albany's kind wishes be fulfilled in the reciprocation of our comfort and affection. They then entered into a conversation which the sweetness of Cecilia, and the gratitude of Miss Belfield, soon rendered interesting, friendly, and unreserved. And in a very short time, whatever was essential in the story or situation of the latter, was fully communicated. She gave, however, a charge the most earnest that her brother should never be acquainted with the confidence she had made. Her father, who had been dead only two years, was a linen draper in the city. He had six daughters of whom herself was the youngest, and only one son. This son, Mr. Belfield, was alike the darling of his father, mother, and sisters. He was brought up at Eaton. No expense was spared in his education. Nothing was denied that could make him happy. With an excellent understanding, he had uncommon quickness of parts, and his progress in his studies was rapid and honorable. His father, though he always meant him for his successor in his business, heard of his improvement with rapture, often saying, my boy will be the ornament of the city. He will be the best scholar in any shop in London. He was soon, however, taught another lesson. When at the age of sixteen he returned home and was placed in the shop, instead of applying his talents as his father had expected to trade, he both despised and abhorred the name of it. When serious, treating it with contempt, when gay with derision. He was seized also with a most ardent desire to finish his education, like those of his school fellows who left Eaton at the same time, at one of the universities. And after many difficulties, this petition, at the intercession of his mother, was granted. Old Mr. Belfield telling him he hoped a little more learning would give him a little more sense, and that when he became a finished student, he would not only know the true value of business, but understand how to get money, and make a bargain better than any man whatsoever within Temple Bar. These expectations, equally short-sighted, were also equally fallacious with the former. The son again returned, and returned as his father had hoped, a finished student. But far from being more tractable or better disposed for application to trade, his aversion to it now was more stubborn, and his opposition more hearty than ever. The young men of fashion with whom he had formed friendships at school, or at the university, and with whom from the indulgence of his father he was always able to vie and expense, and from the indulgence of nature to excel in capacity, earnestly sought the continuance of his acquaintance, and courted and coveted the pleasure of his conversation. But though he was now totally disqualified for any other society, he lost all delight in their favor from fear that they should discover his abode, and sedulously endeavored to avoid even occasionally meeting them lest any of his family should at the same time approach him. For of his family, though wealthy, worthy, and independent, he was now so utterly ashamed that the mortification the most cruel he could receive was to be asked to his address, who told he should be visited. Tired at length of evading the inquiries made by some, and forcing faint laughs at the detection made by others, he privately took a lodging at the west end of the town, to which he thenceforward directed all his friends, and where, under various pretenses, he contrived to spend the greatest part of his time. In all his expensive deceits and frolics, his mother was his never-failing confidant and assistant. For when she heard that the companions of her son were men of fashion, some born to titles, others destined to high stations, she concluded he was in the certain road to honor and profit, and frequently distressed herself without ever repining in order to enable him to preserve upon equal terms connections which she believed so conducive to his future grandeur. In this wild and unsettled manner he passed some time, struggling incessantly against the authority of his father, privately abetted by his mother, and constantly aided and admired by his sisters, till, sick of so desultory a way of life, he entered himself a volunteer in the army. How soon he grew tired of this change has already been related, as well as his reconciliation with his father and his becoming a student at the temple, for the father now grew as weary of opposing as the young man of being opposed. Here for two or three years he lived in happiness uninterrupted. He extended his acquaintance among the great, by whom he was no sooner known than caressed and admired, and he frequently visited his family which, though he blushed to own in public, he affectionately loved in private. His profession indeed was but little in his thoughts, successive engagements occupying almost all his hours. Tired with the favor of the world and charmed to find his presence seemed the signal for entertainment, he soon forgot the uncertainty of his fortune and the inferiority of his rank. The law grew more and more fatiguing, pleasure became more and more alluring, and by degrees he had not a day unappropriated to some party or amusement. Voluntarily consigning the few leisure moments his gay circle afforded him to the indulgence of his fancy in some hasty compositions and verse which were handed about in manuscript and which contributed to keep him in fashion. Such was the situation at the death of his father. A new scene was then opened to him, and for some time he hesitated what course to pursue. Old Mr. Belfield, though he lived in great affluence, left not behind him any considerable fortune after the portions of his daughters to each of whom he bequeathed two thousand pounds, had been deducted from it. But his stock and trade was great, and his business was prosperous and lucrative. His son, however, did not merely want application and fortitude to become his successor, but skill and knowledge. His deliberation, therefore, was hasty, and his resolution improvident. He determined to continue at the temple himself, while the shop, which he could by no means afford to relinquish, should be kept up by another name, and the business of it be transacted by an agent, hoping thus to secure and enjoy its emoluments without either the trouble or the humiliation of attendance. But this scheme, like most others that have their basis in vanity, ended in nothing but mortification and disappointment. The shop, which under Old Mr. Belfield had been flourishing and successful and enriched himself and all his family, could now scarce support the expenses of an individual. Without a master, without that diligent attention to its prosperity which the interest of possession alone can give, and the authority of a principal alone can enforce, it quickly lost its fame for the excellence of its goods, and soon after its customers from the report of its declension. The produce, therefore, diminished every month. He was surprised, he was provoked, he was convinced he was cheated, and that his affairs were neglected. But though he threatened from time to time to inquire into the real state of the business and investigate the cause of its decay, he felt himself inadequate to the task, and now first lamented that early contempt of trade which by preventing him acquiring some knowledge of it while he had youth and opportunity, made him now ignorant what he had redressed to seek, though certain of imposition and injury. But yet, however disturbed by alarming suggestions in his hours of retirement, no alteration was made in the general course of his life. He was still the darling of his friends, and the leader in all parties, and still, though his income was lessened, his expenses increased. Such were his circumstances at the time Cecilia first saw him at the house of Mr. Mountain, from which, two days after her arrival in town, he was himself summoned by an information that his agent had suddenly left the kingdom. The fatal consequence of this fraudulent elopement was immediate bankruptcy. His spirits, however, did not yet fail him. As he had never been the nominal master of the shop, he escaped old dishonor from its ruin, and was satisfied to consign what remained to the mercy of the creditors so that his own name should not appear in the gazette. Three of his sisters were already extremely well-married to reputable tradesmen. The two elder of those who were yet single were settled with two of those who were married, and Henrietta, the youngest, resided with her mother, who had a comfortable annuity and a small house in Paddington. Bereft thus threw vanity and imprudence of all the long labors of his father. He was now compelled to think seriously of some actual method of maintenance. Since his mother, though willing to sacrifice to him even the nourishment which sustained her, could do for him but little, and that little he had too much justice to accept. The law, even to the most diligent and successful, is extremely slow of profit, and whatever from his connections and abilities might be hoped the hereafter, at present, required an expense which he was no longer able to support. It remained then to try his influence with his friends among the great and the powerful. His canvas proved extremely honorable. Everyone promised him something, and all seemed delighted to have an opportunity of serving him. Pleased with finding the world so much better than report had made it, he now saw the conclusion of his difficulties in the prospect of a place at court. Wellfield, with half the penetration with which he was gifted, would have seen in any other man the delusive idleness of expectations no better founded. But though discernment teaches us the folly of others, experience singly can teach us our own. He flattered himself that his friends had been more wisely selected than the friends of those who in similar circumstances had been beguiled, and he suspected not the fraud of his vanity, till he found his invitations daily slacken, and that his time was at his own command. All his hopes now rested upon one friend and patron, Mr. Fleuer, an uncle of Sir Robert Fleuer, a man of power in the royal household with whom he had lived in great intimacy, and who at this period had the disposal of a place which he solicited. The only obstacle that seemed in his way was from Sir Robert himself, who warmly exerted his interest in favor of a friend of his own. Mr. Fleuer, however, assured Bellefield of the preference, and only begged his patience till he could find some opportunity of appeasing his nephew. And this was the state of his affairs at the time of his quarrel at the opera house. Already declared opponents of each other, Sir Robert felt double wrath that for him Cecilia should reject his civilities, while Bellefield, suspecting he presumed upon his known dependence on his uncle to affront him, felt also double indignation at the haughtiness of his behavior. And thus, slight as seemed to the world the cause of their contest, each had private motives of animosity that served to stimulate revenge. The very day after this duel, Mr. Fleuer wrote him word that he was now obliged in common decency to take the part of his nephew, and therefore had already given the place to the friend he had recommended. This was the termination of his hopes, and the signal of his ruin. To the pain of his wound, he became insensible from the superior pain of this unexpected miscarriage. Yet his pride still enabled him to disguise his distress, and to see all the friends whom this accident induced to seek him, while from the sprightliness he forced in order to conceal his anguish, he appeared to them more lively and more entertaining than ever. But these efforts, when left to himself into nature, only sunk him the deeper in sadness. He found an immediate change in his way of life was necessary, yet could not brook to make it in sight of those with whom he had so long lived in all the brilliancy of equality. A high principle of honor, which still, in the midst of his gay career, had remained uncorrupted, had scrupulously guarded him from running in debt, and therefore, though little possessed, that little was strictly his own. He now published that he was going out of town for the benefit of pure air, discharged his surgeon, took a gay leave of his friends, entrusting no one with his secret but his servant, was privately conveyed to mean and cheap lodgings in Swallow Street. Here, shut up from every human being he had formerly known, he proposed to remain till he grew better, and then again to seek his fortune in the army. His present situation, however, was little calculated to contribute to his recovery. The dismission of the surgeon, the precipitation of his removal, the inconveniences of his lodgings, and the unseasonable deprivation of long customary indulgencies were unavoidable delays of his amendment, while the mortification of his present disgrace and the bitterness of his late disappointment, preyed incessantly upon his mind, robbed him of rest, heightened his fever, and reduced him by degrees to a state so low and dangerous that his servant, alarmed for his life, secretly acquainted his mother with his illness and retreat. The mother, almost distracted by this intelligence, instantly with her daughter, flew to his lodgings. She wished to have taken him immediately to her house at Paddington, but he had suffered so much from his first removal that he would not consent to another. She would then have called in a physician, but he refused even to see one, and she had too long given weight to all his desires and opinions, to have now the force of mind for exerting the requisite authority of issuing her orders without consulting him. She begged, she pleaded indeed, and Henrietta joined in her in treaties, but sickness and vexation had not rendered him tame, though they had made him sullen. He resisted their prayers and commonly silenced them by assurances that their opposition to the plan he had determined to pursue only inflamed his fever and retarded his recovery. The motive of an obduracy so cruel to his friends was the fear of a detection which he thought not merely prejudicial to his affairs, but dishonorable to his character. For without betraying any symptom of his distress, he had taken a general leave of his acquaintance upon pretense of going out of town, and he could ill endure to make a discovery which would at once proclaim his degradation and his deceit. Mr. Albany had accidentally broken in upon him by mistaking his room for that of another sick person in the same house to whom his visit had been intended. But as he knew in reverence that old gentleman, he did not much repine at his intrusion. He was not so easy when the same discovery was made by Young Delville, who, chanceing to meet his servant in the street, inquired concerning his master's health, and surprising from him its real state followed him home, where, soon certain of the change in his affairs, by the change of his habitation, he wrote him a letter in which, after apologizing for his freedom, he warmly declared that nothing could make him so happy as being favored with his commands if, either through himself or his friends, he could be so fortunate as to do him any service. Belfield, deeply mortified at this detection of his situation, returned only a verbal answer of cold thanks and desired he would not speak of his being in town as he was not well enough to be seen. This reply gave almost equal mortification to Young Delville, who continued, however, to call at the door with inquiries how he went on, though he made no further attempt to see him. Belfield, softened at length by the kindness of this conduct, determined to admit him, and he was just come from paying his first visit when he was met by Cecilia upon the stairs. His stay with him had been short, and he had taken no notice either of his change of abode or his pretence of going into the country. He had talked to him only in general terms and upon general subjects, till he arose to depart, and then he re-erged his offers of service with so much openness and warmth that Belfield, affected by his earnestness, promised he would soon see him again, and intimated to his delighted mother and sister that he would, frankly, consult with him upon his affairs. Such was the tale which, with various minuteer circumstances, Miss Belfield communicated to Cecilia. My mother, she added, who never quits him, knows that you are here, madam, for she heard me talking with somebody yesterday, and she made me tell her all that had passed, and that you said you would come again this morning. Cecilia returned many acknowledgments for this artless and unreserved communication, but could not, when it was over, forbear inquiring by what early misery she had already, though so very young, spent two years in nothing but unhappiness. Because, she answered, when my poor father died, all our family separated, and I left everybody to go and live with my mother at Paddington, and I was never a favorite with my mother. No more indeed was anybody but my brother, for she thinks all the rest of the world only made for his sake. So she used to deny both herself and me almost common necessaries in order to save up money to make him presents. Though, if he had known how it was done, he would only have been angry instead of taking them. However, I should have regarded nothing that had been for his benefit, for I loved him a great deal more than my own convenience, but sums that would distress us for months to save up would by him be spent in a day, and then thought of no more. Nor was that all. Oh, no, I had much greater uneasiness to suffer, for I was informed by one of my brothers-in-law how ill everything went, and that certain ruin would come to my poor brother from the treachery of his agent. And the thought of this was always preying upon my mind, for I did not dare tell it my mother, for fear it should put her out of humor. For sometimes she is not very patient, and it mattered little what any of us said to my brother, for he was too gay and too confident to believe his danger. Well, but, said Cecilia, I hope now all will go better if your brother will consent to see a physician. Ah, madam, that is the thing I fear he will never do, because of being seen in these bad lodgings. I would kneel whole days to prevail with him, but he is unused to control, and knows not how to submit to it. And he has lived so long among the great that he forgets he was not born as high as themselves. Oh, that he had never quitted his own family, if he had not been spoiled by ambition. He had the best heart and sweetest disposition in the world, but living always with his superiors taught him to disdain his own relations, and be ashamed of us all. And yet now, in the hour of his distress, who else comes to help him? Cecilia then inquired if she wanted not assistance for herself and her mother, observing that they did not seem to have all the conveniences to which they were entitled. I indeed, madam, she replied with an ingenuous smile. When you first came here, I was a little like my brother, for I was sadly ashamed to let you see how ill we lived. But now you know the worst, so I shall fret about it no more. But this cannot be your usual way of life. I fear the misfortunes of Mr. Belfield have spread ruin wider than his own. No indeed he took care from the first not to involve us in his hazards, for he is very generous, madam, and very noble in all his notions, and could behave to us all no better about money matters than he has ever done. But from the moment we came to this dismal place and saw his distress and that he was sunk so low who used to always be higher than any of us, we had a sad scene indeed. My poor mother, whose whole delight was to think that he lived like a nobleman and who always flattered herself that he would rise to be as great as the company he kept, was so distracted with her disappointment that she would not listen to reason but immediately discharged both our servants. She said she and I should do all the work ourselves, hired this poor room for us to live in, and sent to order a bill to be put upon her house at Paddington, for she said she would never return to it any more. But are you then, quread Cecilia, without any servant? We have my brother's man, madam. And oh, he lights our fires and takes away some of our litters. And there is not much else to be done except sweeping the rooms, for we eat nothing but cold meat from the cook shops. And how long is this to last? Indeed, I cannot tell, for the real truth is my poor mother has almost lost her senses. And ever since our coming here, she has been so miserable and so complaining that indeed between her and my brother, I have almost lost mine too, for when she found all her hopes at an end, and that her darling son, instead of being rich and powerful and surrounded by friends and admirers, all trying who should do the most for him, was shut up by himself in this poor little lodging. And instead of gaining more, it spent all he was worth at first, with not a creature to come near him, though ill, though confined, though keeping his bed. Madam, had you seen my poor mother when she first cast her eyes upon him in that condition? Indeed, you could never have forgotten it. I wonder not at her disappointment, cried Cecilia, with expectations so sanguine and a son of so much merit, it might well indeed be bitter. Yes, and besides the disappointment, she is now continually reproaching herself for always complying with his humors and assisting him to appear better than the rest of the family, though my father never proved her doing so. But she thought herself so sure of his rising that she believed we should all thank her for it in the end. And she always used to say that he was born to be a gentleman, and what a grievous thing it would be to have him made a tradesman. I hope at least she has not the additional misery of seeing him ungrateful for her fondness, however injudicious it may have been. Oh no, he does nothing but comfort and cheer her. Indeed, it is very good of him, for he is owned to me in private, that but for her encouragement, he could not have run the course he has run, for he should have been obliged to enter into business, whether he had liked it or not. But my poor mother knows this, though he will not tell it her. And therefore, she says that unless he gets well, she will punish herself all the rest of her life and never go back to her house and never hire another servant and never eat anything but bread nor drink anything but water. Poor unhappy woman, cried Cecilia. How dearly does she pay for her imprudent and short-sighted indulgence, but surely you are not also to suffer in the same manner. No, madam, not by her fault, for she wants me to go and live with one of my sisters, but I would not quit her for the world. I should think myself wicked indeed to leave her now. Besides, I don't at all repine at the little hardships I go through at present because my poor brother is in so much distress that all we save may be really turned to account. But when we lived so hardly, only to procure him luxuries he had no right to, I must own. I used often to think it unfair, and if I had not loved him dearly, I should not have borne it so well perhaps as I ought. Cecilia now began to think at high time to release her new acquaintance by quitting her, though she felt herself so much interested in her fares that every word she spoke gave her a desire to lengthen the conversation. She ardently wished to make her some present but was restrained by the fear of offending or of being again refused. She had, however, devised a private scheme for serving her more effectually than by the donation of a few guineas, and therefore, after earnestly begging to hear from her if she could possibly be of any use, she told her that she should not find her confidence misplaced and promising again to see her soon, reluctantly departed. End of Chapter 6. Volume 3, Chapter 7 of Cecilia. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Cecilia, Memories of an Aeorus by Francis Burney. Volume 3, Chapter 7, An Experient. The scheme, now projected by Cecilia, was to acquaint the surgeon who had already attended Mr. Belfield with his present situation and address and to desire him to continue his visits for the payment of which she would herself pay countable. The railery of young Del Weil, however, had taught her to fear the constructions of the world and she therefore purposed to keep both the surgeon and Mr. Belfield ignorant to whom they were indebted. She was aware indeed that whatever might be her management, her high spirited and unfortunate young man would be extremely hurt to find himself thus detected and pursued. But she thought his life too well worth preserving to let it be sacrificed to his pride. And her internal conviction of being herself, the immediate cause of its present danger, gave to her an anxious and restless desire to be herself the means of extricating him from it. Drupal, the name of the surgeon, she had already heard mentioned by Mr. Anod and in getting into her chair, she ordered Ralph, her man, to inquire where he lived. I know already where he lives, madam, answered Ralph, for I saw his name over a door in Cavendish Street, Oxford Road. I took particular notice of it because it was at the house where you stood up that day on account of the mob that was waiting to see the male factors go to Tibern. This answer unraveled to Cecilia, a mystery which had long perplexed her. For the speeches of young Delweyle, then he had surprised her in that situation, were now fully explained. In seeing her come out of the surgeon's house, he had naturally concluded she had only entered it to ask news of his patient, Mr. Belfin. Her predestinations of merely standing up to avoid the crowd he had only laughed at and his hints at her reserve and dissimulation were meant but to reproach her for refusing his offer of procuring her intelligence at the very time when, to all appearance, she anxiously, though clandestinely, sought it for herself. This discovery, notwithstanding, it revealed her from all suspense of his meaning, gave her much vexation to be supposed to take an interest so ardent yet so private in the affairs of Mr. Belfin. Might well authorize all suspicions of her partiality for him and, even if any doubt had yet remained, the unlucky meeting upon the stairs of his lodgings would not fail to dispel it and confirm the notion of her secret regard. She hoped, however, to have soon some opportunity of clearing up the mistake and resolved, in the meantime, to be studiously cautious in avoiding all appearances that might strengthen it. No caution, however, and no apprehension could intimidate her active humanity from putting into immediate execution a plan in which she feared any delay might be fatal. And therefore, the moment she got home, she wrote the following note to the surgeon. 2. Ruppel, March 27, 1779 A friend of Mr. Belfin begs Mr. Ruppel will immediately call upon that gentleman who is in lodgings about the Medal of Swallow Street and insist upon visiting him till he is perfectly recovered. Mr. Ruppel is entreated not to make known this request not to receive from Mr. Belfin any return for his attendance, but to attribute the discovery of his residence to accident and to rest assured he shall be amply recompensed for his time and trouble by the friend who makes this application and who is willing to give any security that Mr. Ruppel shall think proper to mention for the performance of this engagement. Her next difficulty was in what manner to have this note conveyed. To send her own servant was inevitably betraying herself. To employ any other was risking a confidence that might be still more dangerous and she could not trust to the penny post as her proposal required an answer. After much deliberation she at length determined to have free course to Mrs. Hill. To whose services she was entitled and upon whose fidelity she could rely. The morning was already far advanced but the Harrells dined late and she would not lose a day where even an hour might be of importance. She went therefore immediately to Mrs. Hill whom she found already removed into her new habitation in Fetter Lane and equally busy and happy in the change of scene and of employment. She gave to her the note which she desired her to carry to Cavendish Street directly and either to deliver it into Mr. Ruppel's own hands or to bring it back if he was out but upon no consideration to make known whence or from whom it came. She then went into the back part of the shop which by Mrs. Roberts was called the parlor and amused herself during the absence of her messenger by playing with the children. Mrs. Hill at her return said he had found Mr. Ruppel at home and as she refused to give the letter to the servant she had been taken into a room where he was talking with a gentleman to whom as soon as he had read it he said with a laugh. Why? Here is another person with the same proposal as yours. However I shall treat you both alike and then he wrote an answer which he sealed up and bid her take care of. This answer was as follows. Mr. Ruppel will certainly attend Mr. Belfilt whose friends may be satisfied he will do all in his part to recover him without receiving any recompense but the pleasure of serving a gentleman who is so much beloved. Cecilia, charmed at this unhoped for success was making further inquiries into what had passed when Mrs. Hill in a low voice said here's the gentleman, madame who was with Mr. Ruppel when I gave him the letter. I had a notion he was dodging me all the way I came for I saw him just behind me turn which way I would. Cecilia then looked and perceived Young Delweyle who after stopping a moment at the door came into the shop and desired to be shown some gloves which among other things were laid in the window. Extremely disconcerted at the sight of him she began now almost to fancy there was some fatality attending her acquaintance with him since she was always sure of meeting when she had any reason to wish avoiding him. As soon as he saw he was observed by her he bowed with the utmost respect she coloured in returning the salutation and prepared with no little vexation for another attack and further railery similar to what she had already received from him but as soon as he had made his purchase he bowed to her again and without speaking left the shop. A silence so unexpected it once astonished and disturbed her she again desired to hear all that had passed at Mr. Ruppel's and from the relation gathered that Delweyle had himself undertaken to be responsible for his attendance upon Mr. Belfield. A liberality so like her own failed not to impress her with the most lively esteem but this served rather to augment than lessen the pain with which she considered the clandestine appearance she thus repeatedly made to him. She had no doubt he had immediately concluded she was order of the application to the surgeon and that he followed her messenger merely to ascertain the fact while his silence when he had made the discovery she could only attribute to his now believing that her regard for Mr. Belfield was too serious for railery. Doubly, however, she rejoiced at the generosity of Mr. Ruppel as it rendered wholly unnecessary her further interference. For she now saw with some alarm the danger to which benevolence itself directed towards a youthful object might expose her. Cecilia returned home so late that she was summoned to the dining-pala the moment she entered the house. Her morning dress and her long absence excited much curiosity in Mrs. Harrell, which a quick succession of questions evasively answered, soon made general, and so Robert Flawyer, turning to her with the look of support, said, that, sir, said Cecilia very coldly, would ill repay your trouble. when we get her to Violette Bank, cried Mr. Harrell, we shall be able to keep a better watch over her. I hope so, answered sir Robert, though faith she has been so demure that I never suppose she did anything but read sermons, She has been so demure that I never suppose she did anything but read sermons. However, I find there's no going upon trust with women any more than with money. I, Sir Robert," cried Mrs. Harrell,--"you know, I always advised you not to be quite so easy, and I am sure I really think you deserve a little severity, for not being more afraid." "'Afraid of what, madam?' cried the baronet. Of a young lady's walking out without me, do you think I wish to be any restraint upon Miss Beverly's time in the morning, while I have the happiness of waiting upon her every afternoon?" Maria was thunderstruck by this speech, which not only expressed an open avowal of his pretensions, but a competent security of his success. She was shocked that a man of such principles should even for a moment presume upon her favour, and irritated at the stubbornness of Mr. Harrell in not acquainting him with her refusal. His intimation of coming to the house for the happiness of waiting upon her made her determined, without losing a moment, to seek herself an explanation with him, while the discovery that he was included in the Easter Party, which various other concomitant causes had already rendered disagreeable to her, made her look forward to that purposed expedition with nothing but unwillingness and distaste. But though her earnestness to conclude this affair made her now put herself voluntarily in the way of the baronet, she found her plan always counteracted by Mr. Harrell, who, with an officiousness too obvious to pass for chance, constantly stopped the progress of any discourse in which he did not himself bear a part. A more passionate admirer might not have been so easily defeated, but Sir Robert, too proud for solicitation and too indolent for aciduity, was very soon checked, because very soon worried. The whole evening, therefore, to her infinite mortification, passed away without affording her any opportunity of making known to him his mistake. Her next effort was to remonstrate with Mr. Harrell himself, but this scheme was not more easy of execution than the other, since Mr. Harrell, suspecting she meant again to done him for her money, avoided all separate conversation with her so skillfully that she could not find a moment to make him hear her. She then resolved to apply to his lady, but hear her success was not better. Mrs. Harrell, dreading another lecture upon economy, peevishly answered to her request of a conference that she was not very well and could not talk gravely. Cecilia, justly offended with them all, had now no resource but in Mr. Moncton, whose counsel for effectually dismissing the baronet she determined to solicit by the first opportunity. The moment, therefore, that she next saw him, she acquainted him with the speeches of Sir Robert and the behaviour of Mr. Harrell. There needed no rhetoric to point out to Mr. Moncton the danger of suffering such expectations, or the impropriety of her present situation. He was struck with both in a manner the most forcible, and spared not for warmth of expression to alarm her delicacy, or add to her displeasure. But chiefly he was exasperated against Mr. Harrell, assuring her there could be no doubt but that he had some particular interest in so strenuously and artfully supporting the pretensions of Sir Robert. Cecilia endeavoured to refute this opinion, which she regarded as proceeding rather from prejudice than justice, but when she mentioned that the baronet was invited to spend the Easter holidays at Violet Bank, he represented with such energy the consequent constructions of the world, as well as the unavoidable encouragement such intimacy would imply, that he terrified her into an earnest entreaty to suggest her some way of deliverance. There is only one, answered he. You must peremptorily refuse to go to Violet Bank yourself, if after what has passed you are included in the same party with Sir Robert, you give a sanction yourself to the reports already circulated of your engagements with I, and the effect of such a sanction will be more serious than you can easily imagine, since the knowledge that a connection is believed in the world frequently, if not generally, leads by imperceptible degrees to its real ratification. Cecilia, with the utmost alacrity, promised implicitly to follow his advice, whatever might be the opposition of Mr. Harrell. He quitted her, therefore, with unusual satisfaction, happy in his power over her mind, and anticipating with secret rapture the felicity he had in reserve from visiting her during the absence of the family. As no private interview was necessary for making known her intention of giving up the Easter party, which was to take place in two days' time, she mentioned next morning her design of spending the holidays in town, when Mr. Harrell sauntered into the breakfast-room to give some commission to his lady. At first he only laughed at her plan, gaily rallying her upon her love of solitude, but when he found it was serious he very warmly opposed it, and called upon Mrs. Harrell to join in his expostulations. That lady complied, but in so faint a manner that Cecilia soon saw she did not wish to prevail, and with a concern that cost her infinite pain now finally perceived that not only all her former affection was subsided into indifference, but that since she had endeavoured to abridge her amusements she regarded her as a spy, and dreaded her as the sense of her conduct. Meanwhile, Mr. Arnott, who was present, though he interfered not in the debate, waited the event with anxiety, naturally hoping her objections arose from her dislike of Sir Robert, and secretly resolving to be guided himself by her motions. Cecilia at length, tired of the importunities of Mr. Harrell, gravely said that if he desired to hear the reasons which obliged her to refuse his request she was ready to communicate them. Mr. Harrell, after a little hesitation, accompanied her into another room. She then declared her resolution not to live under the same roof with Sir Robert, and very openly expressed her vexation and displeasure that he so evidently persisted in giving that gentleman encouragement. My dear Miss Beverly answered he carelessly. When young ladies will not know their own minds it is necessary some friend should tell it them. You are certainly very favourable to Sir Robert but a short time ago, and so I dare say you will be again, when you have seen more of him. You amaze me, Sir, cried Cecilia, when was I favourable to him? Has he not always and regularly been my aversion? I fancy, answered Mr. Harrell, laughing, you will not easily persuade him to think so, your behaviour at the opera-house was ill-calculated to give him that notion. My behaviour at the opera-house, Sir, I have already explained to you, and if Sir Robert himself has any doubts, either from that circumstance or from any other, pardon me if I say they can only be attributed to your unwillingness to remove them. I entreat you therefore to trifle with him no longer, nor to subject me again to the freedom of implications extremely disagreeable to me. Oh, Fie, Fie, Miss Beverly, after all that has passed after his long expectations and his constant attendance, you cannot for a moment think seriously of discarding him. Cecilia equally surprised and provoked by this speech, could not for a moment tell how to answer it, and Mr. Harrell willfully misinterpreting her silence, took her hand and said, Come, I am sure you have too much honour to make a fool of such a man as Sir Robert Flawyer. There is not a woman in town who will not envy your choice, and I assure you there is not a man in England I would so soon recommend to you. He would then have hurried her back to the next room, but drawing away her hand with undisguised resentment, no, Sir, she cried, this must not pass. My positive rejection of Sir Robert, the instant you communicated to me his proposals, you can neither have forgotten nor mistaken, and you must not wonder if I acknowledge myself extremely disabliged by your unaccountable perseverance in refusing to receive my answer. Young ladies who have been brought up in the country returned Mr. Harrell, with his usual negligence, are always so high flown in their notions it is difficult to deal with them, but as I am much better acquainted with the world than you can be, you must give me leave to tell you that, if after all you refuse Sir Robert, it will be using him very ill. Why will you say so, Sir, cried Cecilia, when it is utterly impossible you can have formed so preposterous an opinion? Pray hear me, however, finally, and pray tell Sir Robert, no, no, interrupt a tea with affected gaiety, you shall manage it all your own way, I will have nothing to do with the quarrels of lovers. And then, with a pretended laugh, he hastily left her. Cecilia was so much incensed by this impracticable behaviour, that instead of returning to the family, she went directly to her own room. It was easy for her to see that Mr. Harrell was bent upon using every method he could devise, to entangle her into some engagement with Sir Robert, and though she could not imagine the meaning of such a scheme, the littleness of his behaviour excited her contempt, and the long continued error of the baronet gave her the utmost uneasiness. She again determined to seek an explanation with him herself, and immovably to refuse joining the party to Violet Bank. The following day, while the ladies and Mr. Arnett were at breakfast, Mr. Harrell came into the room to inquire if they should all be ready to set off for his villa by ten o'clock the next day. Mrs. Harrell and her brother answered in the affirmative, but Cecilia was silent, and he turned to her and repeated his question. Do you think me so capricious, sir, said she, that after telling you but yesterday I could not be of your party, I shall tell you to-day that I can? Why, you do not really mean to remain in town by yourself, replied he. You cannot suppose that will be an eligible plan for a young lady. On the contrary, it will be so very improper that I think myself as your guardian obliged to oppose it. Used at this authoritative speech, Cecilia looked at him with a mixture of mortification and anger, but knowing it would be vain to resist his power if he was resolute to exert it, she may not any answer. Besides, he continued, I have a plan for some alterations in the house during my absence, and I think your room in particular will be much improved by them, but it will be impossible to employ any workmen if we do not all quit the premises. This determined persecution now seriously alarmed her. She saw that Mr. Harrell would admit no expedient or stratagem to encourage the addresses of Sir Robert, and force her into his presence. And she began next to apprehend that her connivance in his conduct might be presumed upon by that gentleman. She resolved, therefore, as the last and only effort in her power for avoiding him, to endeavour to find an accommodation at the house of Mrs. Delville during the excursion to Violet Bank, and if, when she returned to Portman Square, the baronet still persevered in his attendance to entreat her friend Mr. Moncton would take upon himself the charge of un-deceiving him. CHAPTER IX. As not a moment was now to be lost, Cecilia had no sooner suggested this scheme than she hastened to St. James's Square to try its practicability. She found Mrs. Delville alone and still at breakfast. After the first compliments were over, while she was considering in what manner to introduce her proposal, Mrs. Delville herself led to the subject by saying, I am very sorry to hear we are so soon to lose you, but I hope Mr. Harrell does not intend to make any long stay at his villa, for if he does I shall be half tempted to come and run away with you from him. And that, said Cecilia, delighted with this opening, would be an honour I am more than half tempted to desire. Why indeed you are leaving London at this time, continued Mrs. Delville, is for me particularly unfortunate, as if I can now be favoured with your visits I should doubly value them, for Mr. Delville is gone to spend the holidays at the Duke of Derwent's, whether I was not well enough to accompany him. My son has his own engagements, and there are so few people I can bear to see that I shall live almost entirely alone. If I cried Cecilia, in such a situation might hope to be admitted, how gladly for that happiness would I exchange my expedition to Violet Bank. You are very good and very amiable, said Mrs. Delville, and your society would indeed give me infinite satisfaction, yet I am no enemy to solitude. On the contrary, company is commonly birthing some to me. I find few who have any power to give me entertainment, and even of those few the chief part have in their manners, situation or characters, and unfortunate something that generally renders a near connection with them inconvenient or disagreeable. There are indeed so many drawbacks to regard and intimacy, from pride, from propriety, and various other collateral causes, that rarely as we meet with people of brilliant parts there is almost ever some objection to our desire of meeting them again. Yet to live wholly alone is cheerless and depressing, and with you at least, taking Cecilia's hand, I find not one single obstacle to oppose to a thousand inducements, which invite me to form a friendship that I can only hope may be as lasting, as I am sure it will be pleasant. Cecilia expressed her sense of this partiality in the warmest terms, and Mrs. Delville, soon discovering by her manner that she took not any delight in her intended visit to Violet Bank, began next to question her whether it would be possible for her to give it up. She instantly answered in the affirmative, and would you really be so obliging, cried Mrs. Delville, with some surprise, as to bestow upon me the time you had destined for this gay excursion? Most willingly answered Cecilia, if you are so good as to wish it. And you also, for you must by no means remain alone in Portman Square, managed to live entirely in my house till Mr. Barrell's return. To this proposal, which was what she most desired, Cecilia gave a glad assent, and Mrs. Delville, extremely pleased with her compliance, promised to have an apartment prepared for her immediately. She then hastened home to announce her new plan. This she took occasion to do when the family was assembled at dinner. The surprise with which she was heard was very general, so where Robert seemed at a loss what conclusion to draw from her information, Mr. Arnett was half elated with pleasure and half depressed with apprehension, Mrs. Harrell wondered without any other sensation, and Mr. Harrell himself was evidently the most concerned of the party. Every effort of persuasion and the importunity he now essayed to prevail upon her, to give up this scheme, and still accompany them to the villa, but she coolly answered that her engagement with Mrs. Delville was decided, and she had appointed to wait upon her the next morning. When her resolution was found so steady, a general ill-humour took place of surprise, so Robert now had the air of a man who thought himself affronted. Mr. Arnett was wretched from a thousand uncertainties. Mrs. Harrell, indeed, was still the most indifferent, but Mr. Harrell could hardly repress his disappointment and anger. Cecilia, however, was all gaiety and pleasure, in removing only from the house of one guardian to another, she knew she could not be opposed, and the flattering readiness with which Mrs. Delville had anticipated her request, without inquiring into her motives, had relieved her from a situation which now grew extremely distressing, without giving to her the pain of making complaints of Mr. Harrell. The absence of Mr. Delville contributed to her happiness, and she much rejoiced in having now the prospect of a speedy opportunity to explain to his son whatever had appeared mysterious in her conduct respecting Mr. Belfield. If she had anything to regret, it was merely the impossibility at this time of waiting for the counsel of Mr. Monkton. The next morning, while the family was in the midst of preparation for departure, she took leave of Mrs. Harrell, who faintly lamented the loss of her company, and then hastily made her compliments to Mr. Harrell and Mr. Arnett, and putting herself into a chair was conveyed to her new habitation. Mrs. Delville received her with the most distinguished politeness, she conducted her to the apartment which had been prepared for her, led her to the library which she desired her to make use of as her own, and gave her the most obliging charges to remember that she was in a house of which she had the command. Mrs. Delville did not make his appearance till dinnertime. Cecilia, from recollecting the strange situations in which she had lately been seen by him, blushed extremely when she first met his eyes, but finding him gay and easy, general in his conversation, and undesigning in his looks, she soon recovered from her embarrassment, and passed the rest of the day without restraint or uneasiness. Every hour she spent with Mrs. Delville contributed to raise in her esteem the mind and understanding of that lady. She found indeed that it was not for nothing she was accused of pride, but she found at the same time so many excellent qualities, so much true dignity of mind, and so noble a spirit of liberality, that however great was the respect she seemed to demand, it was always inferior to what she felt inclined to pay. Nor was young Delville less rapid in the progress he made in her favour, his character upon every opportunity of showing it rose in her opinion, and his disposition and manners had a mingled sweetness and vivacity that rendered his society attractive and his conversation spirited. Therefore Cecilia experienced that happiness she so long had coveted in vain. Her life was neither public nor private, her amusements were neither dissipated nor retired, the company she saw were either people of high rank or strong parts, and their visits were neither frequent nor long. The situation she quitted gave a zest to that into which she entered, for she was now no longer shocked by extravagance or levity, no longer tormented with the dresses which disgusted her, nor mortified by the ingratitude of the friend she had endeavoured to serve. All was smooth and serene yet lively and interesting. Her plan, however, of clearing to young Delville his mistakes concerning Belfield, she could not put in execution, for he now never led to the subject, though he was frequently alone with her, nor seemed at all desirous to renew his former railery or repeat his inquiries. She wondered at this change in him, but chose rather to wait the revival of his own curiosity than to distress or perplex herself by contriving methods of explanation. She had now one only anxiety, which was to know whether, and in what manner, Mr. Belfield had received his surgeon, as well as the actual state of his own and his sister's affairs, but the fear of again encountering young Delville in suspicious circumstances deterred her at present from going to their house. Yet her natural benevolence, which partial convenience never lulled to sleep, impressing her with an apprehension that her services might be wanted, she was induced to write to Miss Belfield, though she forbore to visit her. Her letter was short, but kind, and to the purpose. She apologised for her officiousness, desiring to know if her brother was better, and entreated her in terms the most delicate, to acquaint her if yet she would accept from her any assistance. She sent this letter by her servant, who, after waiting a considerable time, brought her the following answer. To Miss Beverly. Ah, madam, your goodness quite melts me! We want nothing, however, yet though I fear we shall not say so much longer, but though I hope I shall never forget myself so as to be proud and impertinent, I will rather struggle with any hardship than beg, for I will not disoblige my poor brother by any fault that I can help, especially now he has fallen so low. But thank heaven his wound has at last been dressed, for the surgeon has found him out, and he attends him for nothing, though my brother is willing to part with everything he is worth in the world, rather than owe that obligation to him. Yet I often wonder why he hates so to be obliged, for when he was rich himself he was always doing something to oblige other people. But I fear the surgeon thinks him very bad, for he won't speak to us when we follow him downstairs. I am sadly ashamed to send this bad writing, but I dare not ask my brother for any help, because he would only be angry that I wrote anything about him at all. But indeed I have seen too little good come of pride to think of imitating it, and as I have not his genius, I am sure there is no need I should have his defects, ill, therefore, as I write you, madam, who have so much goodness and gentleness, would forgive it, I believe, if it was worse almost. And though we are not in need of your kind offers, it is a great comfort to me to think there is a lady in the world that, if we come to be quite destitute, and if the proud heart of my poor unhappy brother should be quite broke down, will look upon our distress with pity, and generously help us from quite sinking under it. I remain, madam, with the most humble respect, your ever most obliged humble servant, Henrietta Belfield. Cecilia, much moved by the simplicity of this letter, determined that her very first visit from Portman Square should be to its fair and innocent writer, and having now an assurance that she was in no immediate distress, and that her brother was actually under Mr. Rupil's care, she dismissed from her mind the only subject of uneasiness that at present had endeavored to disturb it, and gave herself wholly up to the delightful serenity of unalloyed happiness. Few are the days of felicity unmixed which we acknowledge while we experience, though many are those we deplore, when by sorrow taught their value and by misfortune their loss. Time with Cecilia now glided on with such rapidity that before she thought the morning half-over the evening was closed, and ere she was sensible the first week was passed, the second was departed for ever. More and more pleased with the inmates of her new habitation, she found in the abilities of Mrs. Delvile sources inexhaustible of entertainment, and in the disposition and sentiments of her son, something so concordant to her own, that almost every word he spoke showed the sympathy of their minds, and almost every look which caught her eyes was a reciprocation of intelligence. Her heart deeply wounded of late by unexpected indifference and unreserved mortification, was now perhaps more than usually susceptible of those penetrating and exquisite pleasures which friendship and kindness possessed the highest powers of bestowing. Easy, gay, and airy, she only rose to happiness and only retired to rest. And not merely heightened was her present enjoyment by her past disappointment, but carrying her retrospection to her earliest remembrance, she still found her actual situation more peculiarly adapted to her taste and temper, than any she had hitherto at any time experienced. The very morning that the destined fortnight was elapsed, she received a note from Mrs. Harrell, with information of her arrival in town, and an entreaty that she would return to Portman Square. Cecilia, who thus happy had forgot to mark the progress of time, was now all amazement to find the term of her absence so soon passed. She thought of going back with the utmost reluctance, and of quitting her new abode with the most lively regret. The representations of Mr. Moncton daily lost their force, and not withstanding her dislike of Mr. Delveille, she had no wish so earnest as that of being settled in his family for the rest of her minority. To effect this was her next thought, yet she knew not how to make the proposal, but from the uncommon partiality of Mrs. Delveille she hoped, with a very little encouragement, she would lead to it herself. Here, however, she was disappointed. Mrs. Delveille, when she heard of the summons from the Haralds, expressed her sorrow at losing her in terms of the most flattering regret, yet seemed to think the parting indispensable, and dropped not the most distant hint of attempting to prevent it. Cecilia vexed and disconcerted, then made arrangements for her departure, which she fixed for the next morning. The rest of this day, unlike every other which for the last fortnight had preceded it, was passed with little appearance and no reality of satisfaction. Mrs. Delveille was evidently concerned, her son openly avowed his chagrin, and Cecilia felt the utmost modification, yet though everyone was discontented, no effort was made towards obtaining any delay. The next morning, during breakfast, Mrs. Delveille very elegantly thanked her for grounding to her so much of her time, and earnestly begged to see her in future whenever she could be spared from her other friends, protesting she was now so accustomed to her society, that she should require both long and frequent visits to soften the separation. This request was very eagerly seconded by young Delveille, who warmly spoke his satisfaction that his mother had found so charming a friend, and unaffectedly joined in her entreaties that the intimacy might be still more closely cemented. Cecilia had no great difficulty in according her compliance to those demands, of which the kindness and cordiality somewhat lessened her disturbance at the parting. When Mrs. Harrell's carriage arrived, Mrs. Delveille took a most affectionate leave of her, and her son attended her to the coach. In her way downstairs he stopped her for a few moments, and in some confusion said, I wish much to apologize to Miss Beveille before her departure, for the very gross mistake of which I have been guilty. I know not if it is possible she can pardon me, and I hardly know myself by what perversity and blindness I persisted so long in my error. Oh! cried Cecilia, much rejoiced at this voluntary explanation. If you are but convinced you were really in an error I have nothing more to wish. Appearances, indeed, were so strangely against me that I ought not perhaps to wonder they deceived you. This is being candid, indeed, answered he, again leading her on. And in truth, though your anxiety was obvious, its cause was obscure, and where anything is left to conjecture, opinion interferes, and the judgment is easily warped. My own partiality, however, for Mr. Belfield, will I hope plead my excuse, as from that, and not from any prejudice against the baronet, my mistake rose. On the contrary, so highly I respect your taste in your discernment that your approbation, when known, can scarcely fail of securing mine. It is was the astonishment of Cecilia, at the conclusion of this speech, she was at the coach-door before she could make any answer. But delvile, perceiving her surprise, added, while he handed her in, Is it possible, but no, it is not possible I should be again mistaken. I forbore to speak at all till I had information by which I could not be misled. I know not in what unaccountable obscurity cried Cecilia. I, or my affairs, may be involved, but I perceive that the cloud which I had hoped was dissipated is thicker and more impenetrable than ever. Delvile then bowed to her with a look that accused her of insincerity, and the carriage drove away. Teased by these eternal mistakes, and provoked to find that, though the object of her supposed partiality was so frequently changed, the notion of her positive engagement with one of the duelists was invariable. She resolved with all the speed in her power to commission Mr. Moncton to wait upon Sir Robert Floyd, and in her own name gave a formal rejection to his proposals, and desired him thenceforward to make known by every opportunity their total independence of each other. For sick of debating with Mr. Harrell, and detesting all intercourse with Sir Robert, she now dropped her design of seeking an explanation herself. She was received by Mrs. Harrell with the same coldness with which she had parted from her. That lady appeared now to have some uneasiness upon her mind, and Cecilia endeavoured to draw from her its cause, but far from seeking any alleviation in friendship she studiously avoided her, seeming pained by her conversation and reproached by her sight. Cecilia perceived this increasing reserve with much concern, but with more indignation, conscious that her good offices had merited a better reception, and angry to find that her advice had not merely failed of success, but even exposed her to a version. Mr. Harrell, on the contrary, behaved to her with unusual civility, seemed eager to oblige her, and desire as to render his house more agreeable to her than ever. But in this he did not prosper, for Cecilia immediately upon her return, looking in her apartment for the projected alterations, and finding none had been made, was so disgusted by such a detection of duplicity, that he sunk yet lower than before in her opinion, and she repined at the necessity she was under of any longer continuing his guest. The joy of Mr. Arnett again seeing her was visible and sincere, and not a little was it increased by finding that Cecilia, who sought not more to avoid Mr. Harrell and Sir Robert, than she was herself avoided by Mrs. Harrell, talked with pleasure to nobody else in the house, and scarcely attempted to conceal that he was the only one of the family who possessed any portion of her esteem. Even Sir Robert appeared now to have formed a design of paying her rather more respect than he had hitherto thought necessary, but the violence he did himself was so evident, and his imperious nature seemed so repugnant to the task that his insolence, breaking forth by starts, and checked only by compulsion, was but the more conspicuous from his inadequate efforts to disguise it. CHAPTER IX. VOLUME 4, CHAPTER I, OF CECILIA. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. CHAPTER I. As Cecilia now found herself cleared, at least of all suspicions of harboring too tender a regard for Mr. Belfield, her objections to visiting his sister were removed, and the morning after her return to Mr. Harrell's, she went in a chair to swallow straight. She sent her servant upstairs to inquire if she might be admitted, and was immediately taken into the room where she had twice before been received. In a few minutes, Miss Belfield, softly opening and shutting the door of the next apartment, made her appearance. She looked thin and pale, but much gratified by the sight of Cecilia. Ah, madam, she cried, you are good indeed not to forget us, and you can little think how it cheers and consoles me, that such a lady as you can condescend to be kind to me. It is quite the only pleasure that I have now in the whole world. I grieve that you have no greater, cried Cecilia. You seem much fatigued and harassed. How is your brother? I fear you neglect your own help, by too much attention to his. No, indeed, madam, my mother does everything for him herself, and hardly suffers anybody else to go near him. What then makes you so melancholy, said Cecilia, taking her hand. You do not look well, your anxiety, I am sure, is too much for your strength. How should I look well, madam, answered she, living as I live. However, I will not talk of myself, but of my brother. Oh, he is so ill. Indeed I am sadly, sadly afraid he will never be well again. What does his surgeon say? You are too tender and too much frightened to be any judge. It is not that I think myself he will die of his wound. For Mr. Ruple says the wound is almost nothing, but he is in constant fever, and so thin, and so weak, that indeed it is almost impossible he should recover. You are too apprehensive, said Cecilia. You know not what effect the country heir may have upon him. There are many, many expedients that with so young a man may yet be successful. Oh, no, the country heir can do nothing for him, for I will not deceive you, madam, for that would be doubly a fault when I am so ready in blaming other people for wearing false appearances. Besides, you are so good and so gentle that it quite composes me to talk with you, so I will honestly speak the truth, and the whole truth at once. My poor brother is lost. Oh, I fear forever lost, all by his own unhappy pride. He forgets his father was a tradesman. He is ashamed of all his family, and his whole desire is to live among the grandest people, as if he belonged to no other. And now that he can no longer do that, he takes the disappointment so to heart that he cannot get the better of it. And he told me this morning that he wished he was dead, that he did not know why he should live only to see his own ruin. But when he saw how I cried as he's saying so, he was very sorry indeed, that he has always been the kindest brother in the world, when he has been away from the great folks who have spoiled him. But why, said he, Henrietta, why would you have me live, when instead of raising you and my poor mother into an higher station, I am sunk so low that I only help to consume your own poor penances to support me in my disgrace? I am sorry indeed, said Cecilia, to find he has so deeper sense at the failure of his expectations. But how happens it that you are so much wiser, young and inexperienced as you are, and early as you must have been accustomed, from your mother as well as from Mr Bellfield, to far other doctrine, the clearness of your judgment and the justness of your remarks, astonished as much as they charm me? Ah, madam, brought up as I have been brought up, there is little wonder I should see the danger of an high education. Let me be ever so ignorant of everything else, for I, and all my sisters, have been the sufferers the whole time. And while we were kept backward, that he might be brought forward, while we were denied comforts, that he might have luxuries, how could we help seeing the evil of so much vanity, and wishing we had all been brought up according to our proper station? Instead of living in continual inconvenience, and having one part of the family struggling with distress, only to let another part of it appear, in a way he had no right to. How rationally, said Cecilia, have you considered this subject, and how much do I honour you for the affection you retain for your brother, notwithstanding the wrongs you have suffered to promote his elevation? Indeed, he deserves it. Take that from him, that one fault, pride, and I believe he has not another. And humid and darling child, as from his infancy, he has always been, who at that can wonder, all be angry. And he has still no plan, no scheme, for his future destination. No madam, none at all, and that it is makes him so miserable, and being so miserable makes him so ill. For Mr. Ruple says that with such uneasiness upon his mind, he can never, in his present low state, get well. O, it is melancholy to see how he is altered, and how he has lost all these fine spirits, he that used to be the life of us all. And now he hardly ever speaks a word, or if he does, he says something so sorrowful, that it cuts us to the soul. But yesterday, when my mother and I thought he was asleep, he lifted up his head, and looked at us both with the tears in his eyes, which almost broke our hearts to see. And then, in a low voice, he said, What a lingering illness is this? Ah, my dear mother, you and poor Henrietta ought to wish it quicker over, for should I recover for life, hereafter, will but linger like this illness. And afterwards he called out, What on earth is to become of me? I shall never have help for the army, nor interest, nor means. What am I to do? Absist in the very prime of my life, upon the bounty of a widowed mother, or, with such an education, such connections as mine, enter at last into some mean and sorted business? It seems then, said Cecilia, he now less wants a position than a friend. He has a friend, madam, a noble friend, would he that accept his services, but he never sees him without suffering fresh vexation, and his fever increases after every visit he pays him. Well, said Cecilia, rising, I find we shall not have an easy task to manage him, but keep up your spirits, and assure yourself he shall not be lost, if it be possible, to save him. She then, though with much carefulness of offending, once more made an offer of her purse. Miss Bellfield no longer started at the proposal, yet gratefully thanking her, said she was not in any immediate distress, and did not dare risk the displeasure of her brother, unless driven to it by severe a necessity. Cecilia, however, drew from her a promise that she would apply to her in any sudden difficulty, and charged her never to think herself without a banker, while her direction was known to her. She then bid her adieu, and returned home, meditating the whole way upon some plan of employment and advantage for Miss Bellfield, which by clearing his prospects might revive his spirits, and facilitate his recovery, for since his mind was so evidently the seat of his disease, she saw that unless she could do more for him, she had yet done nothing. Her meditation, however, turned to no account. She could suggest nothing, for she was ignorant what was eligible to suggest. The stations and employments of men she only knew by occasionally hearing that such were their professions, and such their situations in life, but with the means and gradations by which they arose to them, she was wholly unacquainted. Mr. Moncton, her constant resource in all cases of difficulty, immediately occurred to her as her most able counsellor, and she determined by the first opportunity to consult with him upon the subject, certain of advice, the most judicious from his experience, and knowledge of the world. But though she rested upon him her serious expectations of assistance, another idea entered her mind, not less pleasant, though less promising of utility. This was to mention her views to young Delville. He was already, she knew, well informed of the distress of Mr. Belfield, and she hoped by openly asking his opinion to confirm to him her freedom from any engagement with that gentleman, and convince him at the same time by her application to himself that she was equally clear of any tie with the baronet. End of chapter 1, volume 4, chapter 2 of Cecilia. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Lucy Burgoyne. Cecilia, Memoirs of an Eris, by Francis Burney. Chapter 2, A Sympathy The next day Cecilia had appointed to spend in St. James Square, and she knew by experience that in its course she should in all probability find some opportunity of speaking with Delville alone. This accordingly happened, for in the evening Mrs. Delville quitted the room for a few moments to answer a letter. Cecilia then, left with her son, said, after a little hesitation, will you not think me very strange if I should take the liberty to consult you upon some business? I already think you very strange, answered he, so strange that I know not anyone who would all resemble you, but what is this consultation in which you will permit me to have a voice? You are acquainted, I believe, with the distress of Mr. Delville. I am, and I think his situation the most melancholy that can be imagined. I pity him with my whole soul, and nothing would give me greater joy than an opportunity of serving him. He is indeed much to be compassionate, returned Cecilia, and if something is not speedily done for him, I fear he will be utterly lost. The agitation of his mind baffles all the power of medicine, and till that is relieved, his help can never be restored. His spirit, probably always too high for his rank in life, now struggles against every attack of sickness and of poverty, in preference to yielding to his fate, and applying to his friends for their interest and assistance. I mean not to vindicate his obduracy, yet I wish it were possible it could be surmounted. Indeed, I dread to think what may become of him, feeling at present nothing but wretchedness and pain, looking forward in future to nothing but ruin and despair. There is no man, cried young Delville, with the motion, who might not rather envy than pity sufferings which give rise to such compassion. Pecunary assistance he will not accept, she continued, and indeed his mind is superior to receiving consolation from such temporary relief. I wish him therefore to be put into some way of life by which his own talents, which have long enough amused the world, may at length become serviceable to himself. Do you think, sir, this is possible? How do I rejoice, cried Delville, colouring with pleasure, while he spoke? In this flattering concurrence of our opinions, see, madam, taking from his pocket a letter, how I have been this very morning occupied, in endeavouring to procure for Mr Delville some employment by which his education might be rendered useful, and his parts gried down to his own credit and advantage. He then broke the seal, and put into her hand a letter to a nobleman, whose son was soon going abroad, strongly recommending Delville to him, in capacity of a tutor. A sympathy of sentiment so striking impressed him at the same moment with surprise and esteem. Delville earnestly regarded her with eyes of speaking admiration, while the occasion of his notice rendered it too pleasant to distress her, and filled her with an inward satisfaction which brightened her whole countenance. She had only time, in a manner that strongly marked her approbation, to return the letter, before Mrs Delville again made her appearance. During the rest of the evening, but little was said, Cecilia was not talkative, and young Delville was so absent, that three times his mother reminded him of an engagement to meet his father, who that night was expected at the Duke of Derwent's house in town, before he heard that she spoke to him, and three times more before, when he had heard he obeyed. Cecilia, when she came back to Mr Barrels, found the house full of company. She went into the drawing room, but did not remain there long. She was grave and thoughtful. She wished to be alone, and by the earliest opportunity, stole away to her own apartment. Her mind was now occupied by new ideas, and her fancy was busied in the delineation of new prospects. She had been struck from her first meeting young Delville, with an involuntary admiration of his manners and conversation. She had found upon every succeeding interview something further to approve, and felt for him a rising partiality, which made her always see him with pleasure, and never part from him without a wish to see him again. Yet, as she was not of that inflammable nature, which is always ready to take fire, as her passions were under the control of her reason, and she suffered not her affections to triumph over her principles, she started at her danger the moment she perceived it, and instantly determined to give no weak encouragement to a pre-possession which neither time nor intimacy had justified. She denied herself the deluding satisfaction of dwelling upon the supposition of his worth, was unusually assiduous to occupy all her time, that her heart might have less leisure for imagination, and had she found that his character degenerated from the promise of his appearance, the well-regulated purity of her mind would soon have enabled her to have driven him wholly from her thoughts. Such was her situation when the circumstances of her affairs occasioned her becoming an inmate of his house, and here she grew less guarded, because less clear-sighted to the danger of negligence, for the frequency of their conversation allowed her little time to consider their effects. If at first she had been pleased with his deportment and elegance, upon intimacy she was charmed with his disposition and his behaviour. She found him manly, generous, open-hearted, and amiable, fond of literature, delighting in knowledge, kind in his temper, and spirited in his actions. Qualities such as these, when recommended by high birth, a striking figure and polished manners, formed but a dangerous companion for a young woman, who, without the guard of any former pre-possession, was so fervent and admirer of excellence as Cecilia. Her heart made no resistance, for the attack was too gentle and too gradual to alarm her vigilance, and therefore, though always sensible of the pleasure she received from his society, it was not till she returned to Portman Square, after having lived under the same roof with him for a fortnight, that she was conscious her happiness was no longer in her own power. Mr. Harold's house, which had never pleased her, now became utterly disgustful. She was weary and uncomfortable, yet willing to attribute her uneasiness to any other than the true cause. She fancied the house itself was changed, and that all its inhabitants and visitors were more than unusually disagreeable. But this idle error was of short duration. The moment of self-conviction was at hand, and when Delville presented her the letter he had written for Mr. Belfield, it flashed in her eyes. This detection of the altered state of her mind, open to her views, and her hopes are seen entirely new. For neither the exertion of the most active benevolence, nor the steady course of the most virtuous conduct, suffice any longer to wholly engage her thoughts, or constitute her felicity. She had purposes that came nearer home, and cares that threatened to absorb in themselves that heart and those faculties which hitherto had only seemed animated for the service of others. Yet this loss of mental freedom gave her not much uneasiness, since the choice of her heart, though involuntary, was approved by her principles, and confirmed by her judgment. Young Delville's situation in life was just what she wished, more elevated than her own, yet not so exalted as to humble her with a sense of inferiority. His connections were honorable. His mother appeared to her the first of women. His character and disposition seemed form to make her happy, and her own fortune was so large that to the state of his she was indifferent. Delighted with so flattering a union of inclination with propriety, she now began to cherish the partiality she had first had repressed, and thinking the future destination of her life already settled, looked forward with grateful joy to the prospect of ending her days with the man she thought most worthy to be entrusted with the disposal of her fortune. She had not, indeed, any certainty that the regard of Young Delville was reciprocal, but she had every reason to believe he greatly admired her, and to suspect that his mistaken notion of her prior engagement, first with Mr. Belfield, and afterwards with Sir Robert Fleuer, made him at present check those sentiments in her favour, which, when that error was removed, she hoped to see, I encouraged. Her purpose, therefore, was quietly to wait an explanation, which she rather wished retarded than forwarded, that her leisure and opportunity might be more for investigating his character and saving herself from repentance. End of Chapter 2, Volume 4, Chapter 3 of Cecilia. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Lucy Burgoyne. Cecilia, Memoirs of an Eris, by Francis Birney. Volume 4, Chapter 3, A Conflict The day following this happy intellectual arrangement, Cecilia was visited by Mr. Moncton. That gentleman, who had inquired for her immediately after the Haralds, went to their villa, and who had flattered himself with reaping much advantage from their absence by frequent meetings and confidential discourses, suffered the severest mortification when he found that her stay in town rendered her not the less inaccessible to him, since he had no personal acquaintance with the devils and could not venture to present himself at their house. He was now received by her with the more than usual pleasure. The time had seemed long to her since she had conversed with him, and she was eager to ask his counsel and assistance in her affairs. She related to him the motives which had induced her to go to St. James Square, and the incorrigible obstinacy with which Mr. Harald still continued to encourage the addresses of Sir Robert Flawyer. She earnestly entreated him to become her agent in a business to which she was unequal by expostulating in her cause with Mr. Harald, and by calling upon Sir Robert himself to insist upon his foregoing his unauthorized pretensions. Mr. Malton listened eagerly to her account and request, and when she had finished, assured her he would deliberate upon each circumstance of the affair, and then maturely weigh every method he could devise to extricate her from an embarrassment which now grew far too serious to be safely neglected. I will not, however, continued he, either act or give my opinion without further inquiry, as I am confident there is a mystery in this business which lies deeper than we can at present fathom. Mr. Harald has doubtless purposes of his own to answer by this pretended zeal for Sir Robert, nor is it difficult to conjecture what they may be. Friendship in a man of his light cast is a mere cover, a mere name to conceal a connection which has its basis solely in the licentious convenience of borrowing money, going to the same gaming house and mutually communicating and boasting their mutual vices and intrigues, while all the time their regard for each other is equally hollow with their regard for truth and integrity. He then cautioned her to be extremely careful with respect to any money transactions with Mr. Harald, whose splendid extravagance he assured her was universally known to exceed his fortune. The countenance of Cecilia during this exaltation was testimony sufficient to the penetrating eyes of Mr. Moncton that his advice came not too soon. A suspicion of the real state of the case speedily occurred to him, and he questioned her minutely upon the subject. She endeavored to avoid making him any answer that his discernment was too keen for her in artificial evasion, and he very soon gathered all the particulars of her transactions with Mr. Harald. He was less alarmed at the sum she had lent him, which was rather within his expectations, than at the method she had been induced to take to procure it. He represented to her in the strongest manner the danger of imposition, nay a ruin, from the extortion and the craft of money lenders, and he charged her upon no consideration to be tempted or persuaded again to have recourse to such perilous expedience. She promised the most attentive observance of his advice, and then told him the acquaintance she had made with Miss Bellfield and her sorrow for the situation of her brother. Though satisfied for the present with the plan of young Delville, she now gave up her design of soliciting his counsel. In the midst of this conversation, a note was delivered to her from Mr. Delville Senior, acquainting her with his return to town, and begging the favour of her to call in Sir James Square the next morning, as he wished to speak to her upon some business of importance. The eager manner in which Cecilia accepted this invitation, and her repeated and earnest exclamation of wonder at what Mr. Delville could have to say, passed not unnoticed by Mr. Moncton. He instantly turned the discourse from the Bellfields, the Harrels and the Baronet, to inquire how she had spent her time during her visit in Sir James Square, and what was her opinion of the family after her late opportunities of intimacy. Cecilia answered that she had yet seen nothing more of Mr. Delville, who had been absent the whole time, but with equal readiness and pleasure, she replied to all his questions concerning his lady, expatuating with warmth and further, upon her many rare and estimable qualities. But when the same interrogatories were transferred to the sun, she spoke no longer with the same ease, nor with the usual promptitude of sincerity. She was embarrassed, her answers were short, and she endeavored to hasten from the subject. Mr. Moncton remarked this change with the most apprehensive quickness, but, forcing a smile, have you yet, he said, observed the family compact in which those people are bound to beseech you and draw you into their snares? No, indeed, cried Cecilia, much hurt by the question. I am sure no such compact has been formed, and I am sure, too, that if you knew them better, you would yourself be the first to admire and do them justice. My dear Miss Beverly cried he, I know them already, I do not, indeed, visit them, but I am perfectly acquainted with their characters, which have been drawn to me by those who are most closely connected with them, and who have had opportunities of inspection, which I hope will never fall to your share, since I am satisfied the trial would pain, though the proof would convince you. What, then, have you heard of them? cried Cecilia, with much earnestness. It is, at least, not possible any ill can be said of Mrs. Delville. I beg your pardon, return he. Mrs. Delville is not nearer perfection than the rest of her family. She has only more art in disguising her foibles, because, though she is the daughter of pride, she is the slave of interest. I see you have been greatly misinformed, said Cecilia Warmley. Mrs. Delville is the noblest of women. She may, indeed, from her very exultation, have enemies, but they are the enemies of envy, not of resentment. Enemies raised by superior merit, not excited by injury or provocation. You will know her better hereafter, said Mr. Moncton Calmley. I only hope your knowledge will not be purchased by the sacrifice of your happiness. And what knowledge of her, sir, cried Cecilia, starting, can have power to put my happiness in danger? I will tell you, answered he, with all the openness you have acclaimed to from my regard, and then leave to time to show if I am mistaken, the Delville family notwithstanding its ostinacious magnificence, I can solemnly assure you, is poor in every branch, unlike lineal and collateral. But is it, therefore, the less estimable? Yes, because the more rapacious, and while they count on each side of dukes, earls and barons in their genealogy, the very wealth with which, through your means, they project the support at their insolence, and which they will grasp with all the greediness of aberrance. They will think honoured by being employed in their service, while the instrument, all amiable as she is, by which they attain it, will be constantly held down, as the disgrace of their alliance. Cecilia, stung to the soul by this speech, rose from her chair, unwilling to answer it, yet unable to conceal how much had shocked her. Mr. Moncton, perceiving her emotion, followed her, and taking her hand, said, I would not give this warning to one, I thought too weak to profit from it, but as I am well informed of the use that is meant to be made of your fortune, and the abuse that will follow of yourself, I think at right to prepare you for the art of ices, which merely, to point out, may render abortive. Cecilia, too much disturbed to thank him, drew back her hand, and continued silent. Mr. Moncton, reading through her displeasure, the state of her affections, saw with terror the greatness of the danger which threatened him. He found, however, that the present was no time for enforcing objections, and perceiving he had already gone too far, though he was, by no means, disposed to recant. He thought at most prudent to retreat, and let her meditate upon his exhortation while his impression was yet strong in her mind. He would now, therefore, have taken leave, but Cecilia, endeavouring to recollect herself, and fully persuaded that, however he had shocked her, he had only her interest in view, stopped him, saying, You think me, perhaps, ungrateful, but believe me, I am not. I must, however, acknowledge that your censure of Mrs. Delville hurts me extremely. Indeed, I cannot doubt her worthiness. I must still, therefore, plead for her, and I hope the time may come when you will allow I have not pleaded unjustly. Justly or unjustly, answered Mr. Moncton, I am at least sure you can never plead vainly. I give up, therefore, to your opinion, my attack of Mrs. Delville, and am willing from your commendations to suppose her the best of the race. No, I will even own that perhaps Mr. Delville himself, as well as his lady, might pass through life and give but little offence, had they only themselves to think of, and no son to stimulate their arrogance. Is the son, then, said Cecilia faintly, so much the most culpable? The son, I believe, answered he, is at least the chief incentive to insolence and ostentation. In the parents, since it is, for his sake, they covet with such avidity, honours, and riches, since they plume themselves upon regarding him as the support of their name and family, and since their pride in him even surpasses their pride in their lineage and themselves. Ah, thought Cecilia, and of such a son who could help being proud. Their purpose, therefore, he continued, is to secure through his means your fortune, which they will no sooner obtain than, to my certain knowledge, they mean instantly, and most unmercifully, to employ it in repairing all their delipidated estates. And then he quitted the subject, and with that guarded wall, which accompanied all his expressions, told her he would carefully watch for her honour and welfare, and, repeating his promise of endeavouring to discover the tie by which Mr. Harrell seemed bound to the baronet, he left her a prey himself to an anxiety yet more severe than that with which he had filled her. He now saw all his long cherished hopes in danger of final destruction, and suddenly cast upon the brink of a precipice, where, while he struggled to protect them from falling, his eyes were dazzled by beholding them totter. Meanwhile Cecilia, disturbed from the calm of soft serenity to which she had yielded every avenue of her soul, now look forward with distrust and uneasiness, even to the completion of the views which but a few minutes before had comprised all her notions of felicity. The alliance which so lately had seemed wholly unexceptionable now appeared teeming with objections and threatening with difficulties. The representations of Mr. Moncton had cruelly mortified her, well acquainted with his knowledge of the world, and wholly unsuspicious of his selfish motives. She gave to his assertions involuntary credit, and even while she attempted to combat them, they made upon her mind an impression scarce ever to be erased. Full therefore of doubt and inquiritude, she passed the night in the discomfort and irresolution, now determining to give way to her feelings, and now to be wholly governed by the council of Mr. Moncton. End of chapter 3