 I could not write to yesterday, so violent was the agitation of my mind, but I will not now lose a moment till I have hastened to my best friend, in account of the transactions of a day I can never recollect without emotion. Mrs. Selwyn determined upon sending no message. "'Lest,' said she, Sir John, fatigued with the very idea of my reproaches, should endeavour to avoid a meeting. He cannot but see who you are, whether he will do you justice or not.' We went early, and in Mrs. Beaumont's chariot, into which Lord Orville uttering words of the kindest encouragement, handed us both. My uneasiness during the ride was excessive, but when we stopped at the door, I was almost senseless with terror. The meeting at last was not so dreadful as that moment. I believe I was carried into the house, but I scarce recollect what was done with me. However, I know we remained some time in the parlour before Mrs. Selwyn could send any message upstairs. When I was somewhat recovered, I entreated her to let me return home, assuring her I felt myself quite unequal to supporting the interview. "'No,' said she, "'you must stay now. Your fears will but gain strength by delay, and we must not have such a shock as this repeated.' Then, turning to the servant, she sent up her name. An answer was brought that he was going out in great haste, but would attend her immediately. I turned so sick that Mrs. Selwyn was apprehensive I should have fainted, and opening a door which led to an inner apartment, she begged me to wait there till I was somewhat composed, until she had prepared for my reception. Glad of every moment's reprieve, I willingly agreed to the proposal, and Mrs. Selwyn had but just time to shut me in, before her presence was necessary. The voice of a father—o dear and reverend name, which then, for the first time struck my ears, affected me in a manner I could not describe, though it was only employed in giving orders to a servant as he came downstairs. Then, entering the parlour, I heard him say, "'I am sorry, madam. I made you wait. But I have an engagement which now calls me away. However, if you have any commands for me, I shall be glad of the honour of your company some other time.' "'I am come, sir,' said Mrs. Selwyn, "'to introduce your daughter to you.' "'I am infinitely obligated to you,' answered he, "'but I have just had the satisfaction of breakfasting with her.' "'Mum, you're most obedient.' "'You refuse, then, to see her?' "'I am much indebted to you, madam, for this desire of increasing my family. But you must excuse me if I decline, taking advantage of it. I have already a daughter, to whom I owe everything, and it is not three days since that I had the pleasure of discovering a son. How many more sons and daughters may be brought to me I am yet to learn, but I am already perfectly satisfied with the size of my family.' "'How do you a thousand children, sir John?' said Mrs. Selwyn. "'This only one, of which Lady Belmont was the mother, ought to be most distinguished, and far from avoiding her sight, you should thank your stars, and humble gratitude, that there yet remains in your power the smallest opportunity of doing the injured wife you have destroyed, the poor justice of acknowledging her child.' "'I am very unwilling, madam,' answered he. "'You enter into any discussion of this point. But you are determined to compel me to speak. There lives not, at this time, the human being, who should talk to me of the regret due to the memory of that ill-fated woman. No one can feel it so severely as myself. But let me nevertheless assure you I have already done all that remained in my power to prove the respect she merited from me—her child I have educated and owned for my lawful heiress. If, madam, you can suggest to me any other means by which I may more fully do her justice, and more clearly manifest her innocence, name them to me, and though they should wound my character still deeper, I will perform them readily.' "'All this sounds vastly well,' returned Mrs. Selwyn, "'but I must own, it is rather too enigmaticle for my faculties of comprehension. You can, however, have no objection to seeing this young lady. None in the world.' "'Come forth, then, my dear,' cried she, opening the door. "'Come forth, and see your father!' Then, taking my trembling hand, she led me forward. I would have withdrawn it and retreated, but as he advanced instantly towards me, I found myself all ready before him. What a moment for your ever liner! An involuntary scream escaped me, and covering my face with my hands, I sunk on the floor. He had, however, seen me first, for in a voice scarce articulate he exclaimed, "'My God! Does Caroline Evelyn still live?' Mrs. Selwyn said something, but I could not listen to her, and in a few minutes he added, "'Lift up thy head, if my sight has not blasted thee. Lift up thy head, thou image of my long-lost Caroline!' I waited beyond measure, I half arose, and braced his knees, while yet on my own. "'Yes, yes,' cried he, looking earnestly in my face. "'I see, I see, though, out her child. She lives, she breathes, she is present to my view. Oh God! that she indeed lived!' "'Go, child, go!' added he, wildly starting, and pushing me from her. "'Take her away, madam, I cannot bear to look at her!' And then, breaking hastily from me, he rushed out of the room. Speechless, motionless myself, I attempted not to stop him, but Mrs. Selwyn, hastening after him, caught hold of his arm. "'Leave me, madam,' cried he, with quickness, and take care of the poor child. Bid her not think me unkind. Tell her I would at this moment plunge a dagger in my heart to serve her, but she has set my brain on fire, and I can see her no more.' Then with the violence almost frantic, he ran upstairs. "'Oh, sir, had I not indeed caused to dread this interview, an interview so unspeakably painful and afflicting to us both,' Mrs. Selwyn would have immediately returned to Clifton, but I entreated her to wait some time, in the hope that my unhappy father, when his first emotion was over, would again bear me in his sight. However, he soon after sent his servant to inquire how I did, and to tell Mrs. Selwyn he was much indisposed, but would hope for the honour of seeing her to-morrow, at any time she would please to appoint. She fixed upon ten o'clock in the morning, and then, with a heavy heart, I got into the chariot, those afflicting words, I can see her no more, were never a moment absent from my mind. Yet the sight of Lord Orville, who handed us from the carriage, gave some relief to the sadness of my thoughts. I could not, however, enter upon the painful subject, but, begging Mrs. Selwyn to satisfy him, I went to my own room. As soon as I communicated to the good Mrs. Clinton the present situation of my affairs, an idea occurred to her which seemed to clear up all the mystery of my having been so long disowned. The woman, she says, who attended my ever-to-be-regretted mother in her last illness, and who nursed me for the first four months of my life, soon after being discharged from your house, left Barry Hill entirely with her baby, who was but six weeks older than myself. Mrs. Clinton remembers that her quitting the place appeared at the time, very extraordinary to the neighbours, but as she was never heard of afterwards, she was by degrees quite forgotten. The moment this was mentioned it struck Mrs. Selwyn as well as Mrs. Clinton herself, that my father had been imposed upon, and that the nurse, who said she had brought his child to him, had in fact carried her own. The name by which I was known, the secrecy observed in regard to my family, and the retirement in which I lived all conspired to render this scheme, however daring and fraudulent, by no means impracticable, and in short the idea was no sooner started, than conviction seemed to follow it. Mrs. Selwyn determined immediately to discover the truth or mistake of this conjecture. Therefore the moment she had dined she walked to the hot wells, attended by Mrs. Clinton. I waited in my room till her return, and then had the following account of her visit. She found my poor father in great agitation. She immediately informed him of the occasion of her so speedy return, and of her suspicions of the woman who had pretended to convey to him his child. Interrupting her with quickness, he said he had just sent her from his presence. That the certainty I carried in my countenance of my real birth, made him the moment he had recovered from his surprise, which had almost deprived him of reason, suspect himself the imposition she mentioned. He had therefore sent for the woman, and questioned her with the utmost austerity. She turned pale and was extremely embarrassed, but still she persisted in affirming that she had really brought him the daughter of Lady Belmont. His perplexity, he said, almost distracted him. He had always observed that his daughter bore no resemblance to either of her parents, but as he had never doubted the veracity of the nurse, this circumstance did not give birth to any suspicion. That Mrs. Selwyn's desire the woman was again called, and interrogated with equal art and severity. Her confusion was evident, and her answers often contradictory, yet she still declared that she was no imposter. "'We will see that in a minute,' said Mrs. Selwyn, and then desired Mrs. Clinton might be called upstairs. The poor wretch, changing colour would have escaped out of the room, but being prevented dropped on her knees and implored forgiveness. A confession of the whole affair was then extorted from her. "'Doubtless, my dear sir, you must remember Dame Green, who was my first nurse. The deceit she has practised was suggested,' she said, by a conversation she overheard, in which my unhappy mother besought to you, that if her child survived her you would take the sole care of its education, and in particular if it should be a female, you would by no means part with her in early life. "'You not only consented,' she says, but assured her you would even retire abroad with me yourself, if my father should importantly demand me. Her own child,' she said, was then in her arms, and she could not forbear wishing it were possible to give her the fortune, which seemed so little valued for me. This wish, once raised, was not easily suppressed. On the contrary, what at first appeared a mere idle desire, in a short time seemed a feasible scheme. Her husband was dead, and she had little regard for anybody but her child, and in short, having saved money for the journey, she contrived to inquire a direction to my father, and telling her neighbours she was going to settle in Devonshire, she set out on her expedition. When Mrs. Selwyn asked her how she dared perpetrate such a fraud, she protested she had no ill designs, but that, as Miss would never be the worst for it, she thought at pity nobody should be the better. With her success we are already acquainted with. Indeed everything seemed to contribute towards it. My father had no correspondent at Berry Hill. The child was instantly sent to France, where being brought up in as much retirement as myself, nothing but accident could discover the fraud. And here let me indulge myself in observing, and rejoicing to observe, that the total neglect I thought I met with was not the effect of insensibility or unkindness, but of imposition and error. And that at the very time we concluded I was unnaturally rejected, my deluded father meant to show me most favour and protection. He acknowledges that Lady Howard's letter flung him into some perplexity. He immediately communicated it to Dame Green, who confessed it was the greatest shock she had ever received in her life. Yet she had the art and boldness to assert that Lady Howard must herself have been deceived, and as she had, from the beginning of her enterprise, declared she had stolen away the child without your knowledge, he concluded that some deceit was then intended him. And this thought occasioned his abrupt answer. Dame Green owned that, from the moment the journey to England was settled, she gave herself up for lost. All her hope was to have had her daughter married before it took place, for which reason she had so much promoted Mr. McCartney's addresses. For though such a match was inadequate to the pretensions of Miss Belmont, she well knew it was far superior to those her daughter could form after the discovery of her birth. My first enquiry was, if this innocent daughter was yet acquainted with the affair. No, Mrs. Elwyn said, nor was any plan settled how to divulge it to her. Poor unfortunate girl! How hard is her fate! She is entitled to my kindest offices, and I shall always consider her as my sister. I then asked whether my father would again allow me to see him. Why, no, my dear, not yet," answered she. He declares the sight of you is too much for him. However, we are to settle everything concerning you to-morrow, for this woman took up all our time to-day. This morning, therefore, she is again gone to the hot dwells. I am waiting in all impatience for her return, but as I know you will be anxious for the account this letter contains, I will not delay sending it. End of Letters seventy-eight. Letters seventy-nine of Evelina. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Elizabeth Klett. Evelina by Fanny Burney. Letters seventy-nine. Evelina in continuation, October ninth. How agitated, my dear, serves the present life of your Evelina! Every day seems important, and one event only apprails you to another. Mrs. Selwyn, upon her return this morning from the hot dwells, entering my Romberry abruptly said, Oh, my dear, I have terrible news for you! For me, Mum! Good God! What now? Arm yourself! cried she, with all your Berry Hill philosophy. Run over every lesson of fortitude or resignation you ever learnt in your life, for you know you are next week to be married to Lord Orville. Doubt, astonishment, and a kind of perturbation I cannot describe, made this abrupt communication alarm me extremely, and almost breathless I could only exclaim, Good God, madam, what do you tell me? You may well be frightened, my dear, said she ironically, for really there is something mighty terrific in becoming at once the wife of the man you adore, and a countess. I entreated her to spare her railery, and tell me her real meaning. She could not prevail with herself to grant the first request, though she readily complied with the second. My poor father, she said, was still in the utmost uneasiness. He had entered upon his affairs with great openness, and told her he was equally disturbed how to dispose either of the daughter he had discovered, or the daughter he was now to give up. The former he dreaded to trust himself with the gain beholding, and the latter he knew not how to shock with the intelligence of her disgrace. Mrs. Selwyn then acquainted him with my situation in regard to Lord Orville. This delighted him extremely, and when he heard of his lordship's eagerness, he said he was himself of opinion, the sooner the union took place, the better. And in return, he informed her of the affair of Mr. McCartney. And after a very long conversation—continued, Mrs. Selwyn—we agreed that the most eligible scheme for all parties would be to have both the real and the fictitious daughter married without delay. Therefore, if either of you have any inclination to pull caps for the title of Miss Belmont, you must do it with all speed, as next week will take from both of you all pretensions to it. Next week? Dear madam, what a strange plan! Without my being consulted, without applying to Mr. Villers, without even the concurrence of Lord Orville. As to consulting you, my dear, it was out of all question, because, you know, young ladies' hearts and hands are always to be given with reluctance. As to Mr. Villers, it is sufficient we know him for your friend, and as for Lord Orville, he is a party concerned. A party concerned? You amaze me! Ah, yes! For as I found our consultation likely to redound to his advantage, I persuaded Sir John to send for him. Send for him? Good God! Yes, and, Sir John agreed, I told the servant that if he could not hear of his lordship in the house, he might be pretty certain of encountering him in the arbor. Why do you colour, my dear? Well, he was with us in a moment. I introduced him to Sir John, and we proceeded to business. I am very, very sorry for it. Lord Orville must himself think this conduct strangely precipitated. No, my dear, you are mistaken. Lord Orville has too much good sense. Everything was then discussed in a rational manner. You are to be married privately, though not secretly, and then go to one of his lordship's country-seeds, and poor little Miss Green and your brother, who have no house of their own, must go to one of Sir John's. But why, my dear madam, why all this haste? Why may we not be allowed a little longer time? I could give you a thousand answers," said she, but that I am tolerably certain two or three will be more than you can controvert, even with all the logic of genuine cocketry. In the first place you doubtless wish to quit the house of Mrs. Beaumont. To whose, then, can you with such propriety remove as to Lord Orville's? Surely, madam, cried I, I am not more destitute now than when I thought myself in a orphan. Your father, my dear," answered she,--"is willing to save the little imposter as much of the mortification of her disgrace, as is in his power. Now if you immediately take a place, according to your right, as Miss Beaumont, why not all that either of you can do for her will prevent her being eternally stigmatised as the bandtling of Dame Green, wash-woman and wet nurse of Berry Hill-Dorseture. While such a genealogy will not be very flattering, even to Mr. McCartney, who all dismal as he is, you will find by no means wanting in pride and self-consequence. For the universe, interrupted I, I would not be accessory to the degradation you mention, but surely, madam, I may return to Berry Hill." By no means," answered she,--"for though compassion may make us wish to save the poor girl the confusion of an immediate and public fall, yet justice demands you should appear henceforward in no other light than that of Sir John Belmont's daughter. Besides between friends, I, who know the world, can see that half this prodigious delicacy for the little usurper is the mere result of self-interest. For while her affairs are hushed up, Sir John's, you know, are kept from being brought further to light. Now the double marriage we have projected obviates all rational objections. Sir John will give you immediately thirty thousand pounds, all settlements, and so forth, and will be made for you in the name of Everline Belmont. Mr. McCartney will at the same time take poor Polly Green, and yet at first it will only be generally known that a daughter of Sir John Belmont is married." In this manner, though she did not convince me, yet the quickness of her arguments silenced and perplexed me. I inquired, however, if I might not be permitted to again see my father, or whether I must regard myself as banished his presence for ever. My dear," said she, he does not know you. He concludes that you have been brought up to detest him, and therefore he is rather prepared to dread than to love you. This answer made me very unhappy. I wished most impatiently to remove his prejudice, and endeavour by dutiful acidity to engage his kindness, yet knew not how to propose seeing him, while conscious he wished to avoid me. This evening, as soon as the company was engaged with cards, Lord Orville exerted his utmost eloquence to reconcile me to this hasty plan, but how has I startlingly told me that next Tuesday was the day appointed by my father, to be the most important of my life? Next Tuesday, repeated I, quite out of breath, oh, my lord! My sweet Everliner," said he, the day which will make me the happiest of mortals would probably appear awful to you, were it to be deferred a twelve-month. Mrs. Selwyn has, doubtless acquainted you with the many motives which, independent of my eagerness, require it to be speedy, suffer therefore its acceleration, and generously complete my felicity, by endeavouring to suffer it without repugnance. Indeed, my lord, I would not willfully raise objections, nor do I desire to appear insensible of the honour of your good opinion, but there is something in this plan, so very hasty, so unreasonably precipitate. Besides, I shall have no time to hear from Barry Hill, and believe me, my lord, I should be forever miserable, were I, in an affair so important, to act without the sanction of Mr. Villa's advice. He offered to wait on you himself, but I told him I had rather right to you, and then he proposed that, instead of my immediately accompanying him to Lincolnshire, we should first pass a month at my native, Barry Hill. This was indeed a grateful proposal to me, and I listened to it with undisguised pleasure. And in short, I was obliged to consent to a compromise in merely deferring the day till Thursday. He readily undertook to engage my father's concurrence in this little delay, and I besought him at the same time to make use of his influence to obtain me a second interview, and to represent the deep concern I felt in being thus banished his sight. He would, then, have spoken of settlements, but I assured him I was almost ignorant of the word. And now, my dearest sir, what is your opinion of these hasty proceedings? Believe me, I half regret the simple facility with which I have suffered myself to be hurried into compliance, and should you start with the smallest objection, I will yet insist upon being allowed more time. I must now write a concise account of the state of my affairs to Howard Grove, and to Madame Duvall. Dear, dearest, and most honoured sir, everything at present depends upon your single decision to which, though I yield in trembling, I yield implicitly. Evalina in continuation, October 11th. Yesterday morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Lord Orville went to the hot wells to wait upon my father with my double petition. Mrs. Beaumont, then, in general terms, proposed a walk in the garden. Mrs. Selwyn said she had let us to write, but Lady Louisa rose to accompany Mrs. Beaumont. I had had some reason to imagine, from the notice with which her ladyship had honoured me during breakfast, that her brother had acquainted her with my present situation, and to behaviour now confirmed my conjectures, for when I would have gone upstairs, instead of suffering me as usual to pass disregarded, she called after me with an affected surprise. Miss Anvil, don't you walk with us? There seemed something so little-minded in this sudden change of conduct, that from an involuntary motion of contempt I thanked her with a coldness like her own, and declined her offer. Yet, observing that she blushed extremely at my refusal, and recollecting she was sister to Lord Orville, my indignation subsided, and upon Mrs. Beaumont repeating the invitation, I accepted it. Our walk proved extremely dull. Mrs. Beaumont, who never says much, was more silent than usual. Lady Louisa strove in vain to lay aside the restraint and distance she has hitherto preserved, and as to me, I was too conscious of the circumstances to which I owed their attention, to feel either pride or pleasure from receiving it. Lord Orville was not long absent. He joined us in the garden with a look of gait and good humour that revived us all. You are just the party," said he, I wished to see together. Will you, madam, taking my hand, allow me the honour of introducing you by your real name to two of my nearest relations? Mrs. Beaumont, give me leave to present to you the daughter of Sir John Belmont, a young lady who, I am sure, must long since have engaged your esteem and admiration, though you were a stranger to her birth. My Lord! said Mrs. Beaumont, graciously saluting me. The young lady's rank in life, your lordship's recommendation, or her own merit, would, any one of them, have been sufficient to have entitled her to my regard, and I hope she is always met with that respect in my house, which is so much her due, though, had I been soon made acquainted with her family, I should doubtless have better known how to have secured it. Miss Belmont, said Lord Orville, can receive no luster from family, whatever she may give to it. Louisa, you will, I am sure, be happy to make yourself an interest in the friendship of Miss Belmont, whom I hope shortly, kissing my hand and joining it with her ladyships, to have the happiness of presenting to you by yet another name, and by the most endearing of all titles. I believe it would be difficult to say whose cheeks were, at the moment, of the deepest dye, Lady Louisa's, or my own, for the conscious pride with which she has hitherto slighted me, gave to her an embarrassment which equalled the confusion that an introduction so unexpected gave to me. She saluted me, however, and with a faint smile said, I shall esteem myself very happy to profit by the honour of Miss Belmont's acquaintance. I only curtsied, had we walked on, but it was evident from the little surprise they expressed that they had already been informed of the state of the affair. We were soon after joined by more company, and Lord Orville, then, in a low voice, took an opportunity to tell me of the success of his visit. In the first place Thursday was agreed to, and in the second, my father, he said, was much concerned to hear of my uneasiness, sent me his blessing, and complied with my request of seeing him, with the same readiness he should agree to any other I could make. Lord Orville, therefore, settled that I should wait upon him in the evening, and at his particular request unaccompanied by Mrs. Selwyn. This kind message, and the prospect of so soon seeing him, gave me sensations of mixed pleasure and pain, which wholly occupied my mind till the time of my going to the hot wells. Mrs. Beaumont let me hachari it, and Lord Orville absolutely insisted upon attending me. "'If you go alone,' he said, "'Mrs. Selwyn will certainly be offended, but if you allow me to conduct you, though she may give the free a scope to her railery, she cannot possibly be affronted, and we had much better suffer her laughter than provoke her satire.' Indeed, I must own, I had no reason to regret being so accompanied, for his conversation supported my spirits from drooping, and made the ride seem so short that he actually stopped at my father's door before I knew he had progressed ten yards. He handed me from the carriage, and conducted me to the parlour, at the door of which I was met by Mr. McCartney. "'Oh, my dear brother,' cried I, "'how happy am I to see you here!' He bowed, and thanked me. Lord Orville, then, holding out his hand, said, "'Mr. McCartney, I hope we shall be better acquainted. I promise myself much pleasure from cultivating your friendship.' "'Your lordship does me but too much honour,' answered Mr. McCartney. "'But where?' cried I, "'is my sister. For so I must already call, and always consider her. I am afraid she avoids me. You must endeavour, my dear brother, to prepossess her in my favour, and reconcile her to owning me.' "'Oh, madam,' cried he, "'you are all goodness and benevolence. But at present I hope you will excuse her, for I fear she is hardly fortitude sufficient to see you, in a short time, perhaps.' "'In a very short time, then,' said Lord Orville, "'I hope you will yourself introduce her, and that we shall have the pleasure of wishing you both joy. Allow me, my ever-liner, to say we, and permit me in your name, as well as my own, to entreat that the first guests we shall have, the happiness of receiving, may be Mr. and Mrs. McCartney.'" A servant then came to beg I would walk upstairs. I besought Lord Orville to accompany me, but he feared the displeasure of Sir John, who had desired to see me alone. He led me, however, to the foot of the stairs, and made the kindest efforts to give me courage. But indeed he did not succeed, for the interview appeared to me in all its terrors, and left me no feeling but apprehension. The moment I reached the landing-place, the drawing-room door was opened, and my father with a voice of kindness called out, "'My child, is it you?' "'Yes, sir,' cried I, springing forward and kneeling at his feet, "'it is your child, if you will own her.'" He knelt by my side, and folding me in his arms. "'Own thee,' repeated he, "'yes, my poor girl, and heaven knows with what bitter contrition!' Then, raising both himself and me, he brought me into the drawing-room, shut the door, and took me to the window, where looking at me with great earnestness. "'Poor, unhappy Caroline,' cried he, and to my inexpressible concern, he burst into tears. "'Need I tell you, my dear sir, how mind-flow'd at the sight.' I would again have embraced his knees, but hurrying from me, he flung himself upon a sofa, and leaning his face on his arms, seemed for some time absorbed in bitterness of grief. I ventured not to interrupt a sorrow I so much respected, but waited in silence and at a distance, till he recovered from its violence. But then it seemed in a moment to give way to a kind of frantic fury, for starting suddenly, with a sternness which had once surprised and frightened me, "'Child,' cried he, "'Hast thou yet sufficiently humbled, thy father? If thou hast to be contented with this proof of my weakness, and no longer force thyself into my presence,' thunderstruck by a command so unexpected, I stood still and speechless, and doubted whether my own ears did not deceive me. "'Oh, go, go!' cried he, passionately, in pity, in compassion, if thou valuist my senses leave me, and for ever.' "'I will, I will,' cried I, greatly terrified, and I moved hastily towards the door, yet stopping when I reached it, and almost involuntarily, dropping on my knees. "'Vout safe,' cried I, "'Oh, sir, vouch safe but once to bless your daughter, and a sight shall never more offend you.' "'Alas!' cried he in a softened voice. "'I am not worthy to bless thee. I am not worthy to call thee daughter. I am not worthy that the fair light of heaven should visit my eyes. Oh, God! That I could, but call back the time ere thou wast born, for else bury its remembrance in eternal oblivion.' "'What a heaven!' cried I, that the sight of me were less terrible to you, that instead of irritating I could soothe your sorrows. Oh, sir, how thankfully would I then prove my duty, even at the hazard of my life.' "'Are you so kind?' cried he gently. "'Come, hither, child, rise, everliner.' "'Alas! It is for me to kneel, not you, and I would kneel. I would crawl upon the earth. I would kiss the dust. Could I, by such submission, obtain the forgiveness of the representative of the most injured of women?' "'Oh, sir!' exclaimed I, that you could but read my heart, that you could but see the filial tenderness and concern with which it overflows. You would not then talk thus. You would not then banish me your presence, and exclude me from your affection.' "'Good God!' cried he. "'Is it then possible that you do not hate me? Can the child of the wronged Caroline look at, and not execrate me? Was thou not born to abhor, and bred to curse me? Did not thy mother bequeath thee her blessing on condition that thou shouldst detest and avoid me?' "'Oh, no, no, no!' cried I. Think not so unkindly of her, nor so hardly of me.' I then took from my pocket-book her last letter, and, pressing it to my lips with a trembling hand and still upon my knees, I held it out to him, hastily snatching it from me. "'Great Heaven!' cried he. "'Tis her writing. Whence comes this? Who gave it to you? Why had I not it sooner?' I made no answer. His vehemence intimidated me, and I ventured not to move from the suppliant posture in which I had put myself. He went from me to the window, where his eyes were for some time riveted upon the direction of the letter, though his hand shook so violently he could hardly hold it. Then, bringing it to me, open it,' cried he, for I cannot. I had myself hardly strength to obey him, but when I had he took it back, and walked hastily up and down the room, as if dreading to read it, at length turning to me. "'Do you know,' cried he, "'its condense?' "'No, sir,' answered I, "'it has never been unsealed.' He then again went to the window and began reading. Having hastily run it over, he cast up his eyes with a look of desperation. The letter fell from his hand, and he exclaimed, "'Yes, thou art sainted, thou art blessed, and I am cursed for ever.'" He continued some time fixed in this melancholy position, after which, casting himself with violence upon the ground, "'O wretch!' cried he, "'unworthy life and light, in what dungeon can't thou hide thy head?' I could restrain myself no longer. I rose and went to him. I did not dare speak, but with pity and concern unutterable. I wept and hung over him. Soon after, starting up, he again seized the letter, exclaiming, "'Acknowledge thee, Caroline. Yes, with my heart's best blood would I acknowledge thee. O that thou couldst witness the agony of my soul. Ten thousand daggers could not have wounded me like this letter.' Then, after again reading it, "'Evelina,' he cried, "'she charges me to receive thee. Wilt thou, in obedience to her will, own for thy father the destroyer of thy mother? What a dreadful question!' I shuddered, but could not speak. To clear her fame, and receive her child, continued he, looking steadfastly at the letter. Are the conditions upon which she leaves me her forgiveness? Her fame I have already cleared. And oh, how willingly would I take a child to my bosom, fold her to my heart, call upon her to mitigate my anguish, and pour the balm of comfort on my wounds, were I not conscious I deserved not to receive it, and that all my affliction is the result of my own guilt? It was in vain I attempted to speak. Horror and grief took from me all power of utterance. He then read aloud from the letter, "'Look not like thy unfortunate mother. Sweet soul, with what bitterness of spirit hast thou written, come hither, Evelina. Gracious heaven, looking earnestly at me. Never was likeness more striking. The eyes, the face, the form. Oh, my child, my child! Imagine, sir, for I can never describe my feelings when I saw him sink upon his knees before me. Oh, dear resemblance of thy murdered mother! Oh, all that remains of the most injured of women! Behold thy father at thy feet, bending thus lowly to implore you would not hate him. Oh, then, thou representative of my departed wife, speak to me in her name, and say that the remorse which tears my soul tortures me not in vain. Oh, rise! Rise, my beloved father!" cried I, attempting to assist him. I cannot bear to see you thus. Reverse not the law of nature. Rise yourself, and bless your kneeling daughter. May heaven bless thee, my child! cried he, for I dare not. He then rose, and embracing me most affectionately added. I see—I see that thou art all kindness, softness, and tenderness. I need not have feared thee—thou art all the fondest father could wish, and I will try to frame my mind to less painful sensations at thy sight. Perhaps the time may come when I may know the comfort of such a daughter. At present I am only fit to be alone. Dreadful as are my reflections, they ought merely to torment myself. Oh, dear, my child, be not angry—I cannot stay with thee. Oh, whoever liner, thy countenance is a dagger to my heart! Just so, thy mother looked, just so! Tears and sighs seemed to choke him, and waving his hand, he would have left me. But clinging to him— Oh, sir! cried I, will you so soon abandon me? Am I again an orphan? Oh, my dear, my long-lost father, leave me not, I beseech you. Take pity on your child, and rob her not of the parent she so fondly hoped would cherish her. You know not what you ask, cried he. The emotions which now rend my soul and more than my reason can endure, suffer me then to leave you. Imputed not to unkindness, but think of me as well as thou canst. Lord Orville has behaved nobly. I believe he will make thee happy. Then again embracing me—God bless thee, my dear child, cried he. God bless thee, my everliner, endeavour to love, at least not to hate me, and to make me an interest in thy filial bosom, by thinking of me as thy father. I could not speak, I kissed his hands on my knees, and then with yet more emotion he again blessed me, and hurried out of the room, leaving me almost drowned in tears. Oh, sir! All goodness as you are! How much will you feel for your everliner during a scene of such agitation? I pray heaven to accept the tribute of his remorse, and restore him to tranquillity. When I was sufficiently composed to return to the parlour, I found Lord Orville waiting for me with the utmost anxiety, and then a new scene of emotion, though of a far different nature, awaited me, for I learned by Mr. McCartney that this noblest of men had insisted the so-long-supposed Miss Belmont should be considered indeed as my sister, and as the co-heiress of my father, though not in law, in justice, he says, she ought ever to be treated as the daughter of Sir John Belmont. Oh, Lord Orville, it shall be the sole study of my happy life to express, better than by words, the sense I have of your exalted benevolence and greatness of mind. CHAPTER XXVII This morning early I received the following letter from Sir Clement Willoughby. To Miss Anville. I have this moment received intelligence that preparations are actually making for your marriage with Lord Orville. Imagine not that I write with the imbecile idea of rendering those preparations abortive. No, I am not so mad. My sole view is to explain the motive of my conduct in a particular instance, and to obviate the accusation of treachery which may be laid to my charge. My unguarded behaviour, when I last saw you, has, probably already acquainted you, that the letter I then saw you reading was written by myself. For your further satisfaction, let me have the honour of informing you that the letter you had designed for Lord Orville had fallen into my hands. However I may have been urged on by a passion the most violent that ever warmed the heart of man, I can by no means calmly submit to be stigmatised for an action seemingly so dishonourable, and it is for this reason that I trouble you with this justification. Lord Orville, the happy Orville whom you are so ready to bless, had made me believe he loved you not, nay, that he held you in contempt. Such are my thoughts of his sentiments of you when I got possession of the letter you meant to send him. I pretend not to vindicate either the means I used to obtain it, or the action of breaking the seal, but I was impelled by an impetuous curiosity to discover the terms upon which you wrote to him. The letter, however, was wholly unintelligible to me, and the perusal of it only added to my perplexity. A tame suspense I was not born to endure, and I determined to clear my doubts at all hazards and events. I answered it, therefore, in Orville's name. The views which I am now going to acknowledge must infallibly incur your displeasure, yet I scorn all palliation. Early then, I concealed your letter to prevent a discovery of your capacity, and I wrote to you an answer which I hoped to prevent your wishing for any other. I am well aware of everything which can be said upon this subject. Lord Orville will possibly think himself ill-used, but I am extremely indifferent as to his opinion, nor do I now write by way of offering any apology to him, but merely to make known to yourself the reasons by which I have been governed. I intend to set off next week for the Continent. Should his lordship have any commands for me in the meantime, I shall be glad to receive them. I say not this by way of defiance. I should blush to be suspected of so doing through an indirect channel. But simply that, if you show him this letter, he may know I dare defend, as well as excuse, my conduct." Clement Willoughby What a strange letter! How proud and how piqued does its writer appear! To what alternate meanness and rashness do the passions lead, when reason and self-denial do not oppose them? Sir Clement is conscious he is acted dishonorably, yet the same unbridled vehemence which urged him to gratify a blamable curiosity, will sooner prompt him to risk his life than confess his misconduct. The rudeness of his manner of writing to me springs from the same cause. The proof which he has received in my indifference to him has stung him to the soul, and he is neither the delicacy nor forbearance to disguise his displeasure. I determined not to show this letter to Lord Orville, and thought it most prudent to let Sir Clement know I should not. I therefore wrote the following note. To Sir Clement Willoughby Sir, the letter you have been pleased to address to me is so little calculated to afford Lord Orville any satisfaction, that you may depend upon my carefully keeping it from his sight. I will bear you no resentment for what is past, but I most earnestly entreat, nay implore, that you will not try to gain, while in your present frame of mind, by any channel, direct or indirect. I hope you will have much pleasure in your promised expedition, and I beg leave to assure you of my good wishes. Not knowing by what name to sign, I was obliged to send it without any. The preparations which Sir Clement mentions go on just as if your consent were arrived, it is in vain that I expostulate. Lord Orville says, should any objections be raised, all shall be given up, but that as his hopes forbid him to expect any, he must proceed as if already assured of your concurrence. We have had this afternoon a most interesting conversation, in which we have traced our sentiments of each other from our first acquaintance. I have made him confess how ill he thought of me upon my foolish giddiness at Mrs. Stanley's ball, but he flatters me with assurances that every succeeding time he saw me, I appeared to something less and less disadvantage. When I expressed my amazement that he could honour with his choice a girl, who seemed so infinitely in every respect beneath his alliance, he frankly owned that he had fully intended making more minute inquiries into my family and connections, particularly concerning those people he saw me with at Mariban, before he acknowledged his prepossession in my favour. But seeing me again, put him quite off his guard, and, divesting him of prudence, left him nothing but love. These are his words, and yet he has repeatedly assured me that his partiality has no no bounds, from the time of my residing at Clifton. Mr. McCartney has just been with me on an embassy from my father. He has sent me his kindest love and assurances of favour, and desired to know if I am happy in the prospect of changing my situation, and if there is anything I can name which he can do for me. And at the same time, Mr. McCartney delivered to me a draft on my father's banker for a thousand pounds, which he insisted that I should receive entirely for my own use, and expend in equipping myself properly for the new rank of life to which I seem destined. I am sure I need not say how much I was penetrated by this goodness. I wrote my thanks, and acknowledged, frankly, that if I could see him so restored to tranquility, my heart would be without a wish. Letter eighty-two of Evelina. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Elizabeth Clett. Evelina by Fanny Burney. Letter eighty-two. Evelina in continuation, Clifton, October thirteenth. Time approaches now when I hope we shall meet, yet I cannot sleep. Great joy is as restless as sorrow, and therefore I will continue my journal. As I had never had an opportunity of seeing Bath, a party was formed last night for showing me that celebrated city, and this morning, after breakfast, we set out in three fatens. Lady Louisa, and Mrs. Beaumont, and Lord Martin, Mr. Covelie, Mr. Lovell, and Mrs. Mervyn, and myself with Lord Orville. We had hardly proceeded half a mile when a gentleman from the post-shares which came galloping after us, called out to the servants, "'Hala, my lads! Pray, is one Miss Anvil in any of them finger-bobbs?' I immediately recollected the voice of Captain Mervyn, and Lord Orville stopped the faten. He was out of the shares and with us in a moment. "'So, Miss Anvil!' cried he. "'How do you do? So I hear you miss Belmont now. Pray, how does old Madame French do?' "'Madame DuVall,' said I, is I believe very well.' "'I hope she is in good case,' said he, winking significantly, and won't flinch at seeing service. She is laid by long enough to refit and be made tight. And pray, how does poor Monseer Doleful do, is he as blank-jawed as ever?' "'They are neither of them,' said I, in Bristol.' "'No,' cried he, with a look of disappointment, but surely the old dowered her intents coming to the wedding. It will be a most excellent opportunity to show off her best Lyon silk. Besides, I purposed to dance a new-fashioned jig with her. Don't you know when she'll come?' "'I have no reason to expect her at all.' "'No? For, George, this here is the worst news I'd wish to hear. Why, I've thought of nothing all the way, but what trick I should serve her?' "'You have been very obliging,' said I, laughing. "'Oh, I promise you,' cried he, "'our Moll would never have weedled me into this jaunt if I'd known she was not here, but to let you into the secret I fully intended to have treated the old buck with another frolic. "'Did Miss Mervyn then persuade you to this journey?' "'Yes, and we've been travelling all night.' "'We,' cried I, "'is Miss Mervyn then with you?' "'What? Mollie?' "'Yes, she's in that bear's shears.' "'Good God, sir, why did you not tell me sooner?' cried I, and immediately with Lord Orville's assistance I jumped out of the fayton and ran to the dear girl. Lord Orville opened the shears door, and I am sure I need not tell you what unfamed joy accompanied our meeting. We both begged we might not be parted during the ride, and Lord Orville was so good as to invite Captain Mervyn into his fayton. I think I was hardly ever more rejoiced than at this so seasonable visit from my dear Mariah, who had no sooner heard the situation of my affairs, than with the assistance of Lady Howard and her kind mother, she besought her father with such earnestness to consent to the journey, that he had not been able to withstand their united entreaties. Though she owned that, had he not expected to have met with Madame Duvall, she believes he would not so readily have yielded. They arrived at Mrs. Beaumont's, but a few minutes after we were out of sight, and overtook us with much difficulty. I say nothing of our conversation, because you may so well suppose both the subjects we chose, and our manner of discussing them. We all stopped at a great hotel, where we were obliged to inquire for a room, as Lady Louisa, fatigued to death, desired to take something before it began our rambles. As soon as the party was assembled, the captain abruptly saluting me said, "'So, Miss Beaumont, I wish you joy, so I have quarrelled with your new name already.' "'Me? No, indeed, sir.' "'Then please, for to tell me the reason you are in such a hurry to change it.' "'Miss Beaumont,' cried Mr. Lovell, looking around him with the utmost astonishment, "'I beg pardon, but if it is not impertinent, I must beg leave to say I always understood that lady's name was Anvil.' "'For George,' cried the captain, "'it runs in my head, I have seen you somewhere before. And now I think on it. Pray! Aren't you the person I saw at the play one night, and we didn't know all the time whether it was a comedy, or a tragedy, or a concert of fiddlers?' "'I believe, sir,' said Mr. Lovell, stammering, "'I had once, I think, the pleasure of seeing you last spring.' "'I, and if I live in hundred springs,' answered he, "'I shall never forget it. By Jingo it has served me for a most excellent good joke ever since. Well, how some ever I am glad to see you still in the land of the living!' "'Pray, if a body may be so bold, how much a night may you give it present to keep the undertaker's aloof?' "'Me, sir,' said Mr. Lovell, very much discomposed, "'I protest, I never thought myself in such imminent danger as to—'Really, sir, I don't understand you.' "'Oh, you don't? Why, then, I'll make free for to explain myself. Women and ladies, I'll tell you what. Do you know this here gentleman, simple as he sits there, pays five shillings a night to let his friend know he's alive?' "'And very cheap, too,' said Mrs. Selwyn, "'if we consider the value of the intelligence.'" "'Lady Louise are now being refreshed. We proceeded upon our expedition. The charming city of Bath answered all my expectations—the crescent, the prospect from it, and the elegant symmetry of the circus delighted me. The parades I own rather disappointed me—one of them is scarce, preferable to some of the best-paved streets in London, and the other, though it affords a beautiful prospect, a charming view of Pryor Park and of the Avon—yet wondered something in itself of more striking elegance than a mere broad pavement, to satisfy the ideas I had formed of it. At the pump-room, I was amazed at the public exhibition of the ladies in the Bath. It is true their heads are covered with bonnets, but the very idea of being seen in such a situation by whoever pleases to look is indelicate." "'For George,' said the captain, looking into the Bath, "'this would be a most excellent place for old Madam French to dance a Fandango in. By Jingo, I wouldn't wish for better sport than to swing her round this here pond.' "'She would be very much obliged to you,' said Lord Orville. "'For so extraordinary a mark of your favour.' "'Why, to let you know,' answered the captain, "'she hid my fancy mightily. I never took so much to an old tabby before.' "'Really now?' cried Mr. Lovell, looking also into the Bath. I must confess, it is to me very incomprehensible why the ladies choose that frightful unbecoming dress to bathe in. I have often pondered very seriously upon the subject, but could never hit upon the reason.' "'Well, I declare,' said Lady Louisa, "'I should like of all things to get something new a-going. I always hated bathing, because one can get no pretty dress for it. Now do, there's a good creature, try to help me to something.' "'Who? Me? Oh, dear ma'am,' said he, simpering, "'I can't pretend to assist a person of your ladyship's tastes. Besides, I have not the least head for fashions. I rarely don't think I ever invented above three in my life, but I never had the least turn for dress, never any notion of fancy or elegance.' "'Oh, fine, Mr. Lovell, how can you talk so? Don't we all know that you lead the town in the Beaumond? I declare I think you dress better than anybody.' "'Oh, dear ma'am, you confuse me to the last degree. I dress well.' "'I protest I don't think I'm ever fit to be seen. I'm often shocked to death to think what a figure I go. If your ladyship would believe me, I was full half an hour this morning thinking what I should put on.' "'Od's my life,' cried the captain, "'I wish I'd been near you. I warrant I'd have quickened your motions a little, half an hour thinking what you'd put on, and who the deuce do you think cares the snuff of a candle, whether you've anything on or not?' "'Oh, pray, captain,' cried Mrs. Selwyn. "'Don't be angry with the gentleman for thinking whatever be the cause, for I assure you he makes no common practice of evending in that way.' "'Really, ma'am, you're prodigiously kind,' said Mr. Lovell angrily. "'Pray now,' said the captain, "'did you ever get a ducking in that their place yourself?' "'A ducking, sir?' repeated Mr. Lovell. "'I protest, I think that's rather an odd term. But have you mean abaving? It is an honour I have had many times.' "'And pray, if a body may be so bold, what do you do with that frizzle-frizz on top of your own? Why I'll lay you what you will, there is fat and grease enough on your crown to buoy you up if you were ever to go in head downwards.' "'And I don't know,' cried Mrs. Selwyn, "'but that might be the easiest way, for I'm sure it would be the lightest.' "'For the matter of that there,' said the captain, "'you must make him a soldier before you can tell which is lightest, head or heels. How some ever I'd lay ten pounds to a shilling, I could whisk him so dexterously over into the pool, that he should like plump upon his foretop and turn round like a teetotem.' "'Done,' cried Lord Martin, "'I take your odds.' "'Will you?' returned he. "'Why, then, for George, I'd do it as soon as say Jack Robinson.' "'He he,' faintly laughed Mr. Lovell, as he moved abruptly from the window. "'Bon honour, this is pleasant enough, but I don't see what right any body has to lay wages about one without one's consent.' "'There, Lovell, you are out,' cried Mr. Covelay, "'any man may lay what wager about you he will. Your consent is nothing to the purpose. He may lay that your nose is a sky-blue if he pleases.' "'I,' said Mrs. Selwyn, "'all that your mind is more adorned than your person, or any absurdity whatsoever.' "'I protest,' said Mr. Lovell, "'I think it's a very disagreeable privilege, and I must beg that nobody may take such liberty with me.' "'Like enough you may,' cried the captain, "'but what's that to the purpose? "'Suppose I have a mind to lay that you've never a tooth in your head—pray, how will you hinder me?' "'You'll allow me at least, sir, to take the liberty of asking how you'll prove it.' "'How? Why, by knocking them all down your throat?' "'Knocking them all down my throat, sir,' repeated Mr. Lovell with a look of horror, "'I protest. I never heard anything so shocking in my life, and I must beg Leave to observe that no wager in my opinion could justify such a barbarous action.' Here Lord Orville interfered, and hurried us to our carriages. We returned in the same order that we came. Mrs. Beaumont invited all the party to dinner, and has been so obliging us to beg Miss Mervyn may continue out of house during her stay. The captain will lodge at the Wells. The first half-hour after our return was devoted to hearing Mr. Lovell's apologies for dining in his riding-dress. Mrs. Beaumont, then, addressing herself to Miss Mervyn and me, inquired how we like Bath. "'My hope,' said Mr. Lovell, the ladies do not call this seeing Bath. "'No, watch an aeolum,' cried the captain. "'Do you suppose they put their eyes in their pockets?' "'No, sir, but I fancy you will find no person—that is, no person of any condition—call going about a few places in a morning, seeing Bath.' "'May happen,' said the literal captain. "'You think we should see it better by going about at midnight?' "'No, sir, no,' said Mr. Lovell with a supercellious smile. "'I perceive you don't understand me. We should never call it seeing Bath without going at the right season.' "'Why, what plague, then?' demanded he. "'Can you only see it one season of the year?' Mr. Lovell again smiled, but seemed superior to making any answer. "'The Bath amusements,' said Lord Orville, have a sameness in them, which after a short time renders them rather insipid, but the greatest objection that can be made to the place is the encouragement it gives to game-sters. "'Why, I hope, my Lord, you would not think of abolishing gaming,' cried Lord Martin. "'It is the very zest of life. Devil take me, if I could live without it.' "'I am sorry for it,' said Lord Orville gravely, and looking at Lady Louisa. "'Your lordship is no judge of this subject,' continued the other. "'But if once we could get you to a gaming-table, you'd never be happy away from it.' "'I hope, my Lord,' cried Lady Louisa, that nobody here over occasions you're quitting it.' "'Your ladyship,' said Lord Martin recollecting himself, has power to make me quit anything.' "'Except herself,' said Mr. Covelly. "'E-gad, my Lord, I think I've helped you out there.' "'You men of wit, Jack,' answered his lordship, "'are always ready, for my part I don't pretend to any talents that way.' "'Really, my Lord?' asked the sarcastic Mrs. Selwyn. "'Well, that is wonderful, considering success would be so much in your power.' "'Pray, Mom,' said Mr. Lovell to Lady Louisa. "'Has your ladyship heard the news?' "'News? What news?' "'Why, the report, circulating at the Wells concerning a certain person.' "'Oh, Lord, no! But tell me, what is it?' "'Oh, no, Mom, I beg your ladyship will excuse me. It is a profound secret, and I would not have mentioned it, if I had not thought you knew it.' "'Oh, Lord, now, how can you be so monstrous? I declare now you're a provoking creature. "'But come, I know you'll tell me. Won't you now?' "'Your ladyship knows I am but too happy to obey you. "'But, upon honour, I can't speak a word if you won't at all promise me the most inviolable secrecy.' "'I wish you'd wait for that from me,' said the captain, "'and I'll give you my word, you'd be dumb for one while.' "'Secrecy, quother! For George, I wonder you aren't ashamed to mention such a word when you talk of telling it to a woman. "'Though, for the matter of that, I just leave, blab it to the whole sex at once, as to go for it to tell it to such a thing as you.' "'Such a thing is me, sir,' said Mr. Lovell, letting fall his knife and fork in looking very important. "'I really have not the honour to understand your expression.' "'It's all one for that,' said the captain. "'You may have it explained whenever you like it.' "'Upon honour, sir,' returned Mr. Lovell. "'I must take the liberty to tell you that I should be extremely offended, but that I suppose it to be some sea-phrase, and therefore I'll it at pass without further notice.' "'Lord Orville, then, to change the discourse, ask Miss Mervyn if she should spend the ensuing winter in London.' "'No, to be sure,' said the captain. "'What should she for? She saw all that was there to be seen before.' "'Is London, then?' said Mr. Lovell, smiling at Lady Louisa, only to be regarded as a sight. "'Why pray, Mr. Wiseacre, how are you pleased for to regard it yourself? Answer me to that.' "'No, sir, my opinion, I fancy, you would hardly find intelligible. "'I don't understand sea-phrases enough to define it to your comprehension. "'Does not your ladyship think the task would be rather difficult?' "'Oh, Lord, yes,' cried Lady Louisa. "'I declare, I'd assume teach my parrot to talk Welsh.' "'Ah! admirable! "'Pon honour your ladyship quite in luck to-day, but that indeed your ladyship is every-day. "'Though to be sure it is but candid to acknowledge that the gentlemen of the ocean have a set of ideas as well as a dialect so opposite to ours, "'that it is by no means surprising they should regard London as a mere show, that it may be seen by being looked at.' "'Ah! ah! ah! ah!' echoed Lady Louisa. "'Well, I declare, you are the drollist creature.' "'Pon honour I can't help laughing at the conceit of seeing London in a few weeks.' "'And what a plague should hinder you?' cried the captain. "'Do you want to spend a day in every street?' "'Here again, Lady Louisa, and Mr. Lovell, interchanged smiles.' "'Why, I warrant you, if I had the showing, it I'd haul you from St. James's to Wapping the very first morning.' The smiles were now with added contempt repeated, which the captain observing looked very fiercely at Mr. Lovell, and said, "'Hark ye, my spark, none of your grinning! "'Tis a lingo, I don't understand, and if you give me any more of it, I shall go near to lend you a box of the ear.' "'I protest, sir,' said Mr. Lovell, turning extremely pale. "'I think it's taking a very particular liberty for the person to talk to one in such a style as this.' "'It's like you may,' returned the captain, but give a good gulp, and I'll warrant you'll swallow it.' Then, calling for a glass of ale with a very provoking and significant nod, he drank to his easy digestion. Mr. Lovell made no answer, but looked extremely sullen, and soon after we left the gentlemen to themselves. I had, then, two letters delivered to me, one from Lady Howard and Mrs. Mervyn, which contained the kindest congratulations, and the other from Madame Duvall—but not a word from you—to my no small surprise and concern. Madame Duvall seems greatly rejoiced at my late intelligence. A violent cold, she says, prevents her coming to Bristol. The brandon, she tells me, are all well. Miss Polly is soon to be married to Mr. Brown, but Mr. Smith has changed his lodgings. "'Witch,' she adds, has made the house extremely dull. "'However, that's not the worst news.' But I've been used like nobody, for Mr. Duvall has had the baseless to go back to France without me.' In conclusion, she assures me, as you prognosticated, she would, that I shall be sole heiress of all she is worth, when Lady Orville. At tea-time we were joined by all the gentlemen but Captain Mervyn, who went to the hotel where he was to sleep and made his daughter accompany him, to separate her trumpery, as he called it, from her clothes. As soon as they were gone, Mr. Lovell, who still appeared extremely sulky, said, "'I protest. I never saw such a vulgar, abrasive fellow in my life as that Captain. For an honour, I believe he came here for no purpose in the world, but to pick a quarrel. However, for my part, I vow I won't humour him.' "'I declare,' cried Lady Louisa. "'He put me in a monstrous fright. I never heard anybody talk so shocking in my life.' "'I think,' said Mrs. Selwyn, with great solemnity. "'He threatened to box your ears, Mr. Lovell. Did not he?' "'Really, ma'am,' said Mr. Lovell, colouring. "'If one was to mind everything those low kind of people say, one should never be at rest for the one impertinence or another. So I think the best way is to be above taking any notice of them.' "'What?' said Mrs. Selwyn, with the same gravity. "'And so receive the blow in silence.' During this discourse, I heard the Captain's shares stop at the door, and ran downstairs to meet Mariah. She was alone, and told me that her father, who, she was sure, had some scheme and agitation against Mr. Lovell, had sent her on before him. I continued in the parlour till his return, and were joined by Lord Orville, who begged me not to insist on a patient so unnatural, as submitting to be excluded our society. "'And let me, my dear sir, with a grateful heart, let me own. I never before passed half an hour in such perfect felicity.' I believe we were all sorry when the Captain returned, yet his inward satisfaction, from however different a cause, did not seem inferior to what ours had been. Captain Mariah under the chin, rubbed his hands, and was scarcely able to contain the fullness of his glee. We all attended him to the drawing-room, for having composed his countenance without any previous attention to Mrs. Beaumont, he marched up to Mr. Lovell, and abruptly said, "'Pray, have you ever a brother in these here parts?' "'Me, sir?' "'No, thank heaven, I am free from all encumbrances of that sort.' "'Well,' cried the Captain, "'I am at a person just now, so like you, I could have sworn he had been your twin brother.' "'There would have been a most singular pleasure to me,' said Mr. Lovell, if I also could have seen him, for really, I have not the least notion what sort of person I am, and I have a prodigious curiosity to know.' Just then the Captain's servant, opening the door, said, "'A little gentleman below desires to see one Mr. Lovell.' "'Bare give to walk upstairs,' said Mrs. Beaumont. "'But pray, what is the reason William is out of the way?' The man shut the door without any answer. "'I can't imagine who it is,' said Mr. Lovell. "'I recollect no little gentleman of my acquaintance now at Bristol, except indeed the Marquis of Charlton, but I don't much fancy it can be him. "'Let me see. Who else is there, so very little?' A confused noise among the servants now drew all eyes toward the door, the impatient Captain hastened to open it, and then, clapping his hands, called out, "'For George, to the same person I talk for your relation!' Then, to the utter astonishment of everybody but himself, he hauled into the room a monkey, full dressed, and extravagantly allamode. The dismay of the company was almost general. Poor Mr. Lovell seemed thunderstruck with indignation and surprise, and Lady Louisa began a scream which for some time was incessant. Miss Mervyn and I jumped involuntarily upon the seats of our chairs. Mrs. Beaumont herself followed our example. Lord Orville placed himself before me as a guard, and Mrs. Selwyn, Lord Merton and Mr. Covelay burst into a loud, immoderate, ungovernable fit of laughter, in which they were joined by the Captain, till, unable to support himself, he rolled on the floor. The first voice which made its way through this general noise was that of Lady Louisa, which her fright and screaming rendered extremely shrill. "'Take it away!' cried she. "'Take the monster away! I shall faint! I shall faint if you don't!' Mr. Lovell irritated beyond endurance angrily demanded of the Captain what he meant. "'Mean!' cried the Captain as soon as he was able to speak. "'Why only to show you in your proper colours?' Then rising and pointing to the monkey. "'Why now, ladies and gentlemen, I'll be judged by you all? Did you ever see anything more like? Odds my life, if it wasn't for this haired tale, you wouldn't know one from Tother.' "'Sir!' cried Mr. Lovell, stamping. "'I shall take a time to make you feel, my wrath.' "'Come now!' continued the regardless, Captain. "'Just for the fun's sake, doff your coat and waistcoat, and swap with Moncier Grinegrain here, and I'll warrant you'll not know yourself which is which.' "'Not know myself from a monkey. I assure you, sir, I'm not to be used in this manner, and I won't bear it. Curse me if I will.' "'Why, hey, day!' cried the Captain. "'What, his master in a passion? Well, don't be angry. Come, he shan't hurt you. Here, shake a paw with him. "'I'll do no harm, man. Come, kiss, and be friends.' "'Who I?' cried Mr. Lovell, almost mad with vexation. As I'm a living creature, I would not touch him for a thousand worlds. "'Send him a challenge,' cried Mr. Covelly, "'and I'll be your second.' "'I do,' said the Captain, "'and I'll be second to my friend Moncier Clapperclaw here. Come to it at once, tooth and nail.' "'God forbid!' cried Mr. Lovell, retreating. I would sooner trust my person with a mad bull. "'I don't like the look of him myself,' said Lord Martin, for he grins most horribly. "'Oh! I'm frightened out of my senses,' cried Lady Louisa. "'Take him away, or I shall die.' "'Captain,' said Lord Orville, the ladies are alarmed, and I must beg you would send the monkey away.' "'Why? Where can be the mighty harm of one monkey more than another?' answered the Captain. "'How some ever, if it's agreeable to the ladies, suppose we turn them out together?' "'What do you mean by that, sir?' cried Mr. Lovell, lifting up his cane. "'What do you mean?' cried the Captain fiercely. "'Be so good as to down with your cane.' Poor Mr. Lovell, too much intimidated to stand his ground, yet too much enraged to submit, turned hastily round, and, forgetful of consequences, ventured his passion by giving a furious blow to the monkey. The creature darting forward sprung instantly upon him, and clinging round his neck, fastened his teeth to one of his ears. I was really sorry for the poor man, who, though an egregious fop, has committed no offence that merited such chastisement. It was impossible now to distinguish whose screams were loudest those of Mr. Lovell or of the terrified Lady Louisa, who, I believe, thought her own turn was approaching, but the unrelenting Captain roared with joy. Not so, Lord Orville. Ever humane, generous, and benevolent, he quitted his charge, who he saw was wholly out of danger, and seizing the monkey by the collar, made him loosen the ear, and then, with a sudden swing, flung him out of the rum and shut the door. Poor Mr. Lovell, almost fainting with terror, sunk upon the floor, crying out, "'Oh, I shall die! I shall die! Oh, I'm bitter to death!' "'Captain Mervyn,' said Mrs. Beaumont, with no little indignation, "'I must own, I don't perceive the wit of this action, and I am sorry to have such cruelty practised in my house.' "'My lord, ma'am,' said the Captain, when his rapture abated sufficiently for speech, "'How could I tell they'd fall out so? By Jingo, I brought him to be mess-made for Tother.' "'E gad,' said Mr. Cavally, "'I would not have been served so for a thousand pounds.' "'Why, then, there's the odds of it,' said the Captain, "'for you see, he's served so for nothing.' "'But come,' turning to Mr. Lovell, "'be of good heart, all may end well yet, and you and Montsay a long tale be as good friends as ever.' "'I'm surprised, Mrs. Beaumont,' cried Mr. Lovell, starting up, "'that you can suffer a person on your roof to be treated so inhumanly.' "'What argifies so many words?' said the unfeeling Captain. "'It is but a slit of the ear. It only looks as if you'd been in the pillory.' "'Very true,' added Mrs. Selwyn, "'and who knows, but it may acquire you the credit of being an anti-ministerial writer?' "'I protest,' cried Mr. Lovell, looking roofily at his dress. "'My new riding-suit's all over blood.' "'Haha!' cried the Captain. "'See what comes of studying for an hour, what you shall put on!' Mr. Lovell then walked to the glass, and, looking at the place, exclaimed, "'No, Heaven, what a monstrous wound! My ear will never be fit to be seen again.' "'Why, then,' said the Captain, "'you must hide it. It is but wearing a wig.'" "'A wig?' repeated the affrighted Mr. Lovell. "'I wear a wig? No, not if you'd give me a thousand pounds an hour.' "'I declare,' said Lady Louisa, "'I never heard such a shocking proposal in my life.' Lord Orville then, seeing no prospect that the altercation would cease, proposed to the Captain to walk. He assented, and, having given Mr. Lovell a nod of exultation, accompanied his lordship downstairs. "'Pon honour,' said Mr. Lovell, the moment the door was shut. "'That fellow is the greatest brute in nature. He ought not to be admitted into a civilised society.'" "'Lovell,' said Mr. Covley, affecting to Whisper, "'you must certainly pink him. You must not put up with such an affront.'" "'Sir,' said Mr. Lovell, "'with any common person I should not deliberate an instant, but really, with a fellow who has done nothing but fight all his life. "'Pon honour, sir, I can't think of it.'" "'Lovell,' said Lord Merton in the same voice, "'you must call him to account.'" "'Every man,' said he pettishly, "'is the best judge of his own affairs, and I don't ask the honour of any person's advice.'" "'E gad, Lovell,' said Mr. Covley, "'you're in for it. You can't possibly be off.'" "'Sir,' cried he very impatiently, "'upon any proper occasion I should be as ready to show my courage as anybody, but as to fighting for such a trifle as this, I protest I should blush to think of it.'" "'Trifle,' cried Mrs. Selwyn, "'good heaven, and have you made this astonishing riot about a trifle.'" "'Mum,' answered the poor wretch, and great confusion. I did not know at first, but that my cheek might have been bit, but as it is no worse, why it does not a great deal signify. Mrs. Beaumont, I have the honour to wish you a good evening. I'm sure my carriage must be waiting." And then, very abruptly, he left the room. What a commotion has this mischief loving-captain raised! Were I to remain here long, even the society of my dear Mariah could scarce compensate for the disturbances which he excites. When he returned and heard of the quiet exit of Mr. Lovell, his triumph was intolerable. "'I think, I think,' he cried, "'I have peppered him well. I'll warrant he won't give an hour tomorrow morning to settling what he shall put on. Why, his coat, turning to me, would be a most excellent match for old Madame Ferbolo's best Lyon silk. For George, I desire no better sport than to have that their old cat here go to her snacks.' All the company, the Lord Orville, Miss Mervyn, and myself accepted, played at cards, and we owe how much better did we pass our time. While we were engaged in a most delightful conversation, a servant brought me a letter, which he told me had by some accident been mislaid. Judge of my feelings when I saw my dearest sir, your revered handwriting, my emotions soon betrayed to Lord Orville whom the letter was from, the importance of the contents he well knew, and assuring me I should not be seen by the card-players, he besought me to open it without delay. Open it indeed I did, but read it I could not. The willing yet awful consent you have granted, the tenderness of your expressions, the certainty that no obstacle remained to my eternal union with the loved owner of my heart, gave me sensations too various, and though joyful, too little placid for observation. Finding myself unable to proceed, and blinded by the tears of gratitude and delight which started into my eyes, I gave over the attempt of reading till I retired to my own room, and having no voice to answer the enquiries of Lord Orville, I put the letter into his hands, and left it to speak both for me and itself. Lord Orville was himself affected by your kindness. He kissed the letter as he returned it, and pressing my hand affectionately to his heart. You are now, said he in a low voice, all my own. Oh, my Everliner, how will my soul find room for its happiness? It seems already bursting. I could make no reply. Indeed, I hardly spoke another word the rest of the evening, so little talkative as the fullness of contentment. Oh, my dearest sir, the thankfulness of my heart I must pour forth at our meeting, when at your feet my happiness receives its confirmation from your blessing, and when my noble-minded, my beloved Lord Orville presents to you the highly honoured and thrice-happy Everliner. A few lines I will endeavour to write on Thursday, which shall be sent off express, to give you, should nothing intervene, yet more certain assurance of our meeting. Now, then, therefore, for the first, and probably the last time I shall ever own the name, permit me to sign myself, most dear sir, your gratefully affectionate Everliner Belmont. Lady Louisa, at her own particular desire, will be present at the ceremony, as well as Miss Mervyn and Mrs. Selwyn. Mr. McCartney will, the same morning, be united to my foster sister, and my father himself will give us both away. End of LETTER 82. I am filled for the felicity of my Everliner is equal to her worthiness. Yes, my child, thy happiness is engraved in golden characters upon the tablets of my heart, and their impression is indelible, for should the rude and deep-searching hand of misfortune attempt to pluck them from their repository, the fleeting fabric of life would give way, and in tearing from my vitals the nourishment by which they are supported, they would but grasp at a shadow insensible to her touch. Give thee my consent? O thou joy, comfort and pride of my life! How cold was that word to express the fervency of my approbation! Yes, I do indeed give thee my consent, and so thankfully, that with the humblest gratitude to Providence, I would seal it with the remnant of my days. Hasten them my love to bless me with thy presence, and to receive the blessings with which my fond heart overflows. And, O my Everliner, hear and assist in one only, humble but ardent prayer, which yet animates my devotions. That the height of bliss to which thou art rising may not render thee giddy, but that the purity of thy mind may form the brightest splendor of thy prosperity. And that the weak and aged frame of thy most idolizing parent, nearly worn out by time, past afflictions and affirmities, may yet be able to sustain a meeting with all its better part holds dear. And then that all the wounds which the former severity of fortune inflicted may be healed and purified by the ultimate consolation of pouring forth my dying words in blessings on my child. Closing these joy-streaming eyes in her presence, and breathing my last faint sighs in her loved arms. Grief not, O child of my care, grief not at the inevitable moment, but may thine own end be equally propitious. O mace thou, when full of days and full of honor, sink down as gently to rest, be loved as kindly, watched as tenderly as thy happy father. And mace thou, when thy glasses run, be sweetly, but not bitterly, mourn by some remaining darling of thy affections, some yet surviving Evelina. Evelina to the Reverend Mr. Villas All is over, my dearest sir, and the fate of your Evelina is decided. This morning, with fearful joy and trembling gratitude, she united herself for ever with the object of her dearest, her eternal affection. I have time for no more. Shez now waits, which is to conduct me to Dearberry Hill, and the arms of the best of men.