CHAP. XVIII. Harriot's Artifices produce the deſired Effect on the unſuſpecting Sophia.

WHEN they arrived at Mrs. Lawſon's, Sophia, who lit⯑tle expected ſuch a viſit, had wandered, as uſual, in the wood, accompanied with Dolly: Mrs. Lawſon immediately ſent Fanny in ſearch of her: and Harriot, expreſ⯑ſing an impatience to ſee her ſiſter, went along with her.

They found Sophia ſitting under an oak, with Mrs. Gibbons on one [2] ſide of her, and Dolly on the other; for the old gentlewoman was pre⯑vailed upon by Sophia to endure the company of the innocent girl, who had never offended her; and Dolly, inſtructed by her lovely friend, made good uſe of theſe opportunities to recover her favour.

William leaned on a branch cloſe by Sophia, to whom he addreſſed his diſcourſe, while his eyes often ſtole tender glances at his beloved Dolly. Harriot, when ſhe approached, cried out affectedly, ‘Upon my word, ſiſter, you have a brilliant aſſem⯑bly here; I did not expect to find you in ſuch good company.’

Sophia, ſurpriſed to ſee her ſiſter, ran haſtily to meet her, and embrac⯑ing her kindly, enquired with a ſweet anxiety for her mother, and whether ſhe alſo had been ſo good as to viſit her. Harriot ſcarce anſwered her queſ⯑tion; her attention was all fixed upon [3] William: ſo handſome a youth ſeemed worthy to feel the influence of her charms; and all the artillery of her eyes was inſtantly levelled againſt him. Having returned his reſpectful bow with an affected cour⯑teſy, and the faſhionable toſs of the head, ſhe deigned to take ſome little notice of Mrs. Gibbons, and honour⯑ed Dolly with a careleſs glance, whoſe amiable figure, however, at⯑tracted a ſecond look; and after ex⯑amining her with an inquiſitive eye, ſhe turned away with a little expreſ⯑ſion of ſcorn in her countenance, and again attacked William, practiſing a thouſand airs to ſtrike him; all which he beheld with the utmoſt indifference.

Sophia, being impatient to ſee her mother, took leave of Mrs. Gibbons; but Harriot, who had a new conqueſt in view, was unwilling to go ſo ſoon, profeſſing herſelf inchanted with the [4] place, and declaring ſhe would turn ſhepherdeſs.

Sophia told her, ſmiling, that ſhe was ſure that ſort of life would not pleaſe her.

"Oh! how can you think ſo," cried Harriot, ‘is not the dreſs ex⯑ceſſively becoming? then love in theſe woods is ſo tender and ſin⯑cere! I will engage there is not a nymph in this hamlet whoſe frown would not drive her lover to deſpair: own the truth now,’ ſaid ſhe, turning with a lively air to William, ‘are you not violently in love?’

The youth bowed, bluſhed, and ſighed; and not daring to look at his miſtreſs, he ſuffered his eyes, full as they were of tender expreſſion, to di⯑rect their glances towards Sophia. "I am proud to own, madam," ſaid he to Harriot, ‘that I have a heart capable of the moſt ardent paſſion.’

[5]"And mighty conſtant too! no doubt," interrupted Harriot with a malignant ſneer; for ſhe had obſerv⯑ed the ſigh and the look, and was ready to burſt with vexation and diſ⯑appointment, to find her conqueſt obſtructed already by her ſiſter, as ſhe ſuppoſed; and being now as im⯑patient as ſhe was before unwilling to be gone, "Come, Sophy," ſaid ſhe, taking her under the arm, ‘my mamma will take it ill that you make no more haſte to ſee her, for we ſhall return to town immediately.’

"Sure you will ſtay one night," ſaid Sophia.

"Oh not for the world!" ex⯑claimed Harriot affectedly; ‘How can you imagine I would ſtay ſo long in an odious village, to be ruſticated into aukwardneſs,’ pur⯑ſued ſhe with a ſpiteful laugh, [6] ‘and aſhamed to ſhew my face in any aſſembly in town afterwards.’ Saying this, ſhe courteſied diſdainfully to Mrs. Gibbons and her nephew, and tripped away, pulling her ſiſter away with her.

Dolly joined the two ladies, but walked by the ſide of Sophia, not aiming at any familiarity with the in⯑ſolent and affected Harriot; and as they purſued their way home, ſhe had the mortification to hear her lover ridiculed and deſpiſed by the diſap⯑pointed coquet, who ſuppoſed ſhe mortified her ſiſter by the contempt ſhe expreſſed for a man who had ſo little taſte as to like her.

Sophia, as well in compaſſion to poor Dolly, who ſuffered greatly up⯑on this occaſion, as in juſtice to the amiable youth, defended him warm⯑ly, which drew ſome coarſe raillery upon her from Harriot.

When they came near to Mr. [7] Lawſon's houſe, the ſight of Sir Charles's chariot threw her into a fit of trembling; Harriot perceived it, and, willing to undeceive her, if ſhe hoped to find the young baro⯑net there, ‘I am charged with Sir Charles's compliments to you,’ ſaid ſhe; ‘he inſiſted upon our uſing his chariot for this little excurſion; my mamma and I would fain have perſuaded him to accompany us, but he pleaded an engagement, and would not come.’

Dolly now looked with great con⯑cern upon her fair friend, who, ſup⯑preſſing a ſigh, aſked if Sir Charles was quite recovered.

‘I do not know that he has been ill,’ replied Harriot. ‘Indeed when he came from Bath, the fatigue he had endured with his ſick uncle, whom he had ſat up with ſeveral nights before he [8] died, made him look a little pale and thin; but he is now ex⯑tremely well, and more gay than ever: and it is well he is ſo,’ purſued ſhe, ‘for we have ſo much of his company, that if he was was not entertaining, we ſhould find him very troubleſome.’

All this was daggers to the heart of poor Sophia: thoſe pleaſing ideas which ſhe had indulged upon read⯑ing her mother's letter, that repre⯑ſented Sir Charles as having ſuffer⯑ed in his health, from his endea⯑vours to vanquiſh his paſſion for her, now vaniſhed, and left in their room a ſad conviction that ſhe was become wholly indifferent to him.

She might indeed, knowing her ſiſter's malice, have attributed what ſhe ſaid to artifice; but her manner of accounting for the alteration in Sir Charles's looks, which her fond fancy had dwelt upon ſo much, was [9] ſo natural, and ſo full of probabi⯑lity, that ſhe could expect no arti⯑fice there.

Every thing Harriot ſaid was con⯑firmed by facts, which left no room for doubt: his aſſiduity to Harriot, his neglect of her, appeared but too plain. Did he not lend his chariot for a viſit in which he would not ſhare? Did he not ſend his com⯑pliments in a manner that ſhewed his heart was ſo much at eaſe, that he felt not even any reſentment for her leaving him? Could there be ſtronger proofs of indifference than theſe?

Such were her thoughts, and her heart was ſo oppreſſed by this ſud⯑den and unexpected ſhock, that it was with difficulty ſhe reſtrained her tears. Dolly, who looked at her with tender anxiety, and ſaw her colour come and go, and her charming eyes bent on the ground, as if ſhe [10] feared to look up, leſt they ſhould betray her anguiſh, caſt many an angry glance at her envious ſiſter, and wiſhed her a thouſand miles off.

Sophia having a little recovered herſelf, haſtened towards her mo⯑ther, who, with a face of ignorant wonder, was following Mrs. Law⯑ſon about her little farm, aſking a thouſand queſtions, without heed⯑ing the anſwers ſhe received. So⯑phia approaching, paid her duty to her with her uſual tenderneſs and reſpect, which Mrs. Darnley return⯑ed with ſlightly kiſſing her cheek, telling her that ſhe thought her complexion was greatly improved, and appealed to Harriot for the truth of her obſervation.

Harriot anſwered, ‘That indeed ſhe could not flatter her ſiſter ſo much as to ſay ſhe thought ſo; for if there was any alteration, it was rather for the worſe.’

[11]Sophia, without attending to this difference of opinion, with regard to her complexion, was only ſolli⯑citous to know if her mother had been well; and while ſhe was mak⯑ing ſome tender enquiries concern⯑ing her health, Mrs. Darnley, who never conſulted either time or place, ſuddenly interrupted her, to draw her aſide from the company, and aſked her abruptly, ‘Whether ſhe was not ſurpriſed at Sir Charles's indifference?’

Sophia, ſtill ſmarting with the pangs her ſiſter's diſcourſe had given her, replied, in a tone of reſent⯑ment, ‘That nothing now could ſurpriſe her with regard to Sir Charles.’

"Why, to ſay the truth, So⯑phia," replied Mrs. Darnley, ‘I believe he has quite forgot you; but there was a time when you [...]ight have been happy.—Oh, [12] girl, girl,’ purſued ſhe, kindling with anger as ſhe ſpoke, ‘you were always obſtinate and con⯑ceited; what a fooliſh part have you played with all your wit! but I am to blame to trouble myſelf about you.’

Sophia now eaſed her loaded heart by a ſhower of tears. ‘It is to little purpoſe now,’ ſaid Mrs. Darnley, ‘to repent of your imprudent behaviour; you were too wiſe to take a parent's advice, when it might have been uſeful: when a man of rank and fortune makes his addreſſes to a woman who is inferior to him in both, he expects a thouſand little com⯑placencies and attentions from her, which, without wounding her honour, may convince him that it is not to his riches ſhe ſa⯑crifices herſelf.’

"Ah, madam," cried Sophia, [13] ‘that is a ſnare which, has been fatal to many young women in my circumſtances. Who ſees not the advantages this gives a man whoſe aim is to ſeduce? I am perſuaded theſe pernicious max⯑ims are not yours, but his, for whoſe ungenerous purpoſe they are ſo well calculated.’

Sophia gueſſed truly; the young baronet had often had diſcourſes of this ſort with Mrs. Darnley, who nevertheleſs took it ill that her daughter ſhould offer her ſuch an affront as to ſuppoſe ſhe did not underſtand maxims as well as Sir Charles.

Nothing is more certain than that we are never made ſo ridicu⯑lous by the qualities we have, as by thoſe we affect to have. Mrs. Darn⯑ley, with all her ignorance, aſpired to be thought witty: ſhe therefore vindicated her claim to what So⯑phia [14] had called maxims; no matter whether they were pernicious or not. The word maxim ſounded learnedly in her ears: ſhe told her daughter, with great aſperity, that ſhe was ſo conceited and vain of her own wit, that ſhe would allow no one elſe to have any. Sophia found it difficult enough to appeaſe her, but ſhe ſuc⯑ceeded at length, and they joined the reſt of the company.

CHAP. XIX. Sophia is agreeably ſurprized.

MRS. Lawſon eaſily prevailed upon her gueſts to ſtay that night and the following day, which, being Sunday, Harriot could not re⯑ſiſt the temptation of diſplaying her charms and her fine cloaths in a country church, which was ſo new a triumph, that the thoughts of it kept her waking almoſt the whole night.

The ridiculous airs ſhe aſſumed to draw the admiration of the ſimple villagers, who never ſaw any thing ſo fine and ſo gay before, and who ſtared at her with ſtupid ſurprize, made Sophia often bluſh for her: but her affected glances were chiefly directed to the beautiful youth, whoſe inſenſibility had ſo greatly [16] mortified her pride: ſhe ſaw his eyes conſtantly turned towards the pew where ſhe ſat; but ſhe ſaw plainly that it was not her charms that drew them thither. She had no ſuſpicion that Dolly was the ob⯑ject of his affection, and ſenſible, to her great grief, of her ſiſter's power to charm, ſhe no longer doubted that this envied conqueſt was hers.

Thus diſappointed, ſhe appeared ſo much out of humour, and ſo im⯑patient to return to town, that Mrs. Darnley, over whom her power was abſolute, complied with her importunity, and ſet out with her for London, as ſoon as they returned from church; notwithſtanding all the endeavours of the good cu⯑rate and his wife to detain them to dinner.

Sophia was now left alone to her own melancholy reflections; this [17] viſit from her mother and ſiſter had produced a ſad reverſe in her ſi⯑tuation: hitherto hope had not quite forſaken her: the idea of being ſtill beloved by Sir Charles leſſen⯑ed all her griefs, and ſupported her amidſt the doubt and anxiety which his myſterious conduct had involved her in: his indifference, ſo appa⯑rent in her ſiſter's account of him, gave her pangs unfelt before: and never till now did ſhe think herſelf unhappy; for, unperceived by her⯑ſelf, ſhe had encouraged a ſecret hope that the paſſion ſhe had in⯑ſpired him with, would not be ea⯑ſily ſubdued; and that perhaps all which ſhe had thought exceptiona⯑ble in his conduct, proceeded not from a ſettled deſign to the preju⯑dice of her honour, but from that irreſolution and ſlowneſs with which a man, too ſenſible of his ſuperio⯑rity in birth and fortune, proceeds [18] in an affair of marriage, where he has no obſtacles to fear, and where every thing depends upon himſelf.

She now perceived the neceſſity of baniſhing Sir Charles from her heart; but at the ſame time, ſhe perceived all the difficulty of the taſk. Though aſhamed of her tears, ſhe wept, and paſſionately exclaim⯑ed againſt her own weakneſs, which had kept her in a deluſion ſo fatal to her peace. She continued the whole day in her chamber, wholly abſorbed in melancholy thoughts.

Dolly, who knew enough of her ſituation to gueſs the cauſe of this new affliction, was grieved to find herſelf excluded as well as the reſt of the family; and although ſhe ardently wiſhed to conſole her, yet ſhe durſt not intrude uncalled upon her retirement. While ſhe waited impatiently for her appearance, a viſitor arrived, who ſhe knew [19] would be welcome to her charming friend. As ſoon as ſhe perceived him, ſhe flew with eager haſte to inform Sophia, and, tapping at her door, told her in a joyful voice, that Mr. Herbert was juſt alighted.

Sophia, ſurpriſed at the news, inſtantly opened her chamber-door, and ſmiling tenderly upon the charming girl, to whom ſhe excuſ⯑ed herſelf for her long abſence, haſtened to receive the good old man, who, after ſome affectionate enquiries concerning her health, rallied her upon the melancholy that appeared in her countenance.

Sophia bluſhed and fixed her eyes on the ground, not a little ſurpriſed at his talking to her in that manner; and when with a baſhful air, ſhe looked up again, and ſaw a more than uſual chearfulneſs in his eyes, her confuſion encreaſed, and for a few moments ſhe [20] could not help feeling ſome re⯑ſentment againſt her benefactor, for thus diverting himſelf with her uneaſineſs.

Mr. Herbert whoſe thoughts were wholly employed on the pleaſing news he brought, did not perceive how much his beha⯑viour embarraſſed her: to prevent his renewing a ſubject ſo diſa⯑greeable, ſhe talked of the viſit her mother and ſiſter made her.

Mr. Herbert aſked her, ‘If they had mentioned Sir Charles, and what ſhe thought of him now?’

‘I think of him as I ought to do,’ replied Sophia, with ſome warmth, "I deſpiſe him."

"Be not too raſh, my dear child," ſaid Mr. Herbert; ‘if your ſiſter, whoſe malice I well know, has ſuggeſted any [21] thing to Sir Charles's diſadvan⯑tage, be aſſured ſhe deceives you; for I am convinced he not only loves you, but loves you with honour.’

Sophia, who from the firſt words Mr. Herbert uttered, had been in great agitation, as expecting ſomething extraordinary, was ſo overwhelmed with ſurprize at what ſhe heard, that her ſpeech and colour forſaking her, ſhe remain⯑ed pale, ſilent, and motionleſs in her chair.

Mr. Herbert, perceiving how powerfully this news operated on her ſpirits, began to be appre⯑henſive of the conſequences, and was riſing haſtily to give her ſome aſſiſtance, when Sophia, rouſed to recollection by this mo⯑tion of her venerable friend, and aſhamed of the extreme ſenſi⯑bility ſhe had diſcovered, apolo⯑giſed [22] for it with a charming modeſty, that greatly affected the good old man, who, if he had known in what melancholy thoughts ſhe had paſſed the day, would have told her with more cau⯑tion, a circumſtance that raiſed her at once from deſpair to hope, and produced ſo great a change in her ſituation.

As we are never ſo ready to fear a diſappointment as when we are neareſt the completion of our wiſhes, Sophia, with a ſweet apprehenſiveneſs, which yet ſhe laboured to conceal, hinted her doubts of the baronet's ſin⯑cerity; Mr. Herbert anſwering explicitly to theſe half expreſſed doubts, told her, that he was fully perſuaded Sir Charles would act like a man of honour. ‘I will give you an exact account,’ ſaid he to her, ‘of what has paſſed be⯑tween [23] us, from which you may judge yourſelf of his conduct:’ he then took a letter out of his pocket, and deſired her to read it.

CHAP. XX. Mr. Herbert acquaints Sophia with the Reſult of the Interview be⯑tween Sir Charles and him.

SOPHIA, trembling a little at the ſight of Sir Charles's hand⯑writing, took the billet, and found it contained a meſſage from him to Mr. Herbert, requeſting in very earneſt terms, the favour of an in⯑terview, and an offer to wait upon him at any hour he ſhould ap⯑point.

"You may be ſure," ſaid Mr. Herbert, receiving back the billet which Sophia gave him without ſpeaking a word, ‘that I did not ſuffer Sir Charles to come to me; hearing from the meſſenger that his maſter was at home waiting for my anſwer, I attended him [25] immediately. I perceived a little embarraſſment in his countenance upon my firſt entrance, but that ſoon wore off: he welcomed me with great politeneſs, and after thanking me for the ho⯑nour I did him, in preventing his viſit, he entered immediate⯑ly upon the affair which had occaſioned his ſending to me.’

‘You have, Sir, ſaid he, ſhewn ſo truly a paternal affection for the young lady to whom I have paid my addreſſes, and are ſo much eſteemed and reverenced by her, that I think I may without any impropriety, ad⯑dreſs myſelf to you upon this occaſion—’

"Here he pauſed, and ſeemed a "little perplexed.

‘To be ſure, added he, I ought to have done this before; my conduct muſt have appeared ca⯑pricious [26] both to her and you, and indeed it was capricious,— but—’

‘Here he pauſed again, and fixed his eyes on the ground. His frankneſs,’ purſued Mr. Herbert, ‘pleaſed me greatly, and diſpoſed me to give him a fa⯑vourable attention.’

‘I cannot blame Miſs Sophia, reſumed he, for acting as ſhe has done; my heart did homage to her virtue at the time that I ſuf⯑fered moſt from the contemptu⯑ous behaviour it ſuggeſted to her. Fain would I hope, added he ſighing, that the prejudices ſhe has conceived againſt me have not entirely baniſhed me from her remembrance; the de⯑licacy of my paſſion would be but ill ſatisfied by calling ſo de⯑ſerving a woman my own, unleſs I could likewiſe boaſt a prefer⯑ence [27] in her heart that left me no room to doubt my fortune had any ſhare in determining her in my favour.’

"I know not," purſued Mr. Her⯑bert, ‘whether Sir Charles expect⯑ed any anſwer to this declara⯑tion; it is certain he looked on me with a kind of anxious timi⯑dity, and ſtopped a moment; I continued ſilent, and he pro⯑ceeded in this manner.’

‘I know Miſs Sophia has an underſtanding too ſolid, and a mind too noble to ſuffer any con⯑ſiderations of rank and fortune to determine her ſolely in an affair upon which the happineſs of her life depends: ſhe would not ſure⯑ly give her hand where her heart did not acknowledge a prefer⯑ence. 'Tis thus I anſwer all thoſe doubts which my ſituation, and perhaps an overſtrained de⯑licacy [28] ſuggeſt: I am impatient to convince her of the purity of my paſſion; and conſidering you as her friend, her guardian, and one who is in the place of a fa⯑ther to her, I will take no ſteps in this affair but ſuch as have the ſanction of your approbation; I will not even preſume to viſit her without your permiſſion: be you my advocate with her, tell her I lay myſelf and fortune at her feet, and will receive her from your hand as the greateſt bleſſing that heaven can beſtow on me.’

"Now, my child,," purſued Mr. Herbert, looking on Sophia with a ſmile, ‘how would you have had me anſwer to this diſcourſe? was it neceſſary, think you, to play off a few female artifices here, and keep Sir Charles in doubt and anxious ſuſpence, or did the [29] apparent openneſs and candor of his procedure deſerve an equal degree of frankneſs on my part?’

"It is not to be doubted," ſaid Sophia bluſhing, ‘but that on this occaſion, as on every other, you acted with the utmoſt prudence.’

"I find," reſumed Mr. Herbert, ‘that you are reſolved beforehand, to approve of whatever I ſaid: well then, I told Sir Charles, that his preſent declaration en⯑tirely ſatisfied me; that being fully convinced of his ſincerity, I looked upon his offer as high⯑ly honourable and advantageous to you; and that I was very ſure you would have all the ſenſe you ought to have of ſo generous an affection.’

‘He then begged me to ſet out immediately for this place, and prepare you to receive a viſit from him. This requeſt I could [30] not poſſibly comply with, having buſineſs in town, which would neceſſarily detain me for ſome hours; but I promiſed him to go as ſoon as that was diſpatched, which probably might be in the afternoon.’

‘He modeſtly aſked my leave to accompany me; but this I de⯑clined, as fearing his ſudden ap⯑pearance, without your being previouſly acquainted with what had paſt, might occaſion ſome perplexity and uneaſineſs to you; ſo it was agreed that he ſhould come to-morrow.’

"To-morrow," replied Sophia, with an emotion ſhe was not able to ſuppreſs.

"Yes, my child," replied the good old man, ‘have you any ob⯑jections to this?’

"I know not," replied Sophia, with downcaſt eyes and a faultering [31] accent, ‘what I ought to do; I have been ſo uſed to conſider Sir Charles's profeſſions in an unfa⯑vourable point of view; my heart has been ſo accuſtomed to ſuſ⯑pect him—to guard itſelf againſt deluſive hopes—perhaps I ought not to admit his viſit ſo eaſily; —perhaps I ought to reſent his former behaviour. I own I am greatly perplexed, but I will be determined wholly by your ad⯑vice.’

Mr. Herbert ſaw her delicate ſcruples, and, to favour her modeſ⯑ty, anſwered, with the authority of a guardian, ‘When Sir Charles viſits you next, Miſs Sophia, he comes to offer you his hand; he has aſked my conſent as your guardian and your friend; and I, preſuming on my influence over you in both theſe characters, have given it freely; and how [32] indeed, having your intereſt and happineſs ſincerely at heart, could I do otherwiſe? but if you think his former behaviour, in which however there were only ſuſpi⯑cions againſt him, deſerves to be reſented, at a time when thoſe ſuſpicions are abſolutely deſtroy⯑ed, you muſt go through with your heroiſm, and ſee him no more; for as the poet ſays, ‘"He comes too near who comes to be denied.’ ſo he has offended too much who needs a pardon.’

Sophia, who felt all the force of this, reaſoning, anſwered only by a bluſhing ſilence. Mr. Herbert then told her, that Sir Charles had de⯑clared to him that he would make the ſame ſettlements on her as had been ſtipulated for his mother; for he added, with equal delicacy and [33] tenderneſs, ‘Miſs Sophia, in vir⯑tue, wit, good-ſenſe, and every female excellence, brings me an immenſe portion.’

"Sir Charles," purſued Mr. Her⯑bert ſmiling, ‘by a ſtrange contra⯑diction, which is, I ſuppoſe, al⯑ways found in lovers, though he was impatient to have me with you, yet could not help detain⯑ing me to have the pleaſure of talking of you: he painted to me very naturally, the uneaſineſs he had ſuffered from your ſuppoſed contempt of him: he told me, that he was at one time deter⯑mined to travel, in order to efface you from his remembrance; but, (ſaid he, riſing and unlock⯑ing a cabinet, from which he took out a paper and put into my hands,) you ſhall judge whether amidſt all my reſentment I did not ſtill love Miſs Sophia; that [34] is my will, which I ordered to be drawn up previous to my in⯑tended journey.’

‘He then, to ſpare me the trouble of reading it all through, pointed to the place where you was mentioned, and I found he had bequeathed you an eſtate of four hundred pounds a-year for life, and five thouſand pounds to be diſpoſed of as you pleaſ⯑ed.’

This laſt circumſtance touched Sophia ſo much that tears filled her eyes; ſhe ſighed, and turned her head aſide to conceal her emo⯑tion, while Mr. Herbert, without ſeeming to obſerve it, continued to repeat to her ſeveral expreſſions uſed by Sir Charles, which ſhewed the greatneſs of his affection, and his veneration for her virtues.

"We parted at length," pur⯑ſued Mr. Herbert, ‘extremely [35] well ſatisfied with each other, and to-morrow, or next day, at fartheſt, you may expect to ſee Sir Charles here; for he told me, that if he received no ill news from me, he would conclude I had prepared him a favourable reception; and, preſuming on this hope, he would immediate⯑ly ſet his lawyer to work to prepare the writings, that no⯑thing might be left undone which could convince you of the ſincerity of his affections; therefore, my dear child, ſet your heart at reſt; and ſince providence has thought fit to reward your piety and virtue, receive with humble gratitude that fortune to which you are raiſed, and which puts it ſo largely in your power to do good. I will now leave you,’ ſaid the good old man riſing, ‘to your own [36] reflections; I have ſcarce ſpoke a word yet to our kind friends here, for I was ſo impatient to ſee you, that I left them very abruptly.’

CHAP. XXI. Sophia is threatened with a new Diſ⯑appointment.

MR. Herbert had no ſooner left the room, than Sophia, in an ardent ejaculation, thanked heaven for thus relieving her from her diſtreſs: but it was long ere the tumult in her mind raiſed by ſuch unhoped for happy news ſubſided, and gave place to that calm recol⯑lection which ſupplied a thouſand pleaſing ideas, and filled her with the ſofteſt emotions of gratitude, tenderneſs, and joy.

She was now freed from thoſe tormenting doubts, which made her conſider her tenderneſs for Sir Charles as a crime, and occaſioned ſo many, painful ſtruggles in her mind. What joy to reflect that [38] the man ſhe loved was worthy of her affection! how pleaſing was the proſpect that opened to her view; to be bleſt with the power of ſhewing her gratitude to her friends, her piety to her mother; to repay her ſiſter's unkindneſs with acts of generoſity; and indulge the benevolence of her heart in relieving every diſtreſs which fell within her power to relieve!

Theſe were the advantages which ſhe promiſed herſelf in the change of her fortune, and for theſe her grateful heart lifted itſelf up every moment in thanks and praiſe to that providence that beſtowed them on her.

While Sophia was thus abſorbed in thought, Dolly opened the door, and running up to her, eagerly cried, ‘Tell me true, my dear miſs, has not Mr. Herbert brought you ſome good news? [39] I am ſure he has; I never ſaw him ſo joyful in my life: and you look glad too,’ purſued ſhe, peering in her face with a ſweet earneſtneſs. ‘May I not aſk you, Miſs Darnley, what this good news is?’

"You may, my dear," ſaid So⯑phia ſmiling, ‘but not now; you ſhall know all ſoon. At pre⯑ſent I would rather talk of your affairs.’

‘Indeed I am greatly obliged to you, miſs,’ ſaid Dolly, ‘for what you have done for me. Mrs. Gibbons ſeems almoſt as kind to me as ever ſhe was, and you have talked ſo ſenſibly to my mo⯑ther, that ſhe repents of her be⯑haviour to Mrs. Gibbons: and ſhe likes Mr. William ſo well, that I am ſure ſhe would be glad to be reconciled to her.’

[40] ‘That is what I have been la⯑bouring at all this time,’ reſum⯑ed Sophia. ‘If Mrs. Lawſon can be perſuaded to make ſome conceſ⯑ſions to the fantaſtick old gentle⯑woman, all may go well yet: it ſhall be my care to bring them together; and if my endeavours to produce a reconciliation fail, perhaps I may be able to engage a more powerful mediator in your intereſt.’

Sophia had Sir Charles in her thoughts, who ſhe doubted not would readily undertake the cauſe of the diſtreſſed lovers, and poſſibly add ſomething to her Dolly's porti⯑on, to leſſen the inequality there was between them in that point. She ſpoke with ſuch a chearful confidence, that Dolly, full of hope and joy, thanked her with artleſs tranſports of gratitude that moved her even to tears.

[41]The next day, though in expec⯑tation of ſeeing Sir Charles, her heart laboured with a thouſand emotions; yet kindly attentive to the affairs of her friend, ſhe re⯑ſolved to make Mrs. Gibbons a viſit, to prepare the way for the hoped for interview between her and Mrs. Lawſon. As ſoon as ſhe had diſengaged herſelf from Mr. Her⯑bert, ſhe ſet out alone for Mrs. Gibbons's houſe; but ſcarcely had ſhe croſſed the firſt field when ſhe ſaw William, who who was as uſual, ſauntering about Mr. Lawſon's grounds, in hopes of ſeeing his miſ⯑treſs.

Sophia beckoned to him, and he eagerly flew to meet her; for, next to Dolly, he thought her the moſt charming woman in the world; and he adored her for the goodneſs with which ſhe intereſted herſelf in his and his Dolly's happineſs.

[42]When he drew near, Sophia told him ſhe was going to viſit his aunt; the youth reſpectfully expreſſed his concern that his aunt could not have that honour; ſhe was gone, he ſaid, to viſit a relation who lived a few miles up the country.

Sophia then told him the deſign upon which ſhe was going, and the favourable diſpoſition Mrs. Lawſon was in. "I am perſuaded," ſaid ſhe, ‘all might be made up, if we could but bring them toge⯑ther. Mrs. Lawſon only wants opportunity to repair her fault; but how ſhall we contrive to give her this opportunity? what expe⯑dient can we find out to overcome your aunt's obſtinacy, and prevail upon her to enter Mrs. Lawſon's door again?’

"I know one, madam," ſaid the youth, ‘which I think would do.’

[43]Sophia concluding from the ti⯑midity of his look, that ſhe was concerned in this expedient, preſt him to ſpeak freely, aſſuring him ſhe would aſſiſt to the utmoſt of her power.

"My aunt, madam," ſaid he, ‘is as you know a great obſerver of forms: ſhe would not for the world fall under the cenſure of having failed in any part of cere⯑mony or good breeding; now, madam, if you would be pleaſed to make a point of her return⯑ing your viſit, and permit me to tell her that you are offended with her neglect, and that you inſiſt upon this proof of her po⯑liteneſs, I am perſuaded ſhe will come.’

"Well," ſaid Sophia, ſmiling, ‘if you are of opinion this will do, you have my conſent to ſay whatever you think will affect her [44] moſt; make me as angry and as ceremonious as you pleaſe.’

‘Nothing ſhall be wanting on my part to promote the ſucceſs of this affair,’ added ſhe, with a graver look and accent; ‘for I believe you have a ſincere affec⯑tion for my young friend, and I ſhall not be at reſt till I ſee you both happy.’

The youth, in whoſe breaſt the ſweet benevolence of her looks and words excited the ſtrongeſt tran⯑ſports of gratitude, not able to find words to expreſs his ſenſe of her goodneſs, ſuddenly threw himſelf at her feet, and kiſſed her hand with a mixture of tenderneſs and awe.

Sophia, ſmiling at this ſally, ſtep⯑ped back a little; upon which he roſe up, and, with a graceful con⯑fuſion, paid her his thanks: ſhe again repeated her promiſe of ſerv⯑ing him, and took leave: he bow⯑ed [45] low, following her for ſome time with his eyes, and ſent a thouſand kind wiſhes after her.

Sophia, at her return, acquaint⯑ed Dolly with what had paſſed be⯑tween her lover and her, and filled her with pleaſing hopes of the ſuc⯑ceſs of his ſcheme: but now the day wore away, ſhe was in conti⯑nual expectation of ſeeing Sir Charles; her heart throbbed with anxiety; every noiſe ſhe heard, ſounded like the trampling of horſes, and then an univerſal trembling would ſeize her. She dreaded, yet wiſhed for his ar⯑rival; and at every diſappointment ſhe ſighed, and felt her heart ſink with tender deſpondency.

Such were her agitations, till the evening being far advanced, ſhe gave up all hope of his coming that night. Mr. Herbert had aſſigned a very pleaſing reaſon for his viſit being deferred till the next day; [46] and, her mind growing more com⯑poſed, ſhe went in ſearch of the good old man, who, Dolly told her, was gone to walk in the meadows behind the houſe; for ſhe had kept herſelf out of his ſight as much as poſſible, unwilling that he ſhould obſerve her emotions. She ſaw him at a diſtance, walking with a ſlow pace, and ſhe perceived he obſerved her; but to her great ſurprize, ſhe ſaw him croſs into another field, and take a quite contrary way, on purpoſe to avoid her.

Struck with this little accident, ſhe ſtood ſtill, and pauſed a few mo⯑ments: ſhe felt herſelf ſtrangely alarmed, yet wondered why ſhe ſhould be ſo, and took her way back again to the houſe with ſad fore⯑bodings on her mind.

CHAP. XXII. Sophia ſuſpects the Cauſe of her Lover's myſterious Conduct.

WHEN Mr. Herbert returned from his walk, and met the curate and his little family at ſupper, Sophia, who heedfully ob⯑ſerved him, ſaw an alteration in his countenance, which realized all her melancholy apprehenſions, and con⯑vinced her that ſome new misfor⯑tune awaited her: his eyes, which ſtudiouſly avoided her's, expreſſed nothing but grief and confuſion; but he retired ſo early to his cham⯑ber, that Sophia, finding there was no hopes of explaining himſelf that night, paſſed it in an anxiety of mind, which ſuffered her not to taſte the leaſt repoſe. Early in the morning he knocked at her door, [48] and deſired her to join him in the garden; ſhe was already dreſt, and inſtantly complied.

As ſoon as ſhe came up to him, he took her hand, and preſſed it af⯑fectionately, but ſpoke not a word.

Sophia, who feared as much as ſhe wiſhed to know what had hap⯑pened, had not power to aſk for an explanation; ſo they both conti⯑nued ſilent for ſome minutes.

At length Mr. Herbert told her he was going to London; Sophia, in a faultering accent, aſked him what had happened to occaſion this ſudden reſolution?

"Alas! my dear child," ſaid the good old man, in great emotion, ‘I am aſhamed and grieved to tell you that—Sir Charles has, I fear, deceived me.’

Although Sophia had reaſon to expect ſome ſad reverſe of fortune, and had endeavoured to prepare her⯑ſelf [49] for it, yet this fatal confirma⯑tion of her fears ſhocked her ſo much, that Mr. Herbert, who ſaw a death-like paleneſs overſpread her face, and felt her hand cold and trembling, fearing ſhe would faint, made haſte to lead her to a little bench of turf which was near them.

Sophia recovering, ſaw ſo much concern in his looks, that ſtruggling to repreſs her own anguiſh, ſhe en⯑deavoured to comfort him, and, ſmiling through the tears that filled her charming eyes, ‘Let not this inſtance of my weakneſs alarm you, ſir,’ ſaid ſhe; ‘and doubt not but, with the aſſiſtance of heaven, I ſhall bear this ſtrange inſult with proper fortitude.’

‘How worthy are you, my good child, of better fortune!’ ſaid Mr. Herbert; then taking a letter out of his pocket, ‘My firſt de⯑ſign,’ purſued he, ‘was to ſeek [50] ſome explanation of this myſte⯑rious letter, before I made you acquainted with it, but I per⯑ceived that my too apparent un⯑eaſineſs had alarmed you, and I thought it would be leſs cruel to inform you of the whole matter than to leave you in doubt and un⯑certainty: this letter was deliver⯑ed to me yeſterday in the even⯑ing, by one of Sir Charles's ſer⯑vants, juſt as I was walking out towards the road, in hopes of meeting his maſter. My ſur⯑priſe at receiving a letter, when I expected to ſee himſelf, made me open it inſtantly, without aſk⯑ing the ſervant any queſtions, and while I was reading it he went away, doubtleſs being directed to do ſo.’

Mr. Herbert then gave the letter to Sophia, who, unfolding it with trembling emotion, found it was as follows:

Although this letter gave Sophia a ſad certainty of her misfortune, yet it relieved her from thoſe worſt pangs which a heart in love can feel, the belief of being abandoned through indifference, or inconſtan⯑cy. Unperceived by ourſelves, pride mixes with our moſt tender affec⯑tions, and either aggravates or leſ⯑ſens the ſenſe of every diſappoint⯑ment, in proportion as we feel our⯑ſelves humbled by the circumſtances that attend it.

The ill-diſguiſed jealouſy, the perſonated calmneſs, the ſtruggling [53] reſentment that appeared in this letter, convinced Sophia that Sir Charles was far from being at eaſe, and that to whatever cauſe his pre⯑ſent unaccountable behaviour was owing, yet ſhe was ſure at leaſt of not being indifferent to him.

It was not difficult to perceive that he had been deceived by ſome malicious reports, and her ſuſpicions fell immediately upon Harriot; but rejecting this thought, as too in⯑jurious to her ſiſter, ſhe returned the letter to Mr. Herbert without ſpeak⯑ing a word, but with a look much more ſerene and compoſed than be⯑fore.

Mr. Herbert, who ſaw nothing in this letter like what her pene⯑tration had diſcovered, and who conceived it to be only a poor arti⯑fice to diſengage himſelf from pro⯑miſes which he now repented of, [54] was ſurpriſed to find her ſo much leſs affected with it than expected, and aſked her what ſhe thought of it?

Sophia told him, that ſhe was fully perſuaded Sir Charles had been prejudiced againſt her.

"Do you think ſo, my dear," ſaid he, after a little pauſe; ‘then it is your ſiſter to whom you are obliged for this kind of⯑fice.’

"I hope not, ſir," replied So⯑phia, ſighing; ‘that circumſtance would aggravate my concern— indeed I think it would be a crime in me to ſuſpect her of being capable of ſuch unkind⯑neſs.’

"Well," reſumed Mr. Herbert, ‘I will, if poſſible, diſcover this myſtery before night; you ſhall hear from me to-morrow; in the [55] mean time calm your mind, and reſign yourſelf entirely to that Providence, which, while you continue thus good and virtuous, will never forſake you.’

CHAP. XVI. Sophia is viſited by Mrs. Gibbons, and makes new Diſcoveries.

MR. Herbert now left her, to go and take leave of the cu⯑rate and his family; and Sophia, whoſe fortune had undergone ſo many revolutions in ſo ſhort a time, retired to her chamber, where ſhe paſſed great part of the day alone, at once to indulge her melan⯑choly, and to conceal it from ob⯑ſervation.

In the afternoon Dolly came up, in a great hurry of ſpirits, to ac⯑quaint her that Mrs. Gibbons was come to wait upon her; that ſhe had been met at the door by her mother, and that ſeveral courteſies had paſſed between them.

The poor girl, though tranſport⯑ed [57] with joy at this favourable be⯑ginning, no ſooner perceived, by the penſive air in Sophia's coun⯑tenance, and the ſighs that eſcaped her, that her ſuſpicions of ſome new diſappointment having hap⯑pened to her were true, than in⯑ſtantly forgetting the proſperous ſituation of her own affairs, her ſweet face was overſpread with ten⯑der grief, and a tear ſtole from her eyes; but Sophia, whom nothing could have awakened from that ſtupifying ſorrow in which any great and ſudden misfortune plunges the mind, but the deſire of being uſeful to her friends, ſoon aſſumed a more chearful look, and haſtened to receive her viſitor.

Mrs. Gibbons was in full dreſs, and had omitted no ſuperfluous or⯑nament that could ſerve to ſhew Sophia how well ſhe underſtood every ſort of punctilio. As ſoon as [58] the firſt compliments were over, "You ſee, madam," ſaid ſhe, ‘what affluence your commands have over me: I once little thought that I ſhould ever have entered this impoliſhed houſe again; my nephew attended me to the door, but I would not ſuffer him to come in, becauſe I am not ſure that you are willing to let theſe people know the ho⯑nour you do him by receiving his adorations.’

Sophia, though a little ſtartled at theſe words, yet ſuppoſed ſhe had no particular meaning in them, and aſcribed all to her fantaſtick manner of expreſſing herſelf; but Mrs. Gibbons being reſolved to haſten the concluſion of an affair which ſhe had very much at heart, ſpoke ſo intelligibly at laſt, that Sophia could no longer be ignorant of her deſign, all the ill conſequences [59] of which ſuddenly ſtriking her ima⯑gination, ſhe exclaimed in a tone of ſurpriſe and terror, ‘Sure I am the moſt unfortunate creature in the world! is it poſſible, Mrs. Gib⯑bons, that you can be ſerious? have you really given any cauſe for a report, that I receive your nephew's addreſſes? if you have, you have done me an irreparable injury.’

Sophia's ſpirits were ſo greatly a⯑gited that ſhe did not perceive how much of her ſituation theſe words diſcovered; ſo that Mrs. Gibbons, who ſaw the tears flow faſt from her eyes, immediately comprehended the whole truth.

"I ſee plainly," ſaid ſhe, in great concern, ‘that I have been deceived, and others perhaps have been ſo too; I ſhall never diſcapitulate myſelf for being the cauſe of any misfortune to you: [60] ſome more advantageous treatiſe has been on the tapeſtry, and this unlucky affair has done miſchief.’

‘Give me leave to aſk you, madam,’ interrupted Sophia with ſome peeviſhneſs, ‘what founda⯑tion had you for believing that I conſidered your nephew as my lover? you know his heart has been long ſince engaged.’

‘I acknowledge I have been to blame, my dear miſs,’ reſumed Mrs. Gibbons, ‘I was too ſan⯑guinary in my hopes; but I beg you will diſclaim no more, this will do no good; only tell me if it is poſſible to repair the harm I have done by my fooliſh ſchemes.’

To this Sophia made no anſwer; but Mrs. Gibbons, who wanted neither tenderneſs nor candour, and who was greatly concerned at the uneaſineſs ſhe ſaw her under, urged her ſo frequently, and with ſo much [61] earneſtneſs, to tell her if ſhe could be of any uſe in clearing up a miſ⯑take that had poſſibly been diſad⯑vantageous to her, that Sophia, ſtill attentive amidſt all her own diſ⯑treſſes to the intereſt of her friend, thought this a favourable opportu⯑nity to ſerve her; and therefore told Mrs. Gibbons, that if ſhe was really ſincere in her offers, there was one way.

"I underſtand you, madam," interrupted Mrs. Gibbons, ‘and I believe I may venture to ſay that I thought of this expedition be⯑fore you did. I cannot, indeed, Miſs Darnley, I cannot conſent to my nephew's marriage with the young woman here; you know I have been affronted.’

Sophia now urged ſome argu⯑ments in favour of Mrs. Lawſon, but chiefly reſted her defence upon her ignorance of thoſe forms of po⯑liteneſs [62] and good breeding which Mrs. Gibbons was ſo perfectly miſtreſs of.

This compliment put the old lady into ſo good a humour, that ſhe cried out, ‘Well, my dear Miſs Darnley, in regard to you, I will take off the probition I laid on my nephew to viſit here no more; and this I hope,’ added ſhe ſmiling, ‘will ſet matters right in another place; as for the reſt, I ſhall take no reſolution till I ſee how they behave.’

Sophia, in her tranſport at hav⯑ing ſucceeded ſo well with the old lady, felt all her own griefs ſuſ⯑pended; and indeed, when ſhe re⯑flected upon what had happened with regard to herſelf, ſhe found ſhe had leſs cauſe for reflection than Mr. Herbert, or her own fears, had ſuggeſted.

Mrs. Gibbons acknowledged that [63] ſhe had flattered herſelf with the hope of her nephew's being well received by her; and that, in con⯑ſequence of it, ſhe had talked of their marriage as an event which was very likely to happen, and which would give her great joy. Sophia, being fully perſuaded that theſe reports had reached Sir Charles, though by what means ſhe was not ſo well able to determine, eaſily ac⯑counted for that jealouſy and re⯑ſentment which had produced ſo ſtrange an inconſiſtency in his be⯑haviour, and which Mr. Herbert conſidered as a piece of artifice to palliate his lightneſs and inconſtancy.

The good old man, animated by his affection for the poor afflicted Sophia, rode with the utmoſt ſpeed to town, and alighted at the houſe of the young baronet. The ſer⯑vants informed him, that their maſter was in the country, which [64] was all the intelligence they could give him: for they neither knew where he was, nor when he would return. Mr. Herbert, perplexed and concerned at this new diſap⯑pointment, repaired immediately to Mrs. Darnley's, hoping to hear ſome news of him there.

Harriot, in anſwer to his en⯑quiries, told him with an air of triumph, that the ſame day they returned from viſiting Sophia, Sir Charles had waited on her mam⯑ma and her, and had as uſual paſt great part of the afternoon with them.

Mr. Herbert, who was ſtruck with this incident, endeavoured to make ſome diſcoveries concerning their converſation, and Harriot's malice made this no difficult mat⯑ter: for ſhe could not forbear throwing out ſome ſarcaſms againſt her ſiſter, whoſe extreme ſenſibility, [65] ſhe inſinuated, had already found out a new object.

Mr. Herbert, by his artful queſ⯑tions, drew her into a confeſſion of all that had paſſed between her and the baronet upon this ſubject; and was convinced that her ma⯑lignant hints had poiſoned his mind with ſuſpicions unfavourable to Sophia.

He went away full of indigna⯑tion at her treachery, and ſtill doubtful of Sir Charles's ſincerity, who he could not ſuppoſe would have been ſo eaſily influenced by Harriot's ſuggeſtions, (whoſe en⯑vious diſpoſition he well knew,) if his intentions had been abſolute⯑ly right.

The next morning he received a letter from Sophia, in which ſhe acquainted him with the diſcove⯑ries ſhe had made; and modeſtly hinted her belief that Sir Charles [66] had been impoſed upon by this report of her intended marriage, which ſhe found was ſpread through the village; and which, as it was very probable, he had intelligence from thence, had confirmed any idle raillery to that purpoſe, which her ſiſter might have indulged her⯑ſelf in.

Mr. Herbert reflecting upon all theſe unlucky circumſtances, began to ſuppoſe it poſſible that Sir Charles had been really deceived. He went again to his houſe, but had the mortification to hear from a ſervant whom he had not ſeen the day before, that the baronet was at his ſeat in—

Thither the good old man re⯑ſolved to go; the inconveniencies and expence of ſuch a journey, which in his years, and narrow circumſtances were not inconſi⯑derable, had not weight enough [67] with him to make him balance a moment whether he ſhould tranſact this affair by letter, or in perſon. The happineſs of his dear and amiable charge depend⯑ed upon his ſucceſs: he therefore delayed no longer than to make the neceſſary preparations for his journey, and, after writing to So⯑phia to acquaint her with his de⯑ſign, he ſet out for Sir Charles's ſeat, where he met with a new and more ſevere diſappointment. The firſt news he heard was, that the baronet was not in that part of the country; and upon a fuller enquiry of his ſervants, he was informed that their maſter had the morning before ſet out for Dover with an intention to go to Paris.

Mr. Herbert, diſpirited with this news, and fatigued with his fruit⯑leſs journey, retired to his inn, [68] where he paſſed the lonely hours in melancholy reflections upon the capricious behaviour of Sir Charles, and the undeſerved diſtreſſes of the innocent Sophia.

CHAP. XXIV. Diſplays certain ſingularities in the character of Sophia, and their ef⯑fects on the heart of Sir Charles.

SIR Charles, however, notwith⯑ſtanding appearances, was at preſent more unhappy than guilty. His reſolution to marry Sophia, though ſuddenly formed, was not the leſs ſincere: he had always loved her with the moſt ardent paſ⯑ſion, and had not the light charac⯑ter of her mother and ſiſter con⯑curred with thoſe prejudices which his youth, his fortune, and his converſe with the gay world led him into, his heart, which had never ceaſed to do homage to her virtue, would have ſooner ſuggeſted to him the only means of being truly happy.

[70]An overſtrained delicacy likewiſe proved another ſource of diſ⯑quietude to him. The inequality of their circumſtances gave riſe to a thouſand tormenting doubts: he was afraid, that dazzled with the ſplendor of his fortune, ſhe would ſacrifice her inclinations to her in⯑tereſt, and give him her hand with⯑out her heart; and when doing juſ⯑tice to the greatneſs of her mind, and the real delicacy of her ſenti⯑ments, he rejected this ſuppoſition as injurious to her, his buſy imagi⯑nation conjured up new forms of diſtruſt: he trembled left, miſtak⯑ing gratitude for love, ſhe ſhould be deceived by her own generoſity and nice ſenſe of obligation, and ima⯑gine it was the lover ſhe preferred, when the benefactor only touched her heart.

Such was the perplexed ſtate of his mind, when Mrs. Darnley and [71] Harriot propoſed making her a viſit. With ſome difficulty he conquered his deſire of accompanying them; but his impatience to hear of her, carried him again to Mrs. Darnley's much earlier in the evening than it was likely they would return; pre⯑ſuming on his intimacy in the fa⯑mily, he ſcrupled not to go up ſtairs, telling the ſervant he would wait till the ladies came home.

He ſat down in the dining-room, where he gazed on Sophia's picture a long time. At laſt a ſudden fancy ſeized him to viſit her apartment, which he knew was on the ſecond floor: he aſcended the ſtairs with⯑out being perceived, and with a tender emotion entered the room where his beloved Sophia uſed to paſs ſo many of her retired hours.

It was ſtill elegantly neat, as when its lovely inmate was there; for [72] Harriot, who hated this room be⯑cauſe it contained ſo many monu⯑ments of her ſiſter's taſte and induſ⯑try, never went into it; and it re⯑mained in the ſame order that ſhe had left it.

The firſt thing that drew the young baronet's attention, was a fire-ſcreen of excellent workman⯑ſhip; it was a flower-piece, and executed with peculiar taſte and propriety: the wainſcot was adorned with ſeveral drawings, neatly fram⯑ed and glaſſed. In this art Sophia took great delight, having while her farther lived appropriated all her pocket money to the payment of a maſter to inſtruct her in it. Sir Charles conſidered the ſubjects of theſe drawings with a peculiar plea⯑ſure. The delicate pencil of So⯑phia had here repreſented the Vir⯑tues and the Graces, from thoſe lively ideas which exiſted in her own charming mind.

[73]Her little library next engaged his notice: many of the books that compoſed it he had preſented her; but he was curious to ſee thoſe which her own choice had directed her to, and in this examination he met with many proofs of her piety as well as of the excellence of her taſte.

Several compoſitions of her own now fell into his hands: he read them with eagerneſs, and, charm⯑ed with this diſcovery of thoſe trea⯑ſures of wit, which ſhe with mo⯑deſt diffidence ſo carefully concealed, he felt his admiration and tenderneſs for her encreaſe every moment.

While he was anxiouſly ſearching for more of her papers, a little ſha⯑green caſe fell from one of the ſhelves upon the ground. He took it up, and as every thing that be⯑longed to her excited his curioſity, he opened it immediately, and with [74] equal ſurpriſe and pleaſure, ſaw his own miniature in water colours, which was evidently the perfor⯑mance of Sophia herſelf.

Had it been poſſible for her to imagine the ſudden and powerful effect the ſight of this picture would have upon the heart of Sir Charles, ſhe would not have ſuffered ſo much uneaſineſs for the loſs of it as ſhe really had; for, forgetting where ſhe had laid it, ſhe ſuppoſed it had dropt out of her pocket, and was apprehenſive of its hav⯑ing fallen into her ſiſter's hands, who ſhe knew would not fail to turn this incident to her diſad⯑vantage.

While Sir Charles gazed upon this artleſs teſtimony of Sophia's affection for him, the ſofteſt gra⯑titude, the tendereſt compaſſion, filled his ſoul. "Oh, my So⯑phia," ſaid he, ‘do you then [75] truly love me! and have I cruelly trifled with your tender⯑neſs!’

This thought melted him even to tears; he felt in himſelf a de⯑teſtation of thoſe depraved prin⯑ciples which had ſuggeſted to him a deſign of debaſing ſuch purity! he wondered at the hardneſs of his own heart, that could ſo long reſiſt the influence of her gentle virtues, and ſuffer ſuch ſweet ſen⯑ſibility to waſte itſelf in anxi⯑ous doubts, and diſappointed hope.

Being now determined to do juſtice to her merit, and make himſelf happy, his firſt deſign was to go immediately to Mr. Lawſon's; but, reflecting that Sophia had great reaſon to be diſſatisfied with his conduct; and that, to remove her prejudices, [76] the utmoſt caution and delicacy was to be obſerved, he conceived it would be more proper to make a direct application to Mr. Her⯑bert, whom ſhe loved and reve⯑renced as a father, than to pre⯑ſent himſelf before her, while her mind yet laboured with thoſe unfavourable ſuſpicions for which he had given but too much cauſe; and hence new fears and doubts aroſe to torment him. He dread⯑ed leſt her juſt reſentment for his injurious deſigns ſhould have weak⯑ened thoſe tender impreſſions ſhe had once received; and that, in the pride of offended virtue, every ſofter ſentiment would be loſt.

Impatient of this cruel ſtate of ſuſpenſe and inquietude, he left Sophia's apartment, and repairing to the dining-room, rang the bell [77] for the ſervant, of whom he en⯑quired where Mr. Herbert lodged. Having obtained a direction, he went immediately to the houſe; Mr. Herbert was not at home, and Sir Charles, grieved at this diſappointment, and at Mrs. Darnley's not returning that night, from whom he hoped to have heard ſome news of Sophia; the agitation of his mind made him think it an age till the next day, in which he determined to put an end to all his perplexities, and to fix his fate.

After his interview with Mr. Herbert, and the good old man's departure, to prepare Sophia for his intended viſit, the young ba⯑ronet reſigned his whole ſoul to tenderneſs and joy. His impati⯑ence to ſee Sophia encreaſed with his hope of finding her ſenti⯑ments [78] for him unchanged, and he regretted a thouſand times his having ſuffered Mr. Herbert to go away without him.

CHAP. XXV. Lets the reader into ſome circum⯑ſtances that help to diſplay Sir Charles's conduct.

MEAN time a card came from Mrs. Darnley and Harriot, acquainting him that they were re⯑turned, and thanking him for the uſe of his ſervants and chariot. Sir Charles, eager to hear news of his Sophia, went immediately to wait on them; and ſcarce were the firſt compliments over, when he enquir⯑ed for her with ſuch apparent emo⯑tion, that, Harriot mortified to the laſt degree, reſolved to be even with him, and ſaid every thing that ſhe thought would torment him, and prejudice her ſiſter.

She told him that Sophia was the moſt contented creature in the [80] world; and that ſhe was ſo charmed with her preſent way of life, and her new companions, that ſhe ſeemed to have forgot all her old friends, and even her relations. ‘She is grown a meer country girl,’ ſaid ſhe, ‘is always wan⯑dering about in the fields and meadows, followed by a young ruſtic who has fallen in love with her. I rallied her a little upon her taſte; but I found ſhe could not bear it, and indeed he is ex⯑tremely handſome, and ſhe ſays, has had a genteel education.’

Harriot was at once pleaſed and grieved at obſerving the effect theſe inſinuations had on Sir Charles; his colour changed, he trembled, and fixing his eyes on the ground, he remained penſive and ſilent, while Harriot, notwithſtanding her mo⯑ther's inſignificant frowns, proceed⯑ed in a malicious detail of little cir⯑cumſtances [81] partly invented, and partly miſtaken, which fixed the ſharpeſt ſtings of jealouſy in his heart.

If in dealing with cunning per⯑ſons we were always to conſider their ends, in order to interpret their ſpeeches, much of their arti⯑fice would loſe its effect; but Sir Charles had ſo contemptible an opi⯑nion of Harriot's underſtanding, that although he knew ſhe was ma⯑licious, he never ſuſpected her of being capable of laying ſchemes to gratify her malice; and did not ſup⯑poſe ſhe was miſtreſs of invention enough to form ſo plauſible a tale as that ſhe had told.

Impatient under thoſe cruel doubts which now poſſeſſed him, he reſolved to go, late as it was in the evening, to Mr. Lawſon's houſe; and taking an abrupt leave of Mrs. Darnley and her daughter, he went [82] home, and ordered his horſes to be got ready. He ſcarce knew his own deſign by taking this journey at ſo improper a time; but in the ex⯑treme agitation of his mind, the firſt idea of relief that naturally preſented itſelf was to ſee Sophia, who alone could deſtroy or confirm his fears; and this he eagerly pur⯑ſued without any farther reflection.

The ſervant to whom he had ſent his orders, made no haſte to exe⯑cute them, as conceiving it to be a moſt extravagant whim in his maſ⯑ter to ſet out upon a journey ſo late, and in that manner. While he with ſtudied delays protracted the time, hoping for ſome change in his reſo⯑lutions, Sir Charles racked with impatience, counted moments for hours; meſſage after meſſage was diſpatched to the groom. The horſes at length were brought, and Sir Charles, with only one ſervant, [83] galloped away, never ſtopping till he came to the place where Sophia reſided.

It was now night, and the inde⯑corum of making a viſit at ſuch a time in a family where he was a ſtranger, firſt ſtriking his thoughts, he reſolved to alight at an inn which he ſaw at a ſmall diſtance, and there conſider what it was beſt for him to do.

A gueſt of his appearance ſoon engaged the attention of the hoſt and his wife. They quitted two men with whom they had been talking, and, with a great deal of officious civility, attended upon Sir Charles, who deſired to be ſhewn into a room. As he was following the good woman, who declared he ſhould have the beſt in her houſe, the two perſons before mentioned, bowed to him when he paſſed by [84] them; the ſalute of the younger having a certain grace in it that drew his attention, he looked back on him, and at the ſight of a very handſome face, and a perſon un⯑commonly genteel, his heart, by its throbbing emotions, immediately ſuggeſted to him, that this beau⯑tiful youth was the lover of his So⯑phia.

The jealouſy which Harriot's in⯑ſinuations had kindled in his heart, now raged with redoubled force; this rival, whom ſhe had called a ruſtic, and whom he fondly hoped to find ſuch, poſſeſſed the moſt at⯑tractive graces of form, and proba⯑bly wanted neither wit nor polite⯑neſs. Sophia's youth, her tender⯑neſs, her ſenſibility, wounded by his diſſembled indifference, and the cruel capriciouſneſs of his conduct, all diſpoſed her to receive a new [85] impreſſion, and who ſo proper to touch her heart as this lovely youth, whoſe paſſion, as innocent as it was ardent and ſincere, baniſhed all doubt and ſuſpicion, and left her whole ſoul open to the ſoft pleadings of gratitude and love?

While he was wholly abſorbed in theſe tormenting reflections, and incapable of taking any reſoluti⯑on, the officious landlady entered his chamber to take his orders for ſupper.

Sir Charles, ſurpriſed to find it was ſo late, reſolved to ſtay there all night, and after giving the good woman ſome directions, his reſtleſs curioſity impelled him to aſk her ſeveral queſtions con⯑cerning the old man and the youth whom he had ſeen talking to her.

[86]The hoſteſs, who was as com⯑municative as he could deſire, told him, that the old man was one farmer Gibbons, of whom ſhe had been buying a load of hay; that the young one was his ſon, and a great ſcholard. ‘His aunt, purſued ſhe, breeds him up to be a gentleman; and ſhe has a power of money, and deſigns to leave it all to him, much good may it do him, for he is as handſome a young man as one would deſire to ſee. Some time ago it was all over our town that he was go⯑ing to be married to the parſon's youngeſt daughter, and ſhe is a pretty creature, and diſarves him if he was more richer and hand⯑ſomer than he is; but whatever is the matter, the old folks have changed their mind, and his [87] aunt, they ſay, wants to make up a match between him and a fine London lady that boards at the parſon's; but I'll never believe it till I ſee it, for ſhe and the par⯑ſon's daughter are great friends, they ſay, and it would not be a friendly part to rob the poor girl of her ſweetheart. To ſay the truth, I believe there is ſome juggling among them; but this I keep to myſelf, for I would not make miſchief; therefore I never tell my thoughts to any body, but I wiſh the young folks well.’

Sir Charles, who had liſtened to her with great emotion, diſ⯑miſſed her now, that he might be at liberty to reflect on what he had heard, which, although it did not lead him to a full diſcovery of the truth, yet it ſuggeſted thoughts which relieved [88] him in ſome degree from thoſe dreadful pangs of jealouſy with which he had hitherto been tortured, and ballanced at leaſt his fears and his hopes.

CHAP. XXVI. The Baronet's Jealouſy accounted for: he leaves England.

HIS impatience to free himſelf from this ſtate of perplexity and ſuſpence, allowed him but little repoſe that night; he roſe as ſoon as the day appeared, and it was with ſome difficulty that he prevailed up⯑on himſelf to defer his viſit till a ſea⯑ſonable hour; and then being in⯑formed that Mr. Lawſon's houſe was ſcarce a mile diſtant, he left his ſer⯑vant and horſes at the inn, and walk⯑ed thither, amidſt a thouſand anxi⯑ous thoughts, which made him dread as much as he wiſhed for an i [...]ter⯑view, which was to decide his fate.

As he drew near the houſe, he perceived a young man ſauntering [90] about in an adjacent field, whoſe air and mien had a great reſemb⯑lance of the youth whom he had ſeen in the inn. Sir Charles, eager to ſatisfy his doubts, followed him at a diſtance, and the youth turning again his wiſhing eyes towards the houſe, the baronet had a full view of his face.

At the ſight of his young rival his heart throbbed as if it would leave his breaſt: he haſtily retreated be⯑hind a hedge, determined to watch his motions; for he imagined, and with reaſon, that he came there to meet his miſtreſs; and who that mi⯑ſtreſs was, whether Sophia, or the curate's daughter, was the diſtract⯑ing doubt, which he now expected to have ſatisfied.

He walked along by the ſide of the hedge, ſtill keeping William in ſight, who ſuddenly turning back, rather flew than ran to meet a wo⯑man [91] who beckoned to him. Sir Charles ſaw at once his Sophia, and the fatal ſign, which planted a thou⯑ſand daggers in his heart. Tremb⯑ling and pale he leaned againſt a tree, which concealed him from view, and ſaw her advance towards his ri⯑val, ſaw her in earneſt diſcourſe with him; and, to compleat his diſtrac⯑tion and deſpair, ſaw the happy youth throw himſelf at her feet, doubtleſs to thank her for the ſacri⯑fice ſhe made to him of a richer lover.

Such was the inference he drew from this action; and now rage and indignation ſucceeding to grief, in theſe firſt tranſports, he was upon the point of diſcovering himſelf, and ſacrificing the hated youth to his vengeance; but a moment's re⯑flection ſhewed him the diſhonour of a conteſt with ſo deſpicable a ri⯑val, and turned all his reſentment [90] [...] [91] [...] [92] againſt Sophia, who having quitted her ſuppoſed lover, took her way back again to the houſe. Sir Charles followed her with diſordered haſte, reſolved to load her with reproaches for her inconſtancy: then, unwil⯑ling to gratify her pride by ſuch an acknowledgment of his weakneſs, he turned back, curſing love, wo⯑men, and his own ill fate. In this temper he wandered about a long time; at laſt he again returned to the inn, where, after having given orders to have his horſes got ready, he wrote that letter to Mr. Herbert, in which he ſo well diſguiſed the an⯑guiſh of his heart, that the good old man believed his breaking off the af⯑fair was the effect of his lightneſs and inconſtancy only, though Sophia's quicker penetration eaſily diſcovered the latent jealouſy that had dictated it.

Sir Charles ordered his ſervant to [93] deliver the letter into Mr. Herbert's hands; then mounting his horſe, he bid him follow him as ſoon as he had executed his commiſſion. The young baronet, who retired to his country ſeat to conceal his me⯑lancholy, and fondly flattered him⯑ſelf that he ſhould ſoon overcome that fatal paſſion which had been the ſource of ſo much diſguſt to him, found his mind ſo cruelly tortured with the remembrance of Sophia, that he reaſſumed his firſt deſign of going abroad, and unfortunately ſet out for Dover the day before Mr. Herbert's arrival.

The good old man being obliged to ſend Sophia this bad news, filled his letter with tender conſolations, and wiſe and prudent couſnels: he exorted her to bear this ſtroke of fortune with that dignity of patience which diſtinguiſhes the good and wiſe.

[94] ‘The virtue of proſperity, ſaid he, is temperance, the virtue of ad⯑verſity fortitude; it is this laſt which you are now called upon to exert, and which the innocence of your life may well inſpire you with: for be aſſured, my dear child, that it is the greateſt con⯑ſolation under misfortunes to be conſcious of having always meant well, and to be convinced that nothing but guilt deſerves to be conſidered as a ſevere evil.’

Sophia in her anſwer diſplayed a mind ſtruggling againſt its own ten⯑derneſs, offering up its diſappointed hopes, its griefs, and deſires, in pi⯑ous ſacrifice to the will of Provi⯑dence, and ſeeking in religion all its conſolation and ſupport.

‘Can a virtuous perſon, ſaid ſhe, however oppreſſed by poverty, and in conſequence neglected by the world, be ſaid to want friends [95] and comforters who can look into his own mind with modeſt appro⯑bation, and to whom recollection furniſhes a ſource of joy? Every good action he has performed is a friend, every inſtance of pious reſignation is a comforter, who cheer him with preſent peace, and ſupport him with hopes of future happineſs. Can he be ſaid to be alone, and deprived of the plea⯑ſures of ſociety, who converſes with ſaints and angels? is he without diſtinction and reward whoſe life his almighty Creator approves?’

CHAP. XXVII. Sophia meets with a new Subject of Affliction.

THE loſs of Sir Charles hav⯑ing clouded all Sophia's views of happineſs, ſhe earneſtly intreated Mr. Herbert's permiſſion to ſettle herſelf in that humble ſta⯑tion to which Providence ſeemed to call her; and as ſhe believed Mrs. Gibbons might be very uſeful to her upon this occaſion, ſhe reſolved to apply to her as ſoon as ſhe had his anſwer.

Notwithſtanding all her endea⯑vours to bear this ſhock of fate with patience, a fixed melancholy took poſſeſſion of her mind, con⯑vinced that Sir Charles had loved her; and that, by an unfortunate concurrence of circumſtances, he [97] had been prevented from giving her the utmoſt proof of his affection; her tenderneſs no longer combat⯑ted by ſuſpicions to his prejudice, gained new force every day, and all his actions now appeared to her in a favourable point of view: ſo true it is, that when a perſon is found leſs guilty than he is ſuſpected, he is concluded more innocent than he really is.

Mr. Herbert, after a long ſilence, at length acquainted her, that he was ill, and deſired her not to leave Mr. Lawſon's till ſhe heard further from him.

The ſhortneſs of this billet, the trembling hand with which it ap⯑peared to be written, filled Sophia with the moſt dreadful apprehen⯑ſions. Sir Charles was now forgot, and all her thoughts were taken up with the danger of her worthy friend: ſhe determined to go to [98] him; and although Mr. Lawſon and his wife endeavoured to diſ⯑ſuade her from taking ſuch a jour⯑ney, and William, urged by Dol⯑ly, and his own eagerneſs to ſerve her, offered to go and bring her an exact account of the ſtate of his health, yet her purpoſe remained unalterable.

"My dear benefactor is ill," ſaid ſhe, ‘and has none but ſtrangers about him; it is fit that I ſhould go and attend him;’ and if I muſt loſe him, purſued ſhe, ‘burſting into tears, it will be ſome comfort to me to reflect that I have done my duty.’

She ſet out early the next morn⯑ing in the ſtage-coach: Dolly wept at parting, and engaged her lover to attend Sophia to her jour⯑ney's end; that if Mr. Herbert ſhould be worſe than they appre⯑hended, [99] he might be near to aſſiſt and comfort her.

Sophia, when ſhe ſaw him rid⯑ing by the ſide of the coach, at⯑tempted to perſuade him to re⯑turn; but William charmed to have an opportunity of expreſſing his zeal for her ſervice, would not quit her; and her ſpirits being too weak to conteſt this point with him, ſhe was obliged to ſuffer his attendance.

They reached the place where Mr. Herbert was, in the even⯑ing of the third day: he had taken lodgings at the houſe of a farmer, where he was attended with great tenderneſs and care.

Sophia appeared with ſo deep a concern upon her countenance, and enquired for him with ſuch extreme emotion, that the good woman of the houſe concluding [100] ſhe was his daughter, thought it neceſſary before ſhe anſwered her queſtions, to preach patience and ſubmiſſion to her, wiſely obſerving, that we are all mortal, and that death ſpares nobody, from the ſquire to the plough⯑man.

She ran on in this manner till ſhe perceived Sophia grow pale, and cloſe her eyes: ſhe had juſt time to prevent her from falling, and with William's aſſiſtance, placed her in a chair, where while ſhe applied remedies to recover her from her ſwoon, the youth with tears in his eyes, aſked her ſoftly, how long Mr. Herbert had been dead.

"Dead!" repeated the farmer's wife, ‘who told you he was dead? no, no, it is not ſo bad as that neither.’

[101]William rejoiced to hear this, and as ſoon as Sophia ſhewed ſome ſigns of returning life, he greeted her with the welcome news. She caſt a look full of doubt and anguiſh upon the countrywoman, who confirmed his report, and offered to go with her to the gentleman's room. Sophia inſtantly found her ſtrength return; ſhe followed her with trembling haſte; and, leſt her preſence ſhould ſurpriſe Mr. Herbert, ſhe directed the good woman to tell him, that a friend of his was come to ſee him.

She heard him anſwer in a weak voice, but with ſome emo⯑tion, ‘It is my dear child, bring her to me.’

Sophia immediately appeared, and throwing herſelf upon her [102] knees at his bed-ſide, burſt into tears, and was unable to ſpeak.

The good old man holding one of her hands preſt in his, tender⯑ly blamed her for the trouble ſhe had given herſelf in coming ſo far to viſit him; but acknow⯑ledged at the ſame time, that this inſtance of her affection was ex⯑tremely dear to him, and that her preſence gave him inexpreſſi⯑ble comfort.

Sophia entered immediately upon the office of a nurſe to her bene⯑factor, and performed all the duties of the moſt affectionate child to the beſt of parents.

Mr. Herbert employed the little remaining ſtrength he had in en⯑deavours to comfort her, and in pious exhortations. ‘Weep not for me, my dear child,’ would he ſay, ‘but rather rejoice that [103] the innocence of my life has diveſted death of his terrors, and enabled me to meet him with calm reſignation, and with humble hope. At this awful hour, how little would it a⯑vail me, that I had been rich, that I had been great and powerful? but what comforts do I not feel from an unre⯑proving conſcience? theſe com⯑forts every one has it in his power to procure: live virtuous then, my dear Sophia, that you may die in peace: how ſmall is the difference between the longeſt and the ſhorteſt life! if its pleaſures be few, its mi⯑ries are ſo likewiſe; how little do they enjoy whom the world calls happy! how little do they ſuffer whom it pronounces wretched! one point of fleeting [104] time paſt, and death reduces all to an equality. But the diſtinc⯑tion between virtue and vice, and future happineſs and miſery are eternal.’

CHAP. XXVIII. The Character of Mrs. Howard.

SOPHIA had need of all the conſolation ſhe derived from her reflections on the virtue and piety of her friend, to enable her to bear the apprehenſions of his approaching death with any degree of fortitude; but when ſhe leaſt expected it, his diſtemper took a favourable turn, and in a few days the moſt dangerous ſymptons were removed.

The Bath waters being judged abſolutely neceſſary for the entire re-eſtabliſhment of his health, he reſolved to go thither as ſoon as he had recovered ſtrength enough to bear the journey.

Sophia at his earneſt deſire con⯑ſented to return to Mr. Lawſon's, [106] and remain there till he came from Bath, but ſhe would not quit him till he was able to take this jour⯑ney; and by the ſweetneſs of her converſation, her tender aſſiduity, and watchful care, contributed ſo much towards his recovery, that he was ſoon in a condition to travel with ſafety.

He accompanied her the firſt day's journey to Mr. Lawſon's; and being met at the inn by this worthy friend and young William, he conſigned his beloved charge to their care, and purſued his way to Bath.

Sophia was received with great joy by Mrs. Lawſon and her daugh⯑ters: Dolly hung a long time upon her neck in tranſports, and as ſoon as they were alone, informed her that Mrs. Gibbons and her mother were perfectly reconciled; that ſhe had conſented to her nephew's [107] marriage, and even ſhewed an im⯑patience to conclude it: ‘but I prevailed,’ ſaid ſhe, ‘to have the ceremony delayed till you, my dear friend, could be pre⯑ſent; for I could not think of being happy, while you to whom I owe all, was afflicted.’

Sophia embraced her tenderly, congratulated her upon her change of fortune, and gave many praiſes to her lover, to whom ſhe acknow⯑ledged great obligations for his care and attention to her.

Dolly's cheeks glowed with plea⯑ſure while ſhe heard her William commended by one whom ſhe ſo much loved and revered.

The young lovers were married a few days afterwards; and Sophia▪ who had ſo earneſtly endeavoured to bring about this union, and had ſuffered ſo much in her own intereſt by her ſolicitude concerning it, was [108] one of thoſe to whom it gave the moſt ſatisfaction.

Mean time Mr. Herbert conti⯑nued indiſpoſed at Bath, and Sophia uneaſy, leſt in this increaſe of his expences, her reſidence at Mr. Lawſon's ſhould lay him under ſome difficulties, reſolved to eaſe him as ſoon as poſſible of the charge of her maintenance: ſhe explained her ſituation to Mrs. Gibbons, and re⯑queſted her aſſiſtance in procuring her a place.

Mrs. Gibbons expreſſed great tenderneſs and concern for her upon this occaſion, and aſſured her ſhe would employ all her intereſt in her ſervice. She accordingly men⯑tioned her with great praiſe to a widow lady of a very affluent for⯑tune, who had eſtabliſhed ſuch a character for generoſity and good⯑neſs, that ſhe hoped, if ſhe could be induced to take Sophia under [109] her protection her fortune would be made.

Mrs. Howard, ſo was the lady called, no ſooner heard that a young woman of merit, well born, and genteely educated was reduced to go to ſervice for ſubſiſtence, than ſhe exclaimed with great vehemence againſt the avarice and luxury of the rich and great, who either hoarded for their unthankful heirs, or laviſhed in expenſive pleaſures, thoſe ſuperfluous ſums which ought to be applied to the relief of the indigent. ‘Oh that I had a for⯑tune,’ cried ſhe, ‘as large as my heart, there ſhould not be one diſtreſſed perſon in the world! I muſt ſee this young lady Mrs. Gibbons, and I muſt do ſomething for her. You have obliged me infinitely by putting it in my power to gra⯑tify the unbounded benevolence [110] of my heart upon a deſerving object.’

Mrs. Gibbons, when ſhe related this converſation to Sophia, filled her with an extreme impatience to ſee the lady, not from any mean conſiderations of advantage to her⯑ſelf, but admiration of ſo excellent a character. She accompanied Mrs. Gibbons in a viſit to her at her country ſeat, which was but a few miles diſtant from the village where they lived; and Mrs. Howard was ſo pleaſed with her at this firſt interview, that ſhe gave her an invitation to ſpend the remainder of the ſummer with her, and this in ſo obliging a manner, that Sophia immediately complied, not thinking it neceſſary to wait till ſhe had conſulted Mr. Herbert upon this offer, as ſhe was fully perſuaded he could have no objec⯑tions to her accepting it, Mrs. [111] Mrs. Howard being ſo conſiderable by her family and fortune, and ſo eſtimable by her character.

This lady, who had made an early diſcovery of Sophia's economical talents, ſet her to work immediately after her arrival; her taſk was to embroider a white ſattin negligee, which ſhe undertook with great readineſs, pleaſed at having an op⯑portunity of obliging a woman of ſo generous a diſpoſition, and in ſome degree to requite her for her hoſpitality.

Mrs. Howard indeed always pre⯑vented thoſe on whom ſhe conferred favours, from incurring the guilt of ingratitude; for ſhe took care to be fully repaid for any act of benevo⯑lence; and having a wonderful art in extracting advantage to herſelf from the neceſſities of others, ſhe ſometimes ſought out the unfortu⯑nate with a ſolicitude that did great [112] honour to her charity, which was ſure to be its own reward. A few oſtentatious benefactions had ſuffi⯑ciently eſtabliſhed her character; and while her name appeared among the ſubſcribers to ſome faſhionable charity, who could ſuſpect that her table was ſerved with a parſimony which would have diſgraced a much ſmaller fortune; that her rents from her indigent tenants were exacted with the moſt unrelenting rigor, and the naked and hungry ſent ſigh⯑ing from her gate?

It has been well obſerved that what is called liberality is often no more than the vanity of giving, of which ſome perſons are fonder than of what they give. But the vanity of giving publicly is moſt prevailing; and hence it happens, that thoſe who are moſt celebrated for their charity, are in reality leaſt ſenſible to the feelings of humanity: and [113] the ſame perſons from whom the moſt affecting repreſentation of pri⯑vate diſtreſs could not force the leaſt relief, have been among the firſt to ſend their contributions to any new foundation.

Sophia knew not how to recon⯑cile many circumſtances in Mrs. Howard's conduct with her general profeſſions of benevolence and ge⯑neroſity; but that lady had been ſo uſed to diſguiſe herſelf to others; that at laſt ſhe did not know herſelf; and the warmth and vehemence with which ſhe delivered her ſenti⯑ments impoſed almoſt as much up⯑on herſelf as her hearers.

Sophia's amiable qualities how⯑ever ſoon produced their uſual ef⯑fects, and inſpired Mrs. Howard with as much friendſhip for her as ſo intereſted a temper was capable of. She wiſhed to ſee her fortune eſtabliſhed, and was very deſirous of [114] ſerving her as far as ſhe could, con⯑ſiſtent with her prudent maxims which were to make other perſons the ſource of thoſe benefits, the merit of which ſhe arrogated to her⯑ſelf.

Chance ſoon furniſhed her with an opportunity of exerting her ta⯑lents in favour of Sophia, and of engaging, as ſhe conceived, her eternal gratitude. A country lady of her acquaintance coming one day to viſit her, with her ſon, a clown⯑iſh ignorant youth, Mrs. Howard was encouraged by the frequent glances he gave Sophia, to form a ſcheme for marrying her to him; and in this ſhe foreſaw ſo many poſ⯑ſible advantages to herſelf from So⯑phia's grateful diſpoſition, that ſhe purſued it with the moſt anxious ſo⯑licitude.

CHAP. XXIX. Mrs. Howard is taken in her own ſnare.

MR. Barton, ſo was the young ſquire called, having con⯑ceived a liking for Sophia, repeated his viſits frequently, emboldened by Mrs. Howard's civilities, who took every occaſion of praiſing Sophia, and inſinuating that he would be extremely happy in ſuch a wife.

She ſometimes left him alone with Sophia, in hopes that he would declare his paſſion to her: but the ruſtic, awed by the dignity of her perſon and manners, durſt not even raiſe his eyes to look on her; ſo that Mrs. Howard, finding the affair did not advance ſo faſt as ſhe wiſhed, rallied Sophia upon her ill-timed reſerve, and hinted her [116] views in her favour, which ſhe con⯑ſidering as an effect of her friend⯑ſhip, liſtened with reſpect, and even gratitude, though her heart refuſed to concur in them.

This converſation paſſed in the preſence of Mrs. Howard's only ſon, a youth about nineteen, who had come from the univerſity to paſs a few days with his mother. As ſoon as ſhe quitted Sophia, he approach⯑ed her, and, with a look of tender⯑neſs and concern, told her, ‘He was ſorry to find his mother ſo zealous an advocate for Mr. Bar⯑ton, who could not poſſibly de⯑ſerve her.’

"Nor can I poſſibly deſerve him," replied Sophia with a ſmile; ‘he is too rich.’

‘Love only and merit can de⯑ſerve you,’ reſumed the young ſtudent, ſighing, ‘and if love were [117] merit, I know one who might —hope—’

He pauſed and heſitated, and So⯑phia, to whom the language of love in any mouth but Sir Charles's was odious, ſuddenly quitted him, to avoid the continuance of a diſcourſe which ſhe conſidered as mere un⯑meaning gallantry.

Mean time, her ruſtic lover not having courage enough to declare his paſſion to her, had recourſe to the indulgence of his mother, who till that time had never refuſed any of his deſires.

He told her that he never liked any young woman ſo well in his life as Mrs. Sophia Darnley; and that he was ſure ſhe would make a good wife, becauſe Mrs. Howard had told him ſo, and encouraged him to break his mind to her, but he was aſhamed: he declared he [118] would marry no body elſe, and begged his mother to get her for him.

Mrs. Barton, full of rage againſt her neighbour, for thus endeavour⯑ing to enſnare her ſon into a mar⯑riage, as ſhe conceived unworthy of him, reſolved to go to her, and load her with reproaches. While her chariot was getting ready, ſhe con⯑tinued to queſtion her ſon, and heard a great many particulars from him, which convinced her that his affections were more deeply engag⯑ed than ſhe had imagined.

After ordering the young ſquire to be locked up till her return, ſhe flew to Mrs. Howard, and, with the moſt violent tranſports of rage, upbraided her with the treacherous part ſhe had acted, by ſeducing her ſon into a liking for a poor crea⯑ture, who was a dependent upon [119] her charity, and whom ſhe took this method to get rid of.

Mrs. Howard, who held Mrs. Barton in great contempt, on ac⯑count of her ignorance, and valued herſelf extremely upon her philo⯑ſophic command over her paſſions, liſtened with an affected calmneſs to all Mrs. Barton's invectives; and when ſhe found ſhe had railed her⯑ſelf out of breath, ſhe began to declaim in a ſolemn accent againſt avarice, and that vile ſordid diſpo⯑ſition of parents, who, in the mar⯑riage of their children, preferred the droſs of riches to the real treaſures of wiſdom and virtue. She very charitably lamented Mrs. Barton's want of diſcernment, and littleneſs of mind; and concluded that Miſs Sophia's merit rendered her deſerv⯑ing of a huſband even more con⯑ſiderable than Mr. Barton.

[120] ‘Then marry her to your own ſon,’ replied Mrs. Barton, with a ſneer; ‘no doubt but he will be more worthy of her.’

‘If my ſon ſhould declare a paſ⯑ſion for Miſs Sophia,’ reſumed Mrs. Howard, ‘it would ſoon be ſeen how far my ſentiments are exalted above yours.’

"I am glad to hear this," re⯑turned Mrs. Barton, ‘for I am very ſure Mr. Howard is in love with this wonderful creature whom you praiſe ſo much; and ſince you are ſo willing to make her your daughter-in-law, I ſhall be under no fear of my ſon's marrying her.’

Mrs. Howard, at this unexpected ſtroke, turned as pale as death, and, with a faultering voice, aſked her, ‘What reaſon ſhe had for ſup⯑poſing her ſon was in love with Miſs Sophia?’

[121]Mrs. Barton, who enjoyed her perplexity and confuſion, ſuffered her to repeat her queſtions ſeveral times, and then maliciouſly referred her to the young gentleman him⯑ſelf, "Who," ſaid ſhe, ‘upon finding you ſo favourably diſ⯑poſed, will, I doubt not, be ready enough to own his inclina⯑tions.’

Mrs. Howard was now ſo far humbled, that ſhe condeſcended to to intreat Mrs. Barton to tell her what ſhe knew of this affair.

"All my information," ſaid Mrs. Barton, ‘comes from my ſon, to whom Mr. Howard, conſidering him as his rival, declared his better right to the lady, as hav⯑ing firſt acquainted her with his paſſion.’

At this intelligence Mrs. How⯑ard's rage got ſo much the better of her prudence, that ſhe uttered a [122] thouſand invectives againſt the in⯑nocent Sophia, which drew ſome ſevere ſarcaſms from Mrs. Barton who being now fully revenged, roſe up to be gone; but Mrs. Howard, ſenſible that a quarrel upon this oc⯑caſion might have conſequences very unfavourable to her reputation, ſeized her hand, and led her half reluctant, again to her chair, where after ſhe had ſoothed her into good humour, by ſome flattering expreſ⯑ſions, which coming from one of her acknowledged underſtanding, had great weight. She told her with the moſt unbluſhing confi⯑dence, that ſhe was now convinced ſhe had been deceived in the cha⯑racter of the young woman on whom ſhe had with her uſual gene⯑roſity conferred ſo many benefits. ‘I find to my inexpreſſible con⯑cern,’ purſued ſhe, ‘that this modeſt, ſenſible, and virtuous young [123] creature, as I once believed her, is in reality an artful hypocrite, whoſe only aim is to make her fortune, by enſnaring ſome unex⯑perienced youth into a marriage. Let us join our endeavours then, my dear Mrs. Barton, to preſerve our ſons from this danger: this is a common cauſe, all mothers are concerned in it; we will ſhew the young diſſembler in her proper colours, and prevent her impoſing upon others as ſhe has done upon us.’

Mrs. Barton, who never carried her reflections very far, was ſo well pleaſed with Mrs. Howard's preſent behaviour, that ſhe forgot all the paſt: theſe two ladies became on a ſudden the beſt friends in the world, and this union was to be cemented with the ruin of Sophia's fame, ſuch beginnings have certain female [124] friendſhips, and ſuch are the leagues in which the wicked join.

Mrs. Barton propoſed to have her ſent for into their preſence, and af⯑ter reproaching her ſeverely, diſmiſs her with contempt; but the more politic Mrs. Howard, whoſe views were at once to deſtroy Sophia's re⯑putation, and to ſecure her own, diſapproved of this harſh treatment, as ſhe called it, and charitably re⯑ſolved to ruin her with all poſſible gentleneſs.

CHAP. XXX. Sophia leaves Mrs. Howard.

MRS. Howard accordingly wrote to Mrs. Gibbons, and acquainted her, that having diſco⯑vered an intrigue carrying on be⯑tween Sophia and her ſon, ſhe thought it neceſſary to diſmiſs her immediately out of her family; but that the poor young creature might be expoſed as little as poſſible to cenſure, ſhe begged ſhe would come herſelf to fetch her away, and deli⯑ver her to her friends, with a cauti⯑on to watch her conduct carefully.

She recommended ſecrecy to her for Sophia's ſake; and aſſured her that if it had not been for this diſ⯑covery of her bad conduct, ſhe had reſolved to have provided for her handſomely.

[126]Mrs. Gibbons, whom this letter threw into the utmoſt aſtoniſhment, immediately communicated the con⯑tents of it to Dolly and William, with whom ſhe now lived.

Dolly burſt into tears of grief and indignation, and earneſtly in⯑treated her to go immediately and take Miſs Sophia out of a houſe where her merit was ſo little under⯑ſtood: but William, who looked farther into the conſequences of this affair than either his wife or his aunt, believed it neceſſary for the juſtification of Sophia's honour, that Mr. Lawſon ſhould wait upon Mrs. Howard, and demand an ex⯑planation of thoſe cenſures which ſhe had caſt upon a young lady con⯑fided to his care; rightly judging, that if malice was the ſource of her accuſation, ſhe would not dare to purſue it with a man of his charac⯑ter; and if it aroſe from the infor⯑mation [127] of others, he would be able to detect the falſhood of it.

Theſe reaſons prevailed with Mrs. Gibbons, who had been very deſirous to ſhew her eloquence upon this occaſion, and was reſolved, ſhe ſaid, not to have ſpared Mrs. Howard for her immature conclu⯑ſions.

William went immediately to his father-in-law, and acquainted him with what had happened. Mr. Lawſon was grieved from the conſi⯑deration of what Sophia's delicate ſenſibility would feel from ſuch an attack upon her reputation; and this was the worſt that he apprehended could happen from calumnies which the purity of her manners and the innocency of her life would be al⯑ways a ſufficient refutation of. A wiſe and virtuous perſon, he knew, was out of the reach of fortune, though not free from the malice of it. [128] All attempts againſt ſuch a one are, as the poet ſays, like the arrows of Xerxes; they may darken the day, but cannot ſtiflle the ſun.

His impatience to take Sophia out of the hands of a woman whom he conceived to be either very ma⯑licious, or very imprudent, made him defer his viſit no longer than till the afternoon.

When he ſent in his name, Mrs. Howard, who had no ſuſpicion of the occaſion of his coming, ordered him to be ſhewn into a parlour, where ſhe ſuffered him to wait near an hour before ſhe admitted him to her pre⯑ſence; a country curate being in her opinion a perſon too inſignificant to lay claim to any degree of conſide⯑ration, and beſides, this ſort of neglect being affected by many per⯑ſons of quality, to whom it certainly gives great importance and dignity, [129] their imitators never loſe any op⯑portunity of exerciſing it.

Mr. Lawſon was at laſt ſummon⯑ed to the lady's dreſſing-room, where he expected to have found Sophia, but was glad to ſee Mrs. Howard alone. She aſked him with a little ſuperciliouſneſs, if he had any buſineſs with her; to which he replied, with a ſolemnity in his look and accent that ſurpriſed her, ‘That being a friend to miſs So⯑phia Darnley, and the perſon to whoſe care ſhe was confided by her relations, he thought it his duty to enquire what part of her conduct had given occaſion for thoſe unfavourable ſuſpicions which were entertained of her.’

"Mrs. Gibbons, madam," pur⯑ſued he, ‘has communicated to me a letter which ſhe has receiv⯑ed from you, wherein there is a heavy charge againſt miſs Sophia; [130] a charge which none who know her can think it poſſible for her to deſerve. There muſt cer⯑tainly be ſome miſtake here, ma⯑dam; you have been miſinform⯑ed, or appearances have deceived you, and in juſtice to you, as well as to one of the moſt vir⯑tuous and amiable young women in the world, I am reſolved to trace the ſource of theſe calum⯑nies, that her innocence may be fully cleared. I beg of you then, madam, let me know what foundation you have for believ⯑ing that Miſs Sophia—’

Mrs. Howard, whom this ſpeech had thrown into great confuſion, interrupted him here, to prevent his repeating thoſe expreſſions in her letter, the meaning of which, though obvious, ſhe durſt not avow.

"I find," ſaid ſhe, ‘that you and Mrs. Gibbons have ſeen this [131] affair in a worſe light than I in⯑tended you ſhould; my ſon has been fooliſh enough to entertain a liking for this girl, whom I took under my protection, with a view to provide for her hand⯑ſomely, and ſhe has been wiſe enough,’ purſued ſhe, with an ironical ſmile, ‘to give him en⯑couragement, I ſuppoſe; but with all her excellencies, I am not diſpoſed to make her my daugh⯑ter-in-law.’

Mrs. Howard threw in this laſt ſoftening expreſſion, in hopes it would ſatisfy Mr. Lawſon, and ad⯑ded, ‘that to prevent any thing happening, which might be diſ⯑agreeable to her, ſhe begged he would take Sophia home with him.’

"Moſt willingly, madam," ſaid he; ‘but ſince it ſeems to be your opinion, that this young gentle⯑woman [132] woman has encouraged the clan⯑deſtine addreſſes of your ſon, I think it will be proper to exa⯑mine firſt into the truth of theſe ſuſpicions, that you may not part with worſe thoughts of her than ſhe deſerves.’

Mrs. Howard being thus preſt, and unwilling to enter into an ex⯑planation that would expoſe all her artifices, was forced to acknow⯑ledge that ſhe had no other foun⯑dation for her fears than the paſ⯑ſion her ſon had owned for her; and having made this unwilling conceſſion, ſhe left him with a countenance inflamed with ſtifled rage, ſaying ſhe would ſend Sophia to him.

Accordingly ſhe went into the room where ſhe was at work, and told her, her friend the curate was waiting to carry her home. Ob⯑ſerving [133] her to look extremely ſur⯑priſed, "If you conſider," ſaid ſhe, ‘what returns you have made me for the benefits I have conferred upon you, you will not think it ſtrange that we ſhould part in this manner.’

"Bleſs me," cried Sophia, ‘what have I done to deſerve ſuch re⯑proaches?’

‘I cannot ſtay to talk to you now,’ ſaid Mrs. Howard; ‘I have explained myſelf to Mr. Lawſon; I am ſorry to ſay, that I now can only wiſh you well.’

She hurried out of the room when ſhe had ſaid this; and So⯑phia, in the utmoſt perplexity and concern, flew down ſtairs to Mr. Lawſon, who was already at the gate waiting to help her into the chaiſe: ſhe gave him her hand, aſk⯑ing [134] him at the ſame time, with great emotion, ‘What Mrs. Howard accuſed her of?’

As ſoon as they drove away, Mr. Lawſon related all that had paſt between that lady and him, which filled Sophia with new aſtoniſhment: ſhe could not com⯑prehend Mrs. Howard's motives for acting in the manner ſhe had done with regard to her; all her conduct appeared to her highly ex⯑travagant and inconſiſtent; ſhe aſked Mr. Lawſon a thouſand queſtions, full of that ſimplicity which ever accompanies real good⯑neſs of heart.

He gave her ſome notion of the dangerous character of Mrs. Howard, and greatly blamed her for having ſo ſuddenly accepted her invitation, without firſt conſulting Mr. Herbert. "It is a maxim, purſued he, ‘of one of the wiſeſt [135] of the antients, that in form⯑ing new connections of every ſort, it is of great importance in what manner the firſt ap⯑proaches are made, and by whoſe hands the avenues of friendſhip are laid open.’

Mr. Lawſon, by this hint, gave Sophia to underſtand, that he did not think Mrs. Gibbons a proper perſon to introduce her into the world. She was now ſenſible that ſhe had been too precipitate; but her motives were ſo generous, that Mr. Herbert, whom in a let⯑ter ſhe acquainted with the whole affair, eaſily juſtified her in his own opinion, though he earneſtly recommended it to her not to let her apprehenſions of being burthen⯑ſome to him draw her into new in⯑conveniencies.

Mr. Lawſon having, as he ima⯑gined, prevented Mrs. Howard [136] from making any future attack upon Sophia's reputation, by obliging her to acknowledge her innocence, was ſurpriſed to hear wherever he went, of the calumnies ſhe invented againſt her.

Nothing is more common than for perſons to hate with extreme inveteracy thoſe whom they have injured; and although Mrs. How⯑ard was convinced, that Sophia would not admit a viſit from her ſon, (who now openly avowed his paſſion for her;) that ſhe refuſed to receive his letters, and ſhun⯑ned every place where ſhe thought it poſſible to meet him; yet pre⯑tending to be apprehenſive that the youth would be drawn into a clan⯑deſtine marriage, ſhe ſent him away precipitately upon his travels, and this gave a colour to new invectives againſt Sophia, who truſting only to her innocence for her juſtification, [137] had the ſatisfaction to find that in⯑nocence fully acknowledged in the eſteem and reſpect with which ſhe was treated by all the perſons of faſhion in the neighbourhood.

CHAP. XXXI. Sophia returns to Town, and hears news that reduces her to Deſpair.

MR. Herbert, who in every new trial to which Sophia was ex⯑poſed, found greater cauſe for admi⯑ration of her character, praiſed the gentleneſs and forgiving ſpirit which ſhe diſcovered upon this occaſion; but Mrs. Gibbons was not wholly ſatisfied with her conduct, ‘You ought to diſcriminate upon Mrs. Howard, ſaid ſhe, and tell the world how deſirous ſhe was to have you married to her friend's ſon, though ſhe makes ſuch a clutter about her own: indeed you want ſpirit, miſs Sophia,’ added the old lady, with a little contempt.

[139] ‘I am not of your opinion, ma⯑dam, replied Sophia; for in taking revenge upon our enemies, we are only even with them; in paſſing over their malice we are ſuperior.’

‘Well, well, interrupted Mrs. Gibbons, I have no notion of ſuch ſuperiouſneſs: I always reſent in⯑juries, and Mrs. Howard ſhall feel my reſentment for her malice to you. I have not returned her laſt viſit yet, and perhaps I may not this month; this is pretty ſevere I think.’

Sophia, compoſing her counte⯑nance as well as ſhe could, thanked Mrs. Gibbons for this inſtance of her friendſhip to her; but ſhe had no opportunity to obſerve whether ſhe kept her word, for ſhe was ſum⯑moned to town by a letter from her mother, which gave her a melan⯑choly account of her affairs.

Mrs. Darnley acquainted her that [140] the gentleman who paid her the an⯑nuity which Sir Charles had ſtipu⯑lated for her when he procured him her late huſband's place, was dead. She deſired her to come immediately to town to aſſiſt her under her miſ⯑fortunes; and added in a poſtſcript, as if reluctantly, that Harriot had left her, and was not ſo dutiful as ſhe could w [...]ſh.

Sophia read this letter with tears; and, impatient to comfort her af⯑flicted mother, ſhe inſtantly prepared for her little journey.

All Mr. Lawſon's family parted from her with great regret; but Dolly's affliction was extreme, and Sophia amidſt ſo many greater cauſes of ſorrow, felt a new pang when ſhe took leave of her tender and in⯑nocent friend.

To ſpare Mr. Lawſon the trouble of conducting her to town, ſhe ac⯑cepted a place in the coach of a la⯑dy [141] with whom ſhe had lately become acquainted, and who profeſſed a particular eſteem for her.

On her arrival at her mother's houſe, ſhe found only a ſervant there, who informed her that her miſtreſs had taken lodgings at Kenſington for the air, having been indiſpoſed for ſome weeks paſt.

Sophia ordered her to get a hack⯑ney coach to the door, and was hur⯑rying away without daring to en⯑quire for her ſiſter, when the maid told her miſs Darnley deſired to ſee her before ſhe went to Kenſington.

"Where is my ſiſter," ſaid So⯑phia, with a faultering accent.

The anſwer ſhe received was a ſtroke of fortune more cruel than any ſhe had yet experienced: her ſiſter, ſhe found, lived in the houſe which Sir Charles had once offered to her.

[142]Trembling and pale ſhe ordered the coachman to drive thither, and drawing up the windows, relieved her labouring heart with a ſhower of tears.

CHAP. XXXII Which leaves Sophia in her former Perplexity.

THE firſt thought that ſtruck the amazed Sophia was, that Sir Charles, either following the motions of his natural inconſtancy, or in revenge of her ſuppoſed con⯑tempt of him, had married Harriot. Certain that ſhe had now loſt for ever this lover, who with all his real or imputed faults, ſhe had never been able to baniſh from her heart, ſhe reſigned herſelf up to the ſharp⯑eſt agonies of deſpair, and had al⯑ready arrived at her ſiſter's houſe be⯑fore ſhe was able to ſtop the courſe of her tears.

A ſervant in the livery of her own family opened the door. This cir⯑cumſtance [144] ſurpriſed Sophia, who pulling her hat over her eyes to con⯑ceal her diſorder, aſked him, with ſome heſitation, if his miſtreſs was at home.

The fellow replied, he believed ſhe was, and opening the coach-door, ſhewed her into a parlour, telling her, with a ſmart air, that he would enquire of his lady's wo⯑man whether ſhe was viſible yet or no.

Sophia having ſummoned all her fortitude to enable her to go through this ſevere trial with dignity, had time enough to recollect and com⯑poſe herſelf before any one appeared; and now ſeveral circumſtances ruſh⯑ed upon her memory which, in the firſt tranſports of her aſtoniſhment and grief, had eſcaped her attention.

Mrs. Darnley, in her letter, had not mentioned Harriot's marriage, but barely ſaid ſhe had left her. The [145] ſervant who delivered her meſſage called her miſs Darnley; and though ſhe lived in a houſe that belonged to Sir Charles, yet it was ſcarcely ſuit⯑able to the quality of his wife.

A few moments reflection upon theſe appearances made the generous Sophia change the object of her con⯑cern. The misfortune for which ſhe had grieved ſo much, ſeemed light, compared with that ſhe appre⯑hended: ſhe wept no longer for the inconſtancy of her lover; ſhe trem⯑bled for the honour of her ſiſter-; and her greateſt fear now was, that Sir Charles was not married.

While ſhe was abſorbed in theſe melancholy thoughts, Harriot's maid entered the room, who after glanc⯑ing over Sophia with a ſupercilious eye, (for ſhe was very ſimply dreſt,) aſked her, ‘If ſhe had any buſineſs with her lady.’

‘Tell her, replied Sophia, that her ſiſter is here.’

[146]The girl bluſhed, courteſied, and flew to acquaint her miſtreſs; and Sophia was inſtantly deſired to walk up ſtairs.

She found Harriot in her dreſſing room, in an elegant diſhabille, having juſt finiſhed her morning's work, which appeared in a ſuit of ribbons made up with great taſte.

As ſoon as ſhe ſaw Sophia, ſhe roſe from her chair, and ſaluted her with affected dignity; but at the ſame time with an air of embarraſſ⯑ment that encreaſed every moment: ſo that being unable to bear the ſweet but penetrating looks of her ſiſter, ſhe reſumed her work, alter⯑ing and unripping, without any ap⯑parent deſign, yet affecting to be extremely buſy, and to ſhew how perfectly ſhe was at eaſe, talked of the moſt trifling matters imaginable, while Sophia gazed on her in ſilent anguiſh, anxious to know the truth [147] of her ſituation, yet dreading to have it explained. At length ſhe told her that ſhe was going to Ken⯑ſington to her mother, and deſired to know if ſhe had any meſſage to ſend to her.

Harriot ſuddenly interrupting her, as if ſhe feared ſome further queſti⯑ons, began to exclaim againſt her mother's unreaſonable temper, ſay⯑ing, that ſhe had offended her vio⯑lently only becauſe ſhe had it not in her power to comply with ſome very extravagant expectations which ſhe had formed.

‘Siſter, ſaid Sophia, I am wholly ignorant of your affairs; I know not what cauſe of diſcontent you have given my mother, but I ſee there is a great alteration in your condition of life, and I hope—’

‘What do you hope, pray Miſs? interrupted Harriot, reddening: I ſuppoſe I am to have ſome of your [148] ſatirical flings; your temper is not altered I find.’

"Dear Harriot," reſumed Sophia, with tears in her eyes (this cauſeleſs anger confirming her ſuſpicions) ‘why do you reproach me with be⯑ing ſatirical? is it a crime to be anxious for your happineſs?’

‘I wiſh you would not trouble yourſelf about me, replied Harri⯑ot, I know beſt what will make me happy; you ſhould not pre⯑tend to inſtruct your elders, miſs Sophy; I am older than you; you know, you have often up⯑braided me with that.’

‘Siſter, ſaid Sophia calmly, you deſired to ſee me, have you any thing to ſay to me?’

‘I know, anſwered Harriot, that I ſhall meet with ungrateful returns for my kindneſs; never⯑theleſs I ſhall act like a ſiſter to⯑wards you, and it was to tell you [149] ſo that I wiſhed to ſee you: I very much doubt whether, if you were in proſperity, you would do the ſame by me.’

‘Have I behaved ſo ill in adver⯑ſity then, ſaid Sophia, that you form this hard judgment of me, Harriot?’

‘Pray don't upbraid me with your behaviour, miſs, ſaid Har⯑riot; other people may have be⯑haved as well as you, though they are not prudes.’

‘You ſay you are in proſperity, ſiſter, ſaid Sophia, but perhaps you and I have different notions of proſperity: let me know the truth of your ſituation, and if I find you happy according to my notions of happineſs, you will ſoon be convinced that I can take a ſiſter's ſhare in it.’

"I am not obliged to give an "account of my conduct to you, [150] replied Harriot, who had liſten⯑ed to this ſpeech with great emo⯑tion; ‘and I muſt tell you, ſiſter Sophia, that if you go on taking this liberty of queſtioning and cenſuring me, I ſhall not care how ſeldom I ſee you. As to my mother, I know that it is my du⯑ty to do every thing for her that is in my power; and this I have offered to do already.’

Saying this, ſhe rang the bell, and her maid appearing, ſhe gave her ſome orders which neceſſarily re⯑quired her attendance in the room; ſo that Sophia, finding ſhe could have no further diſcourſe with her ſiſter, roſe up and took leave of her with an aching heart. Her griefs all aggravated by the apprehenſion of her ſiſter's diſhonour, and the ha⯑tred which ſhe felt for Sir Charles, as her ſeducer, ſtruggling with a ten⯑der remembrance, her gentle boſom [151] was torn with conflicting paſſions, and ſhe proved but too well the truth of that maxim, That philoſophy eaſily triumphs over paſt and future evils, but the preſent triumph over her.

CHAP. XXXIII. Contains an intereſting Diſcovery.

MRS. Darnley received her daughter with unuſual ten⯑derneſs; ſhe felt how much ſhe ſtood in need of her filial care; and her behaviour was dictated by that intereſted kindneſs which only gives in expectation of receiving back doublefold.

Sophia ſaw her pale and emaci⯑ated, and was greatly affected with the ſight: ſhe would not mention her ſiſter, for fear of diſcompoſing her; but Mrs. Darnley ſoon intro⯑duced the ſubject that was moſt in her thoughts, and exclaimed againſt Harriot's undutifulneſs and want of affection with the moſt violent tranſ⯑ports of paſſion.

[153] ‘I have been the beſt of mo⯑thers to her,’ ſaid ſhe, melting into tears; ‘I have always indul⯑ged her in all her wiſhes, and impaired my fortune to ſupport her extravagancies, and how has ſhe returned this kindneſs! Would you think it, my dear Sophy, though ſhe is in affluent circum⯑ſtances, and I, by the loſs of my annuity, am plunged into all my former diſtreſſes, ſhe has re⯑fuſed to pay thoſe debts which I contracted during the time ſhe lived with me; and thinks it ſuf⯑ficient to invite me to reſide in her houſe, where, no doubt, I ſhould feel my dependence ſe⯑verely.’

"Sir Charles," ſaid Sophia ſigh⯑ing, ‘does not act with his uſual generoſity; if he has married my ſiſter, why does he ſuffer you to be in diſtreſs.’

[154]"Married your ſiſter!" repeated Mrs. Darnley, in aſtoniſhment.

"Ah, madam," reſumed Sophia, ‘is ſhe not married then to Sir Charles?’

‘Why, is it poſſible that you can wiſh him to be married to Harriot?’ ſaid Mrs. Darnley.

"Alas!" cried Sophia, ‘ought I not to wiſh it, when I ſee her in his houſe?’

"Oh," reſumed Mrs. Darnley, ‘I perceive your miſtake; but that houſe is not Sir Charles's now; Lord L— bought it of him, with the furniture, ſome time ago; it might have been yours, and without any offence to your virtue too▪ yet you thought fit to refuſe it: but I will not pretend to reprove one ſo much wiſer than myſelf—’

"Well, madam," interrupted So⯑phia eagerly, ‘then it is not to Sir [155] Charles that my ſiſter is married, to whom is ſhe married?’

‘You have ſeen her, have you not?’ ſaid Mrs. Darnley, looking a little confuſed.

"I have indeed ſeen her," ſaid Sophia, ‘but ſhe did not explain her ſituation to me.’

"And do you imagine," re⯑ſumed Mrs. Darnley, peeviſhly, ‘that ſhe would be leſs reſerved with her mother? and if ſhe was afraid of telling you the truth, is it likely ſhe would own it to me?’

‘Then I fear it is bad indeed with Harriot,’ cried Sophia, in a melancholy accent, ‘ſince ſhe has ſo much to conceal from a mother and a ſiſter.’

‘You were always cenſorious, Sophy,’ ſaid Mrs. Darnley, with ſome paſſion; ‘for my part, I am reſolved to think the beſt. [156] If Lord L—is married pri⯑vately to your ſiſter, her charac⯑ter will one day be cleared to the world, and ſhe thinks no pru⯑dent perſon can blame her, for chuſing to bear for a time a few undeſerved cenſures, rather than to ſtruggle with poverty and con⯑tempt.’

Sophia, now convinced of Har⯑riot's unhappy conduct, burſt into tears. Mrs. Darnley, after looking at her in ſilence a moment, ſaid, with ſome confuſion; ‘Then you do not believe your ſiſter is mar⯑ried, Sophy?’

"Ah, madam," replied Sophia, ‘you do not ſay that you know ſhe is, and whatever reaſons there might be for concealing her mar⯑riage from the world, certainly there are none for hiding it from you.—In vain,’ added ſhe, with ſtill greater emotion, ‘would your [157] parental tenderneſs ſeek to de⯑ceive yourſelf.’

‘Reproach me no more with my tenderneſs for your ſiſter,’ interrupted Mrs. Darnley, angrily; ‘I am too much affected with her ingratitude already.’

"I am ſorry ſhe is ungrateful," ſaid Sophia; ‘but, oh! my dear mamma, it is not fit you ſhould accept of her aſſiſtance.’

"I hope," ſaid Mrs. Darnley, caſting down her eyes, ‘that I know what to do as well as my daughter.—But Sophy,’ added ſhe, after a little pauſe, ‘I am ſorry to tell you, if you do not know it already, that if you have ſtill any thought of Sir Charles, you deceive yourſelf; I am very well informed, that a match has been propoſed to him, and he has given ſo favourable an anſwer [158] that it is expected the marriage will be concluded, as ſoon as he comes from Paris: I heard it all from one of the young lady's relations.’

This was a ſevere ſtroke to poor Sophia, who had juſt begun to breathe again, after the anguiſh ſhe had ſuffered, in the belief that Sir Charles had forſaken her for her ſiſter, and added perfidy and baſeneſs to his inconſtancy.

Mrs. Darnley, who ſaw her grow pale, and her eyes ſwimming in tears, while ſhe ſtruggled to con⯑ceal her emotions, could not help being affected with her diſtreſs, and endeavoured to conſole her.

Sophia, more ſoftened by this tenderneſs, ſuffered her tears to flow a few moments unreſtrained; then ſuddenly wiping her charm⯑ing eyes, ‘Pardon this weakneſs, [159] madam,’ ſaid ſhe, ‘this indeed is not a time to weep for myſelf, your ſorrows claim all my tears.’

‘Aye, I have ſorrows enough, Heaven knows,’ ſaid Mrs. Darn⯑ley, ‘my debts unpaid, my annuity gone, what have I to truſt to?’

"Providence," interrupted So⯑phia, ‘your piety and my induſtry. Alas! my dear mamma, your greateſt affliction is not the loſs of your annuity, or the debts with which you are encumbered, it is my ſiſter's unhappy fall from virtue. That parent,’ purſued ſhe, ‘who ſees a beloved child become a prey to licentious paſ⯑ſions, who ſees her publicly in⯑cur ſhame and reproach, expel⯑led the ſociety of the good and virtuous, and lead a life of diſ⯑honour embittered with the con⯑tempt [106] of the world, and the ſe⯑cret upbraidings of her own con⯑ſcience; that parent can beſt judge of your anguiſh now: I have only a ſiſter's feelings for this misfortune! but theſe feelings are ſtrong enough to make me very unhappy.’

Mrs. Darnley appeared ſo much moved with this diſcourſe, that So⯑phia purſued it, till ſhe brought her mother to declare, that ſhe would rather ſuffer all the inconve⯑niencies of poverty, than give a ſanc⯑tion to Harriot's guilt, by partaking of its reward.

Sophia, to relieve her anxiety, laid down a plan for their future ſubſiſtence, and proved to her, that by her ſkill in ſeveral little uſeful arts, it would be eaſy for her to ſupply her with all the neceſſaries of life. ‘We [161] will firſt,’ ſaid ſhe, "pay your "debts.

"How is that to be done?" ſaid Mrs. Darnley haſtily.

"The furniture of your houſe," ſaid Sophia, ‘the plate, and other pieces of finery, which Sir Charles Stanley preſented to you, will, if converted into money, not only pay your debts, but provide a little fund for preſent expences, and a reſerve for future exigencies; mean while, my in⯑duſtry and care will, I hope, keep want far from you. I have friends, who will find employ⯑ment for my little talents; and if I can but make your life eaſy and comfortable, I ſhall think myſelf happy.’

Mrs. Darnley, with tears in her eyes, embraced her daughter, bid her diſpoſe of every thing as ſhe [162] pleaſed, and aſſured her ſhe would endeavour to bear her new condition of life with patience and reſignation.

Sophia immediately wrote to a gentleman of the law, who had been an intimate friend of her father's; and he undertook to manage their little affairs in town. A few days afterwards he brought them a hundred pounds, which was all that remained from the ſale, after every demand upon Mrs. Darnley was paid.

She read over the accounts with great emotion, bitterly regretting every trinket ſhe had parted with, and told Sophia, that it was abſolutely neceſ⯑ſary they ſhould ſettle in ſome village near town, for ſhe could not bear the thoughts of ex⯑poſing [163] her poverty, to her acquain⯑tance, and of being ſeen in a worſe condition than for⯑merly.

CHAP. XXXIV. Sophia continues to act romanticly, and Harriot like a Woman who knows the World.

SOPHIA, who thought her mother's declining health a bet⯑ter reaſon for not reſiding in Lon⯑don, hired in an adjacent village, at a very ſmall rent, a little houſe, or rather cottage, ſo neat, and ſitu⯑ated ſo happily, that an imaginati⯑on lively as hers was, and a little romantick, could not fail of being charmed with it. To this place ſhe removed her books, and being provided by her friend Dolly with an innocent country girl for a ſer⯑vant, ſhe conducted her mother to her rural abode, and had the ſatis⯑faction to find her pleaſed with it, novelty having always charms for [165] her, and here for a few days, it ſupplied the place of thoſe other gratifications to which ſhe had been accuſtomed.

In the midſt of theſe cares, So⯑phia did not forget her unhappy ſiſ⯑ter: ſhe wrote ſeveral letters to her, in which ſhe employed all the power of virtuous eloquence to bring her to a ſenſe of her errors, but in vain.

Harriot did not deign to anſwer her, but in a letter to her mother, ſhe complained of the injurious treatment ſhe received from Sophia, and earneſtly intreated her to leave her ſiſter, and reſide with her.

Although Mrs. Darnley refuſed this offer with ſeeming ſteadineſs, yet her diſcontent was but too apparent. A life of retirement, which often obliged her to ſeek in herſelf, thoſe reſources againſt lan⯑guor [166] and melancholy, which ſhe uſed to find in the diſſipations of the town, could not be grateful to one who had never accuſtomed her⯑ſelf to reflection, whoſe mind was filled with trifles, and its whole ſtock of ideas derived from dreſs, cards, and every other faſhionable folly.

To be capable of enjoying a ru⯑ral life, there is ſomething more neceſſary than a good underſtand⯑ing: innocence and purity of man⯑ners muſt contribute to give a re⯑liſh to pleaſures, which are found⯑ed in reaſon, virtue, and piety.

Hence it was, that Sophia, in the bloom of youth, found happineſs in the ſolitude of a village, while her mother, in a declining age, panted after the vanities of the town.

In vain did Mr. Herbert fill the letters he wrote to Mrs. Darnley, with maxims of morality and pious [167] admonitions; he experienced here the truth of that obſervation, that it is a work of great difficulty to diſpoſſeſs vice from a heart, where long poſſeſſion ſeems to plead pre⯑ſcription.

Sophia, who knew her mother's taſte for living at eaſe, that ſhe might be able to gratify it, applied herſelf diligently to her work, which was a piece of embroidery, that had been beſpoke by a benevolent lady, in order to give her preſent employment; and, by exhibiting it as a proof of her ingenuity, to pro⯑cure her more. She likewiſe exer⯑ciſed her invention in drawing little deſigns for fan-mounts; and always choſe ſuch ſubjects as conveyed ſome moral leſſon to the mind, while they pleaſed the imagination.

Some of theſe drawings were diſ⯑poſed of, by the lady her friend, ſo advantageouſly, that Sophia was [168] encouraged to purſue her labour; and Mrs. Darnley, flattered by the proſpect of more eaſy circumſtances, began to enlarge her ſcheme of ex⯑pence, made little excurſions about the country in a poſt-chaiſe, talked of hiring a better houſe, and of paſſing two months at leaſt in Lon⯑don during the winter.

Mean time Harriot became more earneſt in ſolicitations to her mother, to come and live with her; her ſi⯑tuation began to be ſo generally ſuſpected, that ſhe was in danger of being wholly neglected.

She wrote to her in a ſtrain of tenderneſs and duty, that revived all the ill-judging parent's affection, who invited her to make her a viſit in her little retreat, and promiſed her a favourable reception even from Sophia herſelf.

Sophia was indeed far from op⯑poſing this viſit; ſhe was rather deſi⯑rous [169] of drawing her ſiſter thither frequently, with a hope that her example and her arguments might one day influence her to change her conduct.

Harriot received this invitation with joy; for ſuch was the depra⯑vity of her mind, that ſhe exulted in having an opportunity of diſ⯑playing the grandeur of her dreſs, and equipage to her ſiſter; to her who had made virtuous poverty her choice, and ſhewn that ſhe deſpiſed riches, when they were to be pur⯑chaſed by guilt. The pride of hu⯑man nature (ſays an eminent writer) takes its riſe from its corruption, as worms are produced by putrefac⯑tion.

The wretched fallen Harriot was proud! the diamonds that glittered in her hair, the gilt chariot, and the luxurious table; theſe monuments of her diſgrace contributed to keep [170] up the inſolence of a woman, who by the loſs of her honour was lower than the meaneſt of her ſervants, who could boaſt of an uncorrupted virtue.

CHAP. XXXV. Harriot viſits her mother in her Cottage.

SOPHIA was buſily employed upon her embroidery, when Harriot, from her gay chariot, alighted at her door; ſhe entered that humble abode of innocence and induſtry, in a kind of triumph, and accoſted her ſiſter with a haughty expreſſion of ſuperiority in her looks and air, as if ſhe expected the ſplendor of her appearance ſhould ſtrike her with awe.

Sophia received her with the modeſt dignity of conſcious virtue; and Harriot, tho' incapable of much reflection, yet ſoon perceiv⯑ed the miſerable figure ſhe made, in the preſence of ſuch a charac⯑ter, and ſtood ſilent and abaſhed, [172] while Sophia contemplated her finery with an eye of pity and of anguiſh.

Harriot, at length recovering herſelf, aſked for her mother, who that moment entered the room. The ſight of her daughter's equi⯑page, had thrown her into an a⯑greeable flutter of ſpirits, and ſhe readily pardoned the fine lady, all the faults of the ungrateful child.

Harriot, emboldened by ſo kind a reception, propoſed to her to ac⯑company her to town, promiſing to make her abode with her a⯑greeable, by every inſtance of duty and affection.

Mrs. Darnley bluſhed, and was ſilent. Sophia fixed her eyes upon her mother, anxious and impatient for her anſwer; ſhe caſt a timid glance at Sophia: ſhe read in her ſpeaking eyes her ſentiments of this propoſal; and turning to Har⯑riot, [173] ſhe told her faintly, that not being ſatisfied with her conduct, it would be very improper for her to countenance it, by reſiding with her.

Harriot burſt into tears, and ex⯑claimed againſt her ſiſter's malice, who, ſhe ſaid, acted like her moſt cruel enemy, and ſought to ruin her character, by eſtranging herſelf from her company, and preventing her mother from taking notice of her.

Sophia, with great gentleneſs, proved to her, that the loſs of her reputation was the neceſſary con⯑ſequence of her living in a manner unſuitable to her circumſtances; that her mother and her, by com⯑plying with her requeſt, could not preſerve her from cenſure, but would incur it themſelves.

"You call me cruel, Harriot," ſaid ſhe, ‘for eſtranging myſelf from your company; but conſi⯑der [174] a little, whether it is not you that are both cruel and un⯑juſt. Why would you deprive me of the only reward the world beſtows on me, for a life of vo⯑luntary poverty; you have ex⯑changed a good name for dreſs and equipage; and I, to preſerve one, ſubject myſelf to labour and indigence: you enjoy your pur⯑chaſe; but I ſhould loſe mine, were I to have that complaiſance for you which you require. Leave me my reputation then, ſince it is the ſole recompence of thoſe hardſhips to which I wil⯑lingly ſubmit; and if you wiſh to recover yours, be contented to be poor like me.’

Sophia, finding her ſiſter liſtened to her, tho' it was ſullenly, and with down-caſt eyes, expatiated in a tender manner upon the errors of her conduct, and the fatal con⯑ſequences [175] that were likely to fol⯑low.

Harriot at length interrupted her, with a pert air, and ſaid, ‘She would not be taught her duty by her younger ſiſter;’ then turning to her mother, ‘I hope, madam,’ ſaid ſhe, ‘my ſiſter will not have ſo much power with you, as to make you forbid my coming here.’

She put her handkerchief to her eyes, as ſhe ſaid this; to which Mrs. Darnley replied, with great vehemence, ‘That no perſon on earth ſhould ever prevail upon her to caſt off her child.’

Sophia was ſilent, and obſerving that her preſence ſeemed to lay them under ſome reſtraint, ſhe roſe up, to retire to her work, telling her ſiſter, as ſhe paſſed by her "That far from hindering "her viſits, ſhe would rather en⯑courage [176] her to repeat them often, ‘that ſhe might be convinced it was poſſible, to be happy in a cottage.’

Harriot laughed, and muttered the words romantick and affecta⯑tion, which Sophia took no no⯑tice of, but left her at liberty to converſe freely with her mother.

Mrs. Darnley talked to her at firſt in a chiding ſtrain, and af⯑fected to aſſume the authority of a parent; but, a ſlave to her appe⯑tites, ſhe could not reſiſt any op⯑portunity of gratifying them; and Harriot found it no difficult mat⯑ter to force a preſent upon her, to ſupply thoſe expences which her extravagance, and not her wants, made neceſſary.

Harriot now came often to the village, and gave it out, that ſhe was upon the beſt terms imagina⯑ble with her mother and ſiſter, not [177] doubting but the world would ceaſe to ſuſpect her, ſince Sophia approv⯑ed her conduct.

The frequency and the length of her viſits made Sophia entertain hopes of her reformation, ſince the time ſhe ſpent with her mo⯑ther, was taken from that dan⯑gerous and immoral diſſipation, which forms the circle of what is called a gay life. For it is with our manners as with our health; the abatement of vice is a degree of virtue, the abatement of diſeaſe is a degree of health.

Mr. Herbert being perfectly re⯑covered, filled Sophia with extreme joy, by the account he ſent her of it, and of his reſolution to come and live near her.

While ſhe impatiently expected his arrival, and ſent many a long⯑ing look towards the road, near which her little cottage was ſi⯑tuated, [178] ſhe one day ſaw a gentle⯑man ride by full ſpeed, who in his perſon and air had a great reſem⯑blance to Sir Charles Stanley. Her heart, by its throbbing emotion, ſeemed to acknowledge its con⯑queror; for poor Sophia was ſtill in love: ſhe loved, though ſhe deſpaired of ever being happy; and by thus perſiſting in a hopeleſs paſ⯑ſion, contradicted that maxim, that love, like fire, cannot ſubſiſt with⯑out continual motion, and ceaſes to be as ſoon as it ceaſes to hope or fear.

Sophia, not able to remove her eyes from the place where ſhe fan⯑cied ſhe had ſeen Sir Charles, con⯑tinued to look fixedly towards the road, and was beginning to believe ſhe had been miſtaken, when a ſer⯑vant in Sir Charles's livery rode by alſo, and put it out of doubt that ſhe had really ſeen the maſter.

[179]This unexpected incident a⯑wakened a thouſand tender melan⯑choly ideas in her mind; and find⯑ing herſelf too much ſoftened, ſhe had recourſe again to her work, to divert her imagination from an object, ſhe had vainly endeavoured to forget.

CHAP. XXXVI. Sir Charles appears again upon the Scene.

SOPHIA was not deceived when ſhe imagined ſhe had ſeen Sir Charles; it was really he who had rode by her window, and it was her little abode he was in ſearch of, though in his extream eagerneſs he had overlooked it.

He had left England with a hope that change of ſcene, and a variety of new objects, would efface the idea of Sophia from his heart, and reſtore him to his former tranquility; but amidſt all the delights of Paris he found himſelf oppreſt with langour: no amuſements could entertain him, no converſation engage his attention; diſguſted with every thing he ſaw [181] and heard, peeviſh, diſcontented, and weary of the world, he avoided all company, and had recourſe to books for relief; but Sophia was too much in his thoughts to render ſtudy either inſtructive or amuſing. He paſt whole days in ſolitude, feeding his melancholy with the reflection of a thouſand paſt circumſtances which ſerved to ſoften his mind, and make him feel his loſs more ſenſibly.

When he reflected on her exalted virtues, her wit, her elegance, the attractive graces of her perſon, and the irreſiſtable ſweetneſs of her man⯑ners, he lamented his hard fate that had put ſuch a treaſure out of his reach; but when his conſcience told him that it had once been in his power to have become poſſeſſor of this treaſure, that he had trifled with that innocent affection till he had alienated it from himſelf to another [182] object; his anguiſh became inſup⯑portable, and he ſought to relieve it by rouſing his indignation againſt her, for her preference of ſo unwor⯑thy a rival.

He called to mind her interview with this happy rival in the field, and concluded he was far more fa⯑voured by her than himſelf had ever been, ſince her diſcourſe to him had produced ſo tender and paſſionate an expreſſion of acknowledgment as that the had beheld.

Theſe circumſtances, which his imagination dwelt upon in order to leſſen his regret, added to it all the ſtings of jealouſy; ſo that, almoſt frantic with rage and grief, he was a hundred times upon the point of committing ſome deſperate action.

A violent fever was the conſe⯑quence of theſe tranſports, which, after confining him a long time to his bed, left his body in a weak and [183] languiſhing condition, and his mind ſunk in an habitual melancholy.

His phyſicians recommended to him the air of Montpelier, and he was preparing to ſet out for that place when he happened to meet with a gentleman who made him al⯑ter his reſolution.

This perſon had been his gover⯑nor, and now attended Mr. Howard in the ſame quality.

Sir Charles, who had a flight ac⯑quaintance with Mrs. Howard, was prevailed upon, nowithſtanding his averſion to company, to receive a viſit from her ſon: he invited the young gentleman to dine with him, and he having not yet forgot the lovely Sophia, drank her health after dinner by the name of miſs Darnley.

Sir Charles, who could not hear that name without a viſible emotion, told him he knew two young ladies ſo called, and aſked whether it was [184] the eldeſt or the youngeſt ſiſter that he meant?

Mr. Howard replied, ‘That he was ignorant till then that miſs Darnley had a ſiſter.’

‘Yes ſhe has a ſiſter, ſaid his governor, who is much hand⯑ſomer than herſelf, and for whom a youthful paſſion would be thought perhaps more excuſa⯑ble.’

The young gentleman, who knew his governor talked in that contemp⯑tuous manner of Sophia in com⯑pliance with his mother's humour, in revenge avowed his admiration of her in the moſt paſſionate terms, and forgetting that Sir Charles had ſaid he was acquainted with her, deſ⯑cribed her excellencies with all the enthuſiaſm of a lover.

Sir Charles liſtened in ſilence; and when the other had done ſpeaking told him, with an air of forced gai⯑ty, [185] that it was eaſy to ſee he was very much in love.

This, indeed, was his real opi⯑nion; nevertheleſs, he felt no emo⯑tions of jealouſy or reſentment againſt a rival whom he believed as unhappy as himſelf; he aſked him with a ſeeming careleſſneſs if miſs Sophia was not to be mar⯑ried to the ſon of a rich farmer in the village where ſhe lived? and waited his anſwer with an agi⯑tation of mind which appeared ſo plainly in the frequent changes of his colour, that Mr. Howard muſt have obſerved it, had not the queſtion given him almoſt as much concern.

After a ſhort pauſe he replied, ‘That he never heard ſhe was go⯑ing to be married;’ but, added he, ſighing, ‘I remember I have ſeen a very handſome young man [186] at Mr. Lawſon's, who per⯑haps —’

‘Aye, aye, interrupted his go⯑vernor, ſmiling, he was the fa⯑voured lover no doubt, you have nothing to do but to forget her as ſoon as you can.’

The youth ſat penſive and ſilent for ſome time, then ſuddenly riſing, took leave of Sir Charles and went away; his governor prepared to fol⯑low him, but the baronet, anxious to hear more of Sophia, detained him to ask ſeveral queſtions concern⯑ing her acquaintance with Mr. Howard.

CHAP. XXXVII. Gives the reader ſome neceſſary infor⯑mation.

SIR Charles found his old friend had loſt no part of his former candor and ſincerity: though by the truſt repoſed in him he was obliged to diſcountenance as much as poſſible the paſſion of his pupil for a young woman ſo much his in⯑ferior in rank and fortune; yet hav⯑ing ſeen and converſed with Sophia, he did juſtice to her extraordinary merit, and acknowledged that Mrs. Howard had treated her harſhly.

He related to Sir Charles in what manner Mrs. Howard had invited her to her houſe, and the ſuſpicions ſhe entertained of Sophia's encou⯑raging her ſon's paſſion, and deſign to enſnare him into a clandeſtine [188] marriage. "Suſpicions," added he, ‘which her ſubſequent behaviour entirely deſtroyed, for the youth was raſh enough to avow his paſ⯑ſion openly, and ſollicited her by frequent letters and meſſages to grant him an interview, which ſhe abſolutely refuſed, and this conduct did her honour and procured her great eſteem; yet it is very likely that her affections are otherwiſe engaged, and that ſhe has ſome difficulties to en⯑counter, for ſhe looks thought⯑ful and melancholy, and affects retirement more than perſons of her age generally do.’

Sir Charles was thrown into ſo profound a reverie by this account of Sophia, that he heard not a word of what his friend afterwards ſaid which had no relation to this inte⯑reſting ſubject, and ſcarce perceived when he went away.

[189]After reflecting a long time with mingled grief, reſentment, and compaſſion, upon her melan⯑choly, which he ſuppoſed was oc⯑caſioned by ſome diſappointment in the affair of her marriage with the young farmer, and which probably her want of fortune was the cauſe of, he ſuddenly formed the gene⯑rous deſign of removing this obſtacle to her union with the perſon whom ſhe preferred to him, and, by making her happy, entitle himſelf to her eſteem, ſince he had unfortunately loſt her heart.

The novelty of this reſolution and its extraordinary generoſity, filled him with ſo many ſelf-flatter⯑ing ideas, as ſuſpended for a while his jealouſy and his grief.

Inſtead of going to Montpelier he ſet out immediately for England, and during his journey was continually applauding himſelf for the uncom⯑mon [190] diſintereſtedneſs of his con⯑duct.

Nothing is more certain, than that the motives even of our beſt actions will not always bear exami⯑nation; we deceive ourſelves firſt, and our vanity is too much intereſt⯑ed in the deception, to make us wiſh to detect it. Sir Charles ei⯑ther did not or would not perceive the latent hope that lurked within his boſom, and which, perhaps, ſuggeſted the deſigns he had formed.

How muſt ſuch an inſtance of generous paſſion, thought he, af⯑fect a mind ſo delicately ſenſible as Sophia's! ſhe who had once loved him, and what was more than pro⯑bable had not yet entirely forgot him.

He never aſked himſelf, why his imagination dwelt upon theſe pleaſ⯑ing images? why he proſecuted [191] his journey with ſuch eager haſte, as if the purport of it was to receive, not to reſign for ever the woman he ſo paſſionately loved?

When he arrived at his own houſe ſcarce would he allow himſelf a few minutes reſt after his fatiguing journey: he haſtened to Mr. Her⯑bert's lodgings, to prevail upon him to juſtify by his concurrence the de⯑ſigns he had formed in favour of Sophia.

Mean time the ſecret and power⯑ful impulſe by which he was ac⯑tuated, kept his mind in a continu⯑al tumult. He hoped, he feared, he wiſhed: he was all anxious expectation, all trembling doubt; he heard with grief that Mr. Her⯑bert was at Bath; for now he knew not how to get acceſs to Sophia, who being ignorant of his intentions, [192] and offended by his behaviour, might poſſibly refuſe to ſee him.

He went to the houſe where Mrs. Darnley lived when he left England; he was ſurpriſed to ſee it ſhut up. This incident perplexed him more, and rendered him more impatient.

He returned to his houſe, paſſed a reſtleſs night, and early in the morning ordering his horſes to be ſaddled, ſet out immediately for Mr. Lawſon's; where he arrived before he had reſolved how to intro⯑duce himſelf, or who he ſhould en⯑quire for.

However, upon the appearance of a ſervant at the door, he aſked for Mr. Herbert; which Mr. Law⯑ſon hearing, came out himſelf, and, though he did not know Sir Charles, politely requeſted him to alight, telling him, he had juſt received a letter [193] from Mr. Herbert, which ac⯑quainted him that he was per⯑fectly recovered, and that he was in the way to London.

CHAP. XXXVIII. Sir Charles has an interview with Mr. Lawſon.

SIR Charles accepted Mr. Law⯑ſon's invitation, and alighting, followed him into a parlour, but in ſuch perturbation of mind that he ſcarce knew what he did. The good curate, ſurpriſed at the pen⯑ſiveneſs and ſilence of his gueſt, knew not what to ſay to him, or how to entertain him: he gave him an account of Mr. Herbert's illneſs, which ſeemed to engage his atten⯑tion very little; but happening to mention Sophia in the courſe of his relation, the young baronet ſtarted as from a dream, and turned his eyes upon him with a look of eager⯑neſs and anxiety, but ſaid not a word.

[195]Mr. Lawſon pauſed, as expecting he was going to aſk him a queſtion, which Sir Charles perceiving, ſaid with ſome confuſion, ‘I beg your pardon, Sir, you mentioned miſs Sophia, I have the honour to know her, pray how does ſhe do?’

"I hope ſhe is well, Sir," repli⯑ed Mr. Lawſon, ‘I have not ſeen her a long time.’

"Then ſhe does not reſide with you now," ſaid Sir Charles, with a coun⯑tenance as pale as death, dreading to hear ſomething ſtill more fatal.

As Mr. Lawſon was going to an⯑ſwer him, William, not knowing his father-in-law had company, en⯑tered the room abruptly; but ſeeing the baronet, he bowed, apologized for his intruſion, and inſtantly re⯑tired.

The various emotions with which [196] this ſudden and unexpected ſight of his rival filled the breaſt of Sir Charles, cauſed ſuch a wildneſs in his looks, that Mr. Lawſon, in great aſtoniſhment and perplexity aſked him if he was taken ill?

Sir Charles endeavouring to com⯑poſe himſelf, replied, ‘That he was very well,’ but in a faultering accent aſked, who the young gen⯑tleman was that had juſt left the room.

Mr. Lawſon told him he was his ſon-in-law.

"Your ſon-in-law!" cried Sir Charles, eagerly, ‘what! mar⯑ried to your daughter! is it poſ⯑ſible?’

Mr. Lawſon knew enough of So⯑phia's ſtory to make him compre⯑hend now who this young gentle⯑man was, who diſcovered ſo extra⯑ordinary a concern upon this occa⯑ſion: [197] and, charmed to have an op⯑portunity of doing her ſervice by removing thoſe ſuſpicions which he had been told had produced ſo fatal a reverſe in her fortune, he gave the baronet a circumſtantial account of his daughter's marriage: ſenſible that he was too much intereſted in this detail to make him think it impertinent, he introduced it no otherways than by declaring himſelf under the greateſt obligation to miſs Sophia, who having honoured his daughter with her friendſhip, had been the chief inſtrument of her preſent happineſs.

While the good curate related all the circumſtances of an affair which had had ſuch melancholy conſe⯑quences, the baronet liſtened to him with an attention ſtill as the grave; his eyes were fixed upon his with a look of the moſt eager anxiety, [198] and he ſcarce ſuffered himſelf to breathe for fear of loſing any of his words.

In proportion as his doubts were removed, his countenance e [...]preſſed more ſatisfaction, and when, upon his reflecting on all that he had heard, it appeared plainly that the fatal meeting which had cauſed him ſo much anguiſh, was the effect of Sophia's ſolicitude to ſerve her friend, and that the paſſionate ac⯑tion of the youth was an acknow⯑ledgment of gratitude, not an ex⯑preſſion of love, he was not able to conceal the exceſs of his joy, but, riſing up in a ſudden tranſport, he took the curate's hand, and preſ⯑ſing it eagerly, "You know not," ſaid he, ‘Mr. Lawſon, how happy you have made me! but where is miſs Sophia, is ſhe gone to Bath with her good friend Mr. Herbert?’

[199]"No, Sir," replied Mr. Law⯑ſon; ‘ſhe lives with her mother. You know, I ſuppoſe, that Mrs. Darnley has loſt her annuity by the death of the gentleman upon whom it was charged.’

"I never heard it till now," ſaid the baronet, whoſe tenderneſs was alarmed for his Sophia; ‘tell me I beg you what is her preſent ſituation.’

‘Her eldeſt daughter has left her,’ ſaid Mr. Lawſon, ‘and ſhe has retired with miſs Sophia to a village about five miles from hence, in the road to London, where that excellent young lady ſupports her mother and her⯑ſelf by the labour of her hands.’

"Angelick creature!" exclaimed Sir Charles, with his eyes ſwimming in tears. Then, after a little pauſe, [200] he deſired a direction to the place where Mrs. Darnley lived, and took a kind leave of Mr. Lawſon, telling him he hoped ſoon to viſit him again.

Sir Charles, although he galloped as faſt as it was poſſible, found his horſe went too ſlow for his impati⯑ence; ſo eager was he to ſee Sophia, and gain her pardon for the unrea⯑ſonable conduct which his jea⯑louſy and rage had made him guilty of.

The account Mr. Lawſon had given him of the part ſhe had taken in his daughter's marriage with the youth whom he had conſidered as his rival, not only removed the torturing pangs of jealouſy, which he had ſo long felt, but made him view ſeveral circumſtances in So⯑phia's behaviour in a light favour⯑able to his own ardent wiſhes.

[201]He fondly fancied that the me⯑lancholy in which he had heard ſhe was plunged, was occaſioned by a tender remembrance of him; and that the hope of ſtill being his, might have been the chief cauſe of her rejecting the addreſſes of Mr. Howard.

How different were theſe ideas from the gloomy ones which had hitherto perplexed his mind! he ſeemed like a man waked from a frightful dream of deſpair and death, to a certainty of life and joy.

Amidſt theſe tranſporting reve⯑ries he had paſſed by Sophia's houſe, without perceiving it to be the ſame he had been directed to; and when he had reached the end of the village, he looked about for it in vain, and ſaw no one of whom he could enquire [202] for it but an old woman, who was ſitting under a tree near the road, making up a noſegay of ſome flowers, ſuch as the late ſeaſon pro⯑duced.

He ſtopped his horſe, and aſked her if ſhe knew where Mrs. Darnley lived? At the mention of that name ſhe roſe as haſtily as her feebleneſs would permit her, and told him, ſhe knew the houſe very well; and, if he pleaſed, would go and ſhew it him. ‘I am making up this noſegay for the ſweet young gentlewo⯑man her daughter,’ ſaid the old woman: ‘I carry her flowers every day; heaven bleſs her, ſhe is my only ſupport. There is a great many fine folks here⯑abouts, from whom I could ne⯑ver get any relief; but ſince ſhe came hither I have wanted [203] for nothing. Pray let me ſhew you her houſe; old and weak as I am, I would walk ten miles to do her ſervice.’

Sir Charles, alighting from his horſe, ordered his ſervant to lead it to the neareſt public houſe, and wait for him there; he told the old woman, he would accept of her offer, and walk along with her. Then taking two guineas out of his pocket, he gave them to her, in reward, he ſaid, for the gratitude ſhe expreſſed for her young benefac⯑treſs.

The good woman received his bounty with a tranſport of ſurpriſe and joy, and pleaſingly repaid him by talking of his beloved Sophia; of whom ſhe related many in⯑ſtances of tenderneſs and charity to⯑wards the poor of the village, and filled him with admiration of that [204] true benevolence, which even in the midſt of indigence, could ad⯑miniſter to the greater wants of her fellow creatures.

CHAP. XXXIX. Sophia receives an unexpected Viſit.

WHEN they came within ſight of Sophia's little cot⯑tage, the old woman, pointing to it, told him, Mrs. Darnley and her daughter lived there: upon which the baronet, diſmiſſing her, walked up to it with diſordered haſte. A row of wooden pales led to a ſmall graſs-plat before the door.

As he approached, he ſaw Sophia ſitting at a window at work. He ſtopped to gaze upon her; ſhe ap⯑peared to him more lovely, more engaging than ever. He wiſhed, yet dreaded her looking up, leſt her firſt thoughts upon ſeeing him be⯑ing unfavourable, ſhe ſhould reſolve to refuſe his viſit. He went for⯑wards [206] with a beating heart, and cautiouſly opening the little gate, reached the door of this humble habitation unheard and unſeen by Sophia: the door flew open at his touch; poverty has no need of bolts and bars, and every good an⯑gel is the guard of innocence and virtue.

The noiſe he made in entering, and the ſound of her name, pro⯑nounced in a tender accent, made Sophia haſtily raiſe her head. At ſight of Sir Charles, ſhe ſtarted from her chair, her work fell from her trembling hands, ſhe looked at him in ſilent aſtoniſhment, una⯑ble, and perhaps unwilling to avoid him.

The baronet, whoſe heart la⯑boured with the ſtrongeſt emotions of tenderneſs, anxiety, hope, and fear, had not power to utter a word; and while her ſurpriſe kept [207] her motionleſs, threw himſelf at her feet, and taking one of her hands, preſſed it reſpectfully to his lips, tears at the ſame time falling from his eyes.

Sophia, whoſe gentle mind was ſenſibly affected with this action, and the paleneſs and langour which appeared in his countenance, found it impoſſible to treat him with that ſeverity which his capricious con⯑duct ſeemed to demand of her; nevertheleſs, ſhe drew away her hand, which he yielded with re⯑luctant ſubmiſſion.

"I hoped," ſaid ſhe, in an ac⯑cent that expreſſed more ſoftneſs and grief than anger or diſdain, ‘that I ſhould be ſpared any farther inſults of this ſort from you; thoſe I have already ſuf⯑fered have ſufficiently puniſhed me for my weak credulity.’

Sir Charles, when ſhe began to [208] ſpeak, roſe up; but continued gazing on her with the moſt paſſi⯑onate tenderneſs, while every word ſhe uttered ſeemed to pierce his heart.

"I will not," purſued Sophia, gathering firmneſs as ſhe ſpoke, ‘aſk you, why you have intruded upon me thus unexpectedly? or why you aſſume a behaviour ſo little of a-piece with your paſt actions? I only beg you to believe, that I am not again to be deceived; and although I am perſuaded my good opinion is of no con⯑ſequence to you, yet I will tell you, that if it is poſſible to regain it, it will be by never more importuning me with vi⯑ſits, which my ſituation in life makes it very improper for me to admit of.’

[209]Sophia, when ſhe had ſaid this, went out of the room, without caſting a look back upon Sir Charles, who followed her in great diſorder, conjuring her only to hear what he had to ſay.

As ſhe was paſſing to her own chamber, ſhe was met by her mo⯑ther, who ſeeing Sir Charles, was filled with ſurpriſe and joy; and perceiving that Sophia was avoid⯑ing him, cried to her with an an⯑gry accent, ‘Where are you go⯑ing? what is the meaning of this rudeneſs?’

Sophia, without anſwering her, retired to her own room, not without great perturbation of mind; for there was ſomething in the baronet's looks and words that ſeemed to merit a hearing at leaſt; but ſhe dreaded the weakneſs of her own heart, and was fully per⯑ſuaded that any condeſcenſion on [210] her ſide would give him too great an advantage over her.

Mrs. Darnley, finding any endea⯑vours to retain her were fruitleſs, advanced towards Sir Charles with great obſequiouſneſs, congratulated him upon his return, and thanked him for the honour he did her in viſiting her in her poor little ha⯑bitation.

Sir Charles ſaluted her reſpect⯑fully, and took a ſeat. ‘There is a ſad alteration, Sir,’ ſaid ſhe, ‘in my poor affairs ſince I ſaw you laſt. I never thought to have received you in ſuch a ho⯑vel! You have heard, I ſuppoſe, of my misfortune?’

Sir Charles, who was in great confuſion of thought, and had ſcarce heard a word ſhe ſaid, replied care⯑leſsly, ‘Yes, madam, I am ſorry for it.’

The coldneſs of this anſwer caſt [211] a damp upon thoſe hopes which ſhe had eagerly admitted upon ſeeing him again; and, impatient to be relieved from her torment⯑ing anxiety on account of this un⯑expected viſit, ſhe aſked him abruptly, ‘whether ſhe might wiſh him joy, for ſhe heard,’ ſhe ſaid, ‘that he was going to be married.’

Sir Charles, rouzed by this queſ⯑tion, replied haſtily, ‘Who could have told you any thing ſo un⯑likely? Married! no, madam, there never was any foundation for ſuch a report.’

"Indeed I believe ſo," ſaid Mrs. Darnley, almoſt breathleſs with joy to find him deny it ſo ear⯑neſtly. ‘To be ſure people are very envious and ill-natured, and thoſe who told me, no doubt, deſigned to do you an ill office.’

[212]"And they have ſucceeded," ſaid Sir Charles, ſighing, ‘if they have been able to perſuade miſs Sophia, that after having aſpir⯑ed to the poſſeſſion of her, I could deſcend to love any other woman. I came to implore her pardon, madam,’ purſued he, ‘for all the extravagancies of my paſt conduct, and for that unreaſonable jealouſy which was the ſource of them, could I have been ſo happy to have prevailed upon her to have heard me.’

"What!" interrupted Mrs. Darnley eagerly, ‘and was my daughter ſo rude as to leave you without hearing what you had to ſay. I proteſt I am aſham⯑ed of her behaviour; but I hope you will be ſo good to excuſe it, Sir; I will inſiſt upon her com⯑ing in again.’

[213]"No, madam," ſaid Sir Charles, holding her, for ſhe was hurrying a⯑way, ‘miſs Sophia muſt not be con⯑ſtrained: I cannot bear that.’

Mrs. Darnley unwillingly reſum⯑ed her ſeat, and inly fretting at her daughter's obſtinacy, trembled for the event of this viſit.

Sir Charles, after a ſilence of ſome minutes, ſuddenly roſe up, and took his leave. Mrs. Darn⯑ley, in great anxiety, followed him to the door, and ſaid ſhe hoped to ſee him again. He anſwered only by a low bow, and walked away full of doubt and perplexity.

Sophia's ſteadineſs in refuſing to hear him, baniſhed all thoſe flat⯑tering ideas of her tenderneſs for him, which he had ſo eagerly ad⯑mitted; for he concluded that if her heart had not been ſteeled by indifference, ſhe would, not⯑withſtanding [214] her juſt reaſons for reſentment, have been rejoiced to give him an opportunity of juſtify⯑ing himſelf.

He had reached the houſe where his ſervant was attending with the horſes, without having determin⯑ed what to do. To return to town without ſeeing Sophia again, and being aſſured of a reconcilia⯑tion, was miſery which he could not ſupport; and he dreaded mak⯑ing a new attempt to ſee her, leſt he ſhould receive more proofs of her inſenſibility and diſdain.

In this perplexity the ſight of Mr. Herbert alighting from a ſtage-coach, was a relief as great as it was unexpected; and in the ſud⯑den joy he felt at meeting with a man whoſe interpoſition could be ſo uſeful to him, he forgot that his former behaviour muſt [215] neceſſarily have given riſe to ſtrong prejudices againſt him, and ran up to embrace the good old man with extreme cordia⯑lity.

CHAP. XL. In which the Hiſtory begins to grow dull.

MR. Herbert was ſurpriſed at this meeting, and repaid the civilities of the young baronet with ſome coldneſs: upon which Sir Charles, in ſome confuſion, de⯑ſired to have a few moments con⯑verſation with him.

They walked together down a meadow; and Sir Charles, hav⯑ing with a candor and ſincerity becoming the rectitude of his in⯑tentions, related all thoſe cir⯑cumſtances which had concurred to excite his jealouſy, and with that powerful eloquence which paſſion inſpires, expatiated upon [217] the motives of his conduct, a conduct which he acknowledged laid him open to the moſt un⯑favourable ſuſpicions; Mr. Her⯑bert, convinced of his ſincerity, and full of compaſſion for the uneaſineſs which his miſtaken jealouſy had cauſed him, under⯑took to make his peace with Sophia, and aſſured him he would very ſhortly wait upon him in town.

This would not ſatisfy the anxious lover; he declared he would not leave the place till he was aſſured of his pardon; and Mr. Herbert, who certainly was not diſpleaſed with his ob⯑ſtinacy, could with difficulty per⯑ſuade him to wait only till the next day for an account of his ſucceſs.

Sir Charles unwillingly took [218] the road to London, and Mr. Herbert haſtened to congratu⯑late his beloved charge upon the agreeable proſpect that was once more opening for her.

Mrs. Darnley had, during this interval, been employed in re⯑proaching poor Sophia for her behaviour to Sir Charles. In the vexation of her heart, ſhe exclaimed in the ſevereſt terms againſt her pride and obſtina⯑cy; ſhe told her, ſhe might be aſſured Sir Charles would never attempt to ſee her again; that it was plain he was diſguſted with her bad temper.

She burſt into a paſſion of tears, while ſhe enumerated the glorious advantages of that rank and fortune, which, ſhe ſaid, Sophia had thrown from her; and among many motives which [219] ſhe urged, ought to have deter⯑mined her to act otherwiſe, that of being able to out-ſhine her ſiſter was one.

Sophia anſwered only by ſighs: ſhe herſelf was not abſolutely ſa⯑tisfied with the unrelenting ſe⯑verity with which ſhe had treat⯑ed Sir Charles. The more ſhe reflected upon his behaviour, the more ſhe condemned herſelf for not hearing what he had to offer in his own de⯑fence.

She had once thought it proba⯑ble that he had been deceived by the report that was ſpread through Mrs. Gibbons's folly, of her encouraging the addreſſes of her nephew, and his extravagant conduct might be occaſioned by jealouſy: a fault which a woman is always diſpoſed to pardon in a [218] [...] [219] [...] [220] lover. While ſhe revolved theſe thoughts in her mind, Mrs. Darnley perceived her uneaſineſs, and added to it by new re⯑proaches.

Mr. Herbert's arrival put an end to this tormenting ſcene. Sophia firſt heard his voice, and flew to receive him; Mrs. Darn⯑ley followed, and ſeeing her bath⯑ed in tears, while the good old man ſaluted her with the ten⯑derneſs of a parent, ſhe told him, with an air half ſerious, half gay, that her daughter loved him ſo well, ſhe had no affec⯑tion for any one elſe. She then entered abruptly upon the affair of Sir Charles, though ſhe hard⯑ly expected Mr. Herbert would join with her in condemning Sophia.

He pleaſingly ſurpriſed her by [221] ſaying, that Sophia was to blame; and that he came prepared to chide her for her petulance and obſtinacy.

Mr. Herbert, who ſaw a ſweet impatience in Sophia's looks, explained himſelf immediately, and told her he had met Sir Charles; who had fully remov⯑ed all the ſuſpicions his ſtrange conduct had occaſioned, and convinced him, that he deſerved more pity than cenſure.

"No doubt." purſued he, look⯑ing on Sophia with a ſmile, ‘you will be ſurpriſed to hear, young lady, that Sir Charles was witneſs to the interview you had in the mea⯑dow behind Mr. Lawſon's houſe, with a certain hand⯑ſome youth, whom he had [222] heard was his rival, and a favoured rival too. What were his thoughts, do you imagine, when he ſaw this handſome youth throw himſelf at your feet, and kiſs your hand?’

Mrs. Darnley now looked at her daughter in great aſtoniſh⯑ment; and Sophia, who yet did not recollect the circumſtance of her meeting William, was ſo per⯑plexed, ſhe knew not what to ſay.

Mr. Herbert enjoyed her in⯑nocent confuſion for a few mo⯑ments, and then repeated all that Sir Charles had told him, of his jealouſy and rage; his vain attempts to baniſh her from his remembrance; the reſolution he had formed after his con⯑verſation [223] with Mr. Howard con⯑cerning her; and how happily he had been undeceived at Mr. Lawſon's, where he found his ſuppoſed rival was the huſband of her friend.

"Well," interrupted Mrs. Darnley, with great vehemence, ‘I hope you are ſatisfied now, Sophia! I hope you will treat Sir Charles with more civi⯑lity if he comes again.—Mr. Herbert, I beg you will exert your power over her upon this occaſion—I think there is no doubt of Sir Charles's honourable intentions.’

Thus ſhe ran on, while So⯑phia, who had liſtened to Mr. Herbert's relation with the ſoft⯑eſt emotions of pity, tender⯑neſs, and joy, continued ſilent [224] with her eyes fixed upon the ground.

Mr. Herbert, willing to ſpare her delicacy, told Mrs. Darn⯑ley, that relying upon Sophia's good ſenſe and prudence, he had ventured to aſſure Sir Charles of a more favourable recepti⯑on, when her prejudices were re⯑moved.

‘He will come to-morrow, my child,’ purſued he, ‘to implore your pardon for all the errors of his paſt conduct, and to offer you his hand. I am perſuaded you will act properly upon this occaſion; and in a marriage ſo far be⯑yond your hopes and expec⯑tations, acknowledge the hand of Providence, which thinks fit to reward you, even in [225] this world, for your ſteady ad⯑herence to virtue.’

Sophia bowed and bluſhed; her mother, in a rapture, embraced and wiſhed her joy.

Mr. Herbert now endeavoured to change the converſation to ſub⯑jects more indifferent; but Mrs. Darnley, ever thoughtleſs and unſeaſonable, could talk of no⯑thing but Sir Charles, and the grandeur which awaited her daughter.

All night her fancy ran upon gilt equipages, rich jewels, mag⯑nificent houſes, and a train of ſervants; and ſhe was by much too happy to taſte any re⯑poſe.

Sophia enjoyed the change of her fortune with much more rational delight; and among [226] all the ſentiments that aroſe in her mind upon this occaſion, that of gratitude to heaven was the moſt frequent and the moſt lively.

CHAP. XLI. The Hiſtory concluded.

MR. Herbert, who had accept⯑ed a lodging in Sophia's cottage, went to Sir Charles the next day, according to his pro⯑miſe. He found him waiting for him full of anxious impatience; and hearing from the good old man, that Sophia was diſpoſed to receive him favourably, he embrac⯑ed him in a tranſport of joy; and his chariot being already ordered, they drove immediately to the village.

Mrs. Darnley welcomed the baronet with a profuſion of civi⯑lities. Sophia's behaviour was full of dignity, mingled with [228] that ſoftneſs peculiar to her cha⯑racter.

Sir Charles, after a long con⯑verſation with her, obtained her leave to demand her of her mo⯑ther, to whom he ſhewed the writings, which were already all drawn; and by which Sophia had a jointure and pin-money, equal to the ſettlements that had been made upon Lady Stan⯑ley.

He now ventured to intreat that a ſhort day might be fixed for their marriage. It was with great difficulty, that Sophia was pre⯑vailed upon to conſent; but her mother's impetuoſity carried all before it, and Mr. Herbert him⯑ſelf ſupported the young baronet's requeſt.

The ceremony was performed by Mr. Lawſon in his own pariſh-church: [229] after which he and his amiable family accompanied the new wedded pair to their country-ſeat, where they paſſed ſeveral days with them.

Mr. Herbert having previouſly acquainted Sir Charles with Har⯑riot's ſituation, the baronet, tho' he deteſted her character, and de⯑clared he never could pardon her for the miſeries ſhe had cauſed him; yet was deſirous to have her decently ſettled, and pro⯑miſed to give a thouſand pounds with her in marriage, if a reput⯑able match could be found for her: he even put notes for that ſum into Mr. Herbert's hands, and earneſtly recommended it to him, to take the affair under his ma⯑nagement.

Harriot, during the time ſhe lived with her mother, had been [230] courted by a young tradeſman in tolerable circumſtances; and although ſhe thought it great in⯑ſolence for a perſon in buſineſs to pretend to her, yet, actuated by a true ſpirit of coquetry, while ſhe deſpiſed the lover, ſhe took pleaſure in his addreſſes.

This young man ſtill retained ſome tenderneſs for her, and al⯑lured by the proſpect of a for⯑tune, was willing, notwithſtand⯑ing any faults in her conduct, to make her his wife.

Mrs. Darnley propoſed him to her, and Mr. Herbert enforced her advice with all the good ſenſe he was maſter of. But Harriot received the propoſal with the utmoſt diſdain; inſiſted that ſhe was married as well as her ſiſter; that her rank in life was ſuperior to hers; and added, by way of [231] threat, that her appearance ſhould be ſo likewiſe.

The extraordinary efforts ſhe made to ſupport this boaſt en⯑gaged lord L. in expences that en⯑tirely alienated his affections from her, diſguſted as he long had been with her inſolence and folly.

His relations concluded a match for him with a young lady of ſuitable rank and fortune; and, after making a ſmall ſettlement on Harriot, he took leave of her for ever.

The vexation ſhe felt from this incident, threw her into a diſ⯑temper very fatal to beauty. The yellow jaundice made ſuch ravage in her face, that ſcarce any of thoſe charms on which ſhe had valued herſelf ſo much, remained. All her anxious hours [232] were now employed in repairing her complexion, and in vain en⯑deavours to reſtore luſtre to thoſe eyes, ſunk in hollowneſs, and tinctured with the hue of her diſtemper.

Although thus altered, the re⯑port of the fortune ſhe was likely to have made her be thought a prize worthy the ambition of a young officer, who had quitted the buſineſs of a peruke maker, in which he was bred, for an enſign's commiſſion, which made him a gentleman at once.

He offered himſelf to Harriot with that aſſurance of ſucceſs, which the gaiety of his ap⯑pearance, and his title of cap⯑tain, gave him reaſon to expect, with a lady of her turn of mind.

Harriot, charmed with ſo im⯑portant [233] a conqueſt, ſoon con⯑ſented to give him her hand; and Sir Charles Stanley, finding his character not exceptionable, gave her the fortune he had promiſed, to which Sophia ge⯑nerouſly added a thouſand pounds more. The baronet procured her huſband a better commiſſion; but deſignedly in one of the colonies, whither he inſiſted upon his wife's accompanying him.

Harriot, in deſpair at being obliged to quit the delights of London, ſoon began to hate her huſband heartily, and he, enter⯑ing into her diſpoſition and cha⯑racter, loſt all eſteem and ten⯑derneſs for her. Her behaviour juſtified the rigid confinement he kept her in; and while ſhe ſuffered all the reſtraint of jea⯑louſy, [234] ſhe was at the ſame time mortified with the knowledge that pride and not love was the ſource of it.

Mrs. Darnley lived not long after the departure of her favourite daughter; for ſo Harriot always continued to be.

Sophia attended her mother du⯑ring her long illneſs with the moſt duteous care, and had the ſatisfaction to be aſſured by Mr. Lawſon, who aſſiſted her in her preparations for death, that her attachment to the world, which the affluent circumſtances to which ſhe was raiſed but too much increaſed, had at length given way to more pious ſenti⯑ments; and ſhe died with the reſignation of a chriſtian.

The ill conduct of her ſiſter, and the death of her mother, [235] proved at firſt ſome interruption to Sophia's happineſs; but theſe domeſtic ſtorms blown over, ſhe began to taſte the good fortune which heaven had beſtowed on her: her chief enjoyment of it was to ſhare it with others; and Sir Charles, who adored her, put it amply in her power to indulge the benevolence of her diſpoſition.

He took upon himſelf the care of rewarding her friends; he preſented Mr. Lawſon to a very conſiderable living: he pro⯑cured Dolly's huſband a genteel and lucrative employment; and married her ſiſter to a relation of his own.

Mr. Herbert, who was above receiving any other gratification from Sir Charles than the entire friendſhip which he ever pre⯑ſerved [236] for him, had the ſatis⯑faction to ſpend moſt part of his time with his beloved daugh⯑ter, as he uſed tenderly to call Sophia, and to behold her as happy as the condition of mor⯑tality admits of.

Sir Charles's tenderneſs for her ſeemed to increaſe every day; and when Mr. Herbert ſome years after this marriage took occaſion to compliment him up⯑on the delicacy, the ardor, and the conſtancy of his affection, he replied, ‘You attribute to me a virtue, which, in this caſe, I cannot be ſaid to poſſeſs; had my paſſion for my So⯑phia been founded only on the charms of her perſon, I might probably ere now have become a mere faſhionable huſband; but her virtue and [237] wit ſupply her with graces ever varied, and ever new. Thus the ſteadineſs of my af⯑fection for her,’ purſued he, ſmiling, ‘is but a conſtant in⯑conſtancy, which attaches me ſucceſſively to one or other of thoſe ſhining qualities, of which her charming mind is an inex⯑hauſtible ſource.’