 Book 10, Chapter 9 of Camilla This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, reading by Lars Rolander. Camilla or a picture of youth by Fanny Burney, Chapter 9. A Spectacle The messenger returned not till midnight, what then was the consternation of Camilla that he brought no answer. She suspected he had not found the house, she doubted if the letter had been delivered, but he affirmed he had put it into the hands of a maid servant, though, as it was late, he had come away directly and not thought of waiting for any answer. It is not very early in life we learn how little is performed, for which no precaution is taken. Care is the offspring of disappointment, and sorrow and repentance commonly hang upon its first lessons. Unused to transact any sort of business for herself, she had expected in sending a letter an answer as a thing of course, and had now only herself to blame for not having ordered him to stay. She consoled herself, however, that she was known to be but nine miles distant from the rectory, and that any commands could be conveyed to her nearly in an hour. What they might be became now, therefore, her soul anxiety, would not her mother write, after an avowal such as she had made of her desolate, if not dying condition, would she not pardon and embrace her? Was it not even possible she might come herself? This idea mingled emotions of her contrarity scarcely supportable. Oh, how, she cried, shall I see her? Can joy blend with such terror? Can I wish her approach, yet not dare to meet her eye? That eye which never yet has looked at me, but to beam with bright kindness, though a kindness that, even from my childhood, seemed to say, Camilla, be blameless, or you break your mother's heart. My poor, unhappy mother, she has always seemed to have a presentiment. I was born to bring her to sorrow. Expectation being now for this night fully dead, the excess of her bodily fatigue urged her to take some repose, but her ever eager imagination made her apprehensive, her friends might find her too well, and suspect her representation was but to alarm them into returning kindness. A fourth night therefore passed without sleep, or the refreshment of taking off her clothes, and by the time the morning sun shone in upon her apartment, she was too seriously disordered to make her illness required the aid of fancy. She was full of fever, faint, pallid weak, and shaken by nervous tremors. I think, she cried, I'm now certainly going, and never was death so welcomed by one so young. It will end in soft peace my brief but stormy passage, and I shall owe to its solemn call the sacred blessing of my offended mother. Tranquilized by this hope and this idea, she now lost all sufferings but those of disease. Her mind grew calm, her spirit serene, all fears gave way to the certainty of soothing kindness. All grief was buried in the solemnity of expected dissolution. But this composure outlived not the first hours of the morning, as they vainly advanced, producing no love presence, no letter, no summons, solicitude revived, disappointment sunk her heart, and greed prayed again upon her nerves. She started at every sound, every breath of wind seemed potentious. She listened upon the stairs. She dragged her feeble limbs to the parlor to be nearer at hand. She forced them back again to her bedroom to strain her aching eyes out of the window, but still no voice demanded her, and no person approached. Peggy, who repeatedly came to tell her the hour, now assured her it was dinner time. Unable to eat, she was heedless of the hint this conveyed, and it obtained from her no orders, till Peggy gave her innocently to understand the expectations of her host and hostess. But when at five o'clock the table was served, all force and courage for succour. To be left thus to herself when her situation was known, to be abandoned at an inn, where she had confessed she thought herself dying. My mother, she cried, cannot forgive me. My father himself deserts me. Oh Edgar, you did well to fly so unhallowed a connection. She left her dinner for Peggy, and crawling upstairs cast herself upon the bed. With a desperate supplication she might rise from it no more. The time, cried she, is passed for consolation and dead for hope. My parents' own prayers have been adverted, and their prognostics fulfilled. May the dreed forfeiture, said my dearest father, not extend through my daughters. Alas, Lionel himself has not brought upon him a disgrace, such as I have done. May heaven, said my honoured mother, spare me evil under your shape at least. But under that it has come to her the most heavily. Dissolving then in sowing regret recollections of material tenderness, bade her pillow with her tears, and reversing all the inducements to her sad resignation, abolished every wish but to fall again at the paternal feet. To see, cried she, once more the dear authors of my being, to receive their forgiveness, their blessing, to view again their honoured countenances, to hear once more their loved speech. Alas, was it I that fled the voice of my mother? That voice which till that moment had been music to my mind, and never reached my ear, but at the precursor of all kindness? Why did I not soon her at once kneel at her feet, and seek my lost path under my first and best guide? Shocked and contrite in this tardy view of the steps she ought to have taken, she now languished to petition for pardon, even for an offence unknown, and rising took up a pen to relate the whole transaction, but her head was confused, and the attempt showed her she was more ill than she had even herself suspected. She thought all rapidly advancing, and enthusiastically rejoiced. Yet a second time she took the pen, but it had not touched the paper when a buzzing, confused, stifled sort of noise from without drew her to the window. She then perceived an immense crowd of people approaching slowly, and from a distance towards the inn. As they advanced, she was struck to hear no increase of noise, say from the nearer trampling of feet. No voice was distinguishable, no one spoke louder than the rest. They seemed even to tread the ground with caution. They consisted of labourers, workmen, beggars, women, and children, joined by some accidental passengers. Yet the general hum of many was all that was heard. They were silent, though numerous, solemn, though mixed. As they came near, she thought she perceived something in the midst of them like a beer, and caught a glimpse of a gentleman's habit. Startled she drew in, but soon upon another view discerned clearly a well-dressed man, stretched out his full length and apparently dead. Recoiling, shuddering, she hastily shut the window. Yet why, she cried the next moment, and whence this emotion is not death what I am meeting, seeking, desiring, what I caught, what I pray for? She sighed, walked feebly up and down the room, hard and with effort, and then forced herself again to open the window, determined to contemplate steadily the anticipating object of her fervent demand. Yet not without severe self-compulsion she flung up again the sash, but when she looked out the crowd alone remained, the beer was gone. Whether carried on or brought into the house, she now wished to know, with some particulars of whom it might be, and what belonged to so strange and horrible an appearance. She rang for little Peggy, but Peggy came not. She rang again, but no one answered the bell. She opened her door, meaning to descend to her little parlor for information, but the murmuring bus she had before heard upon the road was now within the house which seemed filled with people, all busy and occupied, yet speaking low, and appearing to partake of a general aid. She could not venture to encounter so many spectators. She shut her door to wait quietly till this first commotion should be passed. This was not for more than an hour when observing from her window that the crowd was dispersed. She again listened at the door, and found that the general disturbance was succeeded by a stillness the most profound. She then rang again, and little Peggy appeared, but looking pale and much frightened. Camilla asked what had been the matter. Oh, ma'am! she answered crying. Here's been murdered. A gentleman has been murdered, and nobody knows who is, nor who has done it. She then related that he had been founded in a wood hard-buy, and one person calling another, and another he had been brought to the inn to be owned. And is he here now? With an involuntary shudder asked Camilla. Yes, she answered, but her mistress had ordered her not to own it for fear of frightening the young lady, and said he would soon be carried away. The tale was shocking, and those scarce conscious why Camilla desired Peggy to stay with her. The little girl was most willing, but she was presently called downstairs, and Camilla, with strong shame of nameless fears and weak horror, stroked to mediate to some use upon this scene. But her mind was disturbed, her composure was gone, her thoughts were broken, abrupt, unfixed and all upon which she could well with any steadiness, was the desire of one more appeal to her family, that yet they would consent to see her, if they received it in time, or that they should know in what frame of mind she expired, should it bring them too late. With infinite difficulty she then wrote the following lines, every bending down overhead making it ache nearly to distraction. Adieu, my dearest parents, if again it is denied me to see you. Adieu, my darling sisters, my tender uncle, I ask not now your forgiveness, I know I shall possess it fully, my father never withheld it, and my mother, if against herself alone I had seen, would have been equally lenient, would have probed but to heal, have corrected but to pardon. Oh, tenderest of united partners, bless then the early ashes of your airing, but adoring daughter, who from the moment she inflicted one wound upon your bosoms, has found existence intolerable, and prays now but for her earthly release. Camilla Tyrold This she gave to Peggy, with a charge that at any expense it might be conveyed to the rectorie at Edrington immediately. And shall I not, thought she, when she had rested from this exertion, and may I not at such a period with innocence, with propriety, write one poor word to him, who was so near becoming first to me in all things? She again took her pen, but had only written, Oh Edgar, in this last farewell, be all displeasure forgotten, from the first to the final moment of my short life, dear and sole possessor of my heart, when the shooting anguish overhead stopped her hand, and hastily writing the direction, lest she could write no more, she with difficulty added, not to be delivered till I am dead, and was forced to lie down, and shut all light from her strained and aching eyes. Peggy presently brought her word that all the horses were out, and everybody was engaged, and that the note could not possibly go till the next day. Extremely disappointed, she begged to speak with Mrs. Marl, who sent her word she was much engaged, but would wait upon her as soon as she was able. Vainly, however, she expected her. It grew dusk. She felt herself worse every moment, flushed with fever, or shivering with cold, and her head nearly split asunder with agony. She determined to go once more downstairs, and offered to her host himself any reward he could claim, so he would undertake the immediate delivery of the letter. With difficulty she arose with slow steps, and tottering she descended, but as she approached her little parlor, she heard voices in it and stopped. They spoke low, and she could not distinguish them. The door of an adjoining room was open, and by its stillness empty, she resolved to ring there, to demand to speak with Mr. Marl. But as she dragged her weak limbs into the apartment, she saw stretched out upon a large table the same form, dress, and figure she had seen upon the beer. Starting, almost fainting, but too much aid to call out, she held trembling by the door. The bodily feebleness which impeded her immediate retreat gave force to a little mental reflection. Do I shrink thus? thought she, from what so earnestly I have prayed to become, and so soon I must represent a picture of death. She now impelled herself towards the table. A cloth covered the face. She stood still, hesitating if she had power to remove it, but she thought it a call to her own self-examination, and though mentally recoiling advanced, when close to the table she stood still, violently trembling, yet she would not allow herself to retreat. She now put forth her hand, but it shook suspended over the linen, without courage to draw it aside. At length, however, with enthusiastic self-compulsion, slightly and fearfully, she lifted it up. But instantly, and with instinctive horror, snatched her hand away, and placed it before her shut eyes. She felt now she had tried herself beyond her courage, and deeply moved was feigned to retreat. But in letting down her hand to see her way, she found she had already removed the linen from a part of the face, and the view she unintentionally caught almost petrified her. For some instance, she stood motionless, from one to strength to stir, but with closed eyes, that feared to confirm their first surmise. But when turning from the ghastly visage, she attempted without another glance to glide away, an unavoidable view of the coat, which suddenly she recognized, put her conjecture beyond all doubt, that she now saw dead before her the husband of her sister. Resentment in gentle minds, however merited and provoked, survives not the breath of the offender. With a certainty no further evil can be practiced perishes vengeance against the culprit, though not hatred of the guilt, and though, with the first movement of sisterly feelings, she would have said, Is Eugenia then released? The A was too great, his own change was too solemn. He was now where no human eye could follow, no human judgment overtake him. Again she endeavored to escape the dreadful scene, but her shaking limbs were refractory, and would not support her. The mortal being requires use to be reconciled to its own visible mortality, dismal in its view, grim, repulsive, terrific its aspect. But no sooner was her head turned from the dire object, than alarmed for her sister to possession of her soul, and with what recollection she possessed, she determined to go to bell font. An idea of any active service invigorates the body as well as the mind. She made another effort to depart, but a glance she knew not how to avoid should her upon the coat of the right arm and right side of this costly figure, large splashes of blood. With horror thus at humiliate, she now sunk upon the floor, inwardly exclaiming, He is murdered indeed, and where may be Eugenia? A woman who had in charge to watch by the corpse, but who had privately stolen out for some refreshment, now returning saw with a fright the new person in the room, and ran to call Mrs. Marl, who alarmed also at the sight of the young lady and her deplorable condition, assisted the woman to remove her from the apartment, and convey her to the chamber, where she was laid down upon the bed, though she resisted being undressed, and was seized with an anguished shivering fit, while her eyes seemed emitting sparks of fire. It is certainly now, cried she, over, and hence I move no more. The joy with which a few minutes before she would have welcomed such a belief was now converted into an ave unspeakable, undefineable. The wish of death is commonly but discussed of life, and looks forward to nothing further than release from worldly care, but there's something yet beyond, there's something unknown, untried, yet to come. The born whence no traveller returns to prepare succeeding passengers for what they may expect now abruptly presented itself to her consideration, but came to scare, not to soothe. All here, she cried, I have wished to leave, but have I fitted myself for what I am to meet? Conscience now suddenly took the reins from the hands of imagination. And a mist was cleared away that hitherto, obscuring every duty by despondence, had hidden from her own perceptions the faulty basis of her desire. Conscience took the reins, and a mist was cleared away that had concealed from her view the cruelty of this egotism. Those friends it cried, which thus impatiently thou seekest to quit, have they not loved, cherished, rear thee with the most exquisite care and kindness? If they are offended, who has offended them? If thou art now abandoned, may it not be from necessity, or from accident? When thou hast inflicted upon them the severe pain of harboring anger against what is so dear to them, wouldst thou load them with regret that they manifested any sensibility of thy errors? Has thou plunged thy house into calamity, and will no worthier wish occur to thee, than to leave it to its sorrows and distress, with the aggravating pangs of causing thy afflicting however blameable self-dissertion? Of coming to thee, perhaps even now, with mild forgiveness, and finding thee a self-devoted corpse? Not fallen indeed by the profane hand of daring suicide, but equally self-murdered through willful self-neglect? Had the voice been a loud sound which spoke this dire admonition, it could scarcely with more horror or keener repentance have struck her. That poor man, she cried, now delivering up his account by whatever hand he perished, since less principal, less instructed than myself, may be criminal perhaps with less guilt. The thought now of her father, the piety had striven to inculcate into her mind his resignation to misfortune, and his trust through every suffering, all came home to her heart, with religious veneration, and making prayer succeed to remorse, guided her to what she knew would be his guidance if present, and she desired to hear the service for the sick. Peggy could not read. Mrs. Marl was too much engaged. The whole house had ample employment, and her request was unattainable. She then begged they would procure her a prayer-book that she might try to read herself, but her eyes heavy, aching, and dim glared upon the paper, without distinguishing the print from the margin. I am worse, she cried faintly. My wish comes fast upon me. Ah, not for my punishment, let it finally arrive. With terror, however, even more than with Malady, she now trembled. The horrible sight she had witnessed brought death before her in a new view. She feared she had been presumptuous. She felt that her preparations had all been worldly. Her impatience folly selfish. She called back her wish with penitence and a fright. Her agitation became torture. Her regret was aggravated to remorse. Her grief to despair. End of chapter 9, read by Losch Rolander. Kamala, or a picture of youth, by Fanny Burney. Book 10, Chapter 10, A Vision When the first violence of this paroxysm of sorrow abated, Kamala again strove to pray and found that nothing so much stilled her. Yet her faculties confused, hurried, and in anguish permitted little more than incoherent ejaculations. Again she sighed for her father. Again the spirit of his instructions recurred, and she inquired who was the clergyman of the parish, and if he would be humane enough to come and pray by one who had no claim upon him as a parishioner. Piggie said he was a very good gentleman, and never refused even the poorest person that begged his attendance. Oh, go to him then! cried she, directly. Tell him a sick and helpless stranger implores that he will read to her the prayers for the dying. Should I yet live, they will compose and make me better. If not, they will give me courage for my quick exit. Piggie went forth, and she lay her beating head upon the pillow, and endeavored to quiet her nerves for the sacred ceremony she demanded. It was dark, and she was alone. The corpse she had just quitted seemed still bleeding in full view. She closed her eyes, but still saw it. She opened them, but it was always there. She felt nearly stiff with horror, chilled, frozen, with speechless apprehension. A slumber feverish nearly to delirium at length surprised her harassed faculties, but not to afford them rest. Death, invisible figure, ghastly, pallid, severe, appeared before her, and with its hand sharp and forked, struck abruptly upon her breast. She screamed, but it was heavy as cold, and she could not remove it. She trembled. She shrunk from its touch, but it had iced her heart strings. Every vein was congealed. Every stiffened limb stretched to its full length was as hard as marble, and when again, she made a feeble effort to rid her oppressed lungs of the dire weight that had fallen upon them. A voice hollow, deep, and distant dreadfully pierced her ear calling out, Thou hast but thine own wish. Rejoice, thou murmurer, for thou dyest. Clearer, shriller, another voice quick vibrated in the air. With a goest thou, it cried, and went'st come as thou. A voice from within, over which she thought she had no control, though it seemed issuing from her vitals, low, hoarse, and tremulous, answered, Whither I go, let me rest. Whence I come from, let me not look back. Those who gave me birth, I have deserted. My life, my vital powers, I have rejected. Quick, then, another voice assailed her so near, so loud, so terrible, she shrieked at its horrible sound. Pre-maturely, it cried, Thou art come, uncalled, unbidden, Thy task unfulfilled, Thy peace unearned. Follow, follow me. The records of eternity are opened. Come, right with Thine own hand, Thy claims, Thy merits to mercy. A repelling self-accusation instantaneously overwhelmed her. Oh, no, no, no, she exclaimed, Let me not sign my own miserable insufficiency. In vain was her appeal, a force unseen, yet irresistible, impelled her forward. She saw the immense volumes of eternity, and her own hand involuntarily grasped a pen of iron, and with a velocity uncontrollable wrote these words. Without resignation I have prayed for death. From impatience of displeasure I have desired annihilation. To dry my own eyes I have left pitiless, selfish, unnatural, a father the most indulgent, a mother almost idolizing to weep out theirs. Her head would have sunk upon the guilty characters, but her eyelids refused to close, and kept them glaring before her. They became, then, illuminated with burning sulfur. She looked another way, but they partook of the same motion. She cast her eyes upward, but she saw the characters still. She turned from side to side, but they were always her object. Loud again sounded the same direful voice, These are thy desserts. Right now thy claims, and next, and quick, Turn over the immortal leaves and read thy doom. Oh, no, she cried. Oh, no! Oh, let me yet return! Oh, Earth, with all thy sorrows, take take me once again, That better I may learn to work my way to that last harbour, Which rejecting the criminal re-piner Opens its soft bosom to the firm, those supplicating sufferer. In vain again she called, pleaded, knelt, wept, in vain. The time she found was past, she had slighted it while in her power. It would return to her no more, and a thousand voices at once, with awful vibration, answered aloud to every prayer, Death was thine own desire. Again, unlicensed by her will, her hand seized the iron instrument. The book was open that demanded her claims. She wrote with difficulty, but saw that her pen made no mark. She looked upon the page when she thought she had finished, but the paper was blank. Voices, then, by hundreds, by thousands, by millions, from side to side, above, below, around, called out, echoed, and re-echoed, Turn over, turn over, and read thy eternal doom. In the same instant the leaf untouched burst open, and she awoke. But in a trepidation so violent the bed shook under her. The cold sweat in large drops fell from her forehead, and her heart still seemed laboring under the adamantine pressure of the inflexibly cold grasp of death. So exalted was her imagination, so confused were all her thinking faculties, that she stared with wild doubt whether then, or whether now, what she experienced were a dream. In this suspensive state fearing to call, to move, or almost to breathe, she remained in perfect stillness and in the dark till little Peggy crept softly into the chamber. Certain, then, of her situation. This has been, she cried, only a vision. But my conscience has abetted it, and I cannot shake it off. When she became calmer and further recollected herself, she anxiously inquired if the clergyman would not come. Peggy, hesitatingly, acknowledged he had not been sent for. Her mistress had imagined the request proceeded from a disturbance of mind, owing to the sight of the corpse, and said she was sure, after a little sleep, it would be forgotten. Alas! said Camilla, disappointed. It is more necessary than ever. My senses are wandering. I seem hoovering between life and death. Ah, let not my own fearful offence is absorbed this hour of change, which religious rites should consecrate! She then told Peggy to plead for her to her mistress, and assure her that nothing else, after the dreadful shock she had received, could still her mind. Mrs. Marl not long after came into the room herself, and inquiring how she did, said, if she was really bent upon such a melancholy thing, the clergyman had luckily just called, and would read the service to her directly, if it would give her any comfort. O great and infinite comfort! she cried, and begged he might come immediately, and read to her the prayer for those of whom there is but small hope of recovery. She would have risen that she might kneel, but her limbs would not second her desire, and she was obliged to lie still upon the outside of the bed. Peggy drew the curtains to shade her eyes as a candle was brought into the room. But when she heard Mrs. Marl say, come in, sir, and here's the prayer-book, overpowered with the tender recollection of her father to whom such offices were frequent, she burst into an agony of tears and hid her face upon the pillow. She soon, however, recovered, and the solemnity of the preparation overawed her sorrow. Mrs. Marl placed the light as far as possible from the bed, and when Camilla waved her hand in token of being ready, said, now, sir, if you please. He complied, though not immediately. But no sooner had he begun, no sooner devoutly, yet tremblingly, pronounced, O father of mercies, than a faint scream issued from the bed. He stopped, but she did not speak, and after a short pause he resumed, but not a second sentence was pronounced when she feebly ejaculated. Oh, heaven! And the book fell from his hands. She strove to raise her head but could not. She opened, however, the side curtain to look out. He advanced at the same moment to the foot of the bed. Fixed his eyes upon her face and in a voice that seemed to come from his soul exclaimed, Camilla, with a mental emotion that for an instant restored her strength, she drew again the curtain, covered up her face, and sobbed even audibly while the words, Edgar, vainly sought vent. He attempted not to unclose the curtain she had drawn, but with a deep groan dropping upon his knees on the outside, cried, Great God! But checking himself hastily arose, and motioning to Mrs. Marl and to Peggy to move out of hearing, said through the curtain, Oh, Camilla, what dire calamity has brought this about. Speak, I implore! Why are you here? Why alone? Speak, speak! He heard she was weeping but received no answer, and with energy next to torture exclaimed, Refuse not to trust me, recollect our long friendship, forgive, forget its alienation, by all you have ever valued, by all your wanted generosity, I call, I appeal, Camilla, Camilla, your silence rends my soul. Camilla had no utterance, yet could not resist this urgency, and gently through the opening of the curtain put forth her feeble hand. He seemed affected to agony, he held it between each of his own, and while softly he uttered, Oh, ever unchangeably generous Camilla, she felt it moistened with his tears. Too weak were the new sensation this excited, she drew it away, and the violence of her emotion menacing and hysteric fit Mrs. Marl came back to her, and ringing his hands as he looked around the room, he tore himself away. Means to steal agitation. Declining all aid, Camilla continued in the same position, wrapped up, coveting the dark, and stifling sighs that were rising into sobs, till she heard a gentle tap at her door. She started but still hid herself, Mrs. Marl was already gone. Peggy answered the summons, and returned to the bedside with a note in her hand, begging Camilla to take it, as it came from the gentleman who was to have read the prayers. He seemed then gone, cried she, in a voice announcing deep disappointment. Yes, he went directly, my dear lady. She threw the covering from her face, and with uplifted hands exclaimed, Oh, Edgar, could you see me thus and leave me? Yet eagerly ceasing the letter, called for a candle, and strove to read it. But the character seemed double to her weak and dazzled eyes, and she was forced to relinquish the attempt. She pressed it to her bosom, and again covered herself up. Something nevertheless like internal revival, once more, to her own unspeakable amazement began fluttering at her breast. She had seen the beloved of her heart, dearer to her far than the life she thought herself resigning, seen impenetrated to anguish by her situation, awakened to the tenderest recollections. And upon her hand had dropped a testimony of his sensibility, that, dead as she had thought herself to the world, its views, its hopes, its cares, passed straight to her heart, that wonderful repository of successive emotions, whence the expulsion of one species of interest but makes way for the entrance of another, and which, vainly, while yet in mortal life, builds even more from hour to hour upon any chance of mortal solicitude. While wrapped up in this reverie, poignantly agitating, yet undefinable soothing upon the return of Edgar to England, and his astonishing appearance in her room, her attention was again aroused by another gentle tap at the door. Peggy opened it and left the room, but soon came back to beg an answer to the note for which the gentleman was waiting upon the stairs. Waiting, she repeated, in extreme trepidation, is he not then gone? No, ma'am, only out of the room, he can't go away without the answer, he says. A sensation of pleasure was now so new to Camilla, as almost to be too potent either for her strength or her intellects. She doubted all around her, doubted what she heard, doubted even her existence. Edgar, could it be Edgar who was waiting for an answer, who was under the same roof, who had been in the same room, who was now separated from her but by a thin wainscot? Oh, no, no, no! she cried. My senses all delude me. One vision after another beguils my deranged imagination. Yet she called Peggy to her again, again asked her if it were indeed true, and bidding her once more bring the candle. The new spirit with which she was invigorated enabled her to persevere in her efforts, till she made out the following lines, which were sealed but not directed. The sorrow, the tumult of my soul, I attempt not to paint, forgive, oh Camilla, an intrusion which circumstances made resistless, dain to bury in kind oblivion all remembrance but of our early friendship, our intuitive attachment, our confidence, esteem, and happy juvenile intercourse, and under such auspices animated as they are innocent. Permit me to hasten, Mrs. Tyrol, to this spot, or trust me, I conjure with the mystery of this dreadful desolation. Oh Camilla, by all the scenes that have passed between us, by the impression indelible they have engraved upon my heart, who not the most faithful of your friends, by rejecting his services? E.M. Disold in tears of tenderness, relieving, nay delightful, she immediately sent him word that she accepted his kind office, and should feel eternal gratitude if he would acquaint her friends with her situation. Peggy soon informed her the gentleman was gone, and she then inquired why he had been brought to her as a clergyman. The little girl gave the count with the utmost simplicity. Her mistress she said knew the gentleman very well, who was Squire Mandelburg, and lived at a great house not many miles off, and had just alighted to bait his horses, as she went to ask about sending for the clergyman. He inquired who was ill, and her mistress said it was a lady who had gone out of her mind by seeing a dead body, and raved of nothing but having prayers read to her, which her husband would do, when his house was clear if the humour lasted, for they had no body to send three miles off, and by drawing the curtains she would not know if it was a clergyman or not. The young Squire then asked if she was a lodger or a traveller, and her mistress answered she is a traveller, sir, and if it had not been for Peggy's knowing her, we should have been afraid who she might be, for she stays here, and never pays us, only she has given us a watch and a locket for pledges. Then he asked on some more questions, continued Peggy, and presently desired to see the locket, and when he had looked at it, he turned as white as a sheep, and said he must see the lady. Her mistress said she was laid down upon the bed, and she could not send in a gentleman, unless it was her husband, just to quiet her poor head by reading her a prayer or two. So then the Squire said he take the prayer book and read to her himself, if she'd spare time to go in the room first, and shut up the curtains. So her mistress said no at first, but Peggy said the poor lady fretted on so badly that presently up they came together. Ah, dear darling locket, internally cried Camilla, how from the first have I loved? How to the last will I price it? Ah, dear darling locket, how forever, while I live, will I wear it in my bosom? Her calm now took place over Agonis, that made her seem in her renovated existence, till sleep, by gentle approaches, stole upon her again. Not to bring to her the dreed vision which accompanied its first return, nor yet to allow her tranquil repose. A softer form appeared before her, more afflictive, though not so horrible. It was the form of her mother. All this pleasure removed from her penetrating countenance, no longer in a dying child viewing the child that had offended her, yet while forgiving and embracing, seeing her expire in her arms. She awakened a frightage, she started, she sat upright, she called aloud upon her mother, and wildly looking round, thought she saw her at the foot of the bed. She crossed her eyes with her hands to endeavor to clear her sight, but the object only seemed more distinct. She went forward, seeking conviction, yet incredulous, though still meeting the same form. Sighing at last from fruitless fatigue, Tis wondrous odd, she cried, but I now never know when I wake or when I sleep. The form glided away, but with motion so palpable, she could no longer believe herself played upon by imagination. Abe impressed and wonderstruck. She softly opened her side curtain to look after it. It had stopped by a high chest of drawers, against which, leaning its head upon its arm, it stood erect, but seemed weeping. She could not discern the face, but the whole figure had the same sacred resemblance. The pulses of her head beat now with so much violence, she was forced to hold her temples. Doubt, greed, and hope ceased every faculty at once, till, at length, the upraised arm of the form before her drop, and she distinctly saw the profile. It is herself! It is my mother! She screamed rather than pronounced, and threw herself from the bed to the floor. Yes, it is your mother! was repeated in a tone solemn and penetrating. To what a senile Camilla returned, her house abandoned, her son in exile, her eugenia lost, her husband the prop of all, where she dare not name, and thou, the child of her bosom, the constant terror, yet constant darling of her soul, where, and how, does she see, does she meet thee again? Oh, Camilla! Then tenderly, though with anguish bending over her, she would have raised and helped her to return to the bed, but Camilla would not be aided. She would not lift up her eyes, her face sought the ground, where, leaning it upon her hands, without desiring to speak, without wishing to stir, torn by self- reproaches that made her deem herself unworthy to live, she remained speechless, immovable. Repress, repress, said Mrs. Tyrell gently, yet firmly, these strong feelings uselessly torturing to us both. Raise your head, my poor girl, raise and repose it upon the breast of your mother. Of my mother, repeated Camilla, in a voice hardly audible, have I a mother who again will own the blast of her hopes and happiness, the disgrace, the shame of the best and most injured of fathers? Let us pray, said Mrs. Tyrell, with a sigh, that these evils may pass away, and by salutary exertions, not desponding repinings, earn back our fugitive peace. Again she then would have raised her, but Camilla sank from all assistance. No, she cried, I am unworthy of your lenity, I am unable even to bear it. Camilla, said Mrs. Tyrell steadily, it is time to conquer this impetuous sensibility which already in its effects has nearly broken all our hearts, with what horror have we missed, with what agony sought you. Now then, that at length we find you, excite not new terror by consigning yourself to willing despair. Struck with extreme dreed of committing yet further wrong, she lifted up her head with intention to have risen, but the weak state of her body, forgotten by herself and by Mrs. Tyrell unsuspected, took its turn for demanding attention. Alas, my poor child, cried she! What horrible havoc has this short absence produced! Oh, Camilla, with the soul of feeling like yours, strong, tender, generous, and but too much alive, how is it you can thus have forgotten the first ties of your duty and your heart, and have been wrought upon by your own sorrows, to forget the sorrows you inflict? Why have you thus fled us, thus abandoned yourself to destruction? Was our anger to be set in competition with our misery? Was the fear of displeasure from parents who so tenderly love you to be indulged at the risk of never-ending regret to the most lenient of fathers, and nearly the loss of senses to a mother who, from your birth, had idolized you in her inmost soul? Bending then over her, she folded her in her arms, where Camilla, overpowered with the struggles of joy and contrition, sunk nearly lifeless. Mrs Tyrell, seeing now her bodily feebleness, put her to bed with words of soothing tenderness, no longer blended with retrospective investigation, conjuring her to be calm, to remember whose peace and happiness were encircled in her life and health, and to remit to her fuller strength all further interesting discourse. Ah, my mother, cried Camilla, tell me first if the time may ever come when, with truth, you can forgive me. Alas, my darling child, answered the generous mother, I have myself now to pardon that I forgave thee not at first. Camilla seemed transported to another region. With difficulty, Mrs Tyrell could hold her in her bed, though hovering over a pillow with incessant caresses, but raise her eye only to meet that of her mother, not as her fertile terror had prophesied, darting unrelenting ire, but softly solicitous and exquisitely kind, to feel one loved hand anxiously upon her forehead, and to glue her own lips upon the other, to find fears that had made existence insupportable, transformed into security that rendered it delicious, with a floating, uncertain, yet irrepressible hope that to Edgar she owed this restoration caused a revulsion in all her feelings, that soon operated upon her frame, not indeed with tranquillity, but with rapture approaching to Delirium, when suddenly a heavy, lumbering noise appalled her. Ah, my mother, she faintly cried, our beloved Eugenia, that noise, where and how is Eugenia? The wretched Mr Bellamy is no more. Mrs. Tyrell answered she was acquainted with a whole dreadful business, and would relate it in a season of more serenity, but meanwhile, as repose, she well knew, never associated with suspense, she satisfied immediate anxiety by assurances that Eugenia was safe and at ethering Tom. This was a joy scarce inferior to that which so recently had transported her, but Mrs. Tyrell gathering from the good Peggy that she had not been in bed, nor scarce tasted food since she had been at the half-way house, refused all particulars till she had been refreshed with nourishment and rest. The first immediately was ordered and immediately taken, and Mrs. Tyrell, to propitiate the second, insisted upon total silence and prepared to sit up with her all night. Long as the extreme agitation of her spirit's distance, dear nature's sweet restorer, boundless sleep, the change from so much misery to heartfelt peace and joy, with the judicious nursing and restoratives devised by Mrs. Tyrell, for her weak and half-famished frame made her slumber, when at length, it arrived, lost so long that, though broken by frequent starts, she awoke not till late the next morning. Her eyes then opened upon a felicity that again made her think herself in a new world. Her mother, leaning over her, was watching her breathe, with hands uplifted for her preservation, and looks of fondness which seemed to mark that her happiness depended upon its being granted, but as she raced herself to throw her arms around the loved maternal neck, the shadow of another form quickly yet gently receding, struck her side. Ah, heaven! she exclaimed. Who is that? Will you be good? said Mrs. Tyrell gently. Be tranquil, be composed, and earn that I should tell you who has been watching by you this hour? Camilla could not answer, certain now who it must be. Her emotions became again uncontrollable. Her horror, her remorse, her self-abhorrence revived and agonizingly exclaiming, Tis my father! Oh, where can I hide my head? She strove again to envelop herself with a bed curtain from all view. Here, in his own arms upon his own breast, you shall hide it, said Mr. Tyrell, returning to the bedside, and all now shall be forgotten, but thankfulness that our afflictions seem finding their period. Oh, my father, my father! cried Camilla, forgetting her situation, in her desire to throw herself at his feet. Can you speak to me thus, after the woe, the disgrace I have brought upon you? I deserve your malediction. I expect it to be shut out from your heart. I thought myself abandoned. I looked forward only in death to receiving your forgiveness. Mrs. Tyrell held her still, while her father now blessed and embraced her, each uttering in the same moment whatever was softest to console her. But all her quick feelings were reawakened beyond their power to appease them. Her penitence tortured, her very gratitude tore her to pieces. Oh, my mother! she cried. How do you forebear to spurn me? Can you think what is past, and still pronounce your pardon? Will you not drew it back at the sight of my injured father? Are you not tempted to think I deserve eternal banishment from you both, and to repent that you have not ordered it? No, my dearest child, no! I lament only that I took you not at once to your proper security, to these arms, my Camilla, that now so fondly enfold you, to this bosom, my darling girl, where my heart beats your welcome. You may be too, too happy. The change is almost killing. My mother, my dearest mother! I did not think you would permit me to ever call you so again. My father, I knew would pardon me, for the chief suffering was his own, but even he, I never expected, could look at me thus benignly again. And hardly, hardly would he have been tried if the evil had been reversed. Mr. Tyrold exhorted her to silent composure, but finding her agitation overpower even her own efforts, he summoned her to join him in solemn thanks for her restoration. Awfully, though most gratefully, impressed by such a call, she checked her emotion, and devoutly obeyed, and the short but pious ceremony quieted her nerves, and calmed her mind. The gently's tranquility then took place in her breast, of the tumultuous joy which had first chased her deadly affliction. The soothing, however serious, turn, given by devotion to her changed situations, softened the acute excess of rapture, which mounted felicity nearly to agony. More eloquent as well as safer than any speech, was the pause of deep gratitude, the silence of humble praise which ensued. Camilla in each hand held one of each beloved parent. Alternately she pressed them with grateful reverence to her lips. Alternately her eyes sought each revered countenance, and received in the beaming fondness they emitted, a benediction that was spammed to every woe. End of Chapter 11, Read by Lars Rolander Book 10, Chapter 12 of Camilla This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org reading by Lars Rolander. Camilla or a picture of youth by Fanny Burnie, Chapter 12. Means to obtain a boon. Mr. Thurold was soon by urgent claims forced to leave them, and Camilla, with strong secret anxiety to know if Edgar had caused this blessed meeting, led to a general explanation upon past events. And now, to her utter amazement, she found that her letter sent by the laborer had never been received. Mrs. Thurold related that she had no sooner read the first letter addressed to her through Lavignea, then softened and affected, she wrote an answer of the utmost kindness to Belfont, desiring Camilla to continue with her sister till called for by Miss Marglund, in her return home from Mrs. McDursey. The visit meanwhile the pleas had transpired through Jacob, and much touch by, yet much blaming her travelling thus alone, she wrote to her a second time, charging her to remove no more from Belfont without Miss Marglund. But on the preceding morning, the first letter had been returned with a note from Eugenia that her sister had set out two days before for Edrington. The moment of this intelligence was the most dreadful to Mr. Thurold and herself of their lives. Every species of conjecture was horrible. He set out instantly for Belfont, determined to make inquiries at every inn, house, and cottage, by the way. But by taking, unfortunately, the road through Alton, he had missed the halfway house. In the evening, while with apprehensions surpassing all description, she was waiting some news, her shares drove up to the door. She flew out, but saw in it, alone, cold, trembling, and scares in her senses Eugenia. Instantly imagining she came with tidings of fatal tendency concerning Camilla, she started back exclaiming, All then is over! The shea's door had been open, but Eugenia, shaking too violently to get out, only unfaithfully answered, Yes, my mother, all is over! The mistake was almost instantaneous death to her, though the next words of Eugenia cleared it up, and led to her own dreadful narrative. Bellamy, as soon as Camilla had left Belfont, had made a peremptory demand, that his wife should claim, as if for some purpose of her own, a large sum of seriu. Her steady resistance sent him from the house in a rage, and she saw no more of him till that day at noon, when he returned in deeper, blacker wrath than she had ever yet seen, and vowed that nothing less than her going in person to her uncle with his request should induce him ever to forgive her. When he found her resolute in refusal, he ordered a shea's and made her get into it, without saying for what purpose. She saw they were travelling towards Cleves, but he did not, one speed, except where they changed horses till they came upon the crossroad, leading to the halfway house. Suddenly then bidding the postillian stop at the end of a lane, he told him he was going to look at a little farm, and ordering him to wait made her a light, and walk down it till they were out of sight of the man and the carriage. Fiercely then stopping short. Will you give me? he cried. Your promise upon oath that you will ask your uncle for the money. Indeed, Mr Bellamy, I cannot, she answered. Enough, he cried, and took from his pocket the pistol. Good heavens, she said, you will not murder me. I cannot live without the money myself, he answered, and why should I let you? He then felt in his waistcoat pocket, when she took two bullets telling her she should have the pleasure of seeing him load the pistol, and that when one bullet had dispatched her, the other should disappoint the executioner. Horror now conquered her, and she solemnly promised to ask whatever he dictated. I must hold the pistol to your ear, cried he, while you take your oath. See, it is loaded. This is no child's play. He then lifted it up, but at the same moment a distant voice exclaimed, Hold, villain, or you are a dead man. Starting and meaning to hide it within his waistcoat, his handshook, the pistol went off, he shot him through the body, and he dropped down dead. Without sense or motion she fell by his side, and upon recovering found herself again in the chairs. The postelion who knew her had carried her dither and brought her on to Edrington. She then conured that proper persons might go back with the driver, and that her father would have the benevolence to superintend all that could be done that would be most respectfully decent. The postelion acknowledged that it was himself who had cried, Hold, villain, a suspicion of some mischief had occurred to him from seeing the end of a pistol jerk from the pocket of the gentleman, as he got out of the chairs. And begging a man who accidentally passed while he waited to watch his horses, he ran down a field by the side of the lane, when he heard the words, The pistol is loaded, and for no child's play, upon which seeing it raced, and the young lady shrink he called out. Yet Eugenia protested herself, convinced that Bellamy had no real design against either his own life or hers, though terror at the moment had conquered her. He had meant but to fright her into consent. Knowing well her words once given, with whatever violence torn from her, would be held sacred. The rest was dreadful accident, or providence in that form playing upon himself his own toys. The pious young widow was so miserable at this shocking exit, and the shocking manner in which the remains were left exposed, that her mother had set out herself to give orders in person from the halfway house, for bringing they there the body, till Mr. Tyrold could give his own directions. She found, however, that business already done. The man called by the postelion had been joined by a party of laborers, just leaving off work. Those had gathered others. They had procured some broad planks which served for a beer, and had humanly conveyed the body to the inn. Where the landlord was assured, the postelion would come back with some account of him. Though little Peggy had only learnt in general that he had been found murdered near a wood. Jiu Jinius just now, said Mrs. Tyrold, in conclusion plunged into an abyss of ideas, frightful to her humanity, and oppressive to the tenderness of her heart. Her nature is too noble to rejoice in a release to herself, worked by means so horrible, and big with notions of retribution for the wretched culprit, at which even vengeance the most implacable might shudder. Nevertheless all will imperceptibly pass away, save the pity inherent in all good minds for vice and its penalties. To know its abrupt punishment and not to be shocked would be inhuman, but to grieve with any regard for a man of such principles and conduct would be an outrage to all that they have injured and offended. This view of the transaction, by better reconciling Camilla to the ultimate lot of her sister, brought her back to reflect upon her own. Still she had not gathered with precision how she had been discovered, to pronounce the name of Edgar was impossible, but after a long pause which Mrs. Tyrold had hoped was given again to repose, she ventured to say, I have not yet heard, my dearest mother, to what been in chance I immediately owe my present unspeakable unmerited happiness. Mrs. Tyrold looked at her a moment in silence, as if to read what her question offered beyond its mere words, but she saw her eyes hastily withdrawn from the examination, and her cheeks suddenly enveloped with the bedclothes. Quietly and without turning towards her again, she resumed her narrative. I engaged the worthy postillion of my poor eugenia to drive me, purposing to send Ambrose on with him while I waited at the halfway house. But about two miles off Ambrose, who rode before, was stopped by a gentleman whom he met in a post-chase. When I came up to him, I stopped also. It was Mr. Mandelbert. Camilla, who had looked up now, again hastily drew back, and Mrs. Tyrold, after a short pause, went on. His intelligence, of course, finished my search. My first idea was to convey you instantly home, but the particulars I gathered made me fear removing you. When I entered your room, you were asleep. I dreared it to surprise, yet could not refrain taking a view of you. And while I looked, you suddenly awoke. Ah! thought Camilla, tis to Edgar then that ultimately I owe this blessed moment. But my father, she cried, my dearest mother, how came my dear father to know where you had found me? At Belfont he learned the way you had set out, and that eugenia and Bellamy were from home. And without loss of time, regardless of the night and of fasting, he returned by route through which he traced you at every inn where you had changed horses. He also entered as you were sleeping, and we watched together by your side. Again filial gratitude silenced all but itself, and sleep, the softest she had known for many months, soon gave to oblivion every care in Camilla. The changeful tide of mental spirits from misery to enjoyment is not more rapid than the transition from personal danger to safety in the elastic period of youth. Tis the epoch of extremes and moderation, by which alone we learn the true use of our blessings. Is a wisdom we are frequently only taught to appreciate when redundance no longer requires its practice. Camilla from sorrow the most desolate bounded to joy that refused a solitude, and from an illness that held her suspended between delirium and dissolution, to ease that had no complaint. The sufferings which had depraved her of the benefit of rest and nourishment were no sooner removed than she appeared to be at once restored to health, though to repair the wastes of strength some time yet was necessary. Mrs. Tyrell determined to carry her this afternoon to Edrington. The remains of the wretched Bellamy in a coffin and hearse brought from Winchester had been sent to Belfont in the morning, and Mr. Tyrell had followed to give every direction that he should be buried as the master of the house, without reference to the conduct which had forfeited all such respect. Though the evil committed by the non-deliverance of Camilla's letter was now past all remedy, Mrs. Tyrell thought it every way right to endeavor to discover where the blame, and by the two usual modes of menace and promises, she learned that the countryman, when he stopped to drink by the way had, enlighting his pipe, let the letter take fire, and fearing to lose the recompense he had expected, had set his conscience apart for a crown, and returned with the eventful falsehood, which had made Camilla think herself abandoned, and her friends deplore her as lost. For the benefit of those with whom in future he might have to deal, Mrs. Tyrell took some pains to represent to him the cruel evils his dishonesty had produced, but stupid rather than wicked, what he had done had been without weighing right from wrong, and what he heard was without understanding it. Camilla found with extreme satisfaction that Mrs. Tyrell notwithstanding the strictness of the present family economy meant liberally to recompense Mrs. Marl for the trouble and patience with which she had attended to a guest so little profitable, while Peggy, to whose grateful remembrance she owed the consideration he had met with in her deserted condition, was reported by a much larger sum than she had ever before possessed. Camilla was obliged to confess she had parted with two pledges for future payment. The watch was reclaimed without difficulty, but she showed so much distress in naming the locket that Mrs. Tyrell, though she looked anxiously surprised, demanded it without inquiring into its history. The excess of delight to Camilla in preparing to return to Edrington rendered her insensible to all fatigue till she was descending the stairs, when the recollection of the shock she had received from the corpse of Bellamy made her tremble so exceedingly that she could scarce walk past the door of the room in which it had been laid. Ah, my dearest mother, she cried, this house must give me always the most penetrating sensations. I have experienced in it the deepest grief and the most heart-soothing enjoyment that ever, perhaps, gave place one to the other in so short a time. Ambrose had announced their intended arrival, and at the door of the house, the timid but affectionate La Vigna was waiting to receive them, and as Camilla in a lighting met her tender embraces, a well-known voice reached her ears, calling out in horrid accents. Where is she? Is she come indeed? Are you quite sure? Answer you hobbling rather than walking into the hall, folded her in his feeble arms, sobbing over her. I can't believe it for joy, poor sinner that I am, and the course of all our bad doings. How can I have deserved such a thing as this, to have my own little girl come back to me, which could not have made my heart gladder, if I had no share in all this bad mischief, which God knows I've had enough, owing to my poor head doing always for the worst, for all my being the oldest of us all, which is a thing I've often thought remarkable enough, in the point of my knowing no better, which however I hope my dear little darling will excuse for the sake of my love, which is never happy but in seeing her. The heart of Camilla bounded with grateful joy at sight of this dear uncle, and at so tender a reception. And while with equal emotion and equal weakness, they were unable to support either each other or themselves. The worthy old Jacob, his eyes running over, came to help his master back to the parlor. And Mrs. Tyreld and Lavigne conveyed thither Camilla, who was but just placed upon a sofa by the side of her fond uncle, when the door of an inner apartment was softly opened, and pale, wan and meager, Eugenia appeared at its saying as faintly, yet with open arms she advanced to Camilla. Let me too, your poor, harassed and but half alive Eugenia, make one in this precious scene. Let me see the joy of my kind uncle, the revival of my honoured mother, the happiness of my dear Lavigne, and feel even my own heartbeat once more with delight in the bosom of its darling sister. My so mourn but now forever I trust, restore to me, most dear Camilla. Camilla thus encircled in her mother's, uncle's, sister's arms at once, gasped, sighed, smiled, and shed tears in the same grateful minute. While fondly she strode to articulate, Am I again at Edrington, and it cleaves in one, and thus indulgently received, thus more than forgiven. My heart wants room for its joy. My mother, my sister's, if you knew what despair has been my portion. I fear even the sight of my dear uncle himself, lest the sorrows and the errors of a creature he so kindly loved should have demolished his generous heart. Mine, my dearest little girl, cried the baronet, why what would have signified in comparison to such a young one as yours, that ought to know no sorrow yet a while. God knows it being time enough to begin for its but melancholy at best, the cares of the world which, if you can't keep up now, will be overtaking you at every turn. Mrs. Tyrrell then treated Camilla might be spared further conversation. Eugenia had already glided back to her chamber, and begged this one solacing interview over, to be dispensed with from joining the family at present. Camilla was removed also to her chamber, and the tender mother divided her time and her cares between these two recovered treasures of her fondest affection. Mr. Tyrrell did not return till the next day from Belfant, where, through the account he gave from his daughter, the violent exit of the miserable Bellamy was brought in accidental death. Various circumstances had now acquainted him with the history of that wretched man, who was the younger son of the master of a great gaming house. In his first youth he had been utterly neglected and left to run wild wither he chose, but his father afterwards becoming very rich had bestowed upon him as good an education as the late period at which it was began could allow. He was intended for a lucrative business, but he had no application, and could retain no post. He went into the army, but he had no courage and was speedily cashiered. Inheriting a passion for the means by which the parental fortune had been raised, he devoted himself next to its pursuit and won very largely. But as extravagance and good luck by long custom go hand in hand, he spent as fast as he acquired, and upon a tide of fortune in his disfavor was tempted to reverse the chances by unfair play, was found out, and as ignominiously chased from the field of hazard as from that of patriotism. His father was no more, his eldest brother would not assist him. He sold therefore his house and all he possessed but his wardrobe, and, relying upon a very uncommonly handsome face and person, determined to seek a fairer lot by a loping if possible with some heiress. He thought it, however, prudent not only to retire from London, but to make a little change in his name, which from Nicholas Quigg he refined into Alfonso Bellamy. He began his career by a tour into Wales where he insinuated himself into the acquaintance of Mrs. Ecton, just after she had married Miss Helman to Mr. Burlington. And, though this was not an intercourse that could travel to Gretna Green, the beauty and romantic turn of the bride of so disproportioned a marriage opened to his unprincipled mind a scheme yet more flogitious. Fortunately, however, for his fair destined prey, soon after the connection was formed, she left Wales, and the search of new adventures carried him, by various chances, into Hampshire. But he had established with her a correspondence, and when he had caught, or rather forced, an heiress into legal snares, the discovery of who and what he was became less important, and he ventured again to town, and renewed his heinous plan, as well as his inveterate early habits, till surprised by some unpleasant recollectors, debts of honour, which he had found it convenient to elude upon leaving the capital were claimed, and he found it impossible to appear without satisfying such demands. Thence has cruel and inordinate persecution of his unhappy wife for money, and thence, ultimately, the brief vengeance which had reverberated upon his own head. Camilla, whose danger was the result of self-neglect, as her sufferings had all flowed from mental anguish, was already able to go down to the study upon the arrival of Mr Tyrold, where she received with grateful rapture the tender blessings which welcomed her to the paternal arms, to her home, to peace, to safety, and primeval joy. Mr Tyrold, sparing to her yet weak nerves any immediate explanations upon the past, called upon his wife to aid him to communicate in the quietest manner what had been done at Belfont to Eugenia, charging Camilla to take no part in a scene inevitably shocking. Once more, in the appropriate apartment of her father, where all her earliest scenes of gayest felicity had passed, but which of late she had only approached with terror, only entered to weep, she experienced a delight almost awful in renovation of her pristine confidence and fearless ease. She took from her pocket, where alone she could ever bear to keep it, her loved locket, delighting to attribute to it this restoration to domestic enjoyment, though feeling at the same time a renewal of suspense from the return of its donor, and from the affecting interview into which she had been surprised, that broke in upon even her filial happiness with bitter tyrannical regret. Yet she passed to her bosom the cherished symbol of first regard, and was holding it to her lips when Mrs Tyrold unexpectedly re-entered the room. In extreme confusion she shut it into its chagrin case, and was going to restore it to her pocket. But, enfolding it with her daughter's hand between each of her own, Mrs Tyrold said, shall I ever, my dear girl, learn the history of this locket? Oh yes, my dearest mother, said the blushing Camilla, of that, and of every, and of all things, you have only, you have merely. If it distresses you, my dear child, we will leave it to another day, said Mrs Tyrold, whose eyes Camilla saw as she now raised her own were swimming in tears. My mother, my dearest mother, cried she, with the tenderest alarm. Has anything new happened? Is Eugenia greatly affected? She is all, every way, and in every respect, said Mrs Tyrold, whatever the fondest, or even the proudest mother could wish. But I do not, at this instant, think most of her. I am not without some fears for my Camilla's strength, in the immediate demand that may be made upon her fortitude. Tell me, my child, with that sincerity which so long has been mutually endearing between us, tell me if you think you can see here, again, and as usual, without any risk to your health, one long admitted and welcomed as part of the family. She started, changed color, looked up, cast her eyes on the floor, but soon seeing Mrs Tyrold hold and hankerchief bathed in tears to her face, lost all dread and even all consciousness and tender gratitude, and throwing her arms round her neck. Oh, my mother, she cried. You who weep not for yourself, scarcely even in the most poignant sorrow, can you weep for me? I will see, or I will avoid, whoever you please. I shall want no fortitude. I shall fear nothing, no one, not even myself, now again under your protection. I will scarcely even thank my beloved mother but by your guidance. Compose yourself, then, my dearest girl, and if you believe you are equal to behaving with firmness, I will not refuse his request of readmission. His request repeated Camilla within voluntary quickness, but finding Mrs Tyrold did not notice it, gently adding, that person that I believe you mean has done nothing, my dear mother, to merit expulsion? I am happy to hear you say so. I have been fearfully am astone and even piercingly displeased with him. Ah, my dear mother, how kind was the partiality that turned your displeasure so wrong away that made you, even you, my dear mother, listen to your fondness rather than to your justice. She trembled at the temerity of this vindication the moment it had escaped her, and, looking another way, spoke again of Eugenia. But Mrs Tyrold now taking both her hands, and seeking, though vainly, to meet her eyes, said, my dearest child, I grow painfully anxious to end a thousand doubts, to speak and to hear with no further ambiguity nor reserve, if Edgar, Camilla again changed colour, and strove to withdraw her hands. Take courage, my dear love, and let one final explanation relieve us both at once. If Edgar has merited well of you, why are you parted? If ill, why this solicitude, my opinion of him, should be unshaken? Her head now dropped upon Mrs Tyrold's shoulder, as she faintly answered, he deserves your good opinion, my dearest mother, for he adores you. I cannot be unjust to him, though he has made me, I own, not very happy. Designedly, my Camilla? Oh, no, my dearest mother, he would not do that to an enemy. Speak out, then, and speak clearer, my dearest Camilla, if you think of him so well, and are so sure of his good intentions, what, in two words, what is it that has parted you? Accident, my dearest mother, deluding appearances and false internal reasoning on my part, and on his continual misconstruction. Oh, my dearest mother, how I have missed your guiding care, I had ever the semblance, by some cruel circumstance, some inexplicable fatality of incident, to neglect his counsel, oppose his judgment, deceive his expectations and trifle with his regard. Yet, with a heart faithful, grateful, devoted, oh, my dearest mother, with an esteem that defies all comparison, a respect closely millerating even to veneration, never was my heart, my dearest mother, so truly impressed with the worth of a nether, with the nobleness. A buzzing noise from the adjoining parlor, sounding something between a struggle and a dispute, suddenly stopped her. And as she raised her head from the bosom of her mother, in which she had seemed seeking shelter from the very confidence she was pouring forth, she saw the door opened, and the object of whom she was speaking appeared at it. Fleddered, colouring, trembling, yet with eyes refulgent with joy, and every feature speaking ecstasy. Almost fainting with shame and surprise, she gave herself up as disgraced, if not dishonoured ever more, for a short but bitter half-moment. It was not longer. Edgar rushing forward and seizing the hands of Mrs. Tyrold, even while they were encircling her drooping, shrinking, half-expiring Camilla, pressed them with ardent respect to his lips, rapidly exclaiming, my more than mother, my dear kind, excellent, inestimable friend, forgive this blessed intrusion, plead for me where I dare not now speak, and raise your indeed maternal eyes upon the happiest, the most devoted of your family. What is it overpowers me thus this morning, cried Mrs. Tyrold, leaning her head upon her clinging Camilla, while large drops fell from her eyes? Misfortune, I see, is not the greatest test of our philosophy. Joy, twice today, has completely demolished mine. What goodness is this? What encouragement to hope some indulgent intercession here, where the sense that now breaks in upon me of ungenerous, ever to be lamented, and I had nearly said execrated doubt, fills me with shame and regret, and makes me, even at the soft, reviving, heart-restoring moment, feel undeserving my own hopes? Shall I, may I leave him to make his peace? whispered Mrs. Tyrold to her daughter, whose head sought concealment even to annihilation, but whose arms, with what force they possessed, detained her, uttering faintly but rapidly, oh, no, no, no. My more than mother, again cried Edgar, I will wait till that felicity may be accorded me, and put myself wholly under your kind and powerful influence. One thing alone, I must say, I have too much to answer for, to take any share of the misdemeanors of another. I have not been a treacherous listener, though a willful obtruder. See, Mrs. Tyrold, who placed me in that room, who is the accomplice of my happiness. With a smile that seemed to beam but the more brightly for her glistening eyes, Mrs. Tyrold looked to the door, and saw there, leaning against it, the form she most revered, surveying them all with an expression of satisfaction so perfect, contentment so benign, and pleasure, mingled with so much thankfulness, that her tears now flowed fast from unrestrained delight, and Mr. Tyrold, approaching to press at once the two objects of his most exquisite tenderness to his breast, said, this surprise was not planned, but circumstances made it more than irresistible. It was not, however, quite fair to my Camilla, and if she is angry, we will be self-exiled till she can pardon us. This is such a dream, cried Camilla, as now, first, from the voice of her father, she believed it reality. So incredible, so unintelligible, I find it entirely impossible, impossible to comprehend anything I see or hear. Let the past, not the present, cried Edgar, be regarded as the dream, and generously drive it from your mind as a fever of the brain, with which reason had no share, and for which memory must find no place. If I could understand in the least, said Camilla, what this all means. What? Mr. Tyrold now insisted that Edgar should retreat, while he made some explanation, and then related to his trembling, doubting, wondering daughter the following circumstances. In returning from Belfont he had stopped at the halfway house, where he had received from Mrs. Marl a letter that had it reached him as it was intended at Etherington, would have quickened the general meeting, yet nearly have broken his heart. It was that, which for want of a messenger, had never been sent, and which Peggy, in cleaning the bedroom, had found under a table where it had fallen, she supposes, when the candle was put upon it for reading prayers. There was another letter too, interrupted Camilla with quick blushing recollection, but my illness, and all that has followed, made me forget them both till this very moment. Did she say anything of any other? Yes, the other had been delivered according to its address. Good Heaven! Be not frightened, my Camilla, all has been beautifully directed for the best, my accomplice had received his early in the morning. He was at the house by some fortunate hazard when it was found, and, being well known there, Mrs. Marl gave it to him immediately. How terrible! it was meant only in case I had seen no one any more. The intent and the event have been happily my child at war. He came instantly heather and inquired of me. I was not returned, he asked my route and road to follow or meet me. About an hour ago we encountered upon the road. He gave his horse to his groom and came into the chaise with me. Camilla now could with difficulty listen, but her father hastened to acquaint her, that Edgar with the most generous apologies, the most liberal self-blame, had redemanded his consent for a union, from which every doubt was holy, and even miraculously removed, by learning thus the true feelings of her heart as depicted at the awful crisis of expected dissolution. The returning smiles which forced their way now through the tears and blushes of Camilla, showed how vainly she strove to mingle the regret of shame with the felicity of fond security, produced by this eventful accident. But when she further heard that Edgar and Flanders had met with Lionel, who, in frankly recounting his difficulties and adventures, had named some circumstances, which had so shaken every opinion that had urged him to quit England, as to induce him instantly, from the conference to seek a passage for his return, she felt all but happiness retire from her heart, vanish even from her ideas. You are not angry then, said Mr Tyroll, as smilingly he read her delighted sensations, that I waited not to consult you, that I gave back at once my consent, that I folded him again in my arms, again called him my son. She could but seek the same pressure, and he continued, I would not bring him in with me, I was not aware my dear girl was so rapidly recovered, and I had a task to fulfill to my poor Eugenia, that was still my first claim. But I promised within an hour your mother at least should welcome him. He would walk, he said, for that period. When I met her, I hinted at what was passing, and she followed me to our Eugenia. I then briefly communicated my adventure, and your mother my Camilla lost herself in hearing it. Will you not, like me, withdraw from her all reverence? Her eyes gushed with tears, she wept as you weep at this moment. She was sure Edgar Mandelbert could alone preserve you from danger, yet make you happy. Was she wrong, my dear child? Shall we attack now her judgment as well as her fortitude? Only at her feet could Camilla show her gratitude to actions she had recourse, for words were inadequate, and the tenderest caresses now spoke best for them all. Respect for the situation of Eugenia, who had desired for this week to live wholly upstairs and alone, determined Mr. and Mrs. Tyrold to keep back for some time the knowledge of this event from the family. Camilla was most happy to pay such an attention to her sister, but when Mr. Tyrold was leaving her to consult upon it with Edgar, the ingenuousness of her nature urged her irresistibly to say, since all this has passed, my dearest father, my dearest mother, does it not seem as if I should now myself? She stopped, but she was understood. They both smiled, and Mr. Tyrold immediately bringing in Edgar said, I find my pardon, my dear fellow culprit, is already accorded. If you have doubts of your own, try your eloquence for yourself. He left the room, and Mrs. Tyrold was gently rising to quietly follow, but Camilla, with a look of entreaty of which she knew this sincerity, and would not resist the earnestness, detained her. Ah, yes, stay, dearest madam, cried Edgar, again respectfully taking her hand, and through your unalterable goodness, let me hope to procure pardon for a distrust which I hear forever renounce, but which had its origin in my never daring to hope what at this moment I have the felicity to believe. Yet now, even now without your kind mediation, this dear convalescent may plan some probationary trial at which my whole mind, after this long-suffering revolts. Will you be my caution, my dearest Mrs. Tyrold? Will you venture, and will you deign to promise, that if a full and generous forgiveness may be pronounced? Forgiveness and a soft voice interrupted Camilla. Have I anything to forgive? I thought all apology, all explanation rested on my part, and that my imprudencies, my rashness, my so often airing judgment, and so apparently almost even culpable conduct. Oh, my Camilla, my now-owned Camilla, cried Edgar, venturing to change the hand of the mother, for that of the daughter. What two, two touching words and concessions are these? Suffer me, then, to hope a kind of amnesty may take place of retrospection, a clear, liberal, open forgiveness, anticipate explanation and inquiry. Are you sure, said Camilla, smiling? This is your interest and not mine. Does he not make a mistake, my dearest mother, and turn my advocate instead of his own? And can I fairly take advantage of such an error? The sunshine of her returning smiles went warm to her mother's heart, and gave a glow to the cheeks of Edgar, and a brightness to his eyes that irradiated his whole countenance. Your penetrating judgments, said he, to Mrs. Tyrold, will take in at once more than any professions, any protestations can urge for me. You see the peace, the pardon, which those eyes do not seek to withhold. Will you then venture, my more than maternal friend, my mother, in every meaning which affection and reverence can give to that revered appellation? Will you venture, at once, now, upon this dear and ever after a hallowed moment, to seal the kind consent of my truly parental guardian, and to give me an example of that trust and confidence which my whole future life shall look upon as its lesson? Yes, answered Mrs. Tyrold instantly joining their hands, and with every security that the happiness of all our lives, my childs, my husbands, yours, my valued Edgars, and my own will all owe their felicity to the blessing with which I now lay my hands upon my two precious children. Tears were the only language that could express the fullness of joy which succeeded to so much sorrow. And when Mr. Tyrold returned, and had united his tenderest benediction with that of his beloved wife, Edgar was permitted to remain alone with Camilla, and the clothes of his long doubts, and her own long perplexities, was a reciprocal confidence that left nothing untold, not an action unrelated, not even a thought unacknowledged. Edgar confessed that he no sooner had quitted her than he suspected the justice of his decision, the turn which of late he had taken doubtfully to watch her every action, and suspiciously to judge her every motive, though it had impelled him in her presence, ceased to operate in her absence. He was too noble to betray the well-meant, though not well-applied, warnings of Dr. Marchmont. Yet he acknowledged that when left a cool reflection, a thousand palliations arose for every step he could not positively vindicate, and when afterwards, from the frank communication of Lionel, he learnt what belonged to the mysterious offer of Sir Sedley Clarendale, that she would superintend the disposal of his fortune, and the deep obligation in which she had been innocently involved, his heart smote him for having judged ere he had investigated that transaction, and in a perturbation unspeakable of quick repentance and tenderness, he set out for England. But when at the half-way house he stopped as usual to rest his horses in his way to Beech Park, what were his emotions at the sight of the locket which the landlady told him had been pledged by a lady in distress? He besought her pardon for the manner in which she had made way to her, but the almost frantic anxiety which seized him to know if or not it was, and to save her, if so from the intended intrusion of the landlord, made him irresistibly prefer it to the planar mode which she should have adopted it with anyone else, of sending in his name and some message. His shock at her view in such a state he would not now revive, but the impropriety of bidding the landlady quit the chamber, and the impossibility of entering into an explanation in her hearing alone repressed, at that agitated moment, the avowal of every sensation with which his heart was laboring. But when, he added, shall I cease to rejoice that I had listened to the good landlady's history of a sick guest, while all conjecture was so remote from whom it might be. When I am tempted to turn aside from a tale of distress, I will recollect what I owed to having given. Lost in wonder at what could have brought her to such a situation, and disturbed how to present himself at the rectory till fixed in his plans, he had ridden to the halfway house that morning to inquire concerning the corpse that Mrs. Marl had mentioned. And there, while he was speaking with her, the little maid brought down two letters, one of them directed to himself. What a rapid transition cried he was then mine, from regrets that robbed life of all charms, to prospects which painted in its most vivid colors of happiness, from wavering the most deplorable, to resolutions of expiating by a whole life of devoted fondness the barbarous waywardness that could deprive me, for one willful moment of the exquisite felicity of my lot. But still, said Camilla, I do not quite understand how you came in that room this morning, and how you authorized yourself to overhear my confessions to my mother. Recollect my acknowledged accomplice before you hazard any blame. When I came hither, somewhat I confess, within my given hour, Mr. Tyrold received me himself at the door. He told me I was too soon, and took me into the front parlor. The partition is thin. I heard my name spoken by Mrs. Tyrold, and the gentle voice of my Camilla, an accent yet more gentle than even that voice ever spoke before, answering some question. I was not myself, at first, aware of its tenor. But when unavoidably I gathered it, when I heard words so beautifully harmonizing with what I had lately perused, I would instantly have ventured into the room. But Mr. Tyrold feared surprising you. You went on, my fascinated soul divested me of obedience, of caution, of all but joy and gratitude, and he could no longer restrain me. And now with which of her offenders will my Camilla quarrel? With neither, I believe, just at present. The conspiracy is so complex, and even my mother so nearly a party concerned, that I dare not risk the unequal contest. I must only in future, she added, smiling, speak ill of you, and then you will find less pleasure in the thinness of a partition. Faithfully she returned his communication by the fullest, most candid and unsparing account of every transaction of her short life, from the still shorter period of its being put into voluntary motion. With nearly breathless interest, he listened to the detail of her transactions with Sir Sedley Clarendale, with pity to her debts, and with horror to her difficulties. But when, through the whole ingenuous narration, he found himself the constant object of every view, the ultimate motive to every action, even where least it appeared, his happiness and his gratitude made Camilla soon forget that Saro had ever been known to her. They then spoke of her two favourites, Mrs. Arlberry and Mrs. Burlington, and those she was animated in her praise of the good qualities of the first and the sweet attraction of the last, she confessed the danger, for one so new in the world, of choosing friends distinct from those of her family, and voluntarily promised, during her present season of inexperience, to repose the future choice of her connections, where she could never be happy without their approvance. The two hundred pounds to Sir Sedley Clarendale he determined, on the very day that Camilla should be his, to return to the baronet, under the privilege and in the name of paying it for a brother. In conference, thus softly balsamac to every past wound, and thus deliciously opening to that summit of earthly felicity, confidence unlimited entwined around affection unbounded, hours might have passed, unnumbered and unawares, had not prudence forced to separation for the repose of Camilla.