 Volume 5, Chapter 12, Part 2 of Cecilia This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Amanda Hindman. Cecilia, Memoirs of an Heiress by Frances Verney. Volume 5, Chapter 12, A Man of Business, Part 2 Meanwhile, Mr. Simpkins, hoping to ingratiate himself with the company, advanced to Mr. Hobson, already cooled by finding himself unanswered, and reproachfully said, Mr. Hobson, if I may make so free, I must needs be bold to say I am quite ashamed of you, a person of your standing and credit for to talk so disrespectful, as if a gentleman had not a right to take a little pleasure, because he just happens to owe you a little matters of money. I did not expect you to behave so despisable. Despisable answered Mr. Hobson, I'd scorn as much to do anything despisable as yourself, or anything misbecoming of a gentleman, and as to coming to such a place as this may be, why I have no objection to it. All I stand to is this, let every man have his due, for as to taking a little pleasure, here I am, as one may say, doing the same myself, but where is the harm of that? It was a right to call a man to account that's clear of the world, not that I mean to boast nor nothing like it, but as I said before, five times five is fifteen. That's my calculation. Mr. Harrell, who during this debate had still continued drinking, regardless of all opposition from his wife and Cecilia, now grew more and more turbulent. He insisted that Mr. Simkins should return to his seat, ordered him another bumper of champagne, and saying he had not half company enough to raise his spirits, desired Marais to go and invite more. Marais, always ready to promote a frolic, most cheerfully consented, but when Cecilia in a low voice supplicated him to bring no one back, with still more readiness he made signs that he understood and would obey her. Mr. Harrell then began to sing, and in so noisy and riotous a manner, that nobody approached the box without stopping to stare at him, and those who were new to such scenes, not contented with merely looking in, stationed themselves at some distance before it, to observe what was passing, and to contemplate, with envy and admiration, an appearance of mirth and enjoyment which they attributed to happiness and pleasure. Mistress Harrell, shocked to be seen in such mixed company, grew every instant more restless and miserable, and Cecilia, half distracted to think how they were to get home, had passed all her time in making secret vows that if once again she was delivered from Mr. Harrell, she would never see him more. Sir Robert Floyer, perceiving their mutual uneasiness, proposed to escort them home himself, and Cecilia, notwithstanding her aversion to him, was listening to the scheme when Mr. Marriott, who had been evidently provoked and disconcerted since the junction of the baronet, suspecting what was passing, offered his services also, and in a tone of voice that did not promise a very quiet acquiescence in a refusal. Cecilia, who too easily, in their looks, saw all the eagerness of rivalry, now dreaded the consequence of her decision, and therefore declined the assistance of either, but her distress was unspeakable as there was not one person in the party to whose care she could commit herself, though the behavior of Mr. Harrell, which every moment grew more disorderly, rendered the necessity of quitting him urgent and uncontrollable. When Marise returned, stopping in the midst of his loud and violent singing, he vehemently demanded what company he had brought him. None at all, sir, answered Marise, looking significantly at Cecilia. I have really been so unlucky as not to meet with anybody who had a mind to come. Why, then, answered he, starting up, I will seek some for myself. Oh, no, pray, Mr. Harrell, bring nobody else, cried his wife, hear us in pity, cried Cecilia, and distress us no further. Distress, you cried he with quickness, what, shall I not bring you those pretty girls? Yes, one more glass, and I will teach you to welcome them. And he poured out another bumper. This is so insupportable, cried Cecilia, rising, that I can remain here no longer. This is cruel, indeed, cried Mrs. Harrell, bursting into tears. Did you only bring me here to insult me? No, cried he, suddenly embracing her. By this parting kiss, then wildly jumping upon his seat, he leapt over the table and was out of sight in an instant. Amazement seized all who remained. Mrs. Harrell and Cecilia, indeed, doubted not, but he was actually gone to the shays he had ordered. But the manner of his departure affrighted them, and his proceeding behavior had made them cease to expect it. Mrs. Harrell, leaning upon Cecilia, continued to weep. While she, confounded and alarmed, scarce knew whether she should stay and console her, or fly after Mr. Harrell, whom she feared had incapacitated himself from finding his shays, by the very method he had taken to gather courage for seeking it. This, however, was but the apprehension of a moment, another and a far more horrible one drove it from her imagination. For scarcely had Mr. Harrell quitted the box and their sight before their ears were suddenly struck with the report of a pistol. Mrs. Harrell gave a loud scream, which was involuntarily echoed by Cecilia. Everybody arose, some with a vicious zeal to serve the ladies and others to hasten to the spot once the dreadful sound proceeded. Sir Robert Foyer again offered his services in conducting them home, but they could listen to no such proposal. Cecilia, with difficulty, refrained from rushing out herself to discover what was passing, but her dread of being followed by Mrs. Harrell prevented her. They both therefore waited, expecting every instant some intelligence, as all but the Baronet and Mr. Marriott were now gone to seek it. Nobody, however, returned, and their terrors increased every moment. Mrs. Harrell wanted to run out herself, but Cecilia, conjuring her to keep still, begged Mr. Marriott to bring them some account. Mr. Marriott, like the messengers who had preceded him, came not back. An instant seemed an age, and Sir Robert Foyer was also entreated to procure information. Mrs. Harrell and Cecilia were now left to themselves, and their horror was too great for speech or motion. They stood close to each other, listening to every sound and receiving every possible addition to their alarm. But the general confusion which they observed in the gardens, in which, though both gentlemen and waiters were running to and fro, not a creature was walking, and all amusement seemed forgotten. From this dreadful state they were at length removed, though not relieved, by the sight of a waiter who, as he was passing, shooed himself almost covered with blood. Mrs. Harrell vehemently called after him, demanding what sent came. From the gentleman, ma'am, answered he in haste, that has shot himself, and then ran on. Mrs. Harrell uttered a piercing scream and sunk on the ground, for Cecilia, shuddering with horror, lost all her own strength and could no longer lend her any support. So great at this time was the general confusion of the place that for some minutes their particular distress was unknown, and their situation unnoticed, till at length an elderly gentleman came up to the box, and he mainly offered his assistance. Cecilia, pointing to her unfortunate friend, who had not fallen into a fainting fit, but merely from weakness and terror, accepted his help in raising her. She was lifted up, however, without the smallest effort on her own part, and was only kept upon her seat by being held there by the stranger, for Cecilia, whose whole frame was shaking, tried in vain to sustain her. This gentleman, from the violence of their distress, began now to suspect its motive, and addressing himself to Cecilia said, I am afraid, madam, this unfortunate gentleman was some relation to you. Neither of them spoke, but their silence was sufficiently expressive. It is pity, madam, he continued, that some friend can't order him out of the crowd, and have him kept quiet till a surgeon can be brought. A surgeon, exclaimed Cecilia, recovering from one surprise by the effect of another. Is it then possible he may be saved? And without waiting to have her question answered, she ran out of the box herself, flying wildly about the garden, and calling for help as she flew, till she found the house by the entrance, and then going up to the bar. As a surgeon sent for, she exclaimed, let a surgeon be fetched instantly. A surgeon, ma'am, she was answered, is not the gentleman dead? No, no, no, she cried, he must be brought in, let some careful people go and bring him in, nor would she quit the bar till two or three waiters were called and received her orders, and then, eager to see them executed herself, she ran, fearless of being alone, and without thought of being lost, towards the fatal spot whether the crowd guided her. She could not, indeed, have been more secure from insult or molestation if surrounded by twenty guards, for the scene of desperation and horror which many had witnessed, and of which all had heard the signal, engrossed the universal attention and took, even from the most idle and licentious, all spirit for gallantry and amusement. Here, while making vain attempts to penetrate through the multitude, that she might see and herself judge the actual situation of Mr. Harrell, and give, if yet there was room for hope, such orders as would best conduce to his safety and recovery, she was met by Mr. Marriott, who entreated her not to press forward to a sight which he had found too shocking for himself, and insisted upon protecting her through the crowd. If he is alive, cried she, refusing his aid, and if there is any chance he may be saved, no sight shall be too shocking to deter me from seeing him properly attended. All attendance, answered he, will be in vain. He is not indeed yet dead, but his recovery is impossible. There is a surgeon with him already, one who happened to be in the gardens, and he told me himself that the wound was inevitably mortal. Cecilia, though greatly disappointed, still determined to make way to him that she might herself inquire if, in his last moments, there was anything he wished to communicate or desired to have done, but as she struggled to proceed, she was next met and stopped by Sir Robert Floyer, who, forcing her back, acquainted her that all was over. The shock with which she received this account, though unmixed with any tenderness of regret, and resulting merely from general humanity, was yet so violent as almost to overpower her. Mr. Harrell indeed had forfeited all right to her esteem, and the unfeeling selfishness of his whole behavior had long provoked her resentment and excited her disgust, yet a catastrophe so dreadful, and from which she had herself made such efforts to rescue him, filled her with so much horror that, turning extremely sick, she was obliged to be supported to the nearest box and stopped there for hot shorn and water. A few minutes, however, suffice to divest her of all care for herself, and the concern with which she recollected the situation of Mr. Harrell. She hastened, therefore, back to her, attended by the Baronette and Mr. Marriott, and found her still leaning upon the stranger and weeping aloud. The fatal news had already reached her, and though all affection between Mr. Harrell and herself had mutually subsided from the first two or three months of their marriage, a conclusion so horrible to all connection between them could not be heard without sorrow and distress. Her temper, too, naturally soft, retained not resentment, and Mr. Harrell, now separated from her forever, was only remembered as the Mr. Harrell who first won her heart. Neither pains nor tenderness were spared on the part of Cecilia to console her, who finding her utterly incapable either of acting or directing for herself, and knowing her at all times to be extremely helpless, now summoned to her own aid all the strength of mind she possessed, and determined upon this melancholy occasion both to think and act for her widowed friend to the utmost stretch of her abilities and power. As soon, therefore, as the first effusions of her grief were over, she prevailed with her to go to the house, where she was humanely offered the use of a quiet room till she should be better able to set off for town. Cecilia, having seen her thus safely lodged, begged Mr. Marriott to stay with her, and then, accompanied by the Baronet, returned herself to the bar, and desiring the footmen who had attended them to be called, sent him instantly to his late master, and proceeded next with great presence of mind to inquire further into the particulars of what had passed and consult upon what was immediately to be done with the deceased, for she thought it neither decent nor right to leave to chance or to strangers the last duties which could be paid him. He had lingered, she found, about a quarter of an hour, but in a condition too dreadful for description, quite speechless and by all that could be judged out of his sentences, yet so distorted with pain and wounded so desperately beyond any power of relief, that the surgeon, who every instant expected his death, said it would not be merely useless but inhuman to remove him till he had breathed his last. He died, therefore, in the arms of this gentleman and a waiter. A waiter, cried Cecilia, reproachfully looking at Sir Robert, and was there no friend whom for the few poor moments that remained had patience to support him? Where would be the good, said Sir Robert of supporting a man in his last agonies? This unfeeling speech she attempted not to answer, but suffering neither her dislike to him nor her scruples for herself to interfere with the present occasion, she desired to have his advice what was now best to be done. Undertaker's men must immediately, he said, be sent for to remove the body. She then gave orders for that purpose which were instantly executed. Whether the body was to go was the next question. Cecilia wished the removal to be directly to the townhouse, but Sir Robert told her it must be carried to the nearest undertaker's, and kept there till it could be conveyed to town in a coffin. For this, also in the name of Mistress Harrell, she gave directions, and then addressing herself to Sir Robert, you will now, sir, I hope, she said, return to the fatal spot and watch by your late unfortunate friend till the proper people arrive to take charge of him. And what good will that do, cried he, had I not better watched by you? It will do good, answered she, with some severity, to decency and to humanity, and surely you cannot refuse to see who is with him, and in what situation he lies, and whether he has met from the strangers with whom he was left, the tenderness and care which his friends ought to have paid him. Well, you promised, then, he answered, not to go away till I come back, for I have no great ambition to sacrifice the living for the dead. I will promise nothing, sir, said she, shocked at his callousness and sensibility. But if you refuse this last poor office, I must apply elsewhere, and firmly I believe there is no other I can ask who will a moment hesitate in complying. She then went back to Mistress Harrell, leaving, however, an impression upon the mind of Sir Robert that made him no longer dare dispute her commands. Her next solicitude was how they should return to town. They had no equiptage of their own, and the only servant who came with them was employed in performing the last duties for his deceased master. Her first intention was to order a hackney coach, but the deplorable state of Mistress Harrell made it almost impossible she could take the sole care of her, and the lateness of the night and their distance from home gave her a dread invincible to going so far without some guard or assistance. Mr. Marriott earnestly desired to have the honor of conveying them to Portman Square in his own carriage, and notwithstanding, there were many objections to such a proposal. The humanity of his behavior upon the present occasion and the evident veneration which accompanied his passion joined to her increasing aversion to the baronet from whom she could not injure to receive the smallest obligation determined her after much perplexity and hesitation to accept his offer. She begged him therefore to immediately order his coach, and happy to obey her he went out with that design, but instantly coming back told her in a low voice that they must wait some time longer as the undertaker's people were then entering the garden, and if they stayed not till the removal had taken place Mistress Harrell might be shocked with the sight of some of the men, or perhaps even meet the dead body. Cecilia, thanking him for this considerate precaution, readily agreed to defer sitting out, devoting meantime all her attention to Mistress Harrell, who sorrowed, though violent, for bad, not consolation. But before the garden was cleared and the carriage ordered, Sir Robert returned, saying to Cecilia with an air of parading obedience which seemed to claim some applause, Miss Beverly, your commands had been executed. Cecilia made not any answer, and he presently added, whenever you choose to go, I will order up my coach. My coach, Sir, said Mr. Marriott, will be ordered when the ladies are ready, and I hope to have the honor myself of conducting them to town. No, Sir, cried the Baronette, that can never be. My long acquaintance with Mistress Harrell gives me a prior right to attend her, and I can by no means suffer any other person to rob me of it. I have nothing, said Mr. Marriott, to say to that, Sir, but Miss Beverly herself has done me the honor to consent to make use of my carriage. Miss Beverly, I think, said Sir Robert, extremely peaked, can never have sent me out of the way in order to execute her own commands merely to deprive me of the pleasure of attending her and Mistress Harrell home. Cecilia, somewhat alarmed, now sought to lessen the favor of her decision, though she adhered to it without wavering. My intention, said she, was not to confer, but to receive an obligation, and I had hoped while Mr. Marriott assisted us, Sir Robert would be far more humanely employed in taking charge of what we cannot superintend, and yet are infinitely more anxious should not be neglected. That, said Sir Robert, is all done, and I hope therefore after sending me upon such an errand, you don't mean to refuse me the pleasure of seeing you to town. Sir Robert, said Cecilia, greatly displeased, I cannot argue with you now. I have already settled my plan, and I am not at leisure to reconsider it. Sir Robert bit his lips for a moment in angry silence, but not enduring to lose the victory to a young rival he despised. He presently said, if I must talk no more about it to you, madam, I must at least beg leave to talk of it to this gentleman and take the liberty to represent to him. Cecilia now, dreading how his speech might be answered, prevented its being finished, and with an air of the most spirited dignity said, is it possible, sir, that at a time such as this you should not be holy and different to a matter so frivolous? Little indeed will be the pleasure which our society can afford. Your dispute, however, has given it some importance, and therefore, Mr. Marriott must accept my thanks for his civility and excuse me for retracting my consent. Supplications and remodestesses were, however, still poured upon her from both. And the danger, the impossibility that two ladies could go to town alone in a hackney coach and without even a servant at near four o'clock in the morning, they mutually urged, vehemently in treating that she would run no such hazard. Cecilia was far other than insensible to these representations. The danger, indeed, appeared to her so formidable that her inclination the whole time opposed her refusal, yet her repugnance to giving way to the overbearing baronette and her fear of his resentment if she listened to Mr. Marriott forced her to be steady, since she saw that her preference would prove the signal of a quarrel. Inattentive, therefore, to their joint persecution, she again deliberated by what possible methods she could get home in safety, but unable to devise any, she at last resolved to make inquiries of the people in the bar who had been extremely humane and civil, whether they could assist or counsel her. She therefore desired the two gentlemen to take care of Mistress Harrell, to which neither dared dissent, as both could not refuse, and hastily arising went out of the room, but great indeed was her surprise when, as she was walking up to the bar, she was addressed by young Delville. Approaching her with that air of gravity and distance, which of late he had assumed in her presence, he was beginning some speech about his mother, but the instant the sound of his voice reached Cecilia, she joyfully clasped her hands and eagerly exclaimed, Mr. Delville, oh, now we are safe. This is fortune indeed. Safe, madam, cried he astonished. Yes, I hope so. Has anything endangered your safety? Oh, no matter for danger, cried she. We will now trust ourselves with you, and I am sure you will protect us. Protect you, repeated he again, and with warmth, yes, while I live. But what is the matter? Why are you so pale? Are you ill? Are you frightened? What is the matter? And losing all coldness and reserve, with the utmost earnestness, he begged her to explain herself. Do you not know, cried she, what has happened? Can you be here and not have heard it? Heard what, cried he, I am but this moment arrived. My mother grew uneasy that she did not see you. She sent to your house and was told that you were not returned from Vox Hall. Some other circumstances also alarmed her, and therefore, late as it was, I came hither myself. The instant I entered this place, I saw you here. This is all my history. Tell me now yours. Where is your party? Where are Mr. and Mistress Harrell? Why are you alone? Oh, ask not, cried she, I cannot tell you. Take us but under your care, and you will soon know all. She then hurried from him, and returning to Mistress Harrell, said she had now a conveyance at once safe and proper, and made her to rise and come away. The gentleman, however, rose first, each of them declaring he would himself attend to them. No, said Cecilia steadily, that trouble will now be superfluous. Mistress Delville herself has sent for me, and her son is now waiting till we join him. Amazement and disappointment at this intelligence were visible in the faces of them both. Cecilia waited not a single question, but finding she was unable to support Mistress Harrell, who rather suffered herself to be carried than led. She entrusted her between them and ran forward to inquire of Delville if his carriage was ready. She found him with a look of horror that told the tale he had been hearing. Listening to one of the waiters, the moment she appeared, he flew to her, and with the utmost emotion exclaimed, Amiable Miss Beverly, what a dreadful scene you have witnessed, what a cruel task have you nobly performed, such spirit with such softness, so much presence of mind with such feeling, but you are all excellence. Human nature can rise no higher. I believe indeed you are its most perfect ornament. Praise such as this so unexpected and delivered with such energy, Cecilia heard not without pleasure, even at a moment when her whole mind was occupied by matters foreign to its peculiar interests. She made, however, her inquiry about the carriage, and he told her that he had come in a hackney coach, which was waiting for him at the door. Mistress Harrell was now brought in, and little was the recompense her assistants received for their aid. When they saw Cecilia so contentedly engaged with young Delville, his eyes were riveted on her face with an expression of the most lively admiration. Each, however, then quitted the other and hastened to the fair mourner. No time was now lost, Mistress Harrell was supported to the coach. Cecilia followed her, and Delville, jumping in after them, ordered the man to drive to Portman Square. Sir Robert and Mr. Marriott, confounded though enraged, saw their departure in passive silence. The rite of attendance they had so tenaciously denied to each other here admitted not of dispute. Delville upon this occasion, appeared as the representative of his father, and his authority seemed the authority of a guardian. Their only consolation was that neither had yielded to the other, and all spirit of altercation or revenge was sunk in their mutual mortification. At the petition of the waiters, from sullen but proud emulation, they paid the expenses of the night, and then, throwing themselves into their carriages, returned to their respective houses. End of Chapter 12. Recorded by Amanda Hindman in Glen, Mississippi. www.livinginbooks.blogspot.com. Volume 5, Chapter 13 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 Amanda Hindman. Cecilia, Memoirs of an Heiress by Frances Burney. Volume 5, Chapter 13, A Solution. During the ride to town, not merely Cecilia, but Delville himself attended holy to Mistress Harrell, whose grief, as it became less violent, was more easy to be soothed. The distress of this eventful night was, however, not yet over. When they came to Portman Square, Delville eagerly called to the coachman not to drive up to the house, and anxiously begged Cecilia and Mistress Harrell to sit still while he went out himself to make some inquiries. They were surprised at the request, yet immediately consented. But before he had quitted them, Davison, who was watching their return, came up to them with information that an execution was then in the house. Fresh misery was now opened for Mistress Harrell, and fresh horror and perplexity for Cecilia. She had no longer, however, the whole weight either of thought or of conduct upon herself. Delville and her cares took the most animated interest and, beseeching her to wait a moment and to peace her friend, he went himself into the house to learn the state of the affair. He returned in a few minutes and seemed in no haste to communicate what he had heard, but entreated them both to go immediately to St. James's Square. Cecilia felt extremely fearful of offending his father by the introduction of Mistress Harrell, yet she had nothing better to propose and therefore, after a short and distressed argument, she complied. Delville then told her that the alarm of his mother, at which he had already hinted, proceeded from a rumor of this very misfortune, to which, though they knew not whether they might give credit, was owing the anxiety which it so late an hour had induced him to go to Box Hall in search of her. They gained admittance without any disturbance as the servant of young Delville had been ordered to sit up for his master. Cecilia much disliked thus taking possession of the house in the night time, though Delville solicitous to relieve her, desired she would not waste a thought upon the subject and making his servant shoe her the room which had been prepared for her reception, he begged her to compose her spirits and to comfort her friend and promised to acquaint his father and mother when they arose with what had happened, that she might be saved all pain from surprise or curiosity when they met. This service she thankfully accepted for she dreaded after the liberty she had taken to encounter the pride of Mr. Delville without some previous apology and she feared still more to see his lady without the same preparation as her frequent breach of appointment might reasonably have offended her and as her displeasure would affect her more deeply. It was now near six o'clock yet the hour seemed as long as they were melancholy till the family arose. They settled to remain quiet till some message was sent to them but before Annie arrived, Mrs. Harrell who was seated upon the bed worried by fatigue and sorrow cried herself to sleep like a child. Cecilia rejoiced in seeing this reprieve from affliction though her keener sensations unfitted her from partaking of it. Much indeed was the uneasiness which kept her awake. The care of Mrs. Harrell seemed to devolve upon herself. The reception she might meet from the Delvils was uncertain and the horrible adventures of the night refused for a moment to quit her remembrance. At 10 o'clock a message was brought from Mistress Delville to know whether they were ready for breakfast. Mistress Harrell was still asleep but Cecilia carried her own answer by hastening downstairs. In her way she was met by young Delville whose error upon first approaching her spoke him again prepared to address her with the most distant gravity. But almost the moment he looked at her he forgot his purpose. Her paleness, the heaviness of her eyes and the fatigue of long watching betrayed by her whole face again surprised him into all the tenderness of anxiety and he inquired after her health not as a compliment of civility but as a question in which his whole heart was most deeply interested. Cecilia thanked him for his attention to her friend the night before and then proceeded to his mother. Mistress Delville, coming forward to meet her removed at once all her fears of displeasure and banished all necessity of apology by instantly embracing her and warmly exclaiming, charming Miss Beverly, how shall I ever tell you half the admiration with which I have heard of your conduct? The exertion of so much fortitude at a juncture when a weaker mind would have been overpowered by terror and a heart less under the dominion of well-regulated principles would have sought only its own relief by flying from distress and confusion shoes such propriety of mind as can only result from the union of good sense with virtue. You are indeed a noble creature. I thought so from the moment I beheld you. I shall think so I hope to the last that I live. Cecilia, penetrated with joy and gratitude, felt in that instant the amplest recompense for all that she had suffered and for all that she had lost. Such praise from Mistress Delville was alone sufficient to make her happy but when she considered whence it sprung and that the circumstances with which she was so much struck must have been related to her by her son. Her delight was augmented to an emotion the most pleasing she could experience. From seeing how high she was held in the esteem of those who were highest in her own. Mistress Delville then, with the utmost cordiality, began to talk of her affairs, saving her the pain of proposing the change of habitation that now seemed unavoidable by an immediate invitation to her house which she made with as much delicacy as if Mr. Harrells had still been open to her and choice, not necessity, had directed her removal. The whole family, she told her, went into the country in two days and she hoped that a new scene with quietness and early hours would restore both the bloom and sprightliness which her late cares and restlessness had injured. And though she very seriously limited the rash action of Mr. Harrell, she much rejoiced in the acquisition which her own house and happiness would receive from her society. She next discussed the situation of her widowed friend and Cecilia produced the packet which had been entrusted to her by her late husband. Mistress Delville advised her to open it in the presence of Mr. Arnott and begged her to send for any other of her friends she might wish to see or consult and to claim freely from herself whatever advice or assistance she could bestow. And then, without waiting for Mr. Delville, she suffered her to swallow a hasty breakfast and return to Mistress Harrell whom she had desired the servants to attend as she concluded that in her present situation she would not choose to make her appearance. Cecilia, lottened now from all her cares, more pleased than ever with Mistress Delville and enchanted that at last she was settled under her roof, went back with as much ability as inclination to give comfort to Mistress Harrell. She found her but just awaking and scarce yet conscious where she was or why not in her own house. As her powers of recollection returned she was soothed with the softest compassion by Cecilia who in pursuance of Mistress Delville's advice sent her servant in search of Mr. Arnott and in consequence of her permission wrote a note of invitation to Mr. Mockton. Mr. Arnott, who was already in town, soon arrived. His own man whom he had left to watch the motions of Mr. Harrell, having early in the morning rode to the place of his retreat with the melancholy tidings of the suicide and execution. Cecilia instantly went downstairs to him. The meeting was extremely painful to them both. Mr. Arnott severely blamed himself for his flight, believing it had hastened at the fatal blow which some further sacrifices might perhaps have eluded and Cecilia half-repented the advice she had given him, though the failure of her own efforts proved the situation of Mr. Harrell too desperate for remedy. He then made the tenderness inquiries about his sister and entreated her to communicate to him the minutest particulars of the dreadful transaction after which she produced the packet but neither of them had the courage to break the seal and concluding the contents would be no less than his last will. They determined some third person should be present when they opened it. Cecilia wished much for Mr. Mockton but as his being immediately found was uncertain and the packet might consist of orders which ought not to be delayed, she proposed for the sake of expedition to call in Mr. Delville. Mr. Arnott readily agreed and she sent to beg a moment's audience with that gentleman. She was desired to walk into the breakfast room where he was sitting with his lady and his son. Not such was now her reception as when she entered that apartment before. Mr. Delville looked displeased and out of humor and making her a stiff bow while his son brought her a chair, coldly said, if you are hurried, Ms. Beverly, I will attend you directly. If not, I will finish my breakfast as I shall have but little time the rest of the morning from the concourse of people upon business who will crowd upon me till dinner, most of whom will be extremely distressed if I leave town without contriving to see them. There is not the least occasion, sir, answered Cecilia, that I should trouble you to quit the room. I merely came to beg you would have the goodness to be present while Mr. Arnott opens a small packet which was last night put into my hands by Mr. Harrell. And has Mr. Arnott answered he, somewhat sternly, thought proper to send me such a request? No, sir, said Cecilia. The request is mine and if, as I now fear, it is impertinent, I must entreat you to forget it. As far as it relates merely to yourself, returned Mr. Delville, it is another matter, but certainly Mr. Arnott can have no possible claim upon my time or attention and I think it rather extraordinary that a young man with whom I have no sort of connection or commerce and whose very name is almost unknown to me should suppose a person in my style of life so little occupied as to be holy at his command. He had no such idea, sir, said Cecilia, greatly disconcerted. The honor of your presence is merely solicited by myself and simply from the apprehension that some directions may be contained in the papers which perhaps ought immediately to be executed. I am not, I repeat, said Mr. Delville more mildly, displeased at your part of this transaction. Your want of experience and knowledge of the world makes you not at all aware of the consequences which may follow my compliance. The papers you speak of may perhaps be of great importance and hereafter the first witness to their being read may be publicly called upon. You know not the trouble such an affair may occasion, but Mr. Arnott ought to be better informed. Cecilia making another apology for the error which she had committed was in no small confusion quitting the room, but Mr. Delville perfectly appeased by seeing her distress stopped her to say with much graciousness, for your sake, Miss Beverly, I am sorry I cannot act in this business, but you see how I am situated, overpowered with affairs of my own and people who can do nothing without my orders. Besides, should there hereafter be any investigation into the matter, my name might perhaps be mentioned and it would be superfluous to say how ill I should think it used by being brought into such company. Cecilia then let the rooms secretly vowing that no possible exigence should in future tempt her to apply for assistance to Mr. Delville, which however ostentatiously offered was constantly withheld when claimed. She was beginning to communicate to Mr. Arnott her ill success when young Delville with an air of eagerness followed her into the room. Pardon me, he cried for this intrusion, but tell me, is it impossible that in this affair I can represent my father? May not the office you meant for him to volve upon me? Remember how near we are to each other and honor me for once with supposing us the same. Ah, who or what, thought Cecilia can be so different. She thanked him with much sweetness for his offer, but declined accepting it, saying, I will not, now I know the inconveniences of my request, be so selfish as even to suffer it should be granted. You must not deny me, cried he. Where is the packet? Why should you lose a moment? Rather ask, answered she, why I should permit you to lose a moment in a matter that does not concern you, and to risk perhaps the loss of many moments hereafter from a too in cautious politeness. And what can I risk, cried he, have so precious as your smallest satisfaction? Do you suppose I can flatter myself with the possibility of contributing to it and yet have the resolution to refuse myself so much pleasure? No, no, the heroic times are over and self-denial is no longer in fashion. You are very good, said Cecilia, but indeed, after what has passed, no matter for what has passed, interrupted he, we are now to think of what is to come. I know you too well to doubt your impatience in the execution of a commission which circumstances have rendered sacred. And should anything either be done or omitted contrary to the directions in your packet, will you not be apt, blameless as you are, to disturb yourself with a thousand fears that you took not proper methods for the discharge of your trust. There was something in this earnestness so like his former behavior and so far removed from his late reserve that Cecilia, who perceived it with the pleasure she could hardly disguise, now opposed him no longer, but took up the packet and broke the seal. And then, to her no small amazement, instead of the expected will, she found a roll of enormous bills and a collection of letters from various creditors, threatening the utmost severity of the law if their demands were longer unanswered. Upon a slip of paper which held these together was written, in Mr. Harrell's hand, to be all paid to-night with a bullet. Next appeared two letters of another sort, the first of which was from Sir Robert Floyer and in these words. Sir, as all prospects are now over of the alliance, I hope you will excuse my reminding you of the affair at Brooks's of last Christmas. I have the honor to be, sir, yours, R. Floyer. The other was from Mr. Marriott. Sir, though I should think 2,000 pounds, nothing for the smallest hope, I must take the liberty to say I think it a great deal for only 10 minutes. You can't have forgot, sir, the terms of our agreement, but as I find you cannot keep to them, I must beg to be off also on my side and I am persuaded you are too much a man of honor to take advantage of my over eagerness in parting with my money without better security. I am, sir, your most humble servant, A. Marriott. What a scene of fraud, double dealing and iniquity was here laid open. Cecilia, who at first meant to read everything aloud, found the attempt utterly vain, for so much was she shocked that she could hardly read onto herself. Last of all appeared a paper in Mr. Harrell's own handwriting containing these words. For Mistress Harrell, Miss Beverly and Mr. Arnault, I can struggle no longer. The last blow must now be struck. Another day robs me of my house and my liberty and blasts me by the fatal discovery of my double attempts. This is what I have wished, holy to be freed or ruined past all resource and driven to the long projected remedy. A burden has my existence been these two years. Gay as I have appeared, not a night have I gone to bed but heated and inflamed from a gaming table, not a morning have I wait but to be soured with a done. I would not lead such a life again if the slave who works hardest at the ore would change with me. Had I a son, I would bequeath him a plow. I should then leave him happier than my parents left me. Idleness has been my destruction. The want of something to do led me into all evil. A good wife perhaps might have saved me. Mine, I thank her, tried not. Disengaged from me and my affairs, her own pleasures and amusements have occupied her solely. Dreadful will be the catastrophe she will see tonight. Let her bring it home and live better. If any pity is felt for me, it will be where I have least deserved it. Mr. Arnott, Miss Beverly, it will come from you. To bring myself to this final resolution, hard I confess, have been my conflicts. It is not that I have feared death. No, I have long wished it. For shame and dread have embittered my days. But something there is within me that causes a deeper horror that asks my preparation for another world, that demands my authority for quitting this. What may hereafter owe terrible? Pray for me, generous Miss Beverly. Kind, gentle Mr. Arnott, pray for me. Wretched as Mr. Hale appeared without religion, principle, or honor, this incoherent letter evidently written in the desperate moment of determined suicide very much affected both Cecilia and Mr. Arnott, and in spite either of abhorrence or resentment, they mutually shed tears over the address to themselves. Delville, to whom every part of the affair was new, could only consider these papers as so many specimens of guilt and infamy. He read them, therefore, with astonishment and detestation, and openly congratulated Cecilia upon having escaped the double snares that were spread for her. While this was passing, Mr. Moncton arrived, who felt but little satisfaction from beholding the lady of his heart in confidential discourse with two of his rivals, one of whom had long attacked her by the dangerous flattery of perseverance, and the other, without any attack, had an influence yet more powerful. Delville, having performed the office for which he came, concluded, upon the entrance of Mr. Moncton, that Cecilia had nothing further to wish from him. For her long acquaintance with that gentleman, and his being a married man, and her neighbor in the country, were circumstances well known to him. He merely, therefore, inquired if she would honor him with any commands, and upon her assuring him she had none, he quietly withdrew. This was no little relief to Mr. Moncton, into whose hands Cecilia then put the fatal packet, and while he was reading it, at the desire of Mr. Arnott, she went upstairs to prepare Mistress Harrell for his admission. Mistress Harrell, unused to solitude, and is eager for company when unhappy to console, as when easy to divert her, consented to receive him with pleasure. They both wept at the meeting, and Cecilia, after some words of general comfort, left them together. She had then a very long and circumstantial conversation with Mr. Moncton, who explained whatever had appeared dark in the writings left by Mr. Harrell, and who came to her before he saw them with full knowledge of what they contained. Mr. Harrell had contracted with Sir Robert Floyer, a large debt of honor before the arrival in town of Cecilia, and having no power to discharge it, he promised that the prize he expected in his ward should fall to his share upon condition that the debt was canceled. Nothing was thought more easy than to arrange this business, for the bayonet was always to be in her way, and the report of the intended alliance was to keep off all other pretenders. Several times, however, her coldness made him think the matter hopeless, and when he received her letter, he would have given up the whole affair, but Mr. Harrell, well-knowing his inability to satisfy the claims that would follow such a defection, constantly persuaded him the reserve was affected, and that his own pride and want of assiduity occasioned all her discouragement. But while thus, by amusing the bayonet with false hopes, he kept off his demands, those of others were not less clamorous. His debts increased, his power of paying them diminished. He grew sour and desperate, and in one night lost 3,000 pound beyond what he could produce or offer any security for. This, as he said, was what he wished, and now he was, for the present, to extricate himself by doubling stakes and winning, or to force himself into suicide by doubling such a loss. For though, with tolerable ease, he could forget accounts enumerable with his tradesmen, one neglected debt of honor, rendered his existence insupportable. For this last great effort, his difficulty was to raise the 3,000 pound already due, without which the proposal could not be made, and after various artifices and attempts, he at length contrived a meeting with Mr. Marriott, and treated him to lend him 2,000 pounds for only two days and offered his warmest services in his favor with Cecilia. The rash and impassioned young man deceived by his accounts into believing that his ward was wholly at his disposal, readily advanced the money, without any other condition than that of leave to visit freely at his house, to the exclusion of Sir Robert Foyer. The other 1,000 pound, continued Mr. Moncton, I know not how he obtained, but he certainly had three. You, I hope, were not so unguarded. Ah, Mr. Moncton, said Cecilia, blame me not too severely. The attacks that were made, the necessity of otherwise betraying the worthy and half-ruined Mr. Arnaut. Oh, Fi, cried he, to suffer your understanding to be lulled asleep, because the weak-minded Mr. Arnaut's could not be kept awake. I thought, after such cautions for me and such experience of your own, you could not again have been thus duped. I thought so too, answered she, but yet when the trial came on, indeed you know not how I was persecuted. Yet you see, returned he, the utter inutility of the attempt. You see, and I told you beforehand that nothing could save him. True, but had I been firmer in refusal, I might not so well have known it. I might then have up braided myself with supposing that my compliance would have rescued him. You have indeed, cried Mr. Moncton, fallen into most worthless hands, and the dean was much to blame for naming so lightly a guardian to a fortune such as yours. Pardon me, cried Cecilia, he never entrusted him with my fortune. He committed it wholly to Mr. Briggs. But if he knew not the various subterfuges by which such a caution might be baffled, he ought to have taken advice of those who were better informed. Mr. Briggs, too, what a wretch, mean, low, vulgar, sordid, the whole city of London, I believe, could not produce such another. How unaccountable to make you the ward of a man whose house you cannot enter without disgust. His house, cried Cecilia, my uncle never wished me to enter. He believed, and he was right, that my fortune would be safe in his hands. But for myself, he concluded I should always reside at Mr. Harrell's. But does not the city at this time, said Mr. Moncton, abound in families where while your fortune was in security, you might yourself have lived with propriety? Nothing requires circumspection so minute as the choice of a guardian to a girl of large fortune. And in general, one thing only is attended to, an appearance of property. Morals, integrity, character, are either not thought of or investigated so superficially that the inquiry were as well wholly omitted. He then continued his relation. Mr. Harrell hastened with his three thousand pounds to the gaming table. One throw of the dice settled the business. He lost, and ought immediately to have doubled the sum. That, however, was never more likely to be in his power. He knew it. He knew, too, the joint claims of Cecilia's deceived admirers, and that his house was again threatened with executions from various quarters. He went home, loaded his pistols, and took the methods already related to work himself into courage for the deed. The means by which Mr. Moncton had procured these particulars were many and various, and not all such as he could avow, since in the course of his researches, he had tampered with serpents and waiters and scrupled at no methods that led but to discovery. Nor did his intelligence stop here. He had often, he said, wondered at the patience of Mr. Harrell's creditors, but now even that was cleared up by a fresh proof of infamy. He had been himself at the house in Portman Square when he was informed that Mr. Harrell had kept them quiet by repeated assurances that his ward, in a short time, meant to lend him money for discharging them all. Cecilia saw now, but too clearly, the reason her stay in his house was so important to him, and wondered less at his vehemence upon that subject. Though she detested it more. Oh, how little cried she are the gay and the dissipated to be known upon a short acquaintance. Expensive indeed and thoughtless and luxurious, he appeared to me immediately, but fraudulent, base, designing, capable of every pernicious art of treachery and duplicity. Such indeed I expected not to find him. His very flightiness and levity seemed incompatible with such hypocrisy. His flightiness, said Mr. Moncton, proceeded not from gaiety apart. It was merely the effect of effort, and his spirits were as mechanical as his taste for diversion. He had not strong parts, nor were his vices the result of his passions. Had economy been as much in fashion as extravagance, he would have been equally eager to practice it. He was a mere time-server. He struggled but to be something, and having neither talents nor sentiment to know what. He looked around him for any pursuit, and seeing distinction was more easily attained in the road to ruin than in any other, he galloped along it, thoughtless of being thrown when he came to the bottom, and sufficiently gratified in shooing his horsemanship by the way. And now, all that he had either to hear or to communicate upon this subject being told, he inquired with a face strongly expressive of his disapprobation, why he found her at Mr. Daleville's and what had become of her resolution to avoid his house. Cecilia, who in the hurry of her mind in her affairs had wholly forgotten that such a resolution had been taken, blushed at the question and could not at first recollect what had urged her to break it. But when he proceeded to mention Mr. Briggs, she was no longer distressed. She gave a circumstantial account of her visit to him, related the mean misery in which he lived, and told him the impracticability of her residing in such a house. Mr. Moncton could now in decency make no further opposition, however painful and reluctant was his acquiescence. Yet before he quitted her, he gave himself the consolation of considerably obliging her and softening his chagrin by the sweetness of her acknowledgements. He inquired how much money in all she had now taken up of the Jew. And hearing it was 9,050 pounds, he represented to her the additional loss she must suffer by paying an exorbitant interest for so large a sum, and the almost certainty with which she might be assured of very gross imposition. He expatiated also upon the injury which her character might receive in the world, were it known that she used such methods to procure money. Since the circumstances which had been her inducement would probably either be unnoticed or misrepresented, and when he had awakened in her much uneasiness and regret upon this subject, he offered to pay the Jew without delay, clear her wholly from his power, and quietly received the money when she came of age from herself. A proposal so truly friendly made her look upon the regard of Mr. Mockton in a higher and nobler point of view than her utmost esteem and reverence had hitherto placed it. Yet she declined at first accepting the offer. From an apprehension it might occasion him inconvenience. But when he assured her he had a yet larger sum lying at present useless in a banker's hands, and promised to receive the same interest for his money he should be paid from the funds, she joyfully listened to him, and it was settled that they should send for the Jew, take his discharge, and utterly dismiss him. Mr. Mockton, however, fearful of appearing too officious in her affairs, wished not to have his part in the transaction published, and advised Cecilia not to reveal the matter to the Delvils. But great as was his ascendancy over her mind, her aversion to mystery and hypocrisy were still greater, she would not therefore give him this promise, though her own desire to wait some seasonable opportunity for disclosing it made her consent that their meeting with the Jews should be at the house of Mistress Roberts in Federlane at 12 o'clock the next morning, whereas she might also see Mistress Hill and her children before she left town. They now parted, Cecilia charmed more than ever with her friend, whose kindness as she suspected not his motives seemed to spring from the most disinterested generosity. That, however, was the smallest feature in the character of Mr. Mockton, who was entirely a man of the world, shrewd, penetrating, attentive to his interest and watchful of every advantage to improve it. In the service he now did, Cecilia, he was gratified by giving her pleasure, but that was by no means his only gratification. He still hoped her fortune would one day be his own. He was glad to transact any business with her and happy in making her owe to him an obligation, but his principal inducement was yet stronger. He saw with much alarm the facility of her liberality, and he feared while she continued in correspondence with the Jew that the easingness with which she could raise money would be a motive with her to continue the practice whenever she was softened by distress or subdued by entreaty. But he hoped by totally concluding the negotiation the temptation would be removed and that the hazard and inconvenience of renewing it would strengthen her aversion to such an expedient till between difficulties and disuse that dangerous resource would be thought of no more. Cecilia then returned to Mistress Harrell, whom she found as she had left, weeping in the arms of her brother. They consulted upon what was best to be done and agreed that she ought instantly to leave town, for which purpose a chaise was ordered directly. They settled also that Mr. Arnaught, when he had conveyed her to his country house, which was in Suffolk, should hasten back to super intend the funeral and see if anything could be saved from the creditors for his sister. Yet this plan, till Cecilia was summoned to dinner, they had not the resolution to put in practice. They were then obliged to be gone and their parting was very melancholy. Mistress Harrell wept immoderately and Mr. Arnaught felt a concern too tender for a vowel, though too sincere for concealment. Cecilia, however glad to change her situation, was extremely depressed by their sorrow and entreated to have frequent accounts of their proceedings, warmly repeating her offers of service and protestations of faithful regard. She accompanied them to the chaise and then went to the dining parlor where she found Mr. and Mistress Delville but saw nothing more of their son the whole day. The next morning after breakfast, Mistress Delville set out upon some leave taking visits and Cecilia went in the chair to fed her lane. Here, already waiting for her, she met the punctual Mr. Moncton and the disappointed Jew, who most unwillingly was paid off and relinquished his bonds and who found in the severe and crafty Mr. Moncton another sort of man to deal with than the necessitous and heedless Mr. Harrell. As soon as he was dismissed, other bonds were drawn and signed. The old ones were destroyed and Cecilia to her infinite satisfaction had no credit to her but Mr. Moncton. Her bookseller indeed was still unpaid but her debt with him was public and gave her not any uneasiness. She now, with the warmest expressions of gratitude, took leave of Mr. Moncton, who suffered the most painful struggles in repressing the various apprehensions to which the parting and her establishment at the Delvils gave rise. She then inquired briefly into the affairs of Mistress Hill and having her to satisfactory account of them returned to St. James's Square. End of Chapter 13. Recorded by Amanda Hindman in Glen, Mississippi. www.livinginbooks.blogspot.com Volume 6, Chapter 1 of Cecilia. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Morgan Scorpion. Cecilia, Memoirs of an Heiress by Francis Burney. Volume 6, Chapter 1. A Debate. It was still early. It was still early, and Mrs. Delville was not expected till late. Cecilia, therefore, determined to make a visit to Miss Belfield, to whom she had been denied during the late disorders at Mr. Howells, and whom she could not endure to mortify by quitting town without seeing, since whatever were her doubts about Delville, of her she had none. To Portland Street, therefore, she ordered her chair, deliberating as she went whether it were better to adhere to the reserve she had hitherto maintained, or to satisfy her perplexity at once by an investigation into the truth. And still were these scruples undetected. When looking in at the windows as she passed them to the door of the house, she perceived Miss Belfield standing in the parlour with a letter in her hand, which she was fervently pressing to her lips. Struck by this sight, a thousand painful conjectures occurred to her, all representing that the letter was from Delville, and all explaining to his dishonour the mystery of his late conduct. And far were her suspicions from diminishing when, upon being shown into the parlour, Miss Belfield, trembling with her eagerness to hide it, hastily forced the letter into her pocket. Cecilia, surprised, dismayed, alarmed, stopped involuntarily at the door. But Miss Belfield, having secured what was so evidently precious to her, advanced, though not without blushing, and taking her hand said, how good this is of you, madam, to come to me when I did not know where to find you, and when I was almost afraid I should have found you no more. She then told her that the first news she had heard the preceding morning was the violent death of Mr. Howell, which had been related to her with all its circumstances by the landlord of their lodgings, who was himself one of his principal creditors, and had immediately been at Portman Square to put in his claims, where he had learnt that all the family had quitted the house, which was entirely occupied by bailiffs. And I was so sorry, she continued, that you should meet with any hardships and not know where to go and have another home to seek, when I am sure the Communist beggar would never want an habitation if you had one in your power to give him. But how sad and melancholy you look! I'm afraid this bad action of Mr. Howell has made you quite unhappy. Ah, madame, you are too good for this guilty world. Your own compassion and benevolence will not suffer you to rest in it. Cecilia, touched by this tender mistake of her present uneasiness, embraced her and with much kindness answered, no, sweet Henrietta, it is you who are good, who are innocent, who are guileless. You too, I hope, are happy. And are not you, madame, quite Henrietta fondly returning her caress? Or if you are not, who will ever deserve to be? I think I should rather be unhappy myself than see you so. At least I am sure I ought, for the whole world may be better for your welfare. And as to me, who would care what became of me? Ah, Henrietta, quite Cecilia, do you speak sincerely? Do you indeed think yourself so little valued? Why, I don't say, answered she, but that I hope there are some who think a little kindly of me, for if I had not that hope, I should wish to break my heart and die. But what is that to the love and reverence so many have for you? Suppose, said Cecilia, with a forced smile, I should put your love and reverence to the proof. Do you think they would stand it? Oh, yes, indeed I do, and I have wished a thousand and a thousand times I could but show you my affection and let you see that I did not love you because you were a great lady and high in the world and full of power to do me service, but because you were so good and so kind, so gentle to the unfortunate and so sweet to everybody. Hold, hold, cried Cecilia, and let me try if indeed, fairly and truly, you will answer what I mean to ask. Oh, yes, cried she warmly. If it is the dearest secret I have in the world, there is nothing I will not tell you. I will open my whole heart to you and I shall be proud to think you will let me trust you, for I am sure if you did not care a little for me, you would not take such a trouble. You are indeed a sweet creature, said Cecilia, hesitating whether or not to take advantage of her frankness, and every time I see you I love you better. For the world would I not injure you and perhaps your confidence I know not. Indeed, if it is fair or right to exact it, she stopped, extremely perplexed, while Henrietta waited her further inquiries. They were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Belfield. Sure, child, cried she to her daughter. You might have let me know before now who was here, when you know so well how much I whit an opportunity to see the young lady myself, but here you come down upon pretense to see your brother, and then stay away all the morning, doing nobody knows what. Then, turning to Cecilia, Mom, she continued, I have been in the greatest concern in the world for the little accident that happened when I saw you before, for to be sure, I thought, and indeed nobody will persuade me to the contrary, that it was rather an odd thing for such a young lady as you to come so often after Henri, without so much as thinking of any other reason, especially when, to be sure, there's no more comparison between her and my son than between anything in the world. However, if it is so, it is so, and I mean to say no more about it, and to be sure he's as contented to think so, as if he was as mere an insignificant animal as could be. This matter, madam, said Cecilia, has so long been settled that I am sorry you should trouble yourself to think of it again. Oh, Mom, I only mention it by way of making the proper apology. For as to taking any other notice of it, I've quite left it off. Though to be sure what I think, I think, but as to my son, he has so got the upper hand of me that it all goes for nothing and I might just as well sing to him. Not that I mean to find fault with him, neither, so pray, Mom, don't let what I say be to his prejudice. For I believe all the time there's nobody like him, neither at this end of the town nor the other. For as to the other, he has more the look of a lord by half than of a shopman, and the reason's plain, for that's the sort of company he's always kept. But I dare say a lady such as you must have seen long ago. But for all that, there's some little matters we mother's fancy we can see into as well as our children. However, if they don't think so, the White answers no purpose to dispute. For as to a better son, be sure there never was one. And that, as I always say, is the best sign I know for making a good husband. During this discourse, Henrietta was in the utmost confusion, dreading lest the grossness of her mother should again send off Cecilia in anger. But Cecilia, who perceived her uneasiness and who was more charmed with her character than ever from the simplicity of her sincerity, determined to save her that pain by quietly hearing her harangue, and then quietly departing. Though she was much provoked to find from the complaining hints every instant thrown out, that Mrs. Belfield was still internally convinced her son's obstinate bashfulness was the only obstacle to his choosing whom he pleased, and that though she no longer dead speak her opinion with openness, she was fully persuaded Cecilia was at his service. And for that reason, continued Mrs. Belfield, to be sure any lady that knew her own true advantage could do nothing better than to take the recommendation of a mother who must naturally know more of her own children's disposition than can be expected from a stranger. And as to such a son as mine, perhaps there aren't too such in the world, for he's had a gentleman's education, and turn him which way he will, he'll see never a handsome person than his own, though poor dear love he was always of the thinnest. But the misfortunes had to struggle with would make nobody fatter. Here she was interrupted, and Cecilia, not a little surprised by the entrance of Mr. Hobson and Mr. Simkins. Ladies, cried Mr. Hobson, whom she soon found was Mrs. Belfield's landlord, I would not go upstairs without just stopping to let you know a little of how the world goes. Then, perceiving and recollecting Cecilia, he exclaimed, I am proud to see you again, ma'am, miss, I believe I should say, for I take it you are too young a lady to be entered into matrimony yet. Matrimony, cried Mr. Simkins, know to be sure, Mr. Hobson, how can you be so out of the way? The young lady looks more like to amiss from a boarding school if I might take liberty for to say so. I, ma'am's the pity, cried Mrs. Belfield, for as to young ladies waiting and waiting, I don't see the great good of it, especially if a proper match offers. For as to a good husband, I think no lady should be above accepting him if he is modest and well-behaved and has been brought up with a genteel education. Why as to that, ma'am, said Mr. Simkins, it's another guest matter. For as to the ladies having a proper spouse, if I may be so free, I think as it's no bad thing. Cecilia, now taking Henry Hetter's hand, was wishing her good morning, but hearing Mr. Hobson say he was just come from Portman Square, her curiosity was excited and she stayed a little longer. Sad work, ma'am, said he. Who'd have thought Mr. Howell asked us all to suffer for the mere purpose of such a thing as that, just to serve for a blind, as one may say? But when a man's conscience is foul, what I say is it's ten to one, but he makes away with himself. Let every man keep clear of the world, that's my notion, and then he will be in no such hurry to get out of it. Why indeed, ma'am, said Mr. Simkins, advancing with many bows to Cecilia, humbly craving pardon for the liberty, I can't pretend for to say I think Mr. Howell did quite the honorable thing by us. For as to his making us drink all that champagne and the like, it was a sheer taken, so that if I was to speak my mind, I can't say as I esteem it much of a favour. Well, said Mrs. Belfield, nothing to me so surprising as a person's being his own executioner. For as to me, if I was to die for it 50 times, I don't think I could do it. So here, resumed Mr. Hobson, we're all defrauded of our dues. Nobody's able to get his own. Let him have worked for it ever so hard. Sad doings in the Square, miss, all at sixes and sevens, for my part I came off from Roxhol as soon as the thing happened, hoping to get the start of the others, or else I should have been proud to wait upon you ladies with the particulars. But a man of business never stands upon ceremony for when money's at stake, that's out of the question. However I was too late, for the house was seized but before ever I could get nigh it. I hope, Mum, if I may be so free, said Mr. Simkins, again profoundly bowing, that you and the other lady did not take it much amiss by not coming back to you, for it was not out of no disrespect, but only I got so squeezed in by the ladies and gentlemen that was looking on, that I could not make my way out, do what I could. But by what I see, I must need to say, if one's never in such gentile company, people are always rather of the rudest when one's in a crowd. For if one begs and prays ever so, there's no making them conformable. Pray, said Cecilia, is it likely anything will remain for Mrs. Howell? Remain, Mum, repeated Mr. Hobson? Yes, a matter of a hundred bills without a receipt to him. To be sure, Mum, I don't want to affront you that was his intimate acquaintance, more especially as you've done nothing disrespectful by me, which is more than I can say for Mrs. Howell, who seems downright ashamed of me and of Mr. Simkins too, though all things considered, it would have been as well for her not to have been quite so high, but of that in its proper season. Pray, Mr. Hobson, pray, cried the supple Mr. Simkins, how can you be so hard? For my share, I must need own, I think, the poor ladies to be pitied, for it must have been but a melancholy sight to her, to see her sparse cut off so in the flower of his youth, as one may say, and you ought to scorn to take exception of a lady's proudness when she's in so much trouble. To be sure, I can't say myself she was over complacent to make us welcome, but I hope I'm being so unpitiful as to owe her a grudge for it now that she's so down in the mouth. Let everybody be civil, cried Mr. Hobson, that's my notion, and then I shall be as much above being unpitiful as anybody else. Mrs. Howell, said Cecilia, was then too unhappy, and is now surely too unfortunate to make it possible any resentment should be harboured against her. You speak, ma'am, like a lady of sense, returned Mr. Hobson, and indeed that's the character I hear of you, but for all that, ma'am, everybody's willing to stand up for their own friends. For which reason, ma'am, to be sure you'll be making the best of it, both for the relict and the late gentleman himself? But, ma'am, if I was to make bold to speak my mind in a fair manner, what I should say would be this. A man here to go shooting himself with all his debts unpaid is a mere piece of scandal, ma'am. I beg pardon, but what I say is the truth's the truth, and I can't call it by no other nomination. Cecilia now, finding she had not any chance of pacifying him, rang for her servant and chair. Mr. Simkins then, affecting to lower his voice, said reproachfully to his friend, indeed, Mr. Hobson, to speak ingenuously, I must need say I don't think it over and above polite in you to be so hard upon the young lady's acquaintance that was, now he's defunct. To be sure I can't pretend for to deny that he behaved rather comical for not paying of nobody, nor so much as making one a little compliment or the like, though he made no bones of taking all one's goods, and always choose to have the prime of everything. Why, it's what I can't pretend to stand up for, but that's neither here nor there, for if he had behaved as bad again, poor Miss could not tell how to help it, and I dares to say she had no more hand in it than nobody at all. No, to be sure, quite Mrs. Belfield, what should she have to do with it? Do you suppose a young lady of her fortune would want to take advantage of a person in trade? I'm sure it would be both a shame and a sin if she did, for if she has not money enough I wonder who has? As for my part, I think when a young lady has such a fine fortune as that, the only thing she has to do is to be thinking of making a good use of it by dividing it as one may say with a good husband. For as to keeping it all for herself, I daresay she's a lady of too much generosity, and as to only marrying somebody that's got as much of his own, why, it is not half so much a favour, and if the young lady would take my advice she'd marry for love, for as to Luca, she's enough in all conscience. As to all that, said Mr. Hobson, it makes no alteration in my argument. I am speaking to the purpose and not for the matter of complacence, and therefore I am bold to say Mr. Howell's action had nothing of the gentleman in it. A man has a right to his own life, you tell me, but what of that? That's no argument at all, for it does not give him a bit more the right to my property. And a man's running in debt and spending other people's substances for no reason in the world but just because he can blow out his own brains when he's done, though it's a thing neither lawful nor religious to do, while it's acting quite out of character and a great hardship to trade into the bargain. I heartily wish it had been otherwise, to Cecilia, but I still hope if anything can be done for Mrs. Howell you will not object to such a proposal. Mum, as I said before, returned Mr. Hobson, I see you're a lady of sense and for that I on it you. But as to anything being done, it's what I call a distinct thing. What's mine is mine, and what's another man's is his. That's my way of arguing. But then if he takes what's mine, where's the law to hinder my taking what's his? That's what I call talking to the purpose. Now as to a man's cutting his throat, or the like of that, for blowing out his own brains may be called the self-same thing, what are his creditors the better for that? Nothing at all. But so much the worse it's a false notion to respect it, for there's no respect in it. It's contrary to law and a prejudice against religion. I agree entirely in your opinion, said Cecilia, but still, Mrs. Howell, I know your argument, Mum, interrupted Mr. Hobson. Mrs. Howell isn't the worst for her husband being shot through the head because she was no accessory to the same, and for that reason it's a hardship she should lose all her substance. This, Mum, is what I say, speaking to your side of the argument. But now, Mum, please to take notice what I argue upon the reply. What have we creditors to do with a man's family? Suppose I am a cabinet-maker. When I send in my chairs, do I ask who is to sit upon them? No, it's all one to me, whether it's the gentleman's progeny or his friends. I must be paid for the chairs the same, use them who may. That's the law, Mum, and no man need be ashamed to abide by it. The truth of this speech palliating its sententious absurdity made Cecilia give up her faint attempt to soften him, and at chair being ready, she arose to take leave. Lack of day, Mum, cried Mrs. Belfield, I hope you won't go yet, for I expect my son home soon, and I have a heap of things to talk to you about besides, only Mr. Hobson having so much to say stopped my mouth. But I should take it a great favour, Mum, if you would come some afternoon and drink a dish of tea with me, for then we should have time to say all our say, and I'm sure, Mum, if you would only let one of your footmen just take a run to let me know when you'd come, my son would be very proud to give you the meeting, and the servants can't have much else to do at your house. For where there's such a heap of them, they commonly think of nothing all day long but standing and gaping at one another. I am going out of town tomorrow, said Cecilia, and therefore cannot have the pleasure of calling upon Miss Belfield again. She then slightly curtsied and left the room. The gentle Henrietta, her eyes swimming in tears, followed her to a chair, but she followed her not alone. Mrs. Belfield also attended, repining very loudly at the unlucky absence of her son, and the cringing Mr. Simpkins, creeping after her and bowing, said in a low voice, I humbly crave pardon, Mum, for the liberty, but I hope you won't think as I have any share in Mr. Hobson's behaving so r— for I must need say I don't think it over gentile in no shape. And Mr. Hobson himself, bent upon having one more sentence heard, called out even after she was seated in her chair. All I say, Mum, is this, let every man be honest, that's what I argue, and that's my notion of things. Cecilia still reached home before Mrs. Delville, but most uneasy were her sensations, and most unquiet was her heart. The letters she had seen in the hands of Henrietta's seemed to corroborate all her former suspicions, since if it had not come from one infinitely dear to her, she would not have shown such fondness for it, and if that one was not dear to her in secret, she would not have concealed it. Where then was the hope that any but Delville could have written it? In secret she could not cherish, too, and that Delville was cherished most fondly, the artlessness of her character unfitted her for disguising. And why should he write to her? What was his pretense that he loved her she could now less than ever believe, since his late conduct to herself, though perplexing and inconsistent, evinced at least a partiality incompatible with a passion for another? What then could she infer that he had seduced her affections and ruined her peace, for the idle and cruel gratification of temporary vanity? And if such, quite she, is a depravity of this accomplished hypocrite, if such is the littleness of his soul that a manner so noble disguises, shall he next, urged perhaps rather by prudence than preference, make me the object of his pursuit, and the fruit of his vain glory, and shall I, warned and instructed as I am, be as easy a prey and as wretched a dupe? Nope, I will be better satisfied with his conduct before I venture to trust him, and since I am richer than Henrietta and less likely to be deserted when won, I will be more on my God to know why I am addressed, and vindicate the rites of innocence, if I find she has been thus deluded, by forgetting his talents in his treachery, and renouncing him for ever. Such were the reflections and surmises that damped all the long-sought pleasure of her change of residence, and made her habitation in St. James Square no happier than it had been at Mr. Howells. She dined again with only Mr. and Mrs. Delville, and did not see their son all day, which in her present uncertainty what to think of him was an absence she scarcely regretted. When the servants retired, Mr. Delville told her that he that morning received two visits upon her account, both from admirers who each pretended her having had leave to wait upon her from Mr. Howell. He then named Sir Robert Flawyer and Mr. Marriott. I believe, indeed, since Cecilia, that neither of them were treated perfectly well. To me, however, their own behaviour has by no means been strictly honourable. I have always, when referred to, been very explicit, and what other methods they were pleased to take I cannot wonder should fail. I told them, said Mr. Delville, that since you are now under my roof I could not refuse to receive their proposals, especially as there had been no impropriety in your alliance with either of them, but I told them at the same time that I could by no means think of pressing their suit, as that was an office which, however well it might do for Mr. Howell, would be totally improper and undercoming for me. Certainly, said Cecilia, and permit me, sir, to entreat that should they again apply to you. They may be wholly discouraged from repeating their visits, and assured that far from having trifled with them hitherto the resolutions I have declared will never be varied. I am happy, said Mrs. Delville, to see so much spirit and discernment where arts of all sorts will be practised to ensnare and delude. Fortunate in independence were never so securely lodged as in Miss Beverly, and I doubt not but her choice, whenever it is decided, will reflect much honour upon her heart, as her difficulty in making it does upon her understanding. Mr. Delville then acquired whether she had fixed upon any person to choose as a guardian in the place of Mr. Howell. No, she said, nor should she, unless it were absolutely necessary. I believe indeed, said Mrs. Delville, your affairs will not much miss him. Since I have heard news of the excess of his extravagance, I have extremely rejoiced in the uncommon prudence and sagacity of his fair ward, who, in such dangerous hands, with less penetration and sound sense, might have been drawn into a thousand difficulties, and perhaps defrauded of half her fortune. Cecilia received but little joy from this most unseasonable compliment, which, with many of the same sort that were frequently, though accidentally made, intimidated her from the confession she had planned, and finding nothing but sense she was likely to follow the discovery, she had length determined to give it up wholly, unless any connection should take place which might render necessary its avowal. Yet some things she could not but murmur, that an action so detrimental to her own interest in which, at the time, appeared indispensable to her benevolence, should now be considered as a mark of such folly and imprudence that she did not dare own it. CHAPTER II The next morning the family purposed setting off as soon as breakfast was over. Young Delville, however, waited not so long. The fineness of the weather tempted him, he said, to travel on horseback, and therefore he had risen very early and was already gone. Cecilia could not but wonder, yet did not repine. Just as breakfast was over and Mr. and Mrs. Delville and Cecilia were preparing to depart, to their no-little surprise the door was opened, and, out of breath with haste and with heat, instumpt Mr. Briggs. So, quitey to Cecilia, what's all this, hey? Where are you going? A coach at the door, horses to every wheel, servants fine as lords? What's in the wind now? Think to choose me out of my belongings? I thought, sir, said Cecilia, who instantly understood him, though Mr. and Mrs. Delville stared at him in utter astonishment. I had explained before I left you that I should not return. Didn't, didn't, answered he angrily. Waited for you three days. Dressed to breast of mutton on purpose, got in a lobster and two crabs, all spoiled by keeping, stink already, weather quite muggy, forced to sow some in vinegar. One expense brings on another, never begin the like again. I am very sorry, indeed, said Cecilia, much disconcerted, if there has been any mistake through my neglect. But I had hoped I was understood, and I have been so much occupied. Aye, aye, interrupted he. Fine work, rare doings. A merry voxeling with pistols all at your noddles, thought as much. Thought he'd tip the perch. Saw he wasn't stanch. Knew he'd go by his company. A set of jack-o'-napes, all black legs, nobody warm among them. Fellas were the mothers good living upon their backs, and not sixpence for the hangman in their pockets. Mrs. Delville now, with a look of arch-congratulation at Cecilia as the object of this agreeable visit, finding it not likely to be immediately concluded, returned to her chair. But Mr. Delville, leaning sternly upon his cane, moved not from the spot where he stood at his entrance, but surveyed him from head to foot, with the most astonished contempt at his andaunted vulgarity. While I'd all your cash myself, seize that, else, run out the console for you next, and made you blow out your brains for company. Mind what I say, never give your mind to a gold-laced hat. Many a one wears it, don't know five farthings from toughens. A good man always wears a bob wig, make that your rule. Ever see Master Howell wear such a thing? No, I won't. Better if he had, kept his head on his own shoulders. And now, pray, how does he cut up? What has he left behind him? A tway case, I suppose, and a bit of a hat won't go on a man's head. Cecilia, perceiving, with great confusion, that Mr. Delville, though evidently provoked by this intrusion, would not deign to speak, that Mr. Briggs might be regarded as belonging wholly to herself, hastily said, I will not, sir, as your time is precious, detain you here, but as soon as it is in my power, I will wait upon you in the city. Mr. Briggs, however, without listening to her, thought proper to continue his harangue. Invited me once to his house, sent me a card, half of it printed like a book, till a half a scroll could not read, pretended to give a supper. All a mere bam, went without my dinner, and got nothing to eat, all glass and show. Vittles painted all manner of colours, lighted up like a pastry cook on twelfth day, wanted something solid and got a great lump of sweetmeat, found it as cold as a stone, all frozen in my mouth like ice, made me jump again and wrought the tears in my eyes, forced to spit it out, believe it was nothing but a snowball just set up for show and covered with a little sugar. Pretty way to spend money, stuffing and piping and hopping, never could rest till every farthing was gone, nothing left but his own fool's pate, and even that he could not hold together. At present, sir, sir Cecilia, we are all going out of town, the carriage is waiting at the door, no such thing, cried he, shan't go, come for you myself, take you to my own house, got everything ready, been to the brokers, bought an ice-blanket, hardly a rack in it, pick up a table soon, one in my eye. I am sorry you have so totally mistaken me, sir, for I am now going into the country with Mr. and Mrs. Delville. One consent, one consent, what will you go there for? Here of nothing but dead dukes, as well visit an old tomb. Here Mr. Delville, who felt himself insulted in a manner he could least support, after looking at him very disdainfully, turned to Cecilia and said, Miss Beverly, if this person wishes for a longer conference with you, I am sorry you did not appoint a more sensible hour for your interview. I, I, cried the impenetrable Mr. Briggs, want to hurry you off, see that, but won't do, and to be nicked, choose to come in for my thirds, won't be gulled, shan't have more than your share. Sir!" cried Mr. Delville, with a look meant to be nothing less than patrific. What! cried he with an archleaer, all above it, hey! Warrant your Spanish don never thinks of such a thing. Don't believe him, my duck, great cry in little wool, no more of the ready-than-other folks, mere puff and go-on. This is language, sir, said Mr. Delville, so utterly incomprehensible, that I presume you do not even intend it should be understood, otherwise I should very little scruple to inform you that no man of the name of Delville brooks the smallest insinuation of dishonour. Don't ye, return Mr. Briggs with a grin. Why, how will he help it? Will the old grandees jump out of their graves to frighten us? What old grandees, sir, to whom are you pleased to allude? Why, all them old grandfathers and aunts you brag of, a set of poor souls you won't let rest in their coffins, mere clay and dirt, find things to be proud of. A parcel of old mouldy rubbish life, raking up bones and dust nobody knows for what, ought to be ashamed. Who cares for dead carcasses? Nothing but carrion. My little toms worth forty of them. I can so ill make out, Miss Beverly, said the astonished Mr. Delville, what this person is pleased to dive at, that I cannot pretend to enter into any sort of conversation with him. He will therefore be so good as to let me know when he has finished his discourse, and you are at leisure to set off. And then, with a very stately air, he was quitting the room, but was soon stopped upon Mr. Briggs calling out, Aye aye, Don Duke, poke in the old charnel houses by yourself. None of your defunct for me didn't care if they were all hung in a string. Who's the better for them? Pray, sir, said Mr. Delville, turning round, to whom are you pleased to address that speech? To one Don Poffendorf, cried Mr. Briggs, no ever such a person, hey? Don Who, sir, said Mr. Delville, stalking nearer to him, I must trouble you to say that name over again. Suppose don't choose it, how then? I am to blame, said Mr. Delville, scornfully waving his hand for the repulsive motion, to suffer myself to be irritated so unworthily, and I am sorry in my own house to be compelled to hint that the sooner I have it to myself, the better I shall be contented with it. Aye aye, want to get me off? Want to have a tea yourself? Don't be so soon chose'd. Who's the better man, hey, which do you think is warmest, and all got by myself, obliged to never a grandee for a penny? What do you say to that? Will you cast an account with me? Very extraordinary this, cried Mr. Delville, the most extraordinary circumstance of the kind I ever met with. A person to enter my house in order to talk in this incomprehensible manner, a person too that I hardly know by sight. Old Don cried Briggs with a facetious nod, know me better another term. Old Hoosa, what? Old Hoosa, what? Come to a fair reckoning, continued Mr. Briggs, suppose you were in my case, and had never a farthing but of your own getting, where would you be then? What would become of your fine coach and horses? You might stump your feet off before you'd ever get into one. Where would be all this fine crockery work for your breakfast? Or drink out of your own paw? What would you do for that fine gemmy tie? Where would you get a gold head to your stick? You might dig long enough in them cold vaults before any of your old grandfathers would pop out to give you one. Mr. Delville, feeling more enraged than he thought suited his dignity, restrained himself from making any further answer, but going up to the bell rang it with great violence. And as to ringing a bell, continued Mr. Briggs, you'd never know what it was in your life unless could make interest to be a dustman. A dustman? Repeated Mr. Delville, unable to command his silence longer, I protest, and biting his lips he stopped short. I love it, don't you? Suit your taste. Why not one dust as well as another? Dust in a cart good as dust in a charnel house. Don't smell half so bad. A servant now entering, Mr. Delville called out, is everything ready? He then begged Mr. Delville to go into the coach, and telling Cecilia to follow one at leisure, left the room. I will come immediately, sir, said Cecilia. Mr. Briggs, I am sorry to leave you, and much concerned you have had this trouble, but I can detain Mr. Delville no longer. And then away she ran, notwithstanding he repeatedly charged her to stay. He followed them, however, to the coach, with bitter revilings that everybody was to make more of his walk than himself, and complains of his losses from the blanket, the breast of mutton, the crabs, and the lobster. Nothing, however, more was said to him. Cecilia, as if she had not heard him, only bowed her head, and the coach driving off they soon lost sight of him. This incident, by no means, rendered the journey pleasant, or Mr. Delville gracious. His own dignity, that constant object of his thoughts and his cares, had received a wound from this attack which he had not the sense to despise, and the vulgarity and impudence of Mr. Briggs, which ought to have made his familiarity and boldness equally contemptible and ridiculous, served only with a man whose pride outran his understanding to render them doubly mortifying and stinging. He could talk, therefore, of nothing the whole way that they went, but the extreme impropriety of which the dean had been guilty in exposing him to scenes and situations so much beneath his rank by leaking him with a person so coarse and disgraceful. They slept one night upon the road, and arrived the very next day at Delville Castle. Delville Castle Delville Castle was situated in a large and woody park and surrounded by a moat, a drop bridge which fronted the entrance was every night by order of Mr. Delville with the same care as if still necessary for the preservation of the family regularly drawn up. Some fortifications still remained entire and vestiges were everywhere to be traced of more. No taste was shown in the disposition of the grounds. No openings were contrived through the wood for distant views or beautiful objects. The mansion house was ancient, large and magnificent, but constructed with as little attention convenience and comfort as to airiness and elegance. It was dark, heavy and monastic, equally in want of repair and of improvement. The grandeur of its former inhabitants was everywhere visible, but the decay into which it was falling rendered such remains mere objects for meditation and melancholy. While the evident struggle to support some appearance of its ancient dignity made the dwelling and all in its vicinity were an aspect of constraint and austerity. Festivity, joy and pleasure seemed foreign to the purposes of its construction. Silence, solemnity and contemplation were adapted to it only. Mrs. Del Weil, however, took all possible care to make the apartments and situation of Cecilia commodious and pleasant and to banish by her kindness and animation the gloom and formality which her mansion inspired. Nor were her efforts ungrateful received. Cecilia, charmed by every mark of attention from a woman she so highly admired, returned her solitude by increasing affection and repaid all her care by the revival of her spirits. She was happy indeed to have quitted the disorderly house of Mr. Harrell. Their terror so continually awakened was only to be lulled by the grossest imposition and, though her mind depressed by what was past and in suspense with what was to come was by no means in a state for uninterrupted enjoyment. Yet, to find herself placed at last without effort or impropriety in the very mansion she had so long considered as her road to happiness rendered her notwithstanding her remaining in quietitude more contended than she had yet felt herself since her departure from Suffolk. Even the imperious Mr. Delweyle was more supportable here than in London. Secured in his own castle he looked around him with a pride of power and of possession which softened while it swelled him. His superiority was undisputed his will was without control he was not as in the great capital of the kingdom surrounded by competitors nor rivalry disturbed his peace nor equality modified his greatness all he saw were either vessels of his power or guests bending to his pleasure he abated therefore considerably the stern gloom of his haughtiness and soothed his proud mind by the courtesy of condescension. Little however was the opportunity Cecilia found for everything that spirit and forbearance she had planned in relation to Delweyle he breakfasted by himself every morning rode or walked out alone till driven home by the heat of the day and spent the rest of his time till dinner in his own study when he then appeared his conversation was always general and his attention not more engaged by Cecilia than by his mother left by them with his father sometimes he appeared again at tea time but more commonly he rode or strolled out to some neighboring family and it was always uncertain whether he was seen before dinner the next day by this conduct reserve on her part was rendered totally unnecessary she could give no discouragement where she met with no acidity she had no occasion to fly where she was never pursued strange however she thought such behaviour and are telling possible to be the effect of accident his desire to avoid her seemed scrupulous and pointed and however to the world it might wear the appearance of chance to have watchful anxiety a thousand circumstances marked it for design she found that his friends at home had never seen so little of him complaints were continually made of his frequent absences and much surprise was expressed at his new manner of life and what might be the occupations which so strangely engrossed his time had her heart not interfered in this matter she might now have been perfectly addressed since she was spared the renunciation she had rejected and since without either mental exertion or personal trouble the fair seemed totally dropped and till while far from manifesting in a design interest shunned all occasions of gallantry and sedulously avoided even common conversation with her if he saw her preparing to walk out in an evening he was certain to stay at home if his mother was with her and invited him to join them he was sure to be ready with some other engagement and if by accident he met her in the park he merely stopped to speak of the weather bowed and hurried on how to reconcile a coldness so extraordinary with the fervour so animated as that which he had lately shunned was indeed not easy sometimes she fancied he had entangled not only the poor Henrietta but himself at other times she believed him merely capricious but that he studied to avoid her she was convinced invariably and such a conviction was alone sufficient to determine her upon forwarding his purpose and when her first surprise was over and first tragrenabated her own pride came to her aid and she resolved to use every method in her power to conquer a partiality so ungratefully bestowed she rejoiced that in no instance she had ever betrayed it and she saw that his own behaviour prevented all suspicion of it in the family yet in the midst of her modification and displeasure she found some consolation in seeing that those mercenary views of which she had once been led to accuse him were farthest from his thoughts and that whatever was the state of his mind she had no artifice to apprehend nor design to guard against all therefore that remained was to imitate the example be civil and formal shun all interviews that were not public and decline all discourse but what good breathing occasionally made necessary by these means their meetings became more rare than ever and of shorter duration for if one by any accident was detained the other retired till by their mutual diligence they soon only saw each other at dinner and though neither of them knew the motives or the intentions of the other the best concerted agreement could not more effectively have separated them this task to Cecilia was at first extremely painful but time and constancy of mind soon lessened its difficulty she mused herself with walking and reading she commissioned Mr. Moncton to send her a pianoforte of Merlin's she was fond of fine work and she found in the conversation of Mrs. Del Weil never failing resource against language and sadness leaving their photo himself a mysterious son she wisely resolved to find unemployment for her thoughts than conjectures with which she could not be satisfied and doubts that might never be explained very few families visited at the castle and few are still had their visits returned the arrogance of Mr. Del Weil had offended all the neighbouring who could easily be better entertained than by receiving instructions of their own inferiority which however readily they might allow was by no means so pleasant to subject as to recompense them for hearing no other and if Mr. Del Weil was shunned through hatred his lady no less was avoided through fear high spirited and fastidious easily varied and disgusted she bore neither with frailty nor folly those two principal ingredients in human nature she required to obtain her favour the union of virtue and abilities with elegance which meeting but rarely she was rarely disposed to be pleased and disdaining to conceal either contempt or aversion she inspired in return nothing but dread or resentment making thus by want of that lenity which is the milk of human kindness and the bond of society enemies the most numerous and illiberal by those very talents which more meately born would have rendered her not merely admired but adored in proportion however as she was thus at war with the world in general the chosen few who were honored with her favour she loved with a zeal all her own her heart liberal open but too daringly sincere was fervent in affection and enthusiastic in admiration the friends who were dear to her she was devoted to serve she magnified their virtues till she thought them of an higher race of beings she inflamed her generosity with ideas of what she owed till her life seemed too small a sacrifice to be refused for their service such was the love which already she felt for Cecilia her countenance had struck her manners had jammed her her understanding was displayed by the quick intelligence of her eyes and every action and every notion spoke her mind the seat of elegance regret she sometimes regretted that she was not higher born but that regret always vanished when she saw and conversed with her her own youth had been passed in all the severity of affliction she had been married to Mr. Delweil by her relations without any consultation of her heart or her will her strong mind disdained useless complaints yet her intent however private was deep ardent in her disposition naturally violent in her passions her feelings were extremely acute and to curb them by reason and principle had been the chief and heart study of her life their foot had calmed though it had not made her happy to love Mr. Delweil she felt was impossible proud without merit and without capacity she saw with bitterness the inferiority of his faculties and she found in his temper no qualities to endear or attract yet she respected his birth and his family of which her own was a branch and whatever was her misery from the connection she steadily behaved to him with the strictest propriety her son however when she was blessed with his presence had a power over her mind that mitigated all her sorrows and almost lulled even her wishes to sleep she rather idealized than loved him yet her fondness flowed not from relationship but from his word and his character his talents and his disposition she saw in him indeed all her own virtues and excellencies with a toleration for the imperfections of others to which she was wholly a stranger whatever was great or good she expected him to perform occasional load she thought wanting to manifest him the first of human beings nor here was Mr. Delweil himself less sanguine in his hopes his son was not only the first object of his affection but the chief idol of his pride and he did not merely cherish but reverence him as his successor the only support of his ancient name and family without whose life and health the whole race would be extinct he consulted him in all his affairs never mentioned him with distinction and expected the whole world to bow down before him Delweil and his behavior to his father imitated the conduct of his mother who opposed him in nothing when his pleasure was made known but who forbore to inquire into his opinion except in cases of necessity their minds indeed were totally dissimilar Delweil well knew that if he submitted to his directions he must demand such respect as the world would refuse with indignation and scarcely speak to a man whose genealogy was not known to him but though duty and gratitude were the only ties that bound him to his father he loved his mother not merely with filial affection but with the purest esteem and highest reverence he knew too that while without him her existence would be a burden her tenderness was no effusion of weak partiality but founded on the strongest assurances of his worth and however to maternal indulgence its origin might be owing the rectitude of his own conduct could alone save it from diminution such was the house in which he settled and with which she lived almost to the exclusion of the sight of any other for though she had now been three weeks at the castle she had only at church seen any family but the Delweils nor did anything in the course of that time occur to her but the reception of a melancholy letter from mrs. Harrell with complaints of her retirement and misery and another from mr. Arnold with an account of the funeral the difficulties he had had to encounter with the creditors who had even seized the dead body and the numerous expenses in which he had been involved by petitions he could not withstand from the meaner and more clamorous of those whom his late brother-in-law paid he concluded with a pathetic prayer for her happiness and a declaration that his own was lost forever since now he was even deprived of her sight Cecilia wrote an affectionate answer to mrs. Harrell promising when fully at liberty that she would herself fetch her to her own house in safflock but she could only send her compliments to mr. Arnold though her compassion urged a kinder message as she feared even a shadow of encouragement to so serious yet hopeless a passion End of chapter