 Volume 10, Chapter 4, of Cecilia—Vol. 10, Chapter 4, of Deliberation. It was necessary, however, not to moralize, but to act. Cecilia had undertaken to give her answer in a week, and the artful attorney had drawn from her an acknowledgment of her situation, by which he might claim it yet sooner. The lawsuit with which she was threatened for the arrears of eight months alarmed her none, though it shocked her, as she was certain she could prove her marriage so much later. It was easy to perceive that this man had been sent with a view of working from her a confession, and terrifying from her some money. The confession, indeed, in conscious and honesty, she could not wholly elude, but she had suffered too often by a facility in parting with money to be there easily duped. Nothing, however, was more true than that she now lived upon an estate of which she was no longer the owner, and that all she either spent or received was to be accounted for and returned, since by the will of her uncle, unless her husband took her name, her estate on the very day of her marriage was to be forfeited, and entered upon by the Egglestons. Del Vile's plan and hope of secrecy had made them little way this matter, though this premature discovery so unexpectedly exposed her to their power. The first thought that occurred to her was to send an express to Del Vile, and desire his instructions how to proceed. But she dreaded his impetuosity of temper, and was almost certain that the instant he should hear she was in any uneasiness or perplexity, he would return to her at all hazards, even though Mr. Moncton were dead, and his mother herself dying. This step, therefore, she did not dare risk, preferring any personal hardship to endangering the already precarious life of Mrs. Del Vile, or to hastening her son home while Mr. Moncton was in so desperate a situation. But though what to avoid was easy to settle, what to seek was difficult to devise. She had now no Mrs. Charlton to receive her, not a creature in whom she could confide. To continue her present way of living was deeply involving Del Vile in debt, a circumstance she had never considered, in the confusion and hurry attending all their plans and conversations, and a circumstance which, though to him it might have occurred, he could not in common delicacy mention. Yet to have quitted her house, and retrenched her expenses, would have raised suspicions that must have anticipated the discovery she so much wished to have delayed. That wish, by the present danger of its failure, was but more ardent. To have her affairs and situation become publicly known at the present period, she felt would half distract her. Privately married, parted from her husband at the very moment of their union, a husband by whose hand the apparent friend of her earliest youth was all but killed, whose father had executed the match, whose mother was now falling a sacrifice to the vehemence with which she had opposed it, and who himself, little short of an exile, knew not yet if, with personal safety, he might return to his native land. To circumstances so dreadful, she had now the additional shock of being uncertain whether her own house might not be seized before any other could be prepared for her reception. Yet still wither to go, what to do, or what to resolve, she was wholly unable to determine, and after meditating almost to madness in the search of some plan or expedient, she was obliged to give over the attempt, and be satisfied with remaining quietly where she was, till she had better news from Del Vile of his mother, or better news to send him of Mr. Moncton. Carefully, meantime, in all her letters avoiding to alarm him by any hint of her distress. Yet was she not idle, either from despair or helplessness, she found her difficulties increased, and she called forth more resolution to combat them. She animated herself by the promise she had made Del Vile, and recovering from the sadness to which she had at first given way, she now exerted herself with vigor to perform it as she ought. She began by making an immediate inspection into her affairs, and endeavouring, where expense seemed unnecessary, to lessen it. She gave Henrietta to understand she feared they must soon part, and so afflicted was the unhappy girl at the news that she found it the most cruel office she had to execute. The same intimation she gave to Mrs. Harrell, who repined at it more openly, but with the selfishness so evident that it blunted the edge of pity. She then announced to Albany her inability to pursue, at present, their extensive schemes of benevolence, and though he instantly left her to carry on his laborious plan elsewhere, the reverence she had now excited in him of her character made him leave her with no sensation but of regret, and readily promised to return when her affairs were settled or her mind more composed. These little preparations, which were all she could make, with enquiries after Mr. Moncton, and writing to Del Vile, sufficiently filled up her time, though her thoughts were by no means confined to them. Day after day passed, and Mr. Moncton continued to linger rather than live, the letters of Del Vile, still only dated from Ostend, contained the most melancholy complaints of the illness of his mother, and the time advanced when her answer would be claimed by the attorney. The thought of such another visit was almost intolerable, and within two days of the time that she expected it, she resolved to endeavor herself to prevail with Mr. Eggleston to wait longer. Mr. Eggleston was a gentleman whom she knew little more than by sight. He was no relation to her family, nor had any connection with the dean, but by being a cousin to a lady he had married, and who had left him no children. The dean had no particular regard for him, and had rather mentioned him in his will as the successor of Cecilia, in case she died unmarried or changed her name, as a mark that he approved of her doing neither, than as a matter he thought probable, if even possible, to turn out in his favor. He was a man of a large family, the sons of which, who were extravagant and dissipated, had much impaired his fortune by prevailing with him to pay their debts, and much distressed him in his affairs by successfully teasing him for money. Cecilia, acquainted with these circumstances, knew but too well with what avidity her estate would be seized by them, and how little the sons would endure delay, even if the father consented to it. Yet since the sacrifice to which she had agreed must soon make it indisputably their own, she determined to deal with them openly, and acknowledged, therefore, in her letter, her marriage without disguise, but begged their patience and secrecy, and promised, in a short time, the most honorable retribution and satisfaction. She sent this letter by a man and horse, Mr. Eggleston's habitation, being within fifteen miles of her own. The answer was from his eldest son, who acquainted her that his father was very ill, and had put all his affairs into the hands of Mr. Carn, his attorney, who was a man of great credit, and would see just as done on all sides. If this answer, which he broke open the instant she took it into her hand, was in itself a cruel disappointment to her, how was that disappointment embittered by shame and terror when, upon again folding it up, she saw it was directed to Mrs. Mortimer Del Vile? This was a decisive stroke. What they wrote to her, she was sure they would mention to all others. She saw they were too impatient for her estate to be moved by any representations to a delay, and that their eagerness to publish their right took from them all consideration of what they might make her suffer. Mr. Eggleston, she found, permitted himself to be wholly governed by his son. His son was a needy and profligate spend-thrift, and by throwing the management of the affair into the hands of an attorney, craftily meant to shield himself from the future resentment of Del Vile, to whom, hereafter, he might affect at his convenience to disapprove Mr. Carn's behavior, while Mr. Carn was always secure, by avering he only exerted himself for the interest of his client. The discerning Cecilia, though but little experienced in business, and wholly unsuspicious by nature, yet saw into this management, and doubted not these excuses were already arranged. She had only, therefore, to save herself an actual ejectment by quitting a house in which she was exposed to such a disgrace. But still wither to go she knew not. One only attempt seemed in her power for an honorable asylum, and that was more irksomely painful to her than seeking shelter in the meanest retreat. It was applying to Mr. Del Vile Sr. The action of leaving her house, whether quietly or forcibly, could not but instantly authenticate the reports spread by the Egglestons of her marriage. To hope, therefore, for secrecy any longer would be folly. And Mr. Del Vile's rage at such intelligence might be still greater to hear it by chance than from herself. She now lamented that Del Vile had not at once told the tale. But little foreseeing such a discovery as the present, they had mutually concluded to defer the communication till his return. Her own anger at the contemptuous ill-treatment she had repeatedly met from him. She was now content not merely to suppress but to dismiss, since, as the wife of his son without his consent, she considered herself no longer as wholly innocent of incurring it. Yet such was her dread of his austerity and the arrogance of his reproaches that, by choice, she would have preferred an habitation with her own pensioner, the pew-opener, to the grandest apartment in Del Vile Castle, while he continued its lord. In her present situation, however, her choice was little to be consulted. The honor of Del Vile was concerned in her escaping even temporary disgrace, and nothing, she knew, would so much gratify him as any attention from her to his father. She wrote to him, therefore, the following letter which he sent by unexpress. To the Honorable Compton Del Vile April 29th, 1780 More words than are necessary would be merely impertinent. It was the intention of your son, sir, when he left the kingdom, to submit wholly to your arbitration at his return, which should be resigned, his own name or my fortune. But his request for your decision and his supplication for your forgiveness are both, most unfortunately, prevented by a premature and unforeseen discovery of our situation, which renders an immediate determination absolutely unavoidable. At this distance from him I cannot, in time, receive his directions upon the measures I have to take. Pardon me, then, sir, if well-knowing my reference to him will not be more implicit than his own to you. I venture, in the present important crisis of my affairs, to entreat those commands instantly, by which I am certain of being guided ultimately. I would commend myself to your favour, but that I dread exciting your resentment. I will detain you, therefore, only to add that the father of Mr. Mortimer Del Vile will ever meet the most profound respect from her, who without his permission, dare sign no name to the honour she now has in declaring herself his most humble and most obedient servant. Her mind was somewhat easier when this letter was written, because she thought it a duty, yet felt reluctance in performing it. She wished to have represented to him strongly the danger of Del Vile's hearing her distress, but she knew so well his inordinate self-sufficiency, she feared a hint of that sort might be construed into an insult, and concluded her only chance that he would do anything was by leaving wholly to his own suggestions the weighing and settling what. But though nothing was more uncertain than whether she should be received at Del Vile Castle, nothing was more fixed than that she must quit her own house, since the pride of Mr. Del Vile left not even a chance that his interest would conquer it. She deferred to not, therefore, any longer making preparations for her removal, though wholly unsettled with her. Her first, which was also her most painful task, was to acquaint Henrietta with her situation. She sent, therefore, to desire to speak with her, but the countenance of Henrietta should her communication would not surprise her. What is the matter with my dear Henrietta? cried Cecilia. Who is it has already afflicted that kind heart which I am now compelled to afflict for myself? Henrietta, in whom anger appeared to be struggling with sorrow, answered, No, madam, not afflicted for you, it would be strange if I were thinking as I think. I am glad, said Cecilia calmly, if you are not, for I would give to you, were it possible, nothing but pleasure and joy. Ah, madam, cried Henrietta, bursting into tears, why will you say so when you don't care what becomes of me, when you are going to cast me off, and when you will soon be too happy ever to think of me more? If I am never happy till then, said Cecilia, sad indeed will be my life. No, my gentlest friend, you will always have your share in my heart, and always, to me, would have been the welcomest guest in my house, but for those unhappy circumstances which make our separating inevitable. Yet you suffered me, madam, to hear from anybody that you was married and going away, and all the common servants in the house knew it before me. I am amazed, said Cecilia, how in which way can they have heard it? The man that went to Mr. Eggleston brought the first news of it, for he said all the servants there talked of nothing else, and that their master was to come and take possession here next Thursday. Cecilia started at this most unwelcome intelligence. Yet you envy me, she cried. Henrietta, though I am forced from my house, though in quitting it I am unprovided with any other, and though him for whom I relinquish it is far off, without means of protecting or power of returning to me. But you are married to him, madam," cried she expressively. True, my love, but also I am parted from him. Oh, how differently," exclaimed Henrietta, do the great think from the little, were I married, and so married, I should want neither house nor fine clothes nor riches nor anything. I should not care where I lived, every place would be paradise. I would walk to him barefoot if he were a thousand miles off, and I should mind nobody else in the world while I had him to take care of me. Ah, del vile, thought Cecilia. What powers of fascination are yours? Should I be tempted to repine at what I have to bear, I will think of this heroic girl and blush. Mrs. Harrell now broke in upon them, eager to be informed of the truth or falsehood of the reports which were buzzed throughout the house. Cecilia briefly related to them both the state of her affairs, earnestly expressing her concern at the abrupt separation which must take place, and for which she had been unable to prepare them, as the circumstances which led to it had been wholly unforeseen by herself. Mrs. Harrell listened to the account with much curiosity and surprise, but Henrietta wept incessantly in hearing it, the object of a passion ardent as it was romantic, lost to her past recovery, torn herself, probably forever, from the best friend she had in the world, and obliged to return thus suddenly to a home she detested. Henrietta possessed not the fortitude to hear evils such as these, which to her inexperienced heart appeared the severest that could be inflicted. This conversation over Cecilia sent for her steward, and desired him, with the utmost expedition, to call in all her bills, and instantly to go round to her tenants within twenty miles, and gather in from those who were able to pay the arrears now due to her, charging him, however, upon no account, to be urgent with such as seemed distressed. The bills she had to pay were collected without difficulty. She never owed much, and creditors are seldom hard of access. But the money she hoped to receive fell very short of her expectations, for the indulgence she had shewned to her tenants had ill-prepared them for so sudden a demand. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This business effectually occupied the present and following day. The third, Cecilia, expected her answer from Del Vile Castle, and the visit she so much dreaded from the attorney. The answer arrived first. To Miss Beverly. Cecilia had little right to be surprised by this letter, and she had not a moment to comment upon it before the attorney arrived. Well, madam, said the man, as he entered the parlor, Mr. Eggleston has stayed your own time very patiently. He commissions me now to inquire if it is convenient to you to quit the premises. No, sir, it is by no means convenient to me, and if Mr. Eggleston will wait some time longer, I shall be greatly obliged to him. No doubt, madam, but he will upon proper considerations. What, sir, do you call proper? Upon your advancing to him, as I hinted before, an immediate particular sum from what must, by and by, be legally restituted. If this is the condition of his courtesy, I will quit the house without giving him further trouble. Just as it suits you, madam, he will be glad to take possession to-morrow or next day. You did well, sir, to commend his patience. I shall, however, merely discharge my servants and settle my accounts, and be ready to make way for him. You will not take it amiss, madam, if I remind you that the account with Mr. Eggleston must be the first that is settled. If you mean the arrears of this last fortnight or three weeks, I believe I must desire him to wait Mr. Del Vile's return, as I may otherwise myself be distressed for ready money. That, madam, is not likely, as it is well known you have a fortune that was independent of your late uncle, and as to distress for ready money, it is a plea Mr. Eggleston can urge much more strongly. This is being strangely hasty, sir, so short a time as it is since Mr. Eggleston could expect any of this estate. That, madam, is nothing to the purpose. From the moment it is his, he has as many wants for it as any other gentleman. He desired me, however, to acquaint you, that if you still chose an apartment in this house till Mr. Del Vile returns, you shall have one at your service. To be a guest in this house, sir," said Cecilia dryly,--"might perhaps seem strange to me. I will not, therefore, be so much in his way." Mr. Carn then informed her she might put her seal upon whatever she meant hereafter to claim or dispute, and took his leave. Cecilia now shut herself up in her own room, to meditate without interruption, before she would proceed to any action. She felt much inclination to send instantly for some lawyer, but when she considered her peculiar situation, the absence of her husband, the renunciation of his father, the loss of her fortune, and her ignorance upon the subject, she thought it better to rest quiet till Del Vile's own fate and own opinion could be known, than to involve herself in a lawsuit she was so little able to superintend. In this cruel perplexity of her mind and her affairs, her first thought was to board again with Mrs. Bailey, but that was soon given up, for she felt a repugnance unconquerable to continuing in her native county when deprived of her fortune and cast out of her dwelling. Her situation indeed was singularly unhappy, since by this unforeseen vicissitude of fortune she was suddenly, from being an object of envy and admiration, sunk into distress, and threatened with disgrace. From being everywhere caressed, and by every voice praised, she blushed to be seen, and expected to be censored, and from being generally regarded as an example of happiness and a model of virtue, she was now in one moment to appear to the world an outcast from her own house, yet received into no other, a bride unclaimed by a husband, an heiress, dispossessed of all wealth. To be first acknowledged as Mrs. Del Vile in a state so degrading she could not endure, and to escape from it, one way alone remained, which was going instantly abroad. Upon this, therefore, she finally determined, her former objections to such a step being now holy, though unpleasantly removed, since she had neither estate nor affairs to demand her stay, and since all hopes of concealment were totally at an end. Her marriage, therefore, and its disgraceful consequences being published to the world, she resolved without delay to seek the only asylum which was proper for her, in the protection of the husband for whom she had given up every other. She purposed, therefore, to go immediately and privately to London, whence she could best settle her root for the Continent, where she hoped to arrive before the news of her distress reached Del Vile, whom nothing she was certain but her own presence could keep there for a moment after hearing it. Thus decided at length in her plan, she proceeded to put it in execution with calmness and intrepidity, comforting herself that the conveniences and indulgencies with which she was now parting would soon be restored to her, and though not with equal power, with far more satisfaction. She told her steward her design of going the next morning to London, bid him pay instantly all her debts, and discharge all her servants, determining to keep no account open but that with Mr. Eggleston, which he had made so intricate by double and undue demands, that she thought it most prudent and safe to leave him holy to Del Vile. She then packed up all her papers and letters, and ordered her maid to pack up her clothes. She next put her own seal upon her cabinets, drawers, and many other things, and employed almost all her servants at once in making complete inventories of what every room contained. She advised Mrs. Harrell to send without delay for Mr. Arnott, and return to his house. She had first purposed to carry Henrietta home to her mother herself, but another scheme for her now occurred, from which she hoped much future advantage to the amiable and dejected girl. She knew well that deep as was at present her despondency, the removal of all possibility of hope, by her knowledge of Del Vile's marriage, must awaken her before long from the delusive visions of her romantic fancy. Mr. Arnott himself was in a situation exactly similar, and the knowledge of the same event would probably be productive of the same effect. When Mrs. Harrell therefore began to repine at the solitude to which she was returning, Cecilia proposed to her the Society of Henrietta, which, glad to catch at anything that would break into her loneliness, she listened to with pleasure, and seconded by an invitation. Henrietta, to whom all houses appeared preferable to her own home, joyfully accepted the offer, committing to Cecilia the communication of the change of her abode to Mrs. Belfield. Cecilia, who in the known and tried honor of Mr. Arnott would unreluctantly have trusted a sister, was much pleased by this little arrangement, from which should no good ensue, no evil at least was probable. But she hoped, through the mutual pity their mutual melancholy might inspire, that their minds, already not dissimilar, would be softened in favor of each other, and that, in conclusion, each might be happy in receiving the consolation each could give, and a union would take place in which their reciprocal disappointment might, in time, be nearly forgotten. There was not, indeed, much promise of such an event in the countenance of Mr. Arnott, when, late at night, he came for his sister, nor in the unbounded sorrow of Henrietta, when the moments of leave-taking arrived. Mr. Arnott looked half-dead with the shock his sister's intelligence had given him, and Henrietta's heart, torn asunder between friendship and love, was scarce able to bear a parting, which from Cecilia she regarded as eternal. Added to the consciousness it was occasioned by her going to join Del Vile for life. Cecilia, who both read and pitied these conflicting emotions, was herself extremely hurt by this necessary separation. She tenderly loved Henrietta, she loved her even the more for the sympathy of their affections, which called forth the most forcible commissuration, that which springs from fellow feeling. Fair well, she cried, my Henrietta, be but happy as you are innocent, and be both as I love you, and nothing will your friends have to wish for you or yourself to regret. I must always regret," cried the sobbing Henrietta, that I cannot live with you forever. I should regret it if I were queen of all the world, how much more then, when I am nothing and nobody! I do not wish you happy, madam, for I think happiness was made on purpose for you, and nobody else ever had it before. I only wish you health and long life, for the sake of those who will be made as happy as you, for you will spoil them, as you have spoiled me, from being ever happy without you. Cecilia reiterated her assurances of a most faithful regard, embraced Mrs. Harrell, spoke words of kindness to the drooping Mr. Arnott, and then parted with them all. Having still many small matters to settle, and neither company nor appetite, she would eat no supper, but in passing through the hall in her way to her own room, she was much surprised to see all her domestics assembled in a body. She stopped, to inquire their intention, when they eagerly pressed forward, humbly and earnestly and treating to know why they were discharged. For no reason in the world, cried Cecilia, but because it is at present out of my power to keep you any longer. Don't part with me, madam, for that, cried one of them, for I will serve you for nothing. So will I, cried another, and I, and I, was echoed by them all, while no other such mistresses to be found. We can never bear any other place, and keep me, madam, at least, was even clamorously urged by each of them. Cecilia, distressed and flattered at once by their unwillingness to quit her, received this testimony of gratitude for the kind and liberal treatment they had received, with the warmest thanks both for their services and fidelity, and assured them that when again she was settled, all those who should be yet unprovided with places should be preferred in her house before any other claimants. Having, with difficulty, broken from them, she sent for her own man, Ralph, who had lived with her many years before the death of the dean, and told him she meant still to continue him in her service. The man heard it with great delight, and promised to redouble his diligence to deserve her favor. She then communicated the same news to her maid, who had also resided with her some years, and by whom with the same or more pleasure it was heard. These and other regulations employed her almost all night. Yet late and fatigued as she went to bed, she could not close her eyes. Fearful something was left undone, she robbed herself of the short time she had allowed to rest, by incessant meditation upon what yet remained to be executed. She could recollect, however, one only thing that had escaped her vigilance, which was acquainting the pew-opener, and two or three other poor women who had weekly pensions from her, that they must, at least for the present, depend no longer upon her assistance. Nothing indeed could be more painful to her than giving them such information, yet not to be speedy with it would double the barbarity of their disappointment. She even felt for these poor women, whose loss in her she knew would be irreparable, a compassion that drove from her mind almost every other subject, and determined her, in order to soften to them this misfortune, to communicate it herself, that she might prevent them from sinking under it by reviving them with hopes of her future assistance. She had ordered at seven o'clock in the morning, unhired Chase at the door, and she did not suffer it long to wait for her. She quitted her house with a heart full of care and anxiety, grieving at the necessity of making such a sacrifice, uncertain how it would turn out, and laboring under a thousand perplexities with respect to the measures she ought immediately to take. She passed, when she reached the hall, through a row of weeping domestics, not one of whom with dry eyes could see the house bereft of such a mistress. She spoke to them all with kindness, and as much as was in her power, with cheerfulness, but the tone of her voice gave them little reason to think the concern at this journey was all their own. She ordered her Chase to drive round to the pew-openers, and thence to the rest of her immediate dependence. She soon, however, regretted that she had given herself this task. The affliction of these poor pensioners was clamorous, was almost heartbreaking. They could live, they said, no longer. They were ruined for ever. They should soon be without bread to eat, and they might cry for help in vain, when they're generous, their only benefactress was far away. Cecilia made the kindest efforts to comfort and encourage them, assuring them the very moment her own affairs were arranged, she would remember them all, visit them herself, and contribute to their relief, with all the power she should have left. Nothing, however, could console them. They clung about her, almost took the horses from the Shays, and conjured her not to desert those who were solely cherished by her bounty. Nor was this all she had to suffer. The news of her intention to quit the county was now reported throughout the neighborhood, and had spread the utmost consternation among the poor in general, and the lower close of her own tenants in particular, and the road was soon lined with women and children, ringing their hands and crying. They followed her carriage with supplications that she would return to them, mixed blessings with their lamentations, and prayers for her happiness with the bitterest repinings at their own loss. Cecilia was extremely affected. Her liberal and ever-ready hand was every other instant involuntarily seeking her purse, which her many immediate expenses made her prudence as often check, and now first she felt the capital error she had committed, in living constantly to the utmost extent of her income, without ever preparing, though so able to have done it against any unfortunate contingency. When she escaped at last from receiving any longer this painful tribute to her benevolence, she gave orders to her man to ride forward and stop at the grove, that a precise and minute account of Mr. Moncton might be the last, as it was now become the most important, news she should hear in Suffolk. This he did, when to her equal surprise and delight, she heard that he was suddenly so much better, there were hopes of his recovery. Intelligence so joyful made her amends for almost everything, yet she hesitated not in her plan of going abroad, as she knew not where to be in England, and could not endure to hurry Del Vile from his sick mother by acquainting him with her helpless and distressed situation. But so revived were her spirits by these unexpected tidings, that a gleam of brightest hope once more danced before her eyes, and she felt herself invigorated with fresh courage and new strength, sufficient to support her through all hardships and fatigues. Spirits and courage were indeed much wanted for the enterprise she had formed, but little used to travelling, and having never been out of England, she knew nothing of the root but by a general knowledge of geography, which, though it could guide her east or west, could teach her nothing of foreign customs, the preparations necessary for the journey, the impositions she should guard against, nor the various dangers to which she might be exposed, from total ignorance of the country through which she had to pass. Conscious of these deficiencies for such an undertaking, she deliberated without intermission how to obviate them, yet sometimes, when to these hazards, those arising from her youth and sex were added, she was upon the point of relinquishing her scheme as too perilous for execution, and resolving to continue privately in London till some change happened in her affairs. But, though to everything she could suggest, doubts and difficulties arose, she had no friend to consult, nor could devise any means by which they might be terminated. Her maid was her only companion, and Ralph, who had spent almost his whole life in Suffolk, her only guard and attendant. Higher immediately some French servant, used to travelling in his own country, seemed the first step she had to take, and so essential, that no other appeared feasible till it was done. But where to hear of such a man she could not tell, and to take one not well recommended, would be exposing herself to frauds and dangers innumerable. Yet so slow as Del Vile travelled, from whom her last letter was still dated ostend, she thought herself almost certain, could she once reach the continent of overtaking him in his route within a day or two of her landing. The earnest inclination with which this scheme was seconded made her every moment less willing to forego it. It seemed the only harbour for her after the storm she had weathered, and the only refuge she could properly seek while thus houseless and helpless. Even were Del Vile in England, he had no place at present to offer her, nor could anything be proposed so unexceptionable as her living with Mrs. Del Vile at Nice, till he knew his father's pleasure, and, in a separate journey home, had arranged his affairs either for her return or her continuance abroad. With what regret did she now look back to the time when, in a distress such as this, she should have applied for, and received the advice of Mr. Moncton as oracular. The loss of a counsellor so long, so implicitly relied upon, lost to her also only by his own interested worthlessness, she felt almost daily, for almost daily some intricacy or embarrassment made her miss his assistance. And though glad, since she found him so undeserving, that she had escaped the snares he had spread for her, she grieved much that she knew no man of honest character and equal abilities that would care for her sufficiently to supply his place in her confidence. As she was situated at present, she could think only of Mr. Belfield to whom she could apply for any advice, nor even to him was the application unexceptionable, the columnese of Mr. Del Vile's senior making it disagreeable to her even to see him. But he was at once a man of the world and a man of honour. He was the friend of Mortimer, whose confidence in him was great, and his own behaviour had uniformly shone a respect far removed from impertinence or vanity, and a mind superior to being led to them by the influence of his gross mother. She had indeed, when she last quitted his house, determined never to re-enter it, but determinations hasty or violent are rarely observed, because rarely practicable. She had promised Henrietta to inform Mrs. Belfield whether she was gone, and reconcile her to the absence she still hoped to make from home. She concluded therefore to go to Portland Street without delay, and inquire openly and at once whether, and when, she might speak with Mr. Belfield, resolving, if tormented again by any forward insinuations, to rectify all mistakes by acknowledging her marriage. She gave directions accordingly to the post-boy and Ralph. With respect to her own lodgings while in town, as money was no longer unimportant to her, she meant from the Belfields to go to the hills, by whom she might be recommended to some reputable and cheap place. To the Belfields, however, though very late when she arrived in town, she went first, unwilling to lose a moment in promoting her scheme of going abroad. She left her maid in the shays, and sent Ralph on to Mrs. Hill with directions to endeavor immediately to procure her a lodging. End of chapter 5 Volume 10, Chapter 6 of Cecilia This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Dawn Cecilia. Memoirs of an heiress by Frances Burney. Volume 10, Chapter 6 of Prating Cecilia was shown into a parlor where Mrs. Belfield was very earnestly discoursing with Mr. Hobson and Mr. Simpkins, and Belfield himself to her great satisfaction was already there and reading. Lack a day, cried Mrs. Belfield, if one does not always see the people one's talking of. Why, it was but this morning, madam, I was saying to Mr. Hobson, I wonder, says I, a young lady of such fortunes as Miss Beverly should mope herself up so in the country. Don't you remember it, Mr. Hobson? Yes, madam, answered Mr. Hobson. But I think, for my part, the young lady is quite in the right to do as she's of mind, for that's what I call living agreeable, and if I was a young lady tomorrow with such fine fortunes in that, it's just what I should do myself. For what I say is this, where's the joy of having a little money and being a little matter above the world if one has not one's own will? Ma'am, said Mr. Simpkins, who had scarce yet raised his head from the profoundness of his bow upon Cecilia's entrance into the room. If I may be so free, may I make bold just for to offer you this chair? I called madam, said Cecilia, seizing the first moment in her power to speak. In order to acquaint you that your daughter, who is perfectly well, has made a little change in her situation which she was anxious you should hear from myself. Ah-ha, still in a match upon you I warrant, cried the facetious Mr. Hobson. A good example for you, young lady, and if you take my advice, you won't be long before you follow it, for as to a lady, let her be worth never so much. She's a mere nobody, as one may say, till she can get herself a husband, being she knows nothing of business, and is made to pay for everything through the nose. Fine, Mr. Hobson, fine, said Mr. Simpkins, to talk so slighting of the ladies before their faces, what one says in a corner is quite of another nature, but for to talk so rude in their company. I thought you would scorn to do such a thing. Sir, I don't want to be rude no more than yourself, said Mr. Hobson, for what I say is, rudeness is a thing that makes nobody agreeable, but I don't see because of that why a man is not to speak his mind to a lady as well as to a gentleman, provided he does it in a complacent fashion. Mr. Hobson, cried Mrs. Belfield very impatiently, you might as well let me speak when the matter is all about my own daughter. I ask pardon, ma'am, said he. I did not mean to stop you, for as to not letting a lady speak one might as well tell a man in business not to look at the daily advertiser, why it's morally impossible. But sure, ma'am, cried Mrs. Belfield, it's no such thing, you can't have got her off already. I would I had, thought Cecilia, who then explained her meaning, but in talking of Mrs. Harrell avoided all mention of Mr. Arnott, well foreseeing that to hear such a man existed and was in the same house with her daughter would be sufficient authority to her sanguine expectations for depending upon a union between them, and reporting it among her friends, his circumstance being made clear. Cecilia added, I could by no means have consented voluntarily to parting so soon with Mrs. Belfield, but that my own affairs call me at present out of the kingdom. And then addressing herself to Belfield, she inquired if he could recommend to her a trusty foreign servant who would be hired only for the time she was to spend abroad. While Belfield was endeavouring to recollect some such person, Mr. Hobson eagerly called out, As to going abroad, ma'am, to be sure you're to do as you like, for that, as I say, is the soul of everything. But else I can't say it's a thing I much approve, for my notion is this. Here's a fine fortune, got as a man may say, out of the bowels of one's mother country, and this fine fortune in default of male issue is obliged to come to a female, the law making no proviso to the country. Well, this female going into a strange country naturally takes with her this fortune, by reason it's the main article she has to depend upon. What's the upshot? Why, she gets pilfered by a set of sharpers that never saw England in their lives, and that never lose sight of her until she's not a sue in the world. But the hardship of the thing is this. When it's all gone, the lady can come back. But will the money come back? No, you'll never see it again. Now this is what I call being no true patriot. I am quite ashamed for to hear you talk so, Mr. Hobson," cried Mr. Simpkins, affecting to whisper. To go for to take a person to task at this rate is behaving quite unbearable. It's enough to make the young lady afraid to speak before you. Why, Mr. Simpkins," answered Mr. Hobson, truth is truth whether one speaks it or not, and that, ma'am, I dare say, young lady of your good sense knows as well as myself. I think, madam," said Bellefield, who waited their silence with great impatience, that I know just such a man as you will require and one upon whose honesty I believe you may rely. That's more, said Mr. Hobson, than I would take upon me to say for any Englishman, where you may meet with such a Frenchman I won't be bold to say. Why, indeed," said Mr. Simpkins, if I might take the liberty for to put in, though I don't mean in no shape to go contradicting the young gentlemen, but if I was to make bold to speak my private opinion upon the head, I should be inclinable for to say that as to putting a dependence upon the French, it's a thing quite dubious how it may turn out. I take it as a great favour, ma'am," said Mrs. Bellefield, that you have been so complacent as to make me this visit tonight, for I was almost afraid you would not have done me the favour any more. For, to be sure, when you was here last, things went a little unlucky, but I had no notion, for my part, who the old gentleman was till after he was gone. When Mr. Hobson told me it was old Mr. Delville, though sure enough I thought it rather upon the extraordinary order that he should come here into my parlor and make such a secret of his name, on purpose to ask me questions about my own son. Why, I think indeed, if I may be so free," said Mr. Simpkins, it was rather particular of the gentleman, for, to be sure, if he was so over-curious to hear about your private concerns, the gentile thing, if I may take the liberty for to differ, would have been for him to say, ma'am, says he, I'm coming to ask the favour of you just to let me a little into your son's goings-on. In anything, ma'am, you should take the fancy for to ask me upon the return. Why, I shall be very compliable, ma'am, says he, to giving of you satisfaction. I daresay," answered Mrs. Belfield, he would not have said so much if you'd have gone down on your knees to ask him. Why, he was upon the very point of being quite in a passion because I only asked him his name. Though what harm that could do him, I'm sure I never could guess. However, as he was so mighty inquisitive about my son, if I had but known who he was in time, I should have made no scruple in the world to ask him if he could not have spoke a few words for him to some of those great people that could have done him some good. But the thing that I believe put him so out of humour was my being so unlucky as to say before ever I knew who he was that I had heard he was not over and above good-natured, for I saw he did not seem much to like it at the time. If he had done the generous thing, said Mr. Simpkins, it would have been for him to have made the proffer of his services of his own free will. And it's rather surprising to me he should never have thought of it. For what could be so natural is for him to say, I see, ma'am, says he, you've got a very likely young gentleman here that's a little out of cash, says he. So I suppose, ma'am, says he, a place or a pension or something in that shape of life would be no bad compliment, says he. But no such good luck as that will come to my share, cried Mrs. Belfield. I can tell you that, for everything I want to do goes quite contrary. Who would not have thought such a son is mine, though I say it before his face, could not have made his fortune long ago, living as he did among all the great folks and dining at their table just like one of themselves? Yet for all that, you see, they let him go on his own way and think of him no more than of nobody. I'm sure they might be ashamed to show their faces, and so I should tell them at once if I could but get sight of them. I don't mean, ma'am, said Mr. Simpkins, for to be finding fault with what you say, for I would not be unpolite in no shape. But if I might be so free as for to differ a little bit, I must need say I am rather for going to work in another sort of a matter. And if I was as you, Mr. Simpkins, interrupted Belfield, we will settle this matter another time. And then turning to the weird Cecilia, the man, madam, he said, whom I have done myself the honour to recommend to you, I can see tomorrow morning. May I then tell him to wait upon you? I ask pardon for just putting in, cried Mr. Simpkins before Cecilia could answer, and again bowing to the ground. But I only mean to say I had no thought for to be impertinent for as what I was going to remark is was not of no consequence in the least. It's a great piece of luck, ma'am, said Mrs. Belfield, that you should happen to come here of a holiday. If my son had not been at home I should have been ready to cry for a week, and he might come any day the year through but a Sunday and not meet with him any more than if he had never a home to come to. Mr. Belfield's home visits are so periodical, said Cecilia, it must be rather less than more difficult to meet with him. Why, you know, ma'am, answered Mrs. Belfield, today is a red letter day, so that's the reason of it. A red letter day? Good lack, madam, why, have you not heard that my son has turned bookkeeper? Cecilia, much surprised, looked at Belfield, who, colouring very high and apparently much provoked by his mother's locacity, said, had Miss Beverly not heard it even now, madam, I should probably have lost with her no credit. You can surely lose none, sir, answered Cecilia, by an employment too little pleasant to have been undertaken from any but the most laudable motives. It is not, madam, the employment, said he, for which I so much blush as for the person employed, for myself. In the beginning of the winter you left me just engaged in another business, a business with which I was madly delighted and fully persuaded I should be enchanted forever. Now again is the beginning of the summer. You find me already in a new occupation. I am sorry, said Cecilia, but far indeed from surprise that you found yourself deceived by such sanguine expectations. Deceived, cried he with energy, I was bewitched, I was infatuated. Common sense was estranged by the seduction of a chimera. My understanding was an affirmant from the abolition of my imagination, but when this new way of life lost its novelty, novelty, that short-lived but exquisite bliss, no sooner caught than it vanishes, no sooner tasted than it is gone, which charms but to fly and comes but to destroy what it leaves behind. When that was lost, reason, cool heartless reason took its place, and teaching me to wonder at the frenzy of my folly brought me back to the tameness, the sadness of reality. I'm sure, cried Mrs. Belfield, whatever it has brought you back to, it has brought you back to no good. It's a hard case you must needstink, madam, to a mother to see a son that might do whatever he would, if he'd only said about it, contenting himself with doing nothing but scribble and scribe one day, and when he gets tired of that, thinking of nothing better than casting up two and two. Why, madam? said Mr. Hobson. What I have seen of the world is this. There's nothing methodizes a man but business. If he's never so much upon the stilts, that's always a sure way to bring him down. By reason he soon finds there's nothing to be got by rota-mentading. Let every man be his own parvur. But what I say is, them gentlemen that are what one may call geniuses commonly think nothing of the main chance till they get a tap on the shoulder with a writ, and a solid lad that knows three times five is fifteen will get the better of them in the long run. But as to arguing with the gentlemen of that sort, where's the good of it? You can never bring them to the point, say what you will. All you can get from them is a far ago fine words that you can't understand without a dictionary. I am inclinable to think, said Mr. Sinkins, that the young gentleman is rather of opinion to like pleasure better than business. And to be sure it's very excusable of him because it's more agreeabler. And I must need say, if I may be so free, I'm partly of the young gentleman's mind, for business is a deal more trouble. I hope, however, said Cecilia Tobelfield, your present situation is less irksome to you. Any situation, madam, must be less irksome than that which I quitted, to write by rule, to compose by necessity, to make the understanding, nature's first gift, subservient to interest, that meanest offspring of art, when weary, listless, spiritless, to rack the head for invention, the memory for images, and the fancy for ornament and illusion. When the mind is wholly occupied by its own affections and affairs, to call forth all its faculties for foreign subjects, uninteresting discussions, or fictitious incidents. Heavens, what a life of struggle between the head and the heart, how cruel, how unnatural a war between the intellects and the feelings. As to these sorts of things, said Mr. Hobson, I can't say I'm much versed in them, by reason they're things I never much studied. But if I was to speak my notion it is this, the best way to thrive in the world is to get money. But how is it to be got? Why, by business. For business is to money what fine words are to a lady. A sure road to success. Now I don't mean by this to be censorious upon the ladies, being they have nothing else to go by, for as to examining if a man knows anything of the world, and that they have nothing whereby to judge, knowing nothing of it themselves, so that when they're taken in by rogues and sharpers, the fault is all in the law, for making no proviso against their having money in their own hands. Let everyone be trusted according to their headpiece, and what I say is this, a lady in them cases is much to be pitied, for she is obligated to take a man upon his own credit, which is tantamount to no credit at all, being what man will speak an ill word of himself. You may as well expect a bad shilling to cry out, don't take me, that's what I say, and that's my way of giving by vote. Cecilia, quite tired of these interruptions and impatient to be gone, now said to Belfield, I should be much obliged to you, sir, if you could send to me the man you speak of tomorrow morning. I wished also to consult you with regard to the route I ought to take. My purpose is to go to Nice, and as I am very desirous to travel expeditiously, you may perhaps be able to instruct me what is the best method for me to pursue. Come, Mr. Hobson and Mr. Sinkins, cried Mrs. Belfield with a look of much significance and delight. Suppose you two and I was to walk into the next room. There's no need for us to hear all the young lady may have a mind to say. She has nothing to say, madam, cried Cecilia, that the whole world may not hear. Neither is it my purpose to talk, but to listen, if Mr. Belfield is at leisure to favor me with his advice. I must always be at leisure and always be proud, madam, Belfield began, when Hobson interrupting him said, I ask pardon, sir, for intruding, but I only mean to wish the young lady good night. As to interfering with business, that's not my way, for it's not the right method by reason. We will listen to your reason, sir, cried Belfield some other time. At present, we will give you all credit for it unheard. Let every man speak his own maxim, sir, cried Hobson, for that's what I call fair arguing, but as to one person speaking and then making an answer for another into the bargain, why it's going to work know-how. You may as well talk to a counter and think because you made a noise upon it with your own hand, it gives you the reply. I'm Mr. Hobson, cried Mrs. Belfield. I'm quite ashamed of you for being so dull. Don't you see my son has something to say to the lady that you and I have no business to be meddling with? I'm sure, ma'am, for my part, said Mr. Simpkins. I'm very agreeable to going away for as to putting the young lady to the blush, it's what I would not do in no shape. I only mean, said Mr. Hobson when he was interrupted by Mrs. Belfield, who, out of all patients, now turned him out of the room by the shoulders and pulling Mr. Simpkins after followed herself and shut the door, though Cecilia, much provoked, desired she would stay and declared repeatedly that all her business was public. Belfield, who had looked ready to murder them all during this short scene, now approached Cecilia and with an air of mingled spirit and respect said, I am much grieved, much confounded, madam, that your ears should be offended by speeches so improper to reach them. Yet, if it is possible, I can have the honor of being of any use to you and me still I hope you feel you may confide. I'm too distant from you in situation to give you reason to apprehend I can form any sinister views in serving you and permit me to add I'm too near you in mind ever to give you the pain of bidding me remember that distance. Cecilia then, extremely unwilling to shock a sensibility not more generous than jealous, determined to continue her inquiries and at the same time to prevent any further misapprehension by revealing her actual situation. I am sorry, sir, she answered, to the occasion of this disturbance. Mrs. Belfield I find is wholly unacquainted with the circumstance which now carries me abroad or it would not have happened. Here, a little noise in the passage interrupting her, she heard Mrs. Belfield, though in a low voice say, Hush, sir, hush! You must not come in just now. You've caught me, I confess, rather upon the listening order. But to tell you the truth I did not know what might be going forward. However, there's no admittance now, I assure you, for my son's upon particular business with a lady, and Mr. Hobson and Mr. Simpkins and I have all been as good as turned out by them, but just now. Cecilia and Belfield, though they heard this speech with mutual indignation, had no time to mark or express it as it was answered without in a voice at once loud and furious. You, madam, may be content to listen here. Pardon me if I am less humbly disposed. And the door was abruptly opened by young Delville. Cecilia, who half screamed from excessive astonishment, would scarcely even by the presence of Belfield and his mother, have been restrained from flying to meet him, had his own aspect invited such a mark of tenderness. But far other was the case when the door was open. He stopped short with a look half petrified, his feet seeming rooted to the spot upon which they stood. I declare I ask pardon, ma'am, cried Mrs. Belfield, but the interruption was no fault of mine, for the gentleman would come in, and it is no interruption, madam, cried Belfield. Mr. Delfield does me nothing but honour. I thank you, sir, said Delville, trying to recover and come forward, but trembling violently and speaking with the most frigid coldness. They were then, for a few instance, all silent. Cecilia, amazed by his arrival, still more amazed by his behaviour, feared to speak lest he meant not, as yet to avow his marriage and felt a thousand apprehensions that some new calamity had hurried him home. While Belfield was both hurt by his strangeness and embarrassed for the sake of Cecilia, and his mother, though wondering at them all, was kept quiet by her son's looks. Delville then, struggling for an appearance of more ease, said, I seem to have made a general confusion here. Pray, I beg, none at all, sir, said Belfield, and offered a chair to Cecilia. No, sir, she answered, in a voice scare-soughtable, glowing, and again rang the bell. I fear I hurry you, madam, cried Delville, whose whole frame was now shaking with uncontrollable emotion. You are upon business. I ought to beg your pardon. My entrance, I believe, was unseasonable. Sir, cried she, looking aghast at the speech. I should have been rather surprised, he added, to have met you here so late, so unexpectedly, so deeply engaged. Had I not happened to see your servant in the street who told me the honour I should be likely to have by coming? Good God! exclaimed she involuntarily. But checking herself as well as she could, she curtsied to Mrs. Belfield, unable to speak to her, and avoiding even to look at Belfield, who respectfully hung back, she hastened out of the room accompanied by Mrs. Belfield, who again began the most valuable and vulgar apologies for the intrusion she had met with. Delville also, after a moment's pause, followed, saying, to see you to your carriage. Cecilia then, notwithstanding Mrs. Belfield still kept talking, could no longer refrain, saying, Good Heaven, what does all this mean? Rather for me is that question, he answered, in such agitation he could not, though he meant it, assist her into the shez. For mine, I believe, is the greater surprise. What surprise, cried she? Explain, I conjure you. By and by I will, he answered. Go on, Pistolian. Where, sir? Where you came from, I suppose? What, sir, back to Rumford? Rumford, exclaimed he, with increasing disorder. You came then from Suffolk hither? From Suffolk to this very house? Good Heaven, cried Cecilia. Come into the shez and let me speak and hear to be understood. Who is it that is now in it? My maid. Your maid? And she waits for you thus at the door? What, what is it you mean? Tell the man, madam, wither to go. I don't know myself anywhere you please. Do you order him? I order him? You came not hither to receive orders from me. Where was it you had purposed to rest? I don't know. I meant to go to Mrs. Hills. I have no place taken. No place taken? Repeated he in a voice faltering between passion and grief. You propose, then, to stay here? I have perhaps driven you away? Here? cried Cecilia, mingling in her turn indignation with surprise. Gracious Heaven, what is it you mean to doubt? Nothing, cried he with emphasis. I never have had. I never will have a doubt. I will know. I will have conviction for everything. Pastillion, drive to St. James Square to Mr. Delville's. There, madam, I will wait upon you. No, stay, Pastillion, cried out Cecilia, seized with terror and exgressible. Let me get out, let me speak with you at once. It cannot be. I will follow you in a few minutes. Drive on, Pastillion. No, no, I will not go. I dare not leave you, unkind Delville. What is it you suspect? Cecilia, cried he, putting his hand upon the chaise door. I have ever believed you spotless as an angel. By Heaven, go still, in spite of appearances, in defiance of everything. Now then be satisfied. I will be with you very soon. Meanwhile, take this letter. I was just going to send to you. Pastillion, drive on, or be at your peril. The man waited no further orders, nor regarded the prohibition of Cecilia, who called out to him without ceasing. But he would not listen to her till he got to the end of the street. He then stopped, and she broke the seal of her letter to let her know that Delville had written it upon the road from Dover to London. To acquaint her, his mother was now better and had taken pity of his suspense and impatience and insisted upon his coming privately to England, to satisfy himself fully about Mr. Moncton, communicate his marriage to his father, and give those orders towards preparing for its being made public, which his unhappy precipitation in leaving the kingdom had prevented. This letter, which though written but a few hours before she received it, gave her bitterness, gratitude, and anxiety for her happiness, instantly convinced her that his strange behaviour had been wholly the effect of a sudden impulse of jealousy, excited by so unexpectedly finding her in town that the very house where his father had assured him she had an improper connection and alone, so suspiciously with the young man affirmed to be her favourite. He knew nothing of the ejectment, nothing of any reason for her leaving Suffolk, everything had the semblance of no motive but to indulge a private and criminal inclination. These thoughts, which confusedly yet forcibly rushed upon her mind, brought with them at once an excuse for his conduct and an alarm for his danger. He must think, she cried, I came to town only to meet Mr. Belfield. Then, opening the chef's door herself, she jumped out and ran back into Portland Street, too impatient to argue with the pastillion to return with her, and stopped not till she came to Mrs. Belfield's house. She knocked at the door with violence. Mrs. Belfield came to it herself. Where, cried she, hastily entering as she spoke, are the gentlemen? Back a day, ma'am! answered Mrs. Belfield. They're both gone out. Gone out? Where, too? Which way? I'm sure I can't tell, ma'am. No more than you can, but I am sadly afraid they'll have a quarrel before they've done. O heaven! cried Cecilia, who now doubted not a second duel. Tell me, show me, which way they went. Why, ma'am, to let you into the secret, answered Mrs. Belfield. Only I beg you'll take no notice of it to my son. But seeing them so much out of sorts, I beg the favour of Mr. Simpkins as Mr. Hobson was gone out to his club just to follow them and see what they were after. Cecilia was much rejoiced this caution had been taken and determined to wait his return. She would have sent for the chefs to follow her, but Mrs. Belfield kept no servant and the maid of the house was employed in preparing the supper. When Mr. Simpkins came back, she learned after various interruptions from Mrs. Belfield and much delay from his own slowness and circumlocution that he had pursued two gentlemen to the coffee-house. She hesitated not a moment in resolving to follow them. She feared the failure of any commission, nor did she know whom to entrust with one and the danger was too urgent for much deliberation. She begged therefore that Mr. Simpkins would walk with her to the chaise. But hearing that the coffee-house was another way she desired Mrs. Belfield to let the servant run and order it to Mrs. Roberts in Fetterlane and then eagerly requested Mr. Simpkins to accompany her on foot till they met with a Hackney coach. They then set out Mr. Simpkins feeling proud and happy and being allowed to attend her, while Cecilia, glad of any protection, accepted his offer of continuing with her even after she met with an Hackney coach. When she arrived at the coffee-house she ordered the coachman to desire the master of it to come and speak with her. He came and she hastily called out, Pray, are two gentlemen here? Here are several gentlemen here, madam. Yes, yes, but are two upon any business, any particular business? Two gentlemen, madam, came about half an hour ago and asked for a room to themselves. And where are they now? Are they upstairs? Downstairs? Where are they? One of them went away in about ten minutes and the other soon after. Bitterly chagrined and disappointed she knew not what step to take next, but after some consideration concluded upon obeying Delville's own directions and proceeding to St. James Square where alone now she seemed to have any chance of meeting with him. Gladly, however, she still consented to be accompanied by Mr. Simpkins for her dread of being alone at so late an hour and a Hackney coach was invincible. Whether Delville himself had any authority for directing her to his father's or whether in the perturbation of his new, excited and agonizing sensations of jealousy he had forgotten that any authority was necessary she knew not, nor could she now interest herself in the doubt. A second scene, such as had so lately passed with Mr. Moncton occupied all her thoughts she knew the two great probability that the high spirit of Belfild would disdain making the explanation which Delville and his present agitation might require and the consequence of such a refusal was almost inevitably befatal. End of Chapter 6 Volume 10, Chapter 7 of Cecilia. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recorded by Barony. Cecilia. Memoirs of an heiress by Francis Burney. Volume 10, Chapter 7 A Pursuit The moment the polter came to the door Cecilia eagerly called out from the coach. Is Mr. Delville here? Yes, madam, he answered. But I believe he is engaged. Oh! no matter for any engagement cried she on the door I must speak to him this moment. If you will please to step into the parlour, madam I will tell his gentlemen you are here but he will be much displeased if he is disturbed without notice. Ah! Heaven! exclaimed she. What Mr. Delville! are you talking of? My master, madam. Cecilia who had got out of the coach now hastily returned to it and was some time in too great agony to answer either the porter who desired some message or the coachman who asked whether he was to drive. To see Mr. Delville unprotected by his son and contrary to his orders appeared to her insupportable yet to what place could she go where was she likely to meet with Delville? How could he find her if she went to Mrs. Hills and in what other house could she at present claim admittance? After a little recovering from this cruel shock she ventured, though in a faltering voice to inquire whether young Mr. Delville had been there. Yes, madam, the porter answered we thought he was abroad but he called just now and asked if any lady had been at the house and even stayed to go up to my master and we have not dared tell him of his arrival. This a little revived her to hear that he had actually been inquiring for her at least assured her of his safety from any immediate violence and she began to hope she might now possibly meet him with time enough to explain all that had passed in his absence and occasioned her seemingly strange and suspicious situation at Belfield's. She compelled herself therefore to summon courage for seeing his father since, as he had directed her to the house, she concluded he would return there to seek her when he had wandered elsewhere to no purpose. She then, though with much timidity and reluctance, sent a message to Mr. Delville to entreat a moment's audience. An answer was brought her that he saw no company so late at night. Losing now all dread of his reproaches in her superior dread of missing Delville she called out earnestly to the man. Tell him, sir, I beseech him not to refuse me. Tell him I have something to communicate that requires his immediate attention. The servant obeyed. But soon returning said his master desired him to acquaint her he was engaged every moment he stayed in town and must positively decline seeing her. Go to him again cried the harassed Cecilia assure him I come not from myself but by the desire of one he most values tell him I entreat but permission to wait an hour in his house and that I have no other place in the world whether I can go. Mr. Delville's own gentleman brought with evident concern the answer to this petition which was that while the honorable Mr. Delville was himself alive the desire of any other person concerning his house was taking with him a very extraordinary liberty and that he was now going to bed and had given orders to his servants to carry him no more messages whatsoever upon pain of instant dismission. Cecilia now seemed totally destitute of all resource and for a few dreadful minutes gave herself up to utter despondency nor when she recovered her presence of mind could she form any better plan than that of waiting in the coach to watch the return of Delville. She told the coachman therefore to drive to a corner of the square begging Mr. Simkins to have patience which he promised with much readiness and endeavoured to give her comfort by talking without cessation. She waited here near half an hour she then feared the disappointment of Delville in not meeting her at first and made him conclude she meant not to obey his directions and had perhaps urged him to call again upon Belfield whom he might fancy privy to her non-appearance. This was new horror to her and she resolved at all risks to drive to Portland Street and inquire if Belfield himself was returned home. Yet lest they should mutually be pursuing each other all night she stopped again at Mr. Delville's and left word with the porter that if young Mr. Delville should come home she would hear of the person he was inquiring for at Mrs. Roberts in Fetter Lane. To Belfield she did not dare to direct him and it was her intention if there she procured no new intelligence to leave the same message and then go to Mrs. Roberts without further delay. To make such an arrangement with a servant who knew not her connection with his young master was extremely repugnant to her but the exigence was too urgent for scruples to which she would not have consented to prevent the fatal catastrophe she apprehended. When she came to Belfield's not daring to enter the house she sent in Mr. Simkins to desire that Mrs. Belfield would be so good as to step to the coach door. Is your son, madam? She cried eagerly come home and is anybody with him? No, ma'am he has never once been across the threshold since that gentleman took him out and I'm half out of my wits to think. Has that gentleman interrupted Cecilia been here any more? Yes, ma'am that's what I was going to tell you he came again just now and said just now, good heaven and which way is he gone? Why he is after no good I am afraid for he was in a great passion and would hardly hear anything I said. Pray, pray answer me quick where, which way did he go? Why he asked me if I knew whether my son was come from the blank coffee house. Why, says I, I'm sure I can't tell for if it had not been for Mr. Simkins I should not so much as have known he ever went to the blank coffee house. However, I hope he and come away because if he is poor Miss Beverly will have had all that trouble for nothing for she's gone after him in a prodigious hurry and upon my only saying that he seemed quite beside himself and said if I don't meet with your son at the blank coffee house myself pray when he comes in tell him I shall be highly obliged to him to call there and then he went away in as great a pet as ever you saw. Cecilia listened to this account with the utmost terror and misery. The suspicions of Del Vile would now be aggravated and the message he had left for Belfield would by him be regarded as a defiance again however to the blank coffee house she instantly ordered the coach an immediate explanation from herself seeming the only possible chance for preventing the most horrible conclusion to this unfortunate and eventful evening she was still accompanied by Mr. Simkins and but that she attended to nothing he said would not inconsiderably have been tormented by his conversation she sent him immediately into the coffee room to inquire if either of the gentlemen were then in the house he returned to her with a waiter who said one of them madam called again just now but he only stopped to write a note which he left to be given to the gentlemen who came with him at first he is but this moment gone and I don't think he can be at the bottom of the street oh drive then gallop after him cried Cecilia coachman go this moment my horses are tired said the man they haven't been out all day and they will gallop no further if I don't stop and give them a drink Cecilia too full of hope and impatience for this delay forced open the door herself and without saying another word jumped out of the carriage with intention to run down the street but the coachman immediately seizing her protested she should not stir till he was paid in the utmost agony of mind at an hindrance by which she imagined Del Vile would be lost to her perhaps forever she put her hand into her pocket in order to give up her purse for her liberty but Mr. Simkins who was making a tiresome expostulation with the coachman took it himself and declaring he would not see the lady cheated began a tedious calculation of his fare oh pay him anything cried she and let us be gone an instanced delay may be fatal Mr. Simkins too earnest to concur with the coachman to attend to her distress continued his prolix harangue concerning a disputed shilling appealing to some gathering spectators upon the justice of his cause while his adversary who was far from sober still held Cecilia saying the coach had been hired for the lady and he would be paid by herself good God cried the agitated Cecilia give him my purse at once give him everything he desires the coachman at this permission increased his demands and Mr. Simkins taking the number of his coach protested he would summon him to the court of conscience the next morning a gentleman who then came out of the coffee house offered to assist the lady but the coachman who still held her arm swore he would have his right let me go let me pass she with increasing eagerness and emotion detain me at your peril release me this moment only let me run to the end of the street good God good heaven detain me not for mercy Mr. Simkins humbly desiring her not to be in haste began a formal apology for his conduct but the inner briety of the coachman became evident a mob was collecting Cecilia breathless with vehemence and terror circled yet struggled in vain to break away and the stranger gentleman protesting with sundry compliments he would himself take care of her very freely seized her hand this moment for the unhappy Cecilia teamed with calamity she was wholly overpowered terror for del vile horror for herself hurry confusion heat and fatigue all assailing her at once while all means of repelling them were denied her the attack was too strong for her fears feelings and faculties and her reason suddenly yet totally failing her she madly called out he will be gone he will be gone and I must follow him to Nice the gentleman now retreated but Mr. Simkins who was talking to the mob did not hear her and the coachman too much intoxicated to perceive her rising frenzy persisted in detaining her I am going to France cried she still more wildly why do you stop me he will die if I do not see him he will bleed to death the coachman still unmoved began to grow very abusive but the stranger touched by compassion gave up his attempted gallantry and Mr. Simkins much astonished entreated her not to be frightened she was however in no condition to listen to him with a strength hitherto unknown to her she forcibly disengaged herself from her persecutors yet her senses were wholly disordered she forgot her situation her intention and herself the single idea of Del Vile's danger took sole possession of her brain though all connection with its occasion was lost and the moment she was released she fervently clasped her hands exclaiming I will yet heal his wound the hazard of my life and springing forward was almost instantly out of sight Mr. Simkins now much alarmed and earnestly calling after her entered into a compromise with the coachman that he might attend her but the length of his negotiation defeated its purpose and before he was at liberty to follow her all trace was lost by which he might have overtaken her he stopped every passenger he met to make inquiries but though they led him on some way they led him on in vain and after a useless and ill-managed pursuit he went quietly to his own home determining to acquaint Mrs. Belfield with what had happened the next morning meanwhile the frantic Cecilia escaped both pursuit and insult by the velocity of her own motion she called aloud upon Del Vile as she flew to the end of the street no Del Vile was there she turned the corner yet saw nothing of him she still went on though unknowing with her the distraction of her mind every instant growing greater from the inflammation of fatigue heat and disappointment she was spoken to repeatedly she was even caught once or twice by her riding habit but she forced herself along by her own vehement rapidity not hearing what was said nor heeding what was thought Del Vile bleeding by the arm of Belfield was the image before her eyes and took such full possession of her senses that still as she ran on she fancied it in view she scarce touched the ground she scarce felt her own motion she seemed as if endued with supernatural speed gliding from place to place from street to street with no consciousness of any plan and following no other direction wherever there was most room and turning back when she met with any obstruction till quite spent and exhausted she abruptly ran into a yet open shop where breathless and panting she sunk upon the floor and with a look, disconsolate and helpless sat for some time without speaking the people of the house concluding at first she was a woman of the town were going roughly to turn her out but soon seeing their mistake by the evident distraction of her air and manner they inquired of some idle people who late as it was had followed her if any of them knew who she was or whence she came they could give no account of her but supposed she was broke loose from Bedlam Cecilia then wildly starting up exclaimed no, no, I am not mad I am going to niece to my husband she's quite crazy said the man of the house who was a pawnbroker we had better get rid of her before she grows mischievous she's somebody broke out of a private madhouse I daresay said a man who had followed her into the shop and if you were to take care of her a little while tend to one but you'll get a reward for it she's a gentle woman sure enough said the mistress of the house because she's got such good things on and then under pretense of trying to find some direction to her upon a letter or paper she insisted upon searching her pockets here, however, she was disappointed in her expectations her purse was in the custody of Mr. Simkins but neither her terror nor distress had saved her from the daring dexterity of villainy and her pockets in the mob had been rifled of whatever else they contained the woman therefore hesitated some time whether to take charge of her or not but being urged by the man who made the proposal and who said they might depend upon seeing her soon advertised as having escaped from her keepers they ventured to undertake her meanwhile she endeavored again to get out calling aloud upon Del Vile to rescue her but so wholly bereft of sense and recollection she could give no account who she was whence she came or whether she wished to go they then carried her upstairs attempted to make her lie down upon a bed but supposing she refused because it was not of straw they desisted and taking away the candle locked the door and all went to rest in this miserable condition alone and raving she was left to pass the night in the early part of it she called upon Del Vile without intermission beseeching him to come to her defense in one moment and deploring his death the next in other words her strength being wholly exhausted by these various exertions and fatigues she threw herself upon the floor and lay for some minutes quite still her head then began to grow cooler as the fever into which terror and immoderate exercise had thrown her abated and her memory recovered its functions this was however only a circumstance of horror to her she found herself shut up in a place of enlightenment without light without knowledge where she was and not a human being near her yet the same returning reason which enabled her to take this view of her own situation brought also to her mind that in which she had left Del Vile under all perturbation of new kindled jealousy just calling upon Belfield Belfield tenacious of his honour even more than himself to satisfied doubts of which would be received as a challenge oh yet oh yet cried she let me fly and overtake them I may find them before morning and to-night it must surely have been too late for this work of death she then arose to feel for the door and succeeded but it was locked and no effort she could make enabled her to open it her agony was unspeakable called out with violence upon the people of the house conjured them to set her at liberty offered any reward for their assistance and threatened them with a prosecution if detained nobody however came near her some slept on notwithstanding all the disturbance she could make and others, though awakened by her cries, concluded them the ravings of a madwoman and listened not to what she said her head was by no means in a condition to bear this violence of distress every pulse was throbbing every vein seemed bursting her reason, so lately returned could not bear the repetition of such a shock and from supplicating for help with all the energy of feeling and understanding she soon continued the cry from mere vehemence of distraction thus dreadfully past the night and in the morning when the woman of the house came to see after her she found her raving such frenzy and desperation that her conscience was perfectly at ease with the treatment she had given her being now firmly satisfied she required the strictest confinement she still however tried to get away talked of del vile without cessation said she should be too late to serve him told the woman she desired but to prevent murder and repeatedly called out oh beloved of my heart wait but a moment and I will snatch thee from destruction Mrs. Wires this woman now sought no longer to draw from her whence she came or who she was but heard her frantic exclamations without any emotion contentedly concluding that her madness was incurable and though she was in a high fever refused all sustenance and had every symptom of an alarming and dangerous malady she was fully persuaded that her case was that of decided insanity not any notion of temporary or accidental alienation of reason all she could think of by way of indulgence to her was to bring her a quantity of straw having heard that mad people were fond of it and putting it in a heap in one corner of the room she expected to see her eagerly fly at it Cecilia however distracted as she was was eager for nothing but to escape which was constantly her aim like when violent or when quiet Mrs. Wires finding this kept her closely confined and the door always locked whether absent or present End of Chapter 7 Recorded by Berenie 2 whole days passed thus no enquiries reached Mrs. Wires and she found in the newspapers no advertisement meanwhile Cecilia grew worse every moment she tasted neither drink nor food raved incessantly called out 20 times in a breath very easy which way is he gone and she found in a breath very easy which way is he gone and implored the woman by the most pathetic remorse traces to save her unhappy delwile dearer to her than life more precious than peace or rest at other times she talked of her marriage of the displeasure of his family and of her own remorse and treated the woman not to betray her and promised to spend the remnant of her days in the heaviness of sorrow and contrition again her fancy roved and Mr. Moncton took sole possession of it she reproached him for his perfidy and she bewailed that he was massacred she would not a moment outlive him and wildly declared her last remains should in his hears and thus though naturally and commonly of a silent and quiet disposition she was now not a moment still for the irregular stats of a terrified and disordered imagination were changed into the constant ravings of morbid delirium the woman growing uneasy from her uncertainty of pay for her trouble asked the advice of her friends what was proper for her to do and they counseled her to put an advertisement into the papers herself the next morning the following therefore was drawn up and sent to the printer of the Diley Advertiser madness whereas a crazy young lady tall fair complexion with blue eyes and light hair drawn into the three blue balls in street on Thursday night the second instant and has been kept there since out of charity she was dressed in a riding habit whoever she belongs to was desired to send after her immediately she has been treated with utmost care and tenderness she talks much of some person by the name of Del Weil in B she had no money about her May 1780 this had but just been sent off when Mr. Weil's the man of the house coming upstairs said now we shall have two of them for here's the crazy old gentleman below that says he has just heard in a neighbourhood of what has happened to us and he desires to see the poor lady it says Mr. Weil will let him come up then answered Mrs. Weil's for he goes to all sort of places and people and ten to one but he'll bustle about till he finds out who she is Mr. Weil's then went downstairs to send him up he came in stently it was Albany who in his vibrant rambles having heard an unknown mad lady was at this pawnbrokers came with his customary eagerness to visit and serve them happy to see what could be done for her when he entered the room she was sitting upon the bed her eyes earnestly fixed upon the window from which she was privately indulging a wish to make her escape her dress was in much disorder her fine hair was dishevelled and the feathers of her riding were broken and half falling down some shading her face other reaching to her shoulder poor lady cried Albany approaching her how long has she been in this state she started at the sound of a new voice she looked around but what was the astonishment of Albany to see who it was he stepped back he came forward his own senses he looked at her earnestly he turned from her to look at the woman of the house he cast his eyes around the room itself and then lifting up his hands oh sight of war he cried the generous and good the kind reliever of distress the benign sustainer of misery is this Cecilia Cecilia imperfectly recollecting though not understanding him sank down at his feet tremblingly called out oh if he is yet to be saved if already he is not murdered go to him fly after him you will presently overtake him he is only in the next street I left him there myself his sword drawn human blood sweet powers of kindness and compassion cried the old man look upon this creature with pity she who raised the depressed she who cheered the unhappy she whose liberal hand turned lamentations into joy who never with a tearless eye could hear the voice of sorrow is this she herself can this be Cecilia oh do not wait to talk cried she go to him now or you will never see him more the hand of death is on him cold, clay cold is its touch he is breathing his last oh mother Delwey massacred husband of my heart grown nuts so pithiously fly to him and weep over him fly to him and pluck the pognard from his wounded bosom oh sounds of anguish and horror cried the melted moralist tears running quick down his rugged cheeks melancholy indeed is this sight humiliating to morality such is human strength such human felicity weak as our virtues frail as our guilty natures ah cried she more wildly no one will save me now I'm married and no one will listen to me ill-wether auspices under which I gave my hand oh it was a work of darkness unacceptable and offensive it has been sealed therefore with blood and tomorrow it will be signed with murder poor distracted creature exclaimed he die pants I have felt but die in a sense I have forfeited my own wounds bleed fresh my own brain threatens new frenzy then starting up good women he added kindly attend her I will seek out her friends put her into bed comfort soothe compose her I will come to you again and as soon as I can he then hurried away oh hour of joy cried Cecilia he is gone to rescue him oh blissful moment he will yet be snatched from slaughter the woman lost not an instant in obeying the orders she had received she was put into bed and nothing was neglected as far as she had power and thought to give a look of decency and attention to her accommodations he had not left an hour when Mary the maid who had attended her from Suffolk came to inquire for her lady Albany who was now wandering over the town in search of some of her friends and who entered every house where he imagined she was known had hastened to that of Mrs. Hill the first of any as he was well acquainted with her obligations to Cecilia there Mary herself by the directions which her lady had given Mrs. Belfield had gone and there in the utmost astonishment and uneasiness had continued till Albany brought news of her she was surprised and afflicted beyond measure not only at the state of her mind and her health but to find her in a bed and an apartment so unsuitable to her rank of life and so different to what she had ever been accustomed she wept bitterly while she inquired at the bedside how her lady did but wept still more when without answering or seeming to know her Cecilia started up and called out I must be removed this moment I must go to St. James's Square in the distant longer the passing bell will toll and then how shall I be in time for the funeral Mary alarmed and amazed turn hastily from her to the woman of the house who calmly said the lady was only in a raving fit and must not be minded extremely frightened at this intelligence she entreated her to be quiet and liest to her groove suddenly so violent that force only could keep her from rising and Mary unused to dispute her commands prepared to obey them Mrs. Wires now in her turn opposed in vain Cecilia was pre-emptory and Mary became implicit and though not without much difficulty she was again in her riding habit this operation over she moved towards the door the temporary strength of delirium giving her a hardiness that combated fever, illness fatigue and feebleness Mary however ever since fearful assisted her and Mrs. Wires compelled by the obedience of her own servant to offer them to order a chair Cecilia however felt her weakness when she attempted to move downstairs her feet dotted and her head became dizzy she leaned it against Mary who called aloud for more help and made her sit down till it came her resolution however was not to be altered a stubbornness to her genuine character now made her stern and positive and Mary who thought her submission indispensable cried but did not offer to oppose her Mr. and Mrs. Wires both came up to assist in supporting her and Mr. Wires offered to carry her in his arms but she would not consent when she came to the bottom of the stairs her head grew worse she again leant it upon Mary but Mr. Wires was obliged to hold them both she still however was firm in her determination and was making another effort to proceed when delvile rushed hastily into the shop he had just encountered Albany who knowing his acquaintance though ignorant of his marriage had informed him where to seek her he was going to make inquiry if he was come to the right house when he perceived her feeble, shaking leaning upon one person and half carried by another he started back staggered gasped for breath but finding they were proceeding advanced with repetition furiously calling out stop what is it you are doing monsters of savage barbarity are you murdering my wife the well known boys no sooner struck the years of Cecilia than instantly recollecting it she screamed and a suddenly endeavouring to spring forward fell to the ground delvile had vehemently advanced to catch her in his arms and savour fall which her unexpected quickness had prevented her attendance from doing but the sight of a changed complexion and the wildness of her eyes and air again made him start his blood froze through his veins and he stood looking at her cold and almost petrified her own recollection of him seemed lost already and exhausted by the fatigue she had gone through in dressing and coming downstairs she remained still and quiet forgetting her design of proceeding and forming no new one of returning Mary to whom as to all her fellow servants the marriage of Cecilia had been known before she left the country now desired from delvile directions what was to be done delvile starting suddenly at this call from the deepest horror into the most desperate rage fiercely exclaimed inhuman wretches unfeeling execrable wretches what is it you have done to her how came she hither who brought her who dragged her by what infamous usage has she been sunk into the state indeed sir I don't know cried Mary I assure you sir said Mrs. Wires the lady please cry to her furiously I will not hear your falsehoods please and be gone then casting himself upon the ground by her side oh my Cecilia he cried where has to be in thus long how have I lost thee what dreadful calamity has befallen thee answer me my love raise your sweet head and answer me oh speak say to me anything the bitterest words will be mercy to the silence Cecilia then suddenly looking up called out with great quickness who are you who am I? cried he amazed and frightened I should be glad you would go away cried sheen a hurrying manner quite unknown to me delwile unconscious of her insanity and attributing to resentment this aversion and repulse hastily moved from her boundfully answering well indeed may you disclaim me refuse all forgiveness load me with hatred and reproach and consign me to eternal anguish I have merited severe punishment still I have behaved like a monster and abhorrent to myself Cecilia now half rising and regarding him with mangled terror and anger eagerly exclaimed if you do not mean to mangle and destroy me be gone this moment to mangle you repeat a delwile shuddering how horrible but I deserve it look not how I was so terrified and I will tear myself away from you suffer me but to assist in moving you from this place and I will only watch you at a distance and never see you more till you permit me to approach you why why cried Cecilia with a look of perplexity and impatience will you not tell me your name and where you come from do you not know me said he struck with new horror or do you only mean to kill me by the question do you bring me any message from Mr. Moncton Mr. Moncton no but he lives and will recover I thought you had been Mr. Moncton yourself too cruel yet justly cruel Cecilia is then delwile utterly renounced the guilty and happy delwile is he cast off forever have you driven him wholly from your heart do you deny him even a place in your remembrance is your name then delwile oh what is it you mean is it me or my name you thus disown it's a name cried she is sitting up I well remember to have heard and once I loved it and three times I called upon it in the dead of night and when I was cold and wretched I cherished it and when I was abandoned and left alone I repeated it and sung to it all grace she has passed cried delwile her reason is utterly gone and hastily rising he desperately added what is death to this blow Cecilia I am content to part with thee Mary now and Mrs. Wiles put upon him eagerly an account of her illness and insanity her desire of removal and their inability to control her delwile however made no answer he scarce heard them the deepest dispirited possession of his mind and rooted to the spot where he stood he contemplated with dreadful stillness the fallen and altered objects of his best hopes and affections already in her faded cheeks and weakened frame his agonizing terror read the quick impending destruction of all his earthly happiness the sight was too much for his fortitude and almost was understanding and when his woe became utterable he wrung his hands and groaning aloud called out are though gone so soon my wife my Cecilia have I lost thee already Cecilia with utter insensibility to what was passing now suddenly and with a rapid yet continued motion turned her head from side to side her eyes while he glaring and yet apparently regarding nothing dreadful exclaimed delwile what a sight is this and turning from her to the people of the house he angrily said why is she here upon the floor could you not even allow her a bet who attends her who waits upon her why has nobody sent for help don't answer me I will not hear you fly this movement for a physician bring two bring three bring all you can find then still looking from Cecilia whose side he could no longer support he consulted with Mary with her she should be conveyed and as the night was far advanced no place was prepared for her elsewhere they soon agreed that she could only be removed upstairs delwile now attempted to carry her in his arms but trembling and unsteady he had not strength to sustain her yet not enduring to behold the helplessness she could not assess he conjured them to be careful and gentle and committing her to their trust ran out himself for a physician Cecilia resisted them with her utmost power imploring them not to bury her alive and evering she had received intelligence they meant to entomb her with Mr. Moncton they put her however to bed but her raving grew still more than insistent delwile soon returned with the physician but had not courage to attend him to her room he waited for him at the foot of the stairs where hastily stopping him well sir he cried is it not all over is it not impossible she can live she is very ill indeed sir he answered but I have given directions which perhaps perhaps interrupted delwile shuddering do not stab me with such a word she is delirious he continued but as her fever is very high that is not so material if the orders I have given take effect and the fever has got under all the rest will be well of course he then went away leaving delwile as much thunder struck by answers so alarming as if he had consulted him with full hope and without even suspicion of her danger the moment he recovered from this shock he flew out of the house for more advice he returned and brought with him two physicians they confirmed the directions already given but would pronounce nothing decisively of her situation delwile half mad with the acuteness of his misery charged them all with want of skill and wrote instantly into the country for Dr. Leicester he went out himself in search of a messenger to write off express though it was midnight with his letter and then returning he was hastening to her room but while yet at the door hearing her still raving his horror conquered his eagerness and hurrying downstairs he spent the remnant of the long and seemingly endless night in the shop end of chapter