 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Cecilia, Memorials of Inheros by Francis Burney Volume 10, Chapter 9, Attribute Meanwhile, Cecilia went through very severe discipline, sometimes strongly opposing it, at other times scarce sensible what was done to her. The whole of the next day passed in much the same manner. Nadir did the next night bring any visible alteration. She had now nurses and attendants even more than sufficient. Fidelweil had no relief but from calling in more help. His terror of again seeing her increased with his forbearance. The interview which had already passed had almost torn him asunder and losing all courage for attempting to enter her room. He now spent almost all his time upon the stairs which led to it. Whenever she was still he seated himself at her chamber door. Where if he could hear her breathe or move a sudden hope of her recovery gave to him a momentary ecstasy that recompensed all his sufferings. But the instant she spoke unable to bear the sound of soul laughed a voice uttering nothing. But the incoherent ravings of lightheadedness he hastened downstairs and flying out of the house walked in the neighbouring streets till he could again gather courage to inquire or to listen how she went on. The following morning however Doctor Leicester came and every hope revived. He few to embrace him told him instantly his marriage with Cecilia and besought him by some superior effort of his extraordinary abilities to save him the distraction of her loss. My good friend cried the worthy doctor. What is this you ask of me and how can this poor lady herself want advice more than you do? Do you think disabled physicians actually upon the spot with all the experience of full practice in London to assist their skill want a petty doctor out of the country to come and teach them what is right? I have more reliance upon you cried Delveille than upon the whole faculty. Come therefore and prescribe for her. Take some new course. Impossible my good sir. Impossible. I must not lose my wits from vanity because you have lost yours from affliction. I could not refuse to come to you when you wrote to me with such urgency and I will now go and see the young lady as a friend with all my heart. I am sorry for you at my soul Mr. Mortimer. She is a lovely young creature and has an understanding for her ears and sex unequal. Never mention her to me cried the impatient Delveille. I cannot bear it. Go up to her dear doctor and if you want a consultation send if you please for every physician in town. Dr. Leister desired only that those who had already attended might be summoned and then giving up to his entreaties the accustomed ceremonial of waiting for them. He went to Cecilia. Delveille did not dare accompany him and so well was he acquainted with his plainness and sincerity that though he expected his return with eagerness he no sooner heard him upon the stairs than fearing to know his opinion he hastily snatched up his hat and rushed vehemently out of the house to avoid him. He continued to walk about the streets till even the dread of ill news was less horrible to him than this voluntary suspense and then he returned to the house. He found Dr. Leister in a small back parlor which Mrs. Weier's finding she should now be well paid had appropriated for Delveille's use. Delveille putting his hand upon the doctor's shoulder said, Well my dear Dr. Leister you still I hope I would I could make you easy interrupted the doctor. Yet if you are rational one comfort at all evens I can give you. The crisis seems approaching and neither she will recover or before tomorrow morning. Don't go on sir cried Delveille with mingled rage and horror. I will not have her days limited. I sent not for you to give me such an account. And again he flew out of the house leaving Dr. Leister unaffectedly concerned for him and too kind hearted and too wise to be offended at the injustice of immoderate sorrow. In a few minutes however from the effect rather of despair than philosophy Delveille grew more composed and waited upon Dr. Leister to apologize for his behavior. He received his hearty forgiveness and prevailed upon him to continue in town till the whole was decided. About known Cecilia from the wildest rambling and most perpetual agitation sunk suddenly into a state of such utter insensibility that she appeared unconscious even of her existence and but that she breathed she might already have passed for being dead. When Delveille heard this he could no longer endure even his post upon the stairs. He spent his whole time in wondering about the streets or stopping in Dr. Leister's parlour to inquire if all was over. That humane physician not more alarmed at the danger of Cecilia than grieved at the situation of Delveille thought the present fearful crisis at least offered an opportunity of reconciling him with his father. He waited therefore upon that gentleman in St. James's Square and openly informed him of the dangerous state of Cecilia and the misery of his son. Mr. Delveille though he would gladly to have annulled an alliance he held disgraceful to his family have received intelligence that Cecilia was no more was yet extremely disconcerted to hear of sufferings to which his own refusal of an asylum he was conscious had largely contributed. And after a hearty struggle between tenderness and wrath he begged the advice of Dr. Leister how his son might be drawn from such a scene. Dr. Leister who well knew Delveille was too desperate to be tractable proposed surprising him into an interview by their returning together. Mr. Delveille however apprehensive and relenting conceded almost unwillingly to a measure he held beneath him and when he came to the shop could scarce be persuaded to enter it. Mortimer at that time was taking a solitary ramble and Dr. Leister to complete the work he had begun of subduing the heart pride of his father contrived under pretence of waiting for him. To conduct him to the room of the invalid. Mr. Delveille who knew not whether he was going at first sight of the bed and the attendance was hastily retreating but the changed and levied face of Cecilia caught his eye and struck with sudden consternation he involuntarily stopped. Look at the poor young lady cried Dr. Leister can you wonder a sight such as this should make Mr. Mortimer forget everything else. She was wholly insensible but perfectly quiet she seemed to distinguish nothing and neither spoke nor moved. Mr. Delveille regarded her with the utmost horror the refuge is so implacably refused her on the night when her intellects were deserted he would now gladly have offered at the expense of almost similar sufferings to have relieved himself from those rising pangs which called him other of the scene of war. His pride his pomp his ancient name were now sunk in his estimation and while he considered himself the destroyer of this unhappy young creature he would have sacrificed them all to have called himself a protector. Little is the boast of insolence when it is analyzed by the consigns. Bitter is the agony of self-reproach where misery follows hardness of heart yet when the first painful astonishment from her situation abated the remorse she excited being far stronger than the pity he gave an angry glance at Dr. Leister for betraying him. He went into such a sight and hastily left the room. Delveille who was now impatiently waiting to see Dr. Leister in the little parlour alarmed at the sound of a new step upon the stairs came out to inquire who had been admitted. When he saw his father he shrunk back back Mr. Delveille no longer supported by pride and unable to recover from the shock he had just received caught him in his arms and said, Oh come home to me my son this is a place to destroy you. Ah sir cried Delveille think not of me now you must show me no kindness I am not in a state to bear it and forcibly breaking from him he hurried out of the house. Mr. Delveille all the father awakened in his bosom saw his departure with more dread than anger and returned himself to St. James's Square tortured with paternal fears and strung by personal remorse lamenting his own inflexibility and pursued by the pale image of Cecilia. She was still in this unconscious state and apparently as free from suffering as from enjoyment when a new voice was suddenly heard without exclaiming, Oh where is she? Where is she? Where is my dear Ms. Beverly? And Henry Tabelfield ran wildly into the room. The advertisement in the newspapers had at once brought her to town and directed her to the house. The mention of that the last lady talked much of a person by the name of Delveille struck her instantly to mean Cecilia. The description corresponded with this idea and the account of the dress confirmed it. Mr. Annott equally terrified with herself had therefore lent her his chaise to learn the truth of this conjecture and she had travelled all night. Flying up to the bedside. Who is this? She cried. This is not Ms. Beverly and then screaming with unrestrained horror. Oh mercy, mercy she called out. Yes it is indeed and nobody would know her. Her own mother would not think her her child. You must come away Ms. Belfill said Mary. You must indeed. The doctors all say my lady must not be disturbed. Who shall take me away cried she angrily. Nobody Mary, not all the doctors in the world. Oh sweet Ms. Beverly, I lie down by your side. I will never quit you while you live and I wish, I wish I could die to save your precious life. Then leaning over her and wringing her hands. Oh I shall break my heart cried she. To see her in this condition. Is this the so happy Ms. Beverly that I thought everybody born to give joy to? The Ms. Beverly that seemed queen of the whole world yet so good so gentle so kind to the meanest person excusing everybody's faults but her own and telling them how they might mend and trying to make them as good as herself. Oh who would know her? Who would know her? What have they done to you my beloved Ms. Beverly? How have they altered and disfigured you in this wicked and barbarous manner? In the midst of this simple yet pathetic testimony to the worth and various excellencies of Cecilia Dr. Leicester came into the room. The women all flocked around him except Mary to indicate themselves from any share in permitting this newcomer's entrance and behavior. But Mary only told him who she was and said that if her lady was well enough to know her there was nobody she was certain she would have been so glad to see. Young lady said the doctor, I would advise you to walk into another room till you're a little more composed. Everybody I find is for harrying me away cried the sobbing Henrietta whose honest heart swelled with its own affectionate integrity but they might all save themselves the trouble for go I will not. This is very wrong said the doctor and must not be suffered do you call it friendship to come about a sick person in this manner? Oh my Ms. Beverly cried Henrietta do you hear how they all abrade me how they all want to force me away from you and to hinder me even from looking at you. Speak for me sweet lady speak for me yourself tell them the poor Henrietta will not do you any harm tell them she only wishes just to sit by you and to see you. I will hold by this dear hand I will cling to it till the last minute and you will not I know you will not give orders to have it taken away from me. Dr. Leister though his own good nature was much affected by this fond sorrow now half angrily represented to her the impropriety of indulging it. But Henrietta unused to disguise or repress her feelings true only the more violent the more she was convinced of Cecilia's danger. Oh look but at her she exclaimed and take me from her if you can see how her sweet eyes are fixed look but what a change in her complexion. She does not see me she does not know me she does not hear me her hand seems quite lifeless already her face is all fallen away. Oh that I had died twenty deaths before I had left to see the sight poor Richard Henrietta though vast now no friend left in the world though missed go and lie down in some corner and no one will come and say to thee a word of comfort. This must not be said Dr. Leister you must take her away you shall not cry she desperately I will stay with her till she has breathed her last and I will stay with her still longer and if she was to speak to you this moment she would tell you that she chose it. She loved the poor Henrietta and loved to have her near her and when she was ill and in much distress she never once bid me leave her room. Is it not true my sweet Miss Beverly do you not know it to be true oh look not so dreadfully turn to your unhappy Henrietta sweetest best of ladies. Will you not speak to her once more will you not say to her one single word. Dr. Leister now grew very angry and telling her such violence might have fatal consequences frightened her into more order and drew her away himself. He had then the kindness to go with her into another room where when her first vehemence was spent his remonstrations and reasoning brought her to a sense of danger she might occasion and made her promise not to return to the room till she had gained strength to behave better. When Dr. Leister went again to Del Weil he found him greatly alarmed by his long stay. He communicated to him briefly what had passed and counseled him to avoid encrazing his own grief by the sight of what was suffered by this unguarded and ardent girl. Del Weil readily assented for the weight of his own woe was too heavy to bear any addition. Henrietta now kept in order by Dr. Leister contended herself with only sitting on the bed without attempting to speak and with no other employment than alternately looking at her sick friend and covering her streaming eyes with a handkerchief. From time to time quitting the room wholly for the relief of sobbing at liberty and allowed in another. But in the evening while Del Weil and Dr. Leister were taking one of their melancholy rambles a new scene was acted in the apartment of the still senseless Cecilia. Albany suddenly made his entrance into it accompanied by three children two girls and one boy from the ages of four to six neatly dressed clean and healthy. See here cried he as he came in see here what I have brought you raise raise your languid head and look this way. You think me rigid an enemy to pleasure or stare harsh and a forbider of joy look at the sight and see the contrary. Who shall bring you comfort joy pleasure like this three innocent children clothed and fed by your bounty. Henrietta and Mary who both knew him well were but little surprised at anything he said or did and the nurses presumed not to interfere but by whispers. Cecilia however observed nothing that passed and Albany somewhat astonished approached nearer to the bed. Will do not speak he cried she can't sir said one of the women she has been speechless many hours. The air of triumph with which he had entered the room was now changed into disappointment and consternation. For some minutes he thoughtfully and sorrowfully contemplated her and then with a deep sigh said how will the poor rude this day. Then turning to the children who ought by the scene were quite from terror. Alas said he. Ye helpless babes ye know not what you have lost presumptuously we came and he did we must return. I brought you to be seen by your benefactress but she is going where she will find many such. He then let them away but suddenly coming back I may see her perhaps no more shall I not then pray for her. Great and awful is the change she is making what are human revolutions how pitiful how insignificant compared with it. Come little babies come with the gifts has she often blessed you with wishes bless her. Come let us kneel round her bed let us all pray for her together lift up your innocent hands and for all of you I will speak. He then made the children obey his injunctions and having knelt himself while Henrietta and Mary instanted it the same. Sweet flower he cried and timely cropped in yours yet in excellence mature early decayed in misery yet fragmented in innocence. Gentle be thy exit for unsullied have been thy days brief be thy pains for few have been thy offenses. Look at her sweet babes and bear her in your remembrance often will I visit you and revive the solemn scene. Look at her ye also who are nearer to your end ah will you bear it like her. He paused and the nurses and Mrs. Wires struck by the skull and moved by the general example crept to the bed and dropped on their knees almost involuntarily. She departs resumed Albany the envy of the world while yet no guilt had seized her soul and no remorse had marred her peace. She was the handmaid of charity and pity dwelt in her bosom her mouth was never open but to give comfort. Her footsteps were followed by blessings oh happy impurity be thy in the song of triumph softly shall though sing to temporary sleep sublimely shall though rise to life that wakes forever. He then got up took the children by their little hands and went away. End of chapter Volume 10, Chapter 10, Part 1 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. Memoirs of an Eris by Fanny Bernie. Volume 10, Chapter 10, Part 1. A Termination, Part 1. Dr. Leister and Delville met them at the entrance into the house. Extremely alarmed lest Cecilia had received any disturbance they both hastened upstairs but Delville proceeded only to the door. He stopped there and listened but all was silent. The prayers of Albany had struck an awe into everyone and Dr. Leister soon returned to tell him there was no alteration in his patient. And he has not disturbed her, cried Delville. No, not at all. I think then, said he, advancing, though trembling, I will yet see her once more. No, no, Mr. Mortimer, cried the doctor, why should you give yourself so unnecessary a shock? The shock answered he is over. Tell me, however, is there any chance I may hurt her? I believe not. I do not think just now she will perceive you. Well then, I may grieve, perhaps, hereafter, that once more, that one glance. He stopped, irresolute. The doctor would again have dissuaded him, but after a little hesitation he assured him he was prepared for the worst and forced himself into the room. When again, however, he beheld Cecilia, senseless, speechless, motionless. Her features void of all expression, her cheeks without color, her eyes without meaning. He shrunk from the sight. He leaned upon Dr. Leister and almost groaned aloud. The doctor would have conducted him out of the apartment, but recovering from this first agony he turned again to view her and casting up his eyes, fervently ejaculated. O merciful powers, take or destroy her, let her not linger thus, rather let me lose her for ever. O far rather would I see her dead than in this dreadful condition. Then advancing to the bedside, and yet more earnestly looking at her. I pray not now, he cried, for thy life. Inhumanly as I have treated thee, I am not yet so hardened as to wish thy misery lengthened. No, quick be thy restoration, or short and pure thy passage to eternity. O my Cecilia, lovely, however altered, sweet even in the arms of death and insanity, and dearer to my tortured heart in this calamitous state than in all thy pride of health and beauty. He stopped and turned from her, yet could not tear himself away. He came back, he again looked at her. He hung over her in anguish, unutterable. He kissed each burning hand. He folded to his bosom her feeble form, and recovering his speech, though almost bursting with sorrow, faintly articulated. Is all over? No ray of reason left? No knowledge of thy wretched delville? No, none. The hand of death is on her, and she is utterly gone. Sweet suffering excellence, loved, lost, expiring Cecilia, but I will not repine. Peace and kindred angels are watching to receive thee, and if thou art parted from thyself, it were impious to lament thou shouldst be parted from me. Yet in thy tomb will be deposited all that to me could render existence supportable, every frail chance of happiness, every sustaining hope, and all alleviation of sorrow. Dr. Leister, now again approaching, thought he perceived some change in his patient, and heremptorily forced him away from her. Then, returning himself, he found that her eyes were shut, and she was dropped to sleep. This was an omen the most favorable he could hope. He now seated himself by the bedside, and determined not to quit her till the expected crisis was passed. He gave the strictest orders for the whole house to be kept quiet, and suffered no one in the room either to speak or move. Her sleep was long and heavy, yet when she awoke, her sensibility was evidently returned. She started, suddenly raising her head from the pillow, looking round her and called out, Where am I now? Thank heaven! cried Henrietta, and was rushing forward when Dr. Leister, by a stern and angry look, compelled her again to take her seat. He then spoke to her himself, inquired how she did, and found her quite rational. Henrietta, who now doubted not her perfect recovery, wept as violently for joy as she had before wept for grief. And Mary, in the same belief, ran instantly to Delville, eager to carry to him the first tidings that her mistress had recovered her reason. Delville, in the utmost emotion, then returned to the chamber, but stood at some distance from the bed, waiting for Dr. Leister's permission to approach it. Cecilia was quiet and composed, her recollection seemed restored, and her intellect sound. But she was faint and weak, and contendedly silent to avoid the effort of speaking. Dr. Leister encouraged the stillness, and suffered not any one, not even Delville, to advance to her. After a short time, however, she again, and very calmly, began to talk to him. She now first knew him, and seemed much surprised by his attendance. She could not tell, she said, what of late had happened to her, nor could guess where she was, or by what means she came into such a place. Dr. Leister desired her at present not to think upon the subject, and promised her a full account of everything when she was stronger, and were fit for conversing. This for a while silenced her, but after a short pause. Tell me, she said, Dr. Leister, have I no friend in this place but you? Yes, yes, you have several friends here, answered the doctor, only I keep them in order, lest they should hurry or disturb you. She seemed much pleased by this speech, but soon after said, You must not, doctor, keep them in order much longer, for the sight of them I think would much revive me. Ah, Miss Beverly, cried Henrietta, who could not now restrain herself. May not I, among the rest, come and speak to you? Who is that, said Cecilia, in a voice of pleasure, though very feeble? Is it my ever dear Henrietta? Oh, this is joy indeed, cried she, fervently kissing her cheeks and forehead, joy that I never, never expected to have more. Come, come, cried Dr. Leister, here's enough of this. Did I not do well to keep such people off? I believe you did, said Cecilia, faintly smiling. My two kind Henrietta, you must be more tranquil. I will, I will indeed, madame. My dear, dear Miss Beverly, I will indeed. Now, once you have owned me, and once again I hear your sweet voice, I will do anything and everything, for I am made happy for my whole life. Ah, sweet Henrietta, cried Cecilia, giving her her hand. You must suppress these feelings, or our doctor here will soon part us. But tell me, doctor, is there no one else that you can let me see? Delville, who had listened to this scene in the unspeakable perturbation of that hope, which is kindled from the very ashes of despair, was now springing forward. Dr. Leister, fearful of the consequences, hastily arose, and with a look and air not to be disputed, took hold of his arm and led him out of the room. He then represented to him strongly the danger of agitating or disturbing her, and charged him to keep from her sight till better able to bear it, assuring him at the same time that he might now reasonably hope her recovery. Delville, lost in transport, could make no answer but flew into his arms, and almost madly embraced him. He then hastened out of sight to pour forth fervent thanks, and hurrying back with equal speed, again embraced the doctor, and while his manly cheeks were burnt with tears of joy, he could not yet articulate the glad tumult of his soul. The worthy Dr. Leister, who heartily partook of his happiness, again urged him to be discreet, and Delville, no longer intractable and desperate, gratefully concurred in whatever he commanded. Dr. Leister then returned to Cecilia, and to relieve her mind from any uneasy suspense, talked to her openly of Delville, gave her to understand he was acquainted with her marriage, and told her he had prohibited their meeting till each was better able to support it. Cecilia by this delay seemed half gratified and half disappointed, but the rest of the physicians, who had been summoned upon this happy change, now appearing, the orders were yet more strictly enforced for keeping her quiet. She submitted therefore peaceably, and Delville, whose gladdened heart still throbbed with speechless rapture, contentedly watched at her chamber door, and obeyed implicitly whatever was said to him. She now visibly and almost hourly grew better, and, in a short time, her anxiety to know all that was past, and by what means she became so ill and combined in a house of which she had not any knowledge, obliged Dr. Leister to make himself master of these particulars, that he might communicate them to her with the calmness that Delville could not attain. Delville himself, happy to be spared the bitter task of such a relation, informed him all he knew of the story, and then entreated him to narrate to her also the motives of his own strange, and he feared unpardonable conduct, and the scenes which had followed their parting. He came, he said, to England, ignorant of all that had passed in his absence, intending merely to wait upon his father and communicate his marriage before he gave directions to his lawyer for the settlements and preparations which were to proceed its further publication. He meant also to satisfy himself of the real situation of Mr. Mugton, and then, after an interview with Cecilia, to have returned to his mother and waited at Nice till he might publicly claim his wife. To this purpose, he had written in his letter which he meant to have put in the post-office in London himself, and he had but just alighted from his chaise when he met Ralph, Cecilia's servant in the street. Hastily stopping him, he inquired if he had left his place. No, answered Ralph, I am only come up to town with my lady. With your lady, cried the astonished Delville, is your lady that in town? Yes, sir, she is at Mrs. Belfield's. At Mrs. Belfield's? Is her daughter returned home? No, sir, we left her in the country. He was then going on with a further account, but, in too much confusion of mind, to hear him, Delville abruptly wished him good night and marched on himself towards Belfield's. The pleasure with which he would have heard that Cecilia was so near to him was totally lost in his perplexity to account for her journey. The letters had never hinted at such a purpose. The news reached him only by accident. It was ten o'clock at night, yet she was at Belfield's, though the sister was away, though the mother was professibly odious to her. In an instant, all he had formerly heard, all he had formerly disregarded, rushed suddenly upon his memory, and he began to believe he had been deluded, that his father was right, and that Belfield had some strange and improper influence over her heart. The suspicion was death to him. He drove it from him. He concluded the whole was some error. His reason, as powerfully as his tenderness, vindicated her innocence, and though he arrived at the house in much disorder, he yet arrived with a firm persuasion of an honourable explanation. The door was open. A chaise was added in waiting. Mrs. Belfield was listening in the passage. These appearances were strange, and increased his agitation. He asked for her son in a voice, scarce audible. She told him he was engaged with a lady, and must not be disturbed. That fatal answer, at a moment so big with the most horrible surmises, was decisive. Furiously, therefore, he forced himself past her, and opened the door. But when he saw them together, the rest of the family confessedly excluded, his rage turned to horror, and he could hardly support himself. Oh, Dr. Leister, he continued, ask of the sweet creature if these circumstances offer any extenuation for the fatal jealousy which sees me. Never by myself will I live will it be forgiven, but she, perhaps, who is all softness, all compassion, and all peace, may some time hence think my sufferings almost equal to my offence. He then proceeded in his narration. When he had so peremptorily ordered her chaise to St. James's Square, he went back to the house, and desired Belfield to walk out with him. He complied, and they were both silent till they came to a coffee-house, where they asked for a private room. The whole way they went, his heart, secretly satisfied of the purity of Cecilia, smote him for the situation in which he had left her. Yet, having unfortunately gone so far as to make his suspicions apparent, he thought it necessary to his character that their abolition should be equally public. When they were alone, Belfield, he said, to obviate any imputation of impertinence in my inquiries, I deny not what I presume you have been told by herself that I have the nearest interest in whatever concerns the lady from whom we are just now parted. I must beg, therefore, an explicit account of the purpose of your private conversation with her. Mr. Delville answered Belfield with mingled candor and spirit. I am not commonly much disposed to answer inquiries thus cavalierly put to me. Yet here, as I find myself not the principal person concerned, I think I am bound injustice to speak for the absent who is. I assure you, therefore, most solemnly, that your interest in Miss Beverly I never heard but by common report, that our being alone together was by both of us undesigned and undesired. That the honour she did our house in calling at it was merely to acquaint my mother with my sister's removal to Mrs. Harrell's. And that the part which I had myself in her condescension was simply to be consulted upon a journey which she has in contemplation to the south of France. And now, sir, having given you this peaceable satisfaction, you will find me extremely at your service to offer any other. Delville instantly held out his hand to him. What you assert, he said, upon your honour requires no other testimony. Your gallantry and your probity are equally well known to me. With either, therefore, I am content, and by no means require the intervention of both. They then parted. And now, his doubts removed and his punctilio satisfied, he flew to St. James's Square to intrigue the forgiveness of Cecilia for the alarm he had occasioned her and to hear the reason of her sudden journey and change of measures. But when he came there, to find that his father, whom he had concluded was at Delville Castle, was in the house, while Cecilia had not even inquired for him at the door, so let me not, he continued, even to myself. Let me not trace the agony of that moment. Where to seek her I knew not, why she was in London I could not divine, for what purpose she had given the postillian a new direction I could form no idea. Yet it appeared that she wished to avoid me, and once more, in the frenzy of my disappointment, I supposed Belfill the party in her concealment. Again, therefore, I sought him, at his own house, at the coffee-house where I had loved him. In vain, wherever I came, I just missed him. For, hearing of my search, he went with equal restlessness, from place to place to meet me. I rejoice we both failed. A repetition of my inquiries in my then irritable state must inevitably have provoked the most fatal resentment. I will not dwell upon the scenes that followed, my laborious search, my fruitless wanderings, the distraction of my suspense, the excess of my despair. Even Belfill, the fiery Belfill, when I met with him the next day, was so much touched by my wretchedness that he bore with all my injustice, feeling noble young man never will I lose the remembrance of his high-sold patience. And now, Dr. Leister, go to my Cecilia, tell her this tale and try, for you have skills sufficient to soften, yet not wound her with my sufferings. If then she can bear to see me, to bless me with the sound of her sweet voice, no longer at war with her intellects, to hold out to me her love at hand, entoken of peace and forgiveness, oh, Dr. Leister, preserver of my life and hers, give to me but that exquisite moment, and every past evil will be forever obliterated. You must be calmer, sir, said the doctor, before I make the attempt. These heroics are mighty well for sound health and strong nerves, but they will not do for an invalid. He went, however, to Cecilia, and gave her this narration, suppressing whatever he feared would most affect her, and judiciously enlivening the whole by his strictures. Cecilia was much easier for this removal of her perplexities, and, as her anguish and her terror had been unmixed with resentment, she had now no desire but to reconcile Delville with himself. Dr. Leister, however, by his friendly authority, obliged her for some time to be content with this relation, but when she grew better her impatience became stronger, and he feared opposition would be as hurtful as compliance. Delville, therefore, was now admitted, yet slowly, and with trepidation he advanced, terrified for her, and fearful of himself, filled with remorse for the injuries she had sustained, and impressed with grief and horror to behold her so ill and altered. Supported by pillows, she sat almost upright. The moment she saw him, she attempted to bend forward and welcome him, calling out in a tone of pleasure, though faintly, ah, dearest Delville, is it you? But too weak for the effort she had made, she sunk back upon her pillow, pale, trembling, and disordered. Dr. Leister would then have interfered to postpone their further conversation, but Delville was no longer master of himself or his passions. He darted forward, and kneeling at the bedside. Sweet injured excellence, he cried, wife of my heart, sole object of my chosen affection, dast thou yet live? Do I hear thy lovable voice? Do I see thee again? Art thou my Cecilia? And I have indeed not lost thee? Then, regarding her more fixedly, alas, he cried, art thou indeed my Cecilia, so pale, so emaciated, oh, suffering angel, and couldst thou then call upon Delville, the guilty but broken-hearted Delville, thy destroyer, thy murderer, and yet not call to execrate him? Cecilia, extremely affected, could not utter a word. She held out to him her hand. She looked at him with gentleness and kindness, but tears started into her eyes, and trickled in large drops down her colorless cheeks. Angelic creature cried Delville, his own tears overflowing, while he pressed to his lips the kind token of her pardon. Can you give to me again a hand so ill-deserved? Can you look with such compassion on the author of your woes? On the wretch, who for an instant could doubt the purity of a mind so seraphic? Ah, Delville, cried she, a little reviving, think no more of what is past, to see you to be yours drives all evil from my remembrance. I am not worthy this joy, cried he, rising, kneeling, and rising again. I know not how to sustain it, a forgiveness such as this, when I believed you must hate me for ever, when repulse and aversion were all I dared expect, when my own inhumanity had bereft thee of thy reason, when the grave, the pitiless grave, was already open to receive thee. Too kind, too feeling, Delville, cried the penetrated Cecilia, relieve your loaded heart from these bitter recollections, mine is lightened already, lightened I think of everything but its affection for you. Oh, words of transport and ecstasy, cried the enraptured Delville, a partner of my life, friend, solace, darling of my bosom, that so lately I thought expiring, that I folded to my bleeding heart in the agony of eternal separation. Come away, sir, come away, cried Dr. Leister, who now saw that Cecilia was greatly agitated. I will not be answerable for the continuation of this scene. And taking him by the arm, he awakened him from his frantic rapture, by assuring him she would faint, and forced him away from her. Soon after he was gone and Cecilia became more tranquil, Henrietta, who had wept with bitterness in a corner of the room during this scene, approached her, and, with an attempted smile, though in a voice hardly audible, said, Ah, Miss Beverly, you will at last then be happy, happy as all your goodness deserves, and I am sure I should rejoice in it if I was to die, to make you happier. Cecilia, who but too well knew her full meaning, tenderly embraced her, but was prevented by Dr. Leister from entering into any discourse with her. The first meeting, however, with Delville being over, the second was far more quiet, and in a very short time he would scarcely quit her a moment, Cecilia herself receiving from his sight a pleasure too great for denial yet too serene for danger. The worthy Dr. Leister, finding her prospective recovery thus fair, prepared for leaving London, but equally desirous to do good out of his profession as in it, he first, at the request of Delville, waited upon his father to acquaint him with his present situation, solicit his directions for his future proceedings, and endeavour to negotiate a general reconciliation. Mr. Delville, to whose proud heart social joy could find no avenue, was yet touched most sensibly by the restoration of Cecilia. Neither his dignity nor his displeasure had been able to repress remorse, a feeling to which, with all his foibles, he had not been accustomed. The view of her distraction had dwelt upon his imagination, the despondency of his son had struck him with fear and horror. He had been haunted by self-approach, and pursued by vain regret, and those concessions he had refused to tenderness in a treaty he now willingly accorded to change repentance for tranquility. He sent instantly for his son, whom even with tears he embraced, and felt his own peace restored as he pronounced his forgiveness. Knew, however, to kindness, he retained it not long, and a stranger to generosity, he knew not how to make her welcome. The extinction of his remorse abated his compassion for Cecilia, and when solicited to receive her, he revived the charges of Mr. Moncton. Cecilia, informed of this, determined to write to that gentleman herself, whose long and painful illness joined to his irrecoverable loss of her, she now hoped might prevail with him to make reparation for the injuries he had done her. To Mr. Moncton. I write not, sir, to abrade you, the woes which have followed your ill offices, and which you may sometime here, will render my reproaches superfluous. I write but to beseech that what is past may content you, and that, however, while I was single you chose to misrepresent me to the Delville family, you will have so much honour, since I am now become one of it, as to acknowledge my innocence of the crimes laid to my charge. In remembrance of my former long friendship I send you my good wishes, and in consideration of my hopes from your recantation I send you, sir, if you think it worth acceptance, my forgiveness. Cecilia Delville. Mr. Moncton, after many long and painful struggles between useless rage and involuntary remorse, at length sent the following answer. To Mrs. Mortimer Delville. Those who could ever believe you guilty must have been eager to think you so. I meant but your welfare at all times, and to have saved you from a connection I never thought equal to your merit. I am grieved, but not surprised, to hear of your injuries. From the alliance you have formed nothing else could be expected. If my testimony to your innocence can, however, serve to mitigate them, I scruple not to declare I believe it without taint. Delville sent by Dr. Leicester this letter to his father, whose rage at the detection of the perfidy which had deceived him, was yet inferior to what he felt that his family was mentioned so injuriously. His conference with Dr. Leicester was long and painful, but decisive, that sagacious and friendly man knew well how to work upon his passions, and so effectually awakened them by representing the disgrace of his own family from the present situation of Cecilia, that before he quitted his house he was authorized to invite her to remove to it. End of Chapter 10, Part 1, Recording by Michelle Crandall, Fremont, California, September 2008 When he returned from his embassy he found Delville in her room, and each waiting with impatience the event of his negotiation. The doctor with much alacrity gave Cecilia the invitation with which she had been charged, but Delville, jealous for her dignity, was angry and dissatisfied his father brought it not himself, and exclaimed with much mortification, Is this all the grace he accorded me? Patience, patience, sir, answered the doctor, When you have thwarted anybody in their first hope and ambition, do you expect they will send you their compliments, and many thanks for the disappointment? Pray, let the good gentleman have his way in some little matters, since you have taken such effectual care to put out of his reach the power of having it in greater. Oh, far from starting obstacles, cried Cecilia, let us solicit a reconciliation with whatever concessions he may require, the misery of disobedience we have but too fatally experienced, and thinking as we think of filial ties and parental claims, how can we ever hope happiness till forgiven and taken into favor? True, my Cecilia, answered Delville, and generous in condescending is true, and if you can thus sweetly comply, I will gratefully forebear making any opposition. Too much already have you suffered from the impetuosity of my temper, but I will try to curb it in future by the remembrance of your injuries. The whole of this unfortunate business, said Dr. Leister, has been the result of pride and prejudice. Your uncle the dean began it by his arbitrary will, as if an ordinance of his own could arrest the course of nature, and as if he had the power to keep alive, by the loan of a name, a family in the male branch already extinct. Your father, Mr. Mortimer, continued it with the same self-partiality, preferring the wretched gratification of tickling his ear with a favorite sound to the solid happiness of his son with a rich and deserving wife. Yet this, however, remember, if to pride and prejudice you owe your miseries, so wonderfully is good and evil balanced that to pride and prejudice you will also owe their termination. For all that I could say to Mr. Delville, either of reasoning or entreaty, and I said all I could suggest, and I suggested all a man need wish to hear, was totally thrown away till I pointed out to him his own disgrace in having a daughter-in-law emured in these mean lodgings. Thus, my dear young lady, the terror which drove you to this house, and the sufferings which have confined you in it, will prove in the event the source of your future peace. For when all my best rhetoric failed to melt Mr. Delville, I instantly brought him to terms by coupling his name with a pawnbroker's, and he could not with more disgust hear his son called Mr. Beverly than think of his son's wife when he hears of the three blue balls. Thus the same passions, taking but different directions, do mischief and cure it alternately. Such, my good young friends, is the moral of your calamities. You have all, in my opinion, been strangely at cross purposes, and trifled no one knows why, with the first blessings of life. My only hope is that now, having among you thrown away its luxuries, you will have known enough misery to be glad to keep its necessaries. This excellent man was yet prevailed upon by Delville to stay and assist in removing the feeble Cecilia to St. James's Square. Henrietta, for whom Mr. Arnott's equipoise and servants had still remained in town, was then, though with much difficulty, persuaded to go back to Suffolk. But Cecilia, however fond of her society, was too sensible of the danger and impropriety of her present situation to receive from it any pleasure. Mr. Delville's reception of Cecilia was formal and cold. Yet, as she now appeared publicly in the character of his son's wife, the best apartment in his house had been prepared for her use. His domestics were instructed to wait upon her with the utmost respect, and Lady Anoria Pemberton, who was accidentally in town, offered from curiosity what Mr. Delville accepted from Parade, to be herself in St. James's Square, in order to do honour to his daughter-in-law's first entrance. When Cecilia was a little recovered from the shock of the first interview and the fatigue of her removal, the anxious Mortimer would instantly have had her conveyed to her own apartment. But, willing to exert herself and hoping to oblige Mr. Delville, she declared she was well able to remain some time longer in the drawing-room. My good friends, said Dr. Leister, in the course of my long practice I have found it impossible to study the human frame without a little studying the human mind, and from all that I have yet been able to make out, either by observation, reflection, or comparison, it appears to me at this moment that Mr. Mortimer Delville has got the best wife and that you, sir, have here the most faultless daughter-in-law that any husband or any father in the three kingdoms belonging to his Majesty can either have or desire. Cecilia smiled. Mortimer looked his delighted concurrence. Mr. Delville forced himself to make a stiff inclination of the head, and Lady Honoria gaily exclaimed, Dr. Leister, when you say the best and most faultless, you should always add the rest of the company accepted. Upon my word, cried the doctor, I beg your ladyship's pardon, but there is a certain unguarded warmth comes across a man now and then that drives etiquette out of his head, and makes him speak truth before he well knows where he is. Oh, terrible! cried she, this is sinking deeper and deeper. I had hoped the town air would have taught you better things, but I find you have visited at Delville Castle till you are fit for no other place. Whoever, Lady Honoria, said Mr. Delville, much offended, is fit for Delville Castle, must be fit for every other place, though every other place may by no means be fit for him. Oh, yes, sir, cried she giddily, every possible place will be fit for him. If he can once bear with that, don't you think so, Dr. Leister? Why, when a man has the honour to see your ladyship, answered he good-humouredly, he is apt to sink too much of the person to care about the place. Come, I begin to have some hopes of you, cried she, for I see, for a doctor, you have really a very pretty notion of a compliment. Only you have one great fault still. You look the whole time as if you said it for a joke. Why, in fact, madame, when a man has been a plain-dealer in both word and look for upwards of fifty years, it is expecting too quick a reformation to demand ductility of voice and eye from him at a blow. However, give me but a little time and a little encouragement, and with such a tutress, it will be hard if I do not, in a very few lessons, learn the right method of seasoning a simper, and the newest fashion of twisting words for meaning. But pray, cried she, upon those occasions always remember to look serious. Nothing sets off a compliment so much as a long face. If you are tempted to an unseasonable laugh, think of Delville Castle, to an expedient I commonly make use of myself when I am afraid of being too frisky, and it always succeeds, for the very recollection of it gives me the headache in a moment. Upon my word, Mr. Delville, you must have the constitution of five men to have kept such good health after living so long at that horrible place. You can't imagine how you've surprised me, for I have regularly expected to hear of your death at the end of every summer, and I assure you once I was very near buying morning. The estate which descends to a man from his own ancestors, Lady Anoria, answered Mr. Delville, will seldom be apt to injure his health if he is conscious of committing no misdemeanor which has degraded their memory. How vastly odious this new father of yours is, said Lady Anoria in a whisper to Cecilia, what could ever induce you to give up your charming estate for the sake of coming into this fusty old family. I would really advise you to have your marriage annulled. You have only, you know, to take an oath that you were forcibly run away with, and as you are an heiress, and the Delvils are also violent, it will easily be credited. And then, as soon as you are at liberty, I would advise you to marry my little Lord Durford. Would you only then, said Cecilia, have me regain my freedom in order to part with it? Certainly, answered Lady Anoria, for you can do nothing at all without being married. A single woman is a thousand times more shackled than a wife, for she is accountable to everybody, and a wife, you know, has nothing to do but just to manage her husband. And that, said Cecilia, smiling, you consider as a trifle? Yes, if you do but marry a man you don't care for. You are right then indeed to recommend to me my Lord Durford. Oh yes, he will make the prettiest husband in the world. You may fly about yourself as wild as a lark, and keep him the whole time as tame as a jack-daw. And though he may complain of you to your friends, he will never have the courage to find fault to your face. But, as to Mortimer, you will not be able to govern him as long as you live. For the moment you have put him upon the fret, you'll fall into the dumps yourself. Hold out your hand to him, and losing the opportunity of gaining some material point, make up at the first soft word. You think then the quarreling more amusing than the reconciliation? Oh, a thousand times, for while you are quarreling you may say anything and demand anything, but when you are reconciled you ought to behave pretty and seem contented. Those who presumed to have any pretensions to your ladyship, said Cecilia, would be made happy indeed should they hear your principles. Oh, it would not signify at all, answered she for one's fathers and uncles and those sorts of people. Always make connections for one, and not a creature thinks of our principles till they find them out by our conduct. And nobody can possibly do that till we are married, for they give us no power beforehand. The men know nothing of us in the world while we are single, but how we can dance a minuet or play a lesson upon the harpsichord. And what else, said Mr. Delville, who advanced and heard this last speech, need a young lady of rank desired to be known for. Your ladyship surely would not have her degrade herself by studying like an artist or professor? Oh, no, sir, I would not have her study at all. It's mighty well for children, but really, after sixteen, and when one has come out, one has quite fatigued enough in dressing and going to public places and ordering new things, without all that torment of first and second position, and E upon the first line and F upon the first space. Your ladyship must, however, pardon me for hinting, said Mr. Delville, that a young lady of condition, who has a proper sense of her dignity, cannot be seen too rarely or known too little. Oh, but I hate dignity, cried she carelessly, for it's the dullest thing in the world. I always thought it was owing to that you were so little amusing. Really, I beg your pardon, sir. I meant to say so little talkative. I can easily credit that your ladyship spoke hastily, answered he, highly peaked, for I believe indeed a person of a family such as mine will hardly be supposed to have come into the world for the office of amusing it. Oh, no, sir, cried she, with pretended innocence. Nobody, I am sure, ever saw you with such a thought. Then, turning to Cecilia, she added in a whisper, You cannot imagine, my dear Mrs. Mortimer, how I detest this old cousin of mine. Now, pray, tell me honestly, if you don't hate him yourself. I hope, said Cecilia, to have no reason. Lord, how you are always upon your guard. If I were half as cautious, I should die of the vapors in a month. The only thing that keeps me at all alive is now and then making people angry. For the folks at our house let me get out so seldom, and then send me with such stupid old chaperones, that giving them a little torment is really the only entertainment I can procure myself. Oh, but I had almost forgot to tell you a most delightful thing. What is it? Why, you must know I have the greatest hopes in the world that my father will quarrel with old Mr. Dalville. And is that such a delightful thing? Oh, yes, I have lived upon the very idea this fortnight. For then, you know, they'll both be in a passion, and I shall see which of them looks frightfulest. When Lady Anoria whispers, cried Mortimer, I always suspect some mischief. No indeed, answered her ladyship, I was merely congratulating Mrs. Mortimer about her marriage. Though really, upon second thoughts, I don't know whether I should not rather condol with her, for I have long been convinced that she has a prodigious antipathy to you. I saw it the whole time I was at Dalville Castle, where she used to change colour at the very sound of your name, a symptom I never perceived when I talked to her of my Lord Durford, who would certainly have made her a thousand times a better husband. If you mean on account of his title, Lady Anoria, said Mr. Dalville, your ladyship must be strangely forgetful of the connections of your family, not to remember that Mortimer, after the death of his uncle and myself, must inevitably inherit one far more honourable than a new sprung-up family like my Lord Ernoff's could offer. Yes, sir, but then you know she would have kept her estate, which would have been a vastly better thing than an old pedigree of new relations. Besides, I don't find that anybody cares for the noble blood of the Dalvils but themselves, and as she had kept her fortune everybody I fancy would have cared for that. Everybody then, said Mr. Dalville, must be highly mercenary and ignoble, or the blood of an ancient and honourable house would be thought contaminated by the most distant hint of so degrading a comparison. Dear sir, what should we all do with birth if it was not for wealth? It would neither take us to Rannola or the opera, nor buy us caps nor wigs, nor supply us with dinners nor bouquets. Caps and wigs, dinners and bouquets, interrupted Mr. Dalville, your ladyship's estimate of wealth is really extremely minute. While you know, sir, as to caps and wigs, they are very serious things, for we should look mighty droll figures to go about bare-headed and as to dinners. How would the Dalvils have lasted all these thousand centuries if they had disdained eating them? Whatever may be your ladyship's satisfaction, said Mr. Dalville angrily, in depreciating a house that has the honour of being nearly allied with your own, you will not, I hope at least, instruct this lady, turning to Cecilia, to adopt a similar contempt of its antiquity and dignity. This lady, cried Mortimer, will at least, by condescending to become one of it, secure us from any danger that such contempt may spread further. Let me but, said Cecilia, looking gratefully at him, be as secure from exciting as I am from feeling contempt, and what can I have to wish? Good and excellent young lady, said Dr. Leister, the first of blessings indeed is yours in the temperance of your own mind. When you began your career in life, you appeared to us short-sighted mortals to possess more than your share of the good things of this world. Such a union of riches, beauty, independence, talents, education, and virtue seemed a monopoly to raise general envy and discontent, but marked with what a scrupulous exactness the good and bad is ever balanced. You have had a thousand sorrows to which those who have looked up to you have been strangers, and for which not all the advantages you possess have been equivalent. There is evidently throughout this world, in things as well as persons, a leveling principle, at war with preeminence and destructive of perfection. Ah! cried Mortimer, in a low voice to Cecilia, how much higher must we all rise, or how much lower must you fall or any leveling principle will approximate us with you? He then entreated her to spare her strength and spirits by returning to her own apartment, and the conversation was broken up. Pray permit me, Mrs. Mortimer, cried Lady Anoria, in taking leave, to beg that the first guest you invite to Delville Castle may be me. You know my partiality to it already. I shall be particularly happy in waiting upon you in tempestuous weather. We can all stroll out together, you know, very sociably, and I shan't be much in your way, for if there should happen to be a storm you can easily lodge me under some great tree, and while you amuse yourselves with a tet-a-tet, give me the indulgence of my own reflections. I am vastly fond of thinking and being alone, you know, especially in thunder and lightning. She then ran away, and they all separated. Cecilia was conveyed upstairs, and the worthy Dr. Leister, loaded with acknowledgments of every kind, set out for the country. Cecilia, still weak and much emaciated, for some time lived almost wholly in her own room, where the grateful and solicitous attendants of Mortimer alleviated the pain both of her illness and confinement, but as soon as her health permitted traveling, he hastened with her abroad. Here tranquility once more made its abode in the heart of Cecilia, that heart so long torn with anguish, suspense, and horror. Mrs. Delville received her with the most rapturous fondness, and the impression of her sorrows gradually wore away from her kind maternal cares, and from the watchful affection and delighted tenderness of her son. The Egglestons now took entire possession of her estate, and Delville, at her entreaty, for bore shooing any personal resentment of their conduct, and put into the hands of a lawyer the arrangement of the affair. They continued abroad some months, and the health of Mrs. Delville was tolerably re-established. They were then summoned home by the death of Lord Delville, who bequeathed to his nephew Mortimer his townhouse and whatever of his estate was not annexed to his title, which necessarily devolved to his brother. The sister of Mrs. Delville, a woman of high spirit and strong passions, lived not long after him, but having in her latter days intimately connected herself with Cecilia, she was so much charmed with her character and so much dazzled by her admiration of the extraordinary sacrifice she had made that in a fit of sudden enthusiasm she altered her will to leave her and to her sole disposal the fortune which, almost from his infancy, she had destined for her nephew. Cecilia, astonished and penetrated, opposed the alteration, but even her sister, now Lady Delville, to whom she daily became dearer, earnestly supported it. While Mortimer delighted to restore to her through his own family, any part of that power and independence of which her generous and pure regard for himself had deprived her was absolute in refusing that the deed should be revoked. Cecilia, from this flattering transaction, received a further conviction of the malignant falsehood of Mr. Moncton, who had always represented to her the whole of the Delville family as equally poor in their circumstances and illiberal in their minds. The strong spirit of active benevolence, which had ever marked her character, was now again displayed, though no longer as hitherto unbounded. She had learnt the error of profusion, even in charity and beneficence, and she had a motive for economy in her animated affection for Mortimer. She soon sent for Albany, whose surprise that she still existed and whose rapture at her recovered prosperity now threatened his senses from the tumult of his joy, with nearly the same danger they had lately been menaced by terror. But though her donations were circumscribed by prudence and their objects were selected with discrimination, she gave to herself all her former benevolent pleasure in solacing his afflictions while she softened his asperity by restoring to him his favorite office of being her almaner and monitor. She next sent to her own pensioners, relieved those distresses which her sudden absence had occasioned, and renewed and continued the salaries she had allowed them. All who had nourished reasonable expectations from her bounty she remembered, though she raised no new claimants but with economy and circumspection. But neither Albany nor the old pensioners had the satisfaction of Mortimer, who saw with new wonder the virtues of her mind and whose admiration of her excellencies made his gratitude perpetual for the happiness of his lot. The tender-hearted Henrietta, in returning to her new friends, gave way with artless openness to the violence of untamed grief. But finding Mr. Arnott as wretched as herself, the sympathy Cecilia had foreseen soon endeared them to each other, while the little interest taken in either by Mrs. Harrell made them almost inseparable companions. Mrs. Harrell, wearied by their melancholy and sick of retirement, took the earliest opportunity that was offered her of changing her situation. She married very soon a man of fortune in the neighborhood, and, quickly forgetting all the past, thoughtlessly began the world again with new hopes, new connections, new ecopages, and new engagements. Henrietta was then obliged to go again to her mother, where, though deprived of all the indulgencies to which she was now become familiar, she was not more hurt by the separation than Mr. Arnott. So sad and so solitary his house seemed in her absence that he soon followed her to town, and returned not till he carried her back its mistress. And there the gentle gratitude of her soft and feeling heart engaged from the worthy Mr. Arnott the tenderest affection, and in time healed the wound of his early and hopeless passion. The injudicious, the volatile, yet noble-minded Belfield, to whose mutable and enterprising disposition life seemed always rather beginning than progressive, roved from employment to employment, and from public life to retirement, soured with the world, and discontented with himself, till vanquished at length by the constant friendship of Delville, he consented to accept his good offices in again entering the army, and being fortunately ordered out upon foreign service his hopes were revived by ambition and his prospects were brightened by a view of future honour. The wretched monkton, dupe of his own cunning and artifices, still lived in lingering misery, doubtful which was most acute, the pain of his wound and confinement, or of his defeat and disappointment. Led on by a vain belief that he had parts to conquer all difficulties, he had indulged without restraint a passion in which interest was seconded by inclination. Allured by such fascinating powers, he shortly suffered nothing to stop his course, and though when he began his career he would have started at the mention of actual dishonour, long before it was concluded neither treachery nor perjury were regarded by him as stumbling blocks. All fear of failing was lost in vanity, all sense of probity was sunk in interest, all scruples of conscience were left behind by the heat of the chase, yet the unforeseen and melancholy catastrophe of his long arts illustrated in his despite what his principles had obscured, that even in worldly pursuits where fraud outruns integrity failure joins dishonour to loss and disappointment excites triumph instead of pity. The upright mind of Cecilia, her purity, her virtue, and the moderation of her wishes gave to her in the worm affection of Lady Delville, and the unremitting fondness of Mortimer, all the happiness human life seems capable of receiving. She knew that at times the whole family must murmur at her loss of fortune, and at times she murmured herself to be thus portionless, though in eras. Rationally, however, she surveyed the world at large and finding that of the few who had any happiness, there were none without some misery, she checked the rising sigh of her pining mortality, and, grateful with general felicity, bore partial evil with cheerfulest resignation. End of Cecilia, Memoirs of an Eris by Francis Burney. Recorded by Michelle Crandall, Fremont, California, November 2008.